#can't remember of any additional warnings

[shady-tavern]

Perfect Nemesis Part One

As usual with all my hero and villain stories, this one has a warning for blood and injury, though nothing too graphic will be described.

***

You tasted sweat and dust on your tongue, the ground beneath you cracked and half crumbled and your ears rang. You couldn’t make yourself move, your limbs too heavy and hurt radiated in a big, cresting wave through your body.

You couldn’t breathe as someone loomed over you, scuffed boots with white laces appearing in your vision. The hand that gripped you and dragged you to your feet, your costume torn and blood seeping past to stain the colorful material, was icy. The touch felt searing with how cold it was and you were terrified.

You were dragged up until you met burning red eyes and you tried to fight, but your body wouldn’t move. A second hand rose, magic winding around the villain’s fingers and their grin was mean and terrible and full of ugly, righteous glee.

You didn’t want them to touch you, you tried to pull away, but their fingers pressed against your chest and you were going to die it hurt so much -

You woke with a desperate gasp, as though you had held your breath in your sleep. You fought free of your blankets, arms trembling and you sat up, pressing a hand over your chest. Your heart was pounding.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

You sagged back against your pillows, wiping sweat from your brow with trembling fingers. Just a dream. You stared up at the ceiling, the slowly rising sun outside just barely casting it’s first light past your windows.

You managed to slow your breathing, going through your grounding techniques until you no longer felt the phantom press of pebbles, until your tongue stopped tasting like dust and sweat. Until you no longer felt that terrible, cold hand press against your chest, about to rip everything you were and held dear away from you.

As got out of bed, you still felt uneasy down to your bones, nervous in a way you knew would last for hours. A sort of anxiety that haunted your bones like ghosts haunted old, abandoned houses.

Today would not be a good day.

Your hand fell to the ring you always wore, gripping it and the surrounding fingers tightly. It was made of simple, plain iron, scratched up and a little dinged in one or two spots after years of accompanying you through battles.

People had called it ugly in the past. Your last boyfriend had even tried to convince you to take it off for good, offering you a prettier ring in exchange. You hadn’t been able to tell him that you needed this ring.

You would never forget the villain who had attacked you back when you had been a sidekick, while the Hero Society had approved of your rise in rank to become a full fledged hero soon. 

Your mentor had been so proud, had helped you with the paperwork to apply for the promotion. She had even made sure you’d get to live and work somewhere you wanted instead of getting a random, open position.

The villain, on your last day as a sidekick, had utterly wiped the floor with you. He had sneered down at you when you had lain on the ground before him in that half-finished parking lot, construction equipment everywhere. 

You’d never forget the dark look in his eyes. The hatred in his voice as he had cursed you, his magic so thick it had choked you nearly unconscious.

Your mentor had shown up back then before he had been able to complete the spell, so he had quickly adjusted, cursing you to lose something vital instead of leaving you crippled inside and out for life.

Your mentor had stopped you when you had gone unhinged after the curse had taken hold. Pain and a sudden lack, an absence inside of you had had you howling with something that would have been grief had you still been capable of feeling such things.

Your mentor had restrained you, had kept you safe and comfortable and contained as others had come in to help. No one had been able to break the curse, but they had been able to do something else instead.

The moment the ring had been slipped on it had felt like you had been whole again after having been split in two, wandering around with only one eye and one ear and one half of a working tongue and mouth. Without the ring, everything had been wrong, you had seen and perceived the world in a warped, half-alive at best manner.

Because it wasn’t just simply empathy that the villain had taken away from you. That was only what other people called it, what you even called it to make it easier for others to understand. The villain had taken away everything good, everything warm and soft and capable of kindness and care within you. Kindness towards others and yourself.

Only after empathy had gotten ripped out of you had you understood just how intricately it had been tied to who you were as a person. How much it had driven you and your desire to do good, even if you didn’t always like people or felt up to the task.

Your empathy had made you hand-craft gifts for loved ones, had made sure you gave pep-talks to yourself and went to therapy. It made sure you got bubble baths and bought your favorite chocolate and took the time to make a good meal on your days off. It made sunrises bright and hopeful and made you dance and sing to music, no matter how silly you might otherwise feel.

Your empathy had made you feel alive.

You had never once taken the ring off after receiving it, vividly remembering the days without it. You had spent all that time not caring for other lives or for big and small wonders and pleasures.

How the people you loved and cared about had been less than strangers. They had felt like dust, like something you could and would carelessly wipe aside. Wipe out even should you consider it necessary. Everything within you had been dead and barren, salted earth after a war had left everything razed to the ground.

The moment the ring was considered a success and you had returned home safely, your mentor had gone on a hunt, capturing the villain who had done this to you. He had gotten dragged in front of a jury and sentenced to prison for life.

He had refused to remove the curse, no matter the threats and bargains people offered. He had said that the Society was welcome to torture and kill him, he would never let go of this final victory over them all.

'Besides, even if I wanted to, I could not remove it,' he had said with a haughty, victorious tilt of his head. 'It would take something quite awful indeed to even get a hold of the curse and something else entirely to remove it. I won’t say more on the matter.'

And he hadn’t.

'Why?' your mentor had snarled, standing half in front of you. And while she had always been on the slim and short side, right now she was bristling and tense like a lion in front of her cub and you had felt unexpectedly safe.

The villain had looked at you and all those sparks of safety had died as surely as stars in the night sky.

'Because you are good,’ he had told you, dark and bitter. 'Because you save people and no one saved me when I needed a hero.'

Even after six years and a lot of therapy you still remembered that moment vividly. You still had nightmares. You had never stopped being terrified of losing the ring one day. It was a constant fear that lived under your skin and made you paranoid. You checked if the ring was there multiple times throughout the day, making sure it hadn’t come lose or started to slip.

So no, today would not be a good day, but the world didn’t care about that. You dragged yourself out of bed to get ready, staring at your hero costume as you brushed your teeth. After getting cursed you had bothered the Society to get you a new costume, your mentor supporting you every step of the way.

It had felt wrong to go with the bright colors and a metallic H on your back you had chosen previously. You had wanted to call yourself Hopeful as a hero. Corny, yes and absolutely a little bit kitschy, but you had liked the idea of giving people hope.

You hadn’t been able to go through with it after the words the villain had spat at you, after knowing how close you now were to losing everything that made you you. A small band of iron was all that stood between you and walking through the world torn apart inside.

Imagination you called yourself these days, after your powers. It was, ironically, rather unimaginative, but when you had to re-do your paperwork, you hadn’t been able to come up with something better. You still weren’t able to think of a better hero name and by now you didn’t care to. People knew you as Imagination and that worked just fine.

You bagged your costume and gear in a nondescript sport’s bag and went to a hidden office of the Society. This one masqueraded as a travel agency and you got dressed in your separate dressing room, before you set foot into the backroom. 

You weren’t the only one ready to clock in to work and you exchanged a friendly greeting with your colleague and friend, your partner in this part of the city.

Peony was a hero capable of growing all kinds of plants and flowers at will and he had an innate kindness to him that made him very pleasant company indeed. 

He always decorated his hair with a crown of peonies and his costume with whatever flower he liked that day. He gave flowers to anyone sad or upset when he worked in order to cheer them up. Alongside with you he had a high track record of turning villains around and ending fights peacefully.

Or rather, you turned new villains around, for the older or well established ones would have only laughed and spat at your efforts before trying to tear you to shreds. Not everyone wanted to change. Not everyone wanted to be saved.

It had been hard at first to make yourself soft towards young, inexperienced villains, but you hadn’t wanted to become bitter and cynic after getting hurt. After getting cursed forever.

Countless hours of therapy and hard training had ensured you could take the chance of talking villains down if they seemed receptive. Of course some had tried to backstab you, but there were enough people who were just desperate or hurt and often enough they just needed someone to offer a helping hand. They just needed a little bit of kindness.

'No one saved me when I needed a hero'. Sometimes that accusation bounced around your head restlessly, no matter how much good you did. Those hate filled eyes followed you into your dreams.

"Are you alright?" Peony asked, carefully feeling along his glued down mask, making sure it had dried well. The last thing any of you wanted was to have your masks torn off by villains or overly invasive paparazzi. Those existed too, irritatingly enough. "You look tired."

"I’m fine," you lied. Today was a bad day and it would pass, you reminded yourself. You’d be more careful and you’d truck through your work hours and tonight you’d go and call your therapist and try to get back on track in time for work tomorrow.

"Hm." Peony hummed softly and a moment later he held out his hands, a flower crown woven out of small, magenta lilacs and dark blue cornflowers rested on his palms. Like the colors of your suit, only less muted. "For a little bit of good luck," he said with a warm, kind smile.

You felt yourself soften, smiling back at him and bowing forward a bit so he could put it on your head. "Thank you."

"Of course, I know we don’t get to hang out outside of work, because of secret identities and all, but you’re my friend," he said with a warm smile. "And we have each other’s back, always. Radio me in if you need some company or assistance today, alright?"

"Alright," you said and you knew that Peony would never judge you for needing a bit of help. You had helped him out a couple of times when he had had bad days and he understood what it felt like to have the past snap at your heels like hungry hounds.

There was hardly a hero who didn’t carry around some shadow, some memory of terror and defeat. Some had it worse than others, but sooner or later everyone met a villain that crushed them under their heel.

Some heroes had managed to rise to the occasion and had defeated the villain at long last, others had needed help and backup to take down the one who had tried to break them. Some never again returned to active duty.

You made sure your gloves were secure so your ring could never, ever slip off during a fight. It was, at this point, the single most important thing about your outfit, aside from it’s protective properties.

Your sleeves were even designed to make sure your gloves stayed in place by you pulling the cuffs over the gloves, keeping the hem in place with thumb holes. You could not risk losing the ring. You would not ever risk it. Besides, gloves were almost expected in your field of work, no matter if one was a villain or hero.

Your work day started out quietly enough. People waved at you, you posed for a few pictures, making sure to paste your signature smile onto your face. Just because you wanted to go crawl under a blanket and watch TV the rest of the day didn’t mean you had to let others know.

You helped a lost girl find her fathers and carried the groceries of an elderly couple up the stairs to their front door. Simple, little things that actually made you happy. This was what you wished being a hero could be all about more often. Just walking through the streets, helping anyone who needed a hand.

Right before your lunch break - because of course villains had to have awful timing - you heard the sound of something splintering. It didn’t quite sound like the sharp, high-pitched sound of glass, nor the gravelly crack of asphalt and stone or the screech and snap of metal.

Jolting around, you stilled when you saw cracks spidering through the air itself, as though part of the world had turned into a mirror someone had punched. You had just half a second to recognize those powers, before you saw him.

Endless.

A villain with reality manipulating and altering powers who should not be here. This was not his city. You hadn’t heard of him losing a territory battle or handing his territory over to someone else either.

You had just a moment to feel utter confusion mingled in alarm, before those eyes found you. Ones that held an intense glow of magic and a grin curled across his face. It wasn’t hard for you two to recognize each other as enemies, not with the masks and armored costumes.

Your muted magenta and dark blue, his black with gleaming, metallic blue accents, mirroring the shine of his eyes easily visible through his half-face mask. He shifted to face you, his body tensing up the only warning you got before he lunged into action.

Showtime.

You had heard about Endless’s powers, of how he cracked the world around himself open like an egg, as though he was pulling the stitches of reality apart at the seams to poke his fingers between. To pull forth whatever laid beyond.

You had heard, but not understood what it meant. How it felt to meet that star speckled void that he pulled forth from the cracks, easily manipulating the matter as he saw fit. Something primal in your hindbrain was alarmed and then swiftly terrified when you felt that void skim past your skin, just barely missing your face.

The very foundation of your existence wanted to run and suddenly you understood why Endless was so feared even though he had never killed or crippled anyone, be they hero or civilian. Anyone would want to run from the thing that could unmake them.

But for the first time in your life, your own powers were the perfect counter. You had been born with the ability to summon things you could create within your own mind. Your own version of manipulating reality.

You watched Endless’s eyes widen as the air around you shimmered in a crystalline manner and you pulled forth two sleek panthers. Your favorite weapon fell into the hand you kept hidden at your side by shifting your stance, waiting for your moment to strike.

"Oh my," Endless breathed and you only heard him because he had come close enough that he could almost touch you if he stretched out his hand. "How very lovely."

The beasts leaped forward to distract him, while you ducked beneath another swipe of his void-wrapped fist, striking at his unguarded flank.

The blow struck, but Endless hadn’t climbed the ranks without being able to tank a few hits.

The fight was fast and harsh and, in a way, exhilarating. You hadn’t ever fought like this before, where it took every ounce of your concentration, pulling creations into existence while dodging the very power that made the feral part of your hindbrain gibber in fear.

You almost thought it would end in a true draw, the two of you getting tired, movements slower, blows and dodges getting sloppier. The world around you was a mixture of splintered cracks and that crystalline shimmer of your powers.

Right up until you managed to conjure a snake in Endless’s blind spot and when the summoned animal wrapped around his foot, just as he wanted to kick out at you, it ended in him getting yanked back instead.

Your hit connected with his shoulder and he fell to the ground, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his chin, but as he stared up at you, a grin was on his face. It had something wild around the edges and was so delighted it gave you pause.

"Beautiful," he said, his eyes glowing brighter. The tone of his voice caught you off guard, impressed and delighted and something else. Something that was just slightly breathless, just slightly…almost soft with reverence. "I’m so sorry to cut this short, I wish we could have finished this."

Before you could do more than feel bewildered, the ground beneath him cracked apart, that void surging up to swallow him. You jerked forward, only to immediately flinch back. You knew you could not reach into that void, could not follow him without being unmade.

As the void smoothed back over like waves calming after a big splash, the cracks around you faded away, returning the world to how it was meant to be. The sound of distant traffic and shouting civilians filtered through and it was only then that you realized how quiet it had been previously.

How far away the world had been, how nothing had been able to reach you with so much shattered reality everywhere around you.

"Imagination!" Peony’s voice made you jolt and a moment later he landed beside you, clapping you on the shoulder. His press smile was on his face, while his eyes were impressed. "Good fight, my friend!"

It…had been. You realized that you had been the first person in nearly five years to make Endless back out of a fight. You hadn’t won the battle, but when you glanced up at the clapping and cheering crowd, you realized that you had won in the eyes of the public.

Peony swiftly whisked you away to avoid the excited crowd and paparazzi that had been rushing towards you, cameras and microphones at the ready.

"Are you alright?" Peony asked as the two of you sat high up on a skyscraper, wedged in behind an old, big gargoyle. Your shoulders pressed together and you tipped your head back to stare up at the sky.

"Yeah, you said with a smile, then you frowned. "I thought Endless called Imperia home, not our city."

Imperia, the capital city, was a veritable cesspit of villains and underground crime. That Endless had made a name for himself in a place that ruthlessly chewed up and spat out anyone who faltered, who misstepped only the slightest bit, meant something.

You doubted that anyone but you truly had a good defense against him and these void powers. Powers that could destroy anything that was real near immediately - but your creations were only half real. They existed because you wanted them to, not because they were actually a part of reality. That made them harder to break.

"I don’t know," Peony answered after a moment of silence. "Maybe the Society knows what’s up."

*.*.*

The Society, in fact, had no idea why Endless had given up his bitterly fought for territory in Imperia. In fact, no one was able to find out anything as the weeks turned to months and instead of answers, you only got more questions.

And you gained a nemesis. 

You had never had one before and you could have entirely done without ever getting one. Endless however had decided that you were ’the shit’ as an impressed teen had once said and he just had to take you down.

Endless didn’t always seek you out when you were on patrol, especially since he had plenty of things to do himself, but whenever you spotted him, you knew he had come for you. After that first fight, you had never again managed to get the upper hand against him. Until now, everything had ended in a draw where the two of you had been forced to retreat.

He was dangerous and cunning and you really had no idea why he bothered fighting with you as much as he did. There was no need for Endless to go up against you or to seek you out for battles.

He was powerful enough that he could have just slipped past you to cause destruction elsewhere. To go pick off the younger or weaker heroes and sidekicks, the ones he could kick around like squeaky toys. 

He could have even gone straight for the official Society headquarters, since he had once let slip that he knew where it was. You didn’t know for sure if he actually did know, but the threat had been big enough that the Society was currently busy relocating, having closed down the headquarters for the time being.

He could have…well, he could have done a lot more damage, was what you were trying to say. You were glad that he didn’t though, that he didn’t kill people and never involved civilians if it could be avoided.

Endless had even stopped attacking a fellow hero the time your colleague had gotten knocked out in a fight against him, just as you had arrived. Rather than hit your fellow hero again to kill him or to inflict career ending injuries, Endless had just stepped aside.

He had allowed you to carry the woman to safety, though he had done so with running commentary. Everything had been said, from compliments to teasing remarks until you couldn’t help but snap back. And then he had grinned, achieving what he had wanted: that you spoke with him.

That you looked at him, bantering back before you knew it.

It was simultaneously the most fun and the most intense time whenever you fought him.

And recently he had gotten into the very distracting, very flustering habit of murmuring those compliments and teasing remarks at you whenever your fight caused the two of you to end up close to each other.

It was so easy to forget the world when he made the noise disappear, when everything was so far away with the way he cracked the world apart.

And yet, he never locked you in, he never put you into a cage you couldn’t escape, for wherever those cracks were, it was impossible to reach past them. But there were always spots to slip through for you and you just knew that was on purpose.

It was unexpected to look at a villain and realize that a part of you trusted him. Trusted him to not hit below the belt, to pull his punches before something truly awful happened. When you fought him, you could forget about the ring on your finger and how you could never, ever allow those gloves to come off.

"Why me?" you found yourself asking at your next clash, the fight between you no longer a harsh meeting of two blunt forces, but something refined and sharp. Almost like a fierce dance.

"Pardon?" Endless asked, elegantly ducking beneath your weapon and kicking the two-headed hound out of the way that you had summoned today. "Your beautiful lethality distracted me for a moment."

"Why fight me?" you asked, ignoring his compliments. He was just trying to make you trip up, you were certain he’d stop once he realized it wasn’t going to work, no matter what he said.

Endless blinked, looking taken aback for just a split second, before he stepped in close with a quick maneuver, close enough to almost touch you.

His voice was quiet and almost soft as he said, "If it’s not obvious, I am doing a worse job than I thought."

When you looked as confused as you felt, he made a low noise and the next second you smoothly slid back a step, head jerking to the side to avoid getting touched by the void he drew forth.

"I’ll figure out how to make my intent clear," he said in that tone that never failed to send a small shiver down your spine in the best of ways. His gaze flickered past you and his smile got a regretful little quirk. "For now, I fear our time is almost up."

To your surprise, he leaned in again, close enough that your noses were almost touching. You realized that you had stopped moving a second later, that the hounds stood still, waiting for your next command. 

"I don’t believe you find me quite so despicable," he murmured, his fingertips brushing your hand.

The one with the ring. Cold reality crashed over you, a sudden stab of alarmed fear that had nothing to do with Endless himself and his powers and you found yourself flinching back, hand tucked against your chest before you could stop yourself.

No other villain would have gotten that reaction, would have seen that moment of vulnerability. Plenty of villains had grabbed your wrist or hand before, especially if they had matter or mind manipulating powers. It was hardly the first time.

But something about Endless made it feel as though your barriers were paper thin. You had gotten careless.

His eyes widened at your reaction. "Apologies," he said, gaze flicking between you and your hand. Then his gaze snapped past you and he muttered an unflattering curse at the people you knew were about to join you.

With a last, thoughtful and apologetic glance your way, he folded into the cracks, disappearing into the void.

The world smoothed out, but your heart kept racing and you forced yourself to lower your hand back to your side and look normal and unaffected.

You were deeply relieved that Peony showed up moments later, whisking you away with an excuse to save you from the people. When you sat crouched behind the same gargoyle as last time, he said nothing when you curled up tight, hand clutched against your chest and forehead pressed against your knees.

He knew about the ring, about what had happened to you. It wasn’t hard to find out, not with how public both the fight and trial had been. Peony had slowly, over time, asked you more questions about it. Always carefully and gently and you had recently told him the rest of the story. How you didn’t remember what curse you had been afflicted with, only how it had felt to receive it.

And what happened if you ever took your ring off.

Peony was a solid line of warmth against your side and sometimes you felt a light tickling against your shoulder or head. By the time you looked up, uncurling a little, you blinked when you realized he had almost entirely covered you in flowers.

"Why is Endless bothering with me?" you found yourself asking as he carefully set down a handful of daisies in your now revealed lap.

"I think he’s flirting with you," Peony said and when you stared at him, wide eyed, he laughed. "Oh, he is. Couldn’t you tell?"

You grumbled beneath your breath, looking away and feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed and…aw, shit. You also felt flattered and touched and gooey warm. You liked Endless's attention and his words and how he fought you and how close the two of you could get to each other.

"I think you should ask yourself why you indulge him so," Peony continued, creating some tiny roses he put in your palm when he motioned for your hand. They were a pretty pink. 

"But he’s a villain," you found yourself saying and he snorted and started to tick off his fingers.

"Thunder and Goldstar, Justice and the Furious Two, Deadend and Dawn and of course, we can’t forget the most iconic and notorious romance between Dragon and Nightmare," he said. "They are villains and heroes who are more than enemies, if you catch my drift."

"Nothing was ever confirmed," you muttered and he shot you a look.

His voice was softer as he said, "Not officially, no. But I know you saw at least some of their fights. In all honesty, it even looked like Nightmare recently proposed to Dragon in the middle of their battle."

"Wait, what?" You sat up straight at that, sending a shower of flowers to tumble off of you. Peony just simply made a few more and tossed them straight at your face, petals silk-soft and sweet smelling.

"Endless isn’t awful," he said. "Arrogant, yes. Highly dangerous? Oh abso-fucking-lutely, but he’s no killer. He fucks with the government and some institutions and companies over for fun. No one knows what he really wants most of the time. His moral compass is probably so firmly in the gray zone he might as well rename himself into Raincloud, but you have my blessings."

"Thanks, Mom," you joked back and he smiled, nudging your shoulders together.

"I’m glad you’re doing better," he said, which made all the sarcastic mirth smooth out into something softer and genuine. "Want me to patrol with you the rest of the day?"

You were quiet for a long moment, staring down at the flowers littered all around you. All your favorite flowers and some of his.

"Yeah," you said at last. "Thanks."

"That’s what friends are for." He made a flower crown and gently set it upon your head. "Now come on, before someone yells at us for slacking off."

*.*.*.*

If you had expected Endless to back up, you were sorely mistaken. Not that you…not that you wanted him to. Still, you had no idea if you should reciprocate, if he really was flirting with you like Peony said, or how to go about it.

Endless certainly had stepped up his game after last time. Now every fight it seemed less and less like he wanted to get close to you in order to trade blows, quick strikes and just as quick parries, but to slip around your defenses like water and say more and more things in a low voice only you could hear.

If your battles had looked like dancing before, now your fights really were just a steady back and forth, a push and pull that had left all attempts at actual hitting behind ages ago.

Endless never again touched your hand, but now his fingertips brushed your elbow, your shoulders, your lower arm. He tugged at your utility belt instead of destroying it like another villain would have and you found yourself reaching back.

But he did glance down at your hand every time the two of you fought. The outline of the ring wasn’t easily visible beneath the gloves, but it felt like he had figured out exactly where the ring was.

You ignored it, you much rather focused on the bantering, on the way the words he said in that utterly pleasant and very flustering voice made you feel. You much rather bantered back, the world with all its troubles and realities locked away beyond those cracks he formed around you without ever locking you in.

You should not have ignored it.

It was Peony who called you just as you were about to finish patrol a couple of days later. It was getting quite late and you had volunteered for an evening shift to clear your head after you kept thinking about Endless. 

You had even found yourself watching some of his old fights online. It was…pleasant, possibly even alluringly impressive, to see him in action. His competence, his skills, his cunning and adaptability.

"Can you meet me at the old warehouse district?" Peony asked, voice tense and lowered over the phone in a way that told you something was wrong and he didn’t want to be spotted. "At the barrel intersection? There is a group of villains and far too fucking many explosives."

"On my way," you said, already changing tracks and hurrying towards the district. "Wait until I’m there."

"Hurry," he hissed and ended the call.

You arrived in record time, finding Peony hiding behind the barrels that lined the intersection on one side. It wasn't officially named Barrel Intersection, but that was what the two of you called it.

The old warehouse district was a quiet neighborhood, a mixture of storefronts and still used warehouses and industrial apartments on the more expensive side.

It also offered a lot of backrooms for villains to meet in and plot. Weirdly enough, you couldn’t see anything. The windows of the apartments were all dark and the storefronts lit, showing that no one was inside.

Actually, it was impossible to see much at all from the spot where Peony crouched.

"Where are they?" you asked in a whisper, as you ducked down beside him. "Did they leave already?"

"Alley," he whispered back and slipped into the shadows, face and shoulders tense in a way you hadn’t seen in quite a while. Or ever, possibly. It must be worse than you had thought.

You followed, only to notice that the flowers he usually decorated his outfit with were different. 

That wasn’t too strange in and of itself, Peony picked a new flower for his outfit every week, but it was always something cute and sweet, something that delighted the kids he saved and made crying people smile when he offered them a sunflower or cherry blossoms or tulips. And he always wore peonies around his head.

You weren’t well versed in flowers, but even you recognized the ones you could see now. Belladonna and nettles and a crawling of moss down his shoulders.

"Peony?" you whispered, confused. A low warning tingle spread through your limbs. You warily glanced around. Something was off.

"This is going to be horrible," Peony said so softly you barely heard him and something in his voice was different. It took you a second to realize it was sadness, laced with pain and grim determination.

A second you shouldn't have wasted with puzzling over his tone.

Vines stronger than anything Peony had created before snapped forward to wrap around your limbs, dragging you to the ground with a power and strength you hadn’t been able to fight.

In a split second, your mind ran through all the things an enemy could have done to Peony. Possession, mind control, mind manipulation, blackmail and a plethora of spells. Right up until cracks spidered along the wall and Endless oozed out of the void.

Both of their faces were solemn and grim, something you weren’t used to seeing. You fought the vines, shifting your hands and focusing on your powers when Peony took a step forward, a very familiar item in his hand, gas filling the alley with a sharp hiss.

The hero society had gas canisters that allowed heroes to nullify the powers of their partners in case of aforementioned mind control and other trouble. Those measures worked only short-term, a few moments at most, just long enough for either the afflicted hero or the responsible villain to be taken out.

You felt your powers hit a block, the shimmer around you vanishing in an instant. That was when a first creeping of fear and betrayal set in.

"What do you want?" you hissed as Endless stepped forward and Peony kept you pinned to the ground, the vines keeping your limbs still no matter how hard you fought.

"I’m very sorry about this," Endless murmured and reached for your hand. The one with the ring.

Panic immediately slammed into you and you found yourself saying, "No." even as he forced your fist open to pull your thumb through the hole in the sleeve and push the sleeve back. 

The moment he pulled your glove off, betrayal hit you fully like a hit to the gut, like a vile stench that threatened to make you gag and dizzy.

"Don’t," it came out like a pleading croak and you were only distantly aware of the fact that panicked tears were starting to gather in your eyes. You had thought he’d cared about you. You had been…had been fool enough to start to fall in love with him.

Endless said nothing, wrestling with your hand until more vines appeared, pinning your fingers into place. All but one. You looked at Peony, who stood back, silent and watching.

"I thought you were my friend," you rasped out just as Endless slipped the ring off your finger.

Your world shattered into something cold and warped, your breaths feeling crisp and clear in your lungs. Tears stopped gathering and your hammering heart slowed immediately, all those conflicting and painful feelings dying away, leaving only a yawning absence. A gnarly, ripped open wound across your soul that could easily be torn wider.

Your fingers twitched as you felt the effects of the gas wear off and you gathered your powers close, your mind already conjuring up something. Something unexpected that would give you the wriggle room to get free.

"Gloves off, huh?" you said, your voice coming out flat and cool. "Very well."

People thought that a lack of empathy meant that only rage and violence were left behind. That only something vile existed now, as if everything about human emotions could be neatly divided into 'good' and 'bad' at all times.

A lack of empathy meant there was also a lack of rage, of betrayed hurt, of the desolate realization that you had gotten played by two people you had grown to trust so very much. That you cared for so very much.

It felt different compared to when you had first gotten cursed. Back then the cosmos-bright wrongness within you had utterly consumed your mind. But now that wasn't the case.

You knew this curse. Your body knew it. Had lived years like this, even if the ring had been a neat little temporary loophole.

You had known you’d always end up like this again. The absence was still there, the torn open wound where something had been ripped away from you, but it did not consume your mind.

Your gaze snapped to the two threats in front of you as Endless dropped the ring and reached out again.

The advantage of having pulled your punches previously, of having had morals, was that they did not expect what you would do. They would not count on you summoning creatures that resembled nightmares.

Startling them was the advantage you needed and the monsters that tore out of the shimmering air moved fast like spiders, leapt like predators and had a maw of teeth like sharks.

The vines around you slackened and you ripped free, smoothly rolling to your feet and backing away behind the protective press of nightmare bodies. Two of the creatures had skittered up and along the wall, dropping down from above.

You took the moment of distraction, of hurried fighting, to focus on your biggest creation yet.

You hadn’t made things too big before, always aware of the civilians and the buildings around you as well as your own health. The damage you could cause not only to human life but also to people’s livelihood and possessions.

That didn’t matter anymore. Other people and their problems did no longer concern you. It felt as though the air behind you grew solid for a moment, no longer just wavering and shimmering, but a hard crystal surface, flat and shiny like a mirror, stretching to cover the space behind you from wall to wall.

The ground trembled faintly as the hydra stepped out, three heads swiveling to pin on the two men who had just defeated your skittering critters. One maw dripped acid, the other had smoke curling up and the last snapped its teeth, lightning arching.

"Please tell me you have another canister," Endless said, body tense and ready, as Peony stepped up to his side with a nod. "Cover my back?"

"Always," Peony answered, hands lifting and vines, thick and thorny, breaking out of the walls of the alley, writhing and destructive.

The hydra lunged with a screech, only for the lightning head to suddenly turn into chopped up, bleeding pieces, courtesy of Endless cracking it apart. You had always wondered if he could break flesh as easily as air. Your answer, evidently, was yes.

What a good thing that Hydra heads grew back in double their number. Acid sizzled, fire caught on wood and scorched stone and lightning from the new head lit up the area with quick flashes, while the fourth head lunged forward in a poison filled bite.

With the hydra blocking their path and obscuring their view of you, you had a comparatively easy time avoiding the vines, even as head after head got decimated. You took a second to create your usual weapon, only instead of the blunt hammer, it came out more deadly. Sharper.

That moment, your hydra got wrapped in vines, the heads getting pinned together, mouths forced shut. You watched the broken cobblestone and bricks, vines crawling from below and a new idea found you.

You hadn’t attempted to mix your imagination with the world around you before. You had only just summoned. You closed your eyes for a moment, heart beat steady and calm. You were not harried or frenzied or afraid, all you felt was…hollowed out. Empty. Like a yawning abyss had opened inside you that kept it’s frayed, torn mouth wide open at all times.

It took a second, the hydra growling and writhing, the smell of blood and smoke and something sharp and stinging thick in the air. Some of the heads must have fought free, for you saw a chain of lightning bursts flicker past even with your eyes closed and the golden, bright flare of fire.

When you opened your eyes, the crystalline matter of your summoning was woven into the alley around you, shimmering between walls and ground, layered over and sunk into stone and glass and metal.

You tugged, then realized it would take far, far more power than that. So you yanked and pulled, sweat starting to drip down your face and your heart beating faster with effort and just as your hydra got hacked into so many pieces all at once that it disintegrated, the alley around you heaved like it had come alive.

Because it had. You heard an alarmed shout as the entire alley reassembled itself, your stance shifting to keep your balance on the dragon head that raised itself out of earth and stone, built out of the material around you and held together by the matter of your imagination. 

It was easily the most powerful thing you had ever made and it made your legs tremble with how thoroughly it had drained you. Now you no longer only felt empty but exhausted down to your bones as well. You just barely kept your grip on the dragon, realizing that you had to finish this fast before your powers failed you.

It seemed you had overdone it. It would be worth it, if you won.

You met Endless’s eyes, the man who was your perfect nemesis, your perfect opponent. Peony was nowhere to be seen, aside from a splatter of blood on the ground and there were no hiding spots he could have been in without betting crushed when you had torn the alley apart. He had gotten eaten by the hydra.

Almost distantly, as though detached, you wondered what Endless was capable off if he, too, stopped pulling his punches.

You weighed the weapon in your hands as the dragon roared, wings sweeping out like giant sails, crushing the top of a nearby building to rubble. You weighted your powers against Endless’s. His intent and willingness to harm you against your ability to avoid being sliced apart like your hydra. 

Your legs trembled again, nearly buckling. You did not have the strength to draw this fight out any longer, nor would you be able to negotiate properly like this should it become necessary. You’d need to rest before making a decision, unless you managed to kill him.

It was worth a try.

"I knew you were holding back on me," Endless shouted up at you, but his usual smile was nowhere to be seen and he was out of breath. "I think it’s only fair if I do the same, isn’t it?"

You had seen the world crack like a mirror before and you expected to see much of the same again. And you did, for just a moment.

Before the cracks that spidered from his touch met in the air and then the world broke away in big pieces, the void devouring the edges of your dragon, forcing you to make it curl in tighter as it swiped and stomped and spat fire at Endless, who dipped in and out of the void too quickly to be caught.

You were about to take flight to gain the upper hand when Endless did smile, grim and triumphant. That was the only warning you got, as a crack appeared above you and Peony came tumbling out of the void, looking vaguely ill. His mask and half his outfit were gone, the void slipping off the edges where it had started to devour him.

For just a second you met his eyes, then you saw the canister he held in his hands and when you tried to dodge, your legs buckled at last, sending you tumbling onto the dragon’s hard head.

Peony landed at your side just as the canister hissed and you felt that wall slam up against your powers once more. The dragon collapsed in an avalanche of hard material and the only reason you didn’t get buried in a massive pile of rubble was Peony. He grabbed you and hauled the two of you away with vines.

Vines that tied you to the ground the second he landed and Endless took one big step forward to stand over you. They were both bleeding, Peony wrapping an arm around ribs that were most likely broken, while a gash down Endless’s shoulder made blood soak into his outfit and drip to the ground from his fingertips.

You stared up at them, fingers flexing and exhaustion making them tremble faintly. It seemed you had miscalculated. Not that it would matter for long, they’d finish taking you out any moment now.

"Careful," Peony whispered, looking tense and worried.

"I know," Endless said and it made no sense to you. They had blocked your powers for now and they could finish you off without worry. And even if you did manage to survive and wriggle free, you were too tired to summon anything else. Probably even too tired to run.

You distantly remembered your mentor saying that a lack of empathy made you reckless and careless with yourself to a frightening degree, that any sort of worry and concerns got wiped away.

Endless moved to kneel over you, knees bracketing your ribs.

He took a deep breath and held out his hands without touching you. "Here goes nothing. If you have some prayers left to say, say them now."

You had never felt his powers used on you. You had felt the void, had known it would try to pull you apart like bad stitching, but he had never cracked you.

There was a split second of something wrong registering, before everything just went utterly numb and detached. You stared up at Endless as he reached into the cracks that had just pulled apart cloth and skin and tissue, bone and organs to reach something else.

You would have called it your soul had you cared to and he reached right for the ripped open wound where everything that made you human, that made you feel like a person, had gotten torn out in a sloppy, brutal manner.

Peony hovered close by worriedly and you found yourself looking at him, his face turning into an apologetic grimace. Why? Had he not intended for you to die when he had betrayed you?

Endless’s fingertips touched the edges of the wound the curse had ripped into you, took a deep breath and exhaled slow. The glow of his eyes brightened and you felt a second crack, a shattering within the shattering.

For a moment the world around you seemed to exist only in bits and pieces that came and went without feeling connected to each other. Cracked stone beneath you, one hand gloved the other not, the smell of ozone and fire, the dark, smog filled sky above, your inhale, a heart beat.

A soul-bound wound shattering.

The second Endless pulled back, you saw that he held something writhing and vile between his fingers, tendrils of void wrapped around it. Then he curled his fingers around the curse, letting it be swallowed by the void.

You felt the second the curse was unmade, the world rushing back in all the details it had lacked as it vanished. The taste of exhaustion on your tongue, the heavy pain in your limbs from overextending yourself so brutally, the ache of your heart and your great confusion.

The last thing you noticed before blacking out was Endless carefully smoothing away the cracks he had made on your chest, still without touching you, looking exhausted and grimly victorious.

.

Part Two

[whoevenisjavier]

EROTICA

part 1 | part 2

pairing: no outbreak!joel x reader

summary: Your thesis said, “analyze male behavior.” Joel said, “come sit on it.”

a/n: this is the 2nd part, which can't be read alone. i mean, you can read it without going through the first part (read it here), but you won't understand shit

additional tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. reader is 26, joel is 50ish. no outbreak. joel is a dad. conversations about porn. porn actor joel miller/javier peña. dirty talk. car sex. fingering. oral sex f! receiving.

wc: 6.5k

Out of shame, you avoid Joel the following week.

You dodge aisles when you see him at the supermarket, time your exits minute by minute to avoid running into him, and lock yourself in your bedroom like an emo teenager when your parents invite him over for dinner.

Because now, whenever you see him, all you can remember is his voice saying obscenities, his hands on women’s skin — and some men’s too. You remember yourself, in the privacy of your room, doing what you swore you would never do.

You even look up if there’s such a thing as a permanent fertile period, because none of this feels normal.

And of course, Joel confronts you about it.

On your father’s birthday night, he invites a few close friends over for a small cocktail party, followed by dinner. When you walk down the stairs, Joel is there, sitting in the living room armchair with a glass of whiskey in his right hand.

He’s listening to something your father is saying but glances at you. You immediately turn your back and head into the kitchen to see if your mother needs help.

Yesterday, you found a movie where Joel played a DEA agent rescuing a drug lord’s wife. He said so many filthy things to her while fucking her inside a police car that the words stuck in your head like Play-Doh in hair.

And maybe the area between your legs feels a little more sensitive too, which only makes you feel worse.

After the cocktail and dinner, spent tensely avoiding Joel’s gaze, you slip out into the backyard with a glass of wine in one hand and your Kindle in the other.

Inside, the party goes on, your father having opened another bottle of whiskey, and you can hear them from here. You need to stay out of your bedroom to keep yourself from typing "Javier Peña" into that damn search bar again, so for the next few minutes, you sip your wine and read.

“Finally, a place where you can’t hide behind the toilet paper aisle.”

Joel sits down on the chair next to you, holding his own whiskey glass. You lose your words because, yes, you actually did hide in the personal hygiene aisle yesterday when you saw him.

You play dumb.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. You went all puritanical after you found out what you found out.”

“I told you it’s weird.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t need your approval. My life and career are my own. I said I would help you with your thesis, and I will, but if you keep running from me, someone’s going to think there’s something wrong between us.”

You take another sip of wine in silence, staring at the lawn like it’s salvation. Joel’s gaze burns into the side of your face before he asks:

“Have you watched any more?”

“For the thesis.” A lie.

“May I ask which one?”

“The DEA one.”

“Hmm.”

He finds your eyes as he sips his whiskey. He’s sitting with his legs spread, making his jeans stretch tight over his groin and thick thighs. And you know exactly what’s under those jeans.

You can’t resist your curiosity:

“Do you miss acting?”

“My ego does,” he says, like he’s thought about it a thousand times. “Not gonna lie, there’s a certain masculine pride in being a porn actor. It’s easier for men. But personally? No. Especially because of Sarah.”

“She knows?”

He shakes his head.

“She does. I told her when she turned fifteen because I’d rather she hear it from me than stumble across it online.”

“How did she react?”

“Well, I guess.”

You shake your head and cover your face with your free hand, groaning a little.

“I can’t stop wondering if my mom knows about you.”

“I hate to break it to you—”

You cut him off. “Shhh.”

His laugh is low but genuine. Your eyes meet again, and this time, you could swear his gaze dips a little lower, to the neckline of your dress, where a bit of flushed skin is showing thanks to the wine.

But he disguises it and gestures toward your Kindle:

“What are you reading?”

“Some articles to help with my research.”

“Have my films led you to any conclusions?”

“Um, definitely,” you say, staring at the lawn. “You cussed a lot. And you seem very interested in my opinion of your movies.”

“I'm curious.”

You internally roll your eyes. Men.

“You want a performance review? Aren’t the comments on XVideos enough?”

“I want yours.”

You ignore him, because your evaluation of his performance was made perfectly clear when you got yourself off twice in a row thinking about his voice.

Instead, you ask:

“Did the DEA girl really come? Because it looked real.”

Joel stays quiet for a while. When you glance at him, you notice a small smirk playing on his lips as he taps his fingers against his glass. His whiskey’s almost gone.

“Do you really want to get into that?”

“Why not?”

A few more seconds of silence. Then he seems to say "fuck it" internally and answers:

“I liked making the other actresses come. Some directors didn’t like it because it took longer, and ‘who cares if they actually orgasm if they can fake it,’” he says, making air quotes. “But I liked it. Not all of them, of course, and sometimes they’d tell me they were fine without it, but it was a preference of mine.”

“And the DEA girl?” you press.

“Was that your favorite?”

You shake your head.

“Which one was?”

You shake your head again, indicating you won’t tell him.

“The DEA girl was my ex-girlfriend,” he says.

“So it was real.”

Joel shrugs, and that's all the answer you need. The porch light behind you highlights his graying beard and the glint of whiskey on his lips. Your throat goes dry.

“How did you get into the industry?”

Joel clicks his tongue.

“Very personal question.”

“Okay, what made you leave?”

He glances at your wine glass and ignores the question, asking another instead:

“What wine is that?”

You consider not answering out of petty revenge, but your parents raised you better.

“Barefoot. I know it’s cheap, but I like it,” you swirl the red wine in your glass. “Even though I know I’ll wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

Joel rolls his eyes and stands, leaving his whiskey glass behind.

“Come on, bring your glass. I’ll give you some real wine.”

He starts walking toward the gate between your houses, and you have no choice but to follow, leaving your Kindle and the party behind. Joel’s broad shoulders guide you around the side of his house and into the kitchen.

It’s silent and dark, except for a single hallway light. Quietly, because Sarah is probably asleep, you pass through the kitchen and head to a door leading to the garage, where the lighting is dim at best. His truck takes up almost all the space.

Unsure of what to do, you hover at the door, watching as he enters a small room off the garage. It’s a little wine cellar, concrete walls lined with slanted mahogany shelves.

Joel comes back out with a bottle in hand. You recognize the label and freeze.

“You’re not about to open a Rockford Flaxman.”

“I am,” he says, brushing past you just enough to close the door behind you, locking the two of you in the garage. His scent hits you, and you fight the urge to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Just closing the door so Sarah doesn’t wake up. Hand me your glass.”

“Joel, that bottle’s expensive.”

“Hand me your glass,” he repeats.

You give it to him. Joel pulls a corkscrew from a drawer you hadn’t noticed and pops the bottle open effortlessly. He fills your glass halfway and, as he hands it back to you, asks:

“Mind if we share the glass?”

You shake your head.

From another drawer, he grabs his truck keys, disables the alarm, and turns on a tiny, terrible-quality radio. Duran Duran starts playing.

Joel gestures toward the truck:

“Come on. We can sit inside.”

Heart pounding a little faster, palms sweating, you climb into the passenger side. You settle into the leather seat and finally take a sip of the good wine.

It tastes fruity and oaky, almost sweet on your tongue. You let out a long, contented hum.

“Really good,” you say after swallowing. “Best way to end the night.”

His fingers brush yours as he takes the glass. You watch him savor a sip before handing it back.

He speaks as he does:

“I left the industry because the doubts about real consent started eating at me,” he says, answering the question you asked earlier. Joel leans back in the seat, legs spread, head resting against the headrest, eyes closed. “And I’m not just talking about explicit consent. I mean about the people who were there because they had no other choice.”

“I can’t imagine anyone doing porn unless they had to,” you murmur.

“I get it, but some people genuinely like it,” he meets your gaze as you sip more wine. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious.”

“Maybe for men...”

“It’s more common among men, true.”

You offer him the glass. He drinks and gives it back.

“The agency that managed my films didn’t like it when I started giving interviews about that stuff. They gave me fewer scenes or scripts I’d never agree to do, and I had to start turning them down. When they began sabotaging me, I left.”

“Scripts you wouldn’t accept?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you accept the short answer. “No other agency made you an offer?”

“They did, but when I left, I didn’t want to go back.”

“And yet, you defend the industry.”

“I don’t defend the industry—I defend the work I did, because I know how it was done. I don’t like when you generalize.”

“You know that sounds like ‘not all men,’ right? Of course not everyone was bad, but the industry itself is terrible. So when I criticize it, it’s the majority I’m talking about. And you were exploited too.”

He exhales deeply. There’s more you want to say, but you sense it’s a sensitive topic, so you change the subject:

“Can I ask what you do now?”

“I invest,” he says simply. “I made a lot of money back then and wasn’t stupid enough to blow it on parties and drugs. I invested in public and private construction companies, and now they pay me back.”

“Didn’t expect that.”

Joel gives you a look.

“Male privilege. I got into a lot of good deals just because I was Javier Peña.”

“That wouldn’t happen to an actress,” you guess, and he nods. “So now you just live off your investments.”

“Pretty much.”

The wine in your glass runs out. Joel notices, grabs the bottle, and this time drinks straight from it. You mimic him, putting the glass in the back seat.

“How was it, being an actor?”

“Fun. Lots of parties, admiration, glamor, L.A., and sex all the time,” he says. “The downside was the strict diet, weekly waxing, and almost daily health tests. I probably have a permanent hole in my vein.”

“Did you only date people in the industry?”

“Not a rule, but it was easier, so mostly.”

“Sarah’s mom—”

“No, she wasn’t in it. She was a friend.”

You figure she’s not around anymore, considering you’ve never heard Sarah mention her.

“If someone offered you two million dollars today,” you start, trying to lighten the mood, and his face softens, “for a solo film. Just you, just masturbation. Would you do it?”

“No, because of Sarah. Okay, my old films are still out there, but they existed before she was born. It’s different.” Another sip of wine. Joel continues: “I don’t think I’d even know how to behave in front of a camera anymore.”

“That’s not the spirit of the Longest Cumshot Award winner.”

Joel’s eyes widen in shock, and you burst out laughing at yourself, raising both of your hands.

“I didn’t look it up, I swear. It’s just one of the first pictures that comes up when you search your name.”

“Tell me your favorite film,” he insists.

You think about refusing again, but the wine is warming your face and your throat, and the atmosphere is too cozy.

“The title is ridiculous,” you start, and he grunts for you to hurry up. “Something like ‘Lust Lives Next Door.’”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Where he’s the neighbor?”

Keeping a neutral expression, you sip more wine, feeling his gaze fixed on you.

“Why?” Joel asks.

“It felt so real. You looked so...”

You lose the words. He prompts you:

“So...?”

“I don’t know. You looked like you really wanted her. Sure, you always looked like that—you were an actor—but with her, it was different. At least to me.”

Joel studies you a moment longer. Then asks, seriously:

“Did you touch yourself watching it?”

Your cheeks burn.

“It’s normal,” you defend. “Inevitable.”

“Only with that one?”

“Joel.”

He exhales long and slow.

“If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop. I’ll walk you home.”

You open your mouth to joke about how ridiculous it is for him to walk you home when you’re literally neighbors, but the seriousness of his question leaves you speechless.

“I’m not a porn actress. I’m not used to this,” you murmur.

“Then just nod,” he suggests seriously. Your silence is taken as agreement.

He asks:

“Did you touch yourself to any other of my films?”

A pause, then...

You nod.

He breathes deeply.

“Did you watch my films only because of the thesis?”

You shake your head no.

“Do you imagine me doing those things to you?”

You feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. One step back, and you’ll be safe, intact but with a pounding heart. One step forward, and you’ll fall, jump, dive into whatever awaits below.

The blood in your ears almost drowns out the start of “Glory Box” by Portishead playing from that shitty little radio.

You take a step forward.

You nod.

Before he can ask anything else, you’re the one who speaks:

“Do you want to see?” you ask, fueled by all the liquid courage from the wine. You clarify, “How I touched myself.”

The answer comes immediately:

“Of course I do.”

You glance at the garage door, then at him, hardly believing you’re about to do this. Before shyness can take over, you close the passenger door, slip off your sandals, and adjust yourself on the seat so your back rests against the door and your legs stretch across the console. You place your feet in Joel’s lap, and you can’t help but notice the hard bulge pressing against his jeans—you have to fight the urge to abandon everything and just beg him to take you to his room and do whatever he wants with you.

Okay. You take a slow, steadying breath to calm your racing heart. Joel’s hand settles around your ankle, his thumb brushing the bone there, and that small point of contact anchors you.

The dress you’re wearing is short, so it only takes a small tug for the fabric to bunch around your waist. With bare legs, goosebumped skin, and heavy breaths, you hand him the wine bottle.

Joel accepts it without taking his eyes off you.

“I’m not as confident as your porn actresses,” you say, but to your own ears your voice sounds pathetically breathless.

His touch trails up to your shin and back down, his hand wrapping around your left foot. He says:

“If you knew how many times I imagined myself between your legs, you wouldn’t feel insecure right now.”

Your breasts ache against the thin fabric of your dress as you spread your legs. You slide your hand into your panties, and Joel doesn’t look directly at it—he watches your face instead. He studies your reaction when your lips part at the feeling of your fingers touching the sensitive, wet spot between your thighs.

The knowledge that he’s wanted this just as badly as you makes you bolder.

You tilt your head back, resting it against the car window, and look at the ceiling while you speed up your fingers. Everything feels so sensitive that you have to bite your lower lip to keep any sound from escaping.

“Fuck...” Joel murmurs, his touch sliding up your thigh. “I can hear how wet you are.”

“Give me your hand.”

Joel takes one last sip of wine and sets the bottle on the ground outside the truck before offering his hand to you. You barely manage to meet his eyes as you pull your panties aside and guide his rough fingers between your legs.

His fingers glide easily over your clit, so wet that it’s almost slippery, and the feeling is so good—his fingers are larger, different textured than your own—and he lets you use them like a toy.

Joel’s gaze finally drops to where your bodies meet. With his free hand, he palms himself through his jeans, starting to rub.

It’s too much for your mind to process.

You squeeze your eyes shut again, using both your hands to guide his and spreading your legs wider. You have to breathe through parted lips to stop yourself from moaning as he rubs that almost painfully sensitive spot over and over.

“Does it feel good using my fingers like that?” he asks, voice hoarse. You nod. “Then let me fuck you with them.”

You whisper your agreement, guiding his fingers lower after making sure they’re slick enough. You press down gently, and his middle finger sinks inside you with a wet sound.

“Joel…”

“Hearing you moan like that and it’s not even my cock yet,” he mutters, fucking you slowly with his middle finger. “Let me add another one.”

You nod. He adds another finger, and you barely manage to hold in the moan, especially when he starts moving them in a slow, delicious rhythm, dragging the strokes out rather than speeding up.

It all happens so fast. One second Joel is pulling you lower, sliding your ass almost onto the console, and the next, he’s bending down and putting his mouth on you—his tongue tracing a quick, hot path from your entrance to your clit.

You clap a hand over your mouth and grab his hair with the other, the graying strands slipping through your fingers. The position can’t be comfortable for him, half off the driver’s seat and bent over you, but he doesn’t seem to care. His lips close over your clit, sucking and licking, while his fingers keep fucking you. His beard scrapes the sensitive skin of your thighs and the slick heat between your legs—and somehow, that only makes you hotter.

You tug his hair harder, pulling him closer into you, and you swear he’s smiling against you, his mouth opening over your clit.

The third finger teases your entrance, and just that promise is enough—you come with a muffled gasp, both hands buried in Joel’s hair as you ride his face. His beard will definitely leave marks on your skin.

Joel waits patiently until your body stops pulsing around his fingers, even though his occasional licks don’t exactly help. Then he pulls his mouth away and sits back in the driver’s seat, wiping his beard with his hand to clear the mess you left behind.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he grabs you with one hand and, steadying your hips with both, pulls you straight onto his lap.

“Hi,” you whisper, still breathless.

“Hi,” he says back.

“You kiss?”

“What?” He smiles, brushing a lock of hair off your forehead. “You asking if I know how to kiss?”

“I’m asking if you have any rules against it, because I really, really want to kiss you.”

“You do?” His thumb brushes over your lower lip, the crease between his brows soft and nearly invisible. “I’m all yours.”

With that permission, you wrap your arms around his neck and move closer, trying to control your ragged breathing. You keep your eyes locked on his as you kiss his bottom lip, then his top, tracing them with the tip of your tongue, pressing your thumbs under his jaw to coax his mouth open.

You run your tongue across the opening, and Joel fists your hair at the nape of your neck, finally taking the lead and kissing you back.

You’re consumed by the taste of expensive wine, a kiss you’d only ever imagined through a computer screen—and you realize the actresses hadn’t been faking their moans, because when Joel sucks your tongue into his mouth for the first time, the sensation ripples right through the core of you, and you whimper softly into his mouth.

“Take off your panties,” he murmurs against your lips as he trails kisses along your chin, your jaw, and down your neck. You move with him, adapting to the pace and hunger of his kisses.

As he reaches your collarbones, Joel tugs the thin straps of your dress down and pushes the fabric until it bunches at your waist. Your breasts are exposed to the cool garage air—and to his hungry mouth.

“Joel…”

His tongue laps at your nipple, and he grows impatient. He slides a hand between your thighs and yanks your panties down with little care. You hear the lace tear but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when seconds later Joel is maneuvering you onto your knees so he can pull the ruined panties off completely.

Then he balls the fabric in his left hand and brings it to his nose.

It should feel ridiculous—like some cheap porno move—but it doesn’t.

He isn’t doing it for show.

He’s doing it because—

Joel grabs your hair again, keeping you firmly in place, and lifts the panties to your own nose. His mouth hovers at your ear as he says:

“See?” Joel’s lips skim down your neck. You catch the unmistakable scent of your own arousal, and your cheeks burn. “You’ve been dripping wet since the moment you walked into this garage.”

“You’re wrong,” you say, pressing his arm to press the panties harder against your nose. You inhale loud enough for him to hear and murmur, “I’ve been wet since the moment you sat next to me in the backyard.”

Joel looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stuffs the panties into the front pocket of his worn jeans before unbuttoning and pushing them down along with his boxers.

You probably stare at his cock like an idiot, because seeing it on a screen was one thing, but seeing it now—right in front of you, the subtle changes from age only making it better—hits you hard.

“You’re smiling. What, is my dick funny?” Joel asks.

You shake your head.

“Your dick is practically a shrine to me.”

Joel rolls his eyes, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“I’m real fucking close to come just looking at you,” he mutters, and you feel a flicker of disappointment, but it seems to be true, especially given how hard he is.

Joel shifts you into place on his lap, adjusting you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leans back against the seat, partially reclining, and grips his cock with one hand.

“Come here,” he says lowly, pulling you by your thighs. When his thick cock nestles between your legs, you realize what he wants.

You brace yourself on his shoulders, biting your lip to keep any sounds from escaping as you lift onto your knees just enough to start sliding yourself against him.

The slickness between your legs makes it easy—wet and slippery—and Joel groans, tipping his head back against the seat.

God.

He looks huge beneath you, between your thighs, in the way his hands grip your hips and travel along your waist and back up. The rigid heat of him rubs directly over your clit with every glide, and you wrap your hand around the base of his cock to press him even harder against you as you move.

Joel’s hands grip your hips so hard you wonder if you’ll have bruises tomorrow. He glances down between you, where your wetness has coated him, and mutters a filthy curse between his clenched teeth.

“These tits…” he growls, lowering his mouth back to your breasts, drawing you even closer. “Can you come like this?”

You nod, tugging his curls at the nape of his neck, moving faster when he sucks a nipple into his mouth, leaving a trail of wet heat on your skin.

“Turn around,” Joel orders, licking the corner of your mouth. “I want to come on your ass.”

You obey instantly.

He helps you twist around so your knees stay on the seat but your back is pressed against his chest.

Joel runs his cock through your soaked folds, nudging your clit with the head.

He gathers your hair in one hand, pulling it aside so he can kiss the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

“Rub yourself on it,” he says, voice rough. Your only support is the steering wheel in front of you, which you cling to as you rock your hips back and forth, grinding down along his shaft.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me doing exactly what I tell you,” he mutters against your ear.

“I like when you tell me what to do,” you whisper, barely able to form the words with the way that familiar tension is building fast in your stomach.

“Yeah, baby, I can tell by how soaked you are.”

You don’t answer, focusing only on your own pleasure now, shifting so the thick length of him is perfectly aligned against your clit.

Your leg trembles, your mind blanking with the focus on your orgasm, and you have to bite down on your sweaty arm to keep from crying out his name.

“Feels good?” you ask, panting.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” Joel rasps, his hand tightening around your throat just enough to tilt your face toward his so he can kiss your jaw, your cheek. The slick sounds of your bodies are filthy, but it only pushes you closer. “Been holding back this whole time not to fucking come inside that sweet pussy.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come with a silent scream, clinging to the steering wheel, shuddering against him as your orgasm rips through you.

“Get up,” Joel says urgently, and, trembling, you lift yourself on wobbly knees.

He pushes your dress up your back, squeezes your ass—and you know exactly what he wants.

You brace yourself against the steering wheel, arching your back for him, and Joel lets out a rough, desperate sound.

Between heavy breaths, you hear the slick noises of him jerking himself off, and it only takes a few seconds before you feel it—hot spurts of cum hitting your ass, dripping down the backs of your thighs.

After what feels like forever, Joel slaps your ass gently and wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest.

You let yourself collapse into him, feeling his heart pounding just as hard as yours.

You stay there for a moment, quiet, your lips dry when you finally whisper:

“Good wine.”

He laughs.

“Knew you’d like it.”

You close your eyes, tangling your fingers with his over your waist.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to persistent knocking on the door.

Startled, heart racing, you open your eyes. At first, you don’t recognize the room you’re in, but then you feel Joel’s arm draped over your hips and everything from last night comes rushing back.

You two had cleaned up the garage as best you could, wiped down the seats of his truck, and then gone upstairs to his bedroom to shower together. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave, and he asked you to stay, so you texted your parents saying Joel needed you to sleep over (not a lie) because of Sarah, since he had to rush out for an emergency (a complete lie).

“Dad,” Sarah knocks again, and you have to replay last night’s events to make sure Joel actually locked the door before you both passed out. “Daaaad.”

He opens his eyes, still half-asleep, and pulls you closer against him. Sarah knocks again, and Joel grunts softly before calling out:

“Is the house on fire?”

She laughs.

“No, but you must be sick if you’re not up yet. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just got in late last night.”

Quietly, you trace your fingers over his beard. He meets your gaze and catches your hand, kissing your knuckles before hugging you closer, and you’re reminded that you’re both still naked under the covers—every inch of his warm body pressed against yours.

“Hangover?” Sarah asks.

“Sort of.”

“I left you breakfast. The school bus is about to get here.”

You watch his expression soften.

“Thanks, baby girl. Have a good day. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Dad.”

You hear her footsteps fading down the stairs, and you smile at Joel.

“That was so sweet,” you murmur sincerely. “You call her ‘baby girl’.”

“She used to hate it when she was younger, but she gave up fighting me on it,” he says, his voice raspy from sleep, making something in your stomach flip. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you whisper back.

Joel brushes his thumb over your cheek and temple, then asks:

“Do you regret it?” You frown, not understanding right away. He clarifies: “Last night.”

“Of course not. Are you crazy?”

“You fucked a porn actor,” he says conspiratorially.

“An ex–porn actor,” you correct. “And we haven’t even fucked yet. Why would I regret that?”

Joel shrugs.

“Aren’t you the one who hates them?”

“Joooel,” you groan, flopping onto your back. “We already talked about this. I hate the industry. I could never hate you.”

“If you say so.”

You turn your face toward him when you feel his hand sliding over your stomach, your hip, your breast…

“Well, now I have a very subjective perspective for my thesis,” you tease.

Joel smiles, raising an eyebrow.

“Imagine explaining that when someone asks how you gathered your results—you’ll have to say Javier Peña showed you personally.”

You barely manage to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Our little adventure would make a good movie,” you say, but instantly regret it, shaking your head. “Forget it. Just the thought of any image of me out there makes me sick.”

Joel stays silent, but there’s a stupid little smile on his lips as he props himself up on his elbow, lying sideways. His other hand, which was resting on your belly, slides lower. Past your hip, past your thigh, and back up again.

“What’s with that smirk?” you ask.

He licks his bottom lip.

“Remember when you asked me what my favorite kind of movie was?”

That’s the sentence that leads, twenty minutes later, to you lying on your side, your back pressed against Joel’s chest, the morning light streaming through the thick curtains.

He holds you firmly as you reach between your legs, guiding his cock inside you. You almost melt in his arms, feeling the thick veins pulse against your fingers.

“A little more,” Joel murmurs into your ear, sliding an arm under your thigh and adjusting your position to help you take him. You reach behind you, grabbing his hip. Inch by inch, he fills you.

You look down between your legs, watching the way you stretch around him, and it feels like the bed is dissolving under the weight of it.

“Joel.”

“I’m right here, baby,” he says. You see him licking three fingers before reaching down to your clit, just as he starts moving his hips.

The next few days in Lake Placid pass exactly like that.

Some nights, you sneak across your backyard to Joel’s house, and he usually meets you halfway, catching you on the stairs with a kiss before carrying you to bed.

Other times, he sneaks into your house and fucks you on your bedroom floor, because your bed makes too much noise.

You keep working on your thesis and stop watching Javier Peña’s old movies. You don’t need them anymore—not when Joel Miller is texting you saying he needs you in his bed.

On your last few days at home, your parents throw a barbecue. Among the guests are Joel and Sarah.

It’s Joel who finds you in the kitchen as you’re finishing seasoning the potato salad.

He leans against the counter across from you, holding a can of beer. You glance up from the potatoes to meet his gaze, and flashes of last night hit you—when you two had sex in a ridiculous roadside motel because Sarah was having a sleepover with her friends at home.

“And when you go back to New York?” he asks, and you immediately understand what he means.

You shrug.

“I’m not going to pressure you into a long-distance relationship. We don’t have a relationship anyway. And I don’t want a long-distance thing.”

“But I want you.”

You stab a piece of potato with your fork and bring it to his mouth. He accepts it, chewing slowly while waiting for your answer.

“I want you too,” you confess. “But I know you have other priorities.”

“So do you.”

You nod. “So do I.”

Somehow, it feels like a goodbye.

Two months later, back in New York, you type the final period on the last sentence of your thesis.

You stretch your arms over your head like you just won a marathon and then slowly slide to the floor, lying flat on your back like a starfish.

Your spine cracks, your wrists protest after three straight hours of typing, but you can’t wipe the huge, satisfied smile off your face—you’re free.

You grab your phone and text your friends:

“Thesis done. Beer to celebrate?”

You end up doing a full bar crawl, treating it like a birthday or something equally ridiculous.

All it takes is a low-cut top showing off your cleavage, a sweet voice, and the line “Do I get a prize for finishing my thesis?” to score free drinks all night.

You flirt with a few guys, but none of them make you want to drag them home. None of them have a Texas drawl, a graying beard, and the smirk of a retired porn star.

Actually…

You open your chat with Joel.

The last message from him, sent yesterday, is a photo of the same wine bottle you two opened that night in the garage. You had texted back “wish I was there,” and he’d replied with a kiss emoji.

He’d mentioned he was attending some adult film award ceremony as a presenter or something, but he didn’t say where.

He must have been busy all day.

Tonight, you type:

“went out drinking with some friends to celebrate finishing my thesis and can’t stop thinking about you. swear if you were here, i’d be blowing you under one of the bar tables.”

You put your phone away.

You down a tequila shot and laugh when your friend toasts to the end of grad school.

At three in the morning, you still haven’t gotten a reply from Joel.

You call an Uber after making sure your friends are safe, pulling your leather jacket tight around your body. The ride sobers you up just enough to make you crave a whole bottle of water.

That’s exactly what you do when you get home.

You peel off your pleated skirt and jacket, leaving yourself in just a wool turtleneck sweater, and you’re about to jump into the shower when your intercom buzzes.

You glance at the microwave clock: 3:54 AM.

You answer.

“Hello?”

“Delivery from Javier Peña.”

You gasp and immediately buzz him in.

Your heart is already racing as you open your apartment door, standing half-hidden behind it since you’re not wearing any pants.

You practically bounce with anticipation at the same time you convince yourself you’re not dreaming.

When Joel appears at the top of the stairs, it’s like all the blood in your body rushes to your head. He’s wearing glasses and has that stupid, cocky smile, dressed in a black T-shirt with two simple words printed across the front: adult content.

“I can’t believe you’re actually wearing that shirt.”

“The name of the studio that sponsored the awards ceremony,” he says, stopping in front of you.

He smells so good it makes you a little self-conscious about the sweat clinging to your neck from the night out.

“Heard someone finished their thesis,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Figured I should congratulate you properly.”

[mytherapyisreading14]

Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, you really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

-

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

-

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of ​​being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

[starmapz]

what you know - ch17: ghosts || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 22.7k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Two million, seven hundred and eighty seven thousand, four hundred and three. That's how many of those stupid little dots are scattered across Sukuna's aging apartment's popcorn ceiling.

Well, no- it's not. But mindlessly counting from absurd numbers is preventing his stomach from upheaving any more of its contents.

Funny, that he pretends to count the spots on his ceiling, but he can't count how many hours he's been awake, fighting against his own body to get some rest. His back, forehead, and the valleys of his chest and abs are nothing more than pools of sweat, his sheet and blankets long tossed aside in favor of cooling down his perspiring skin.

He groans in pain as his stomach churns, clutching his abdomen as he finds himself breathing deeply in an effort to prevent the inevitable. He can't decide whether the taste of the Everclear from earlier in the night coming back up or the feeling of shame as he’d passed by Uraume sprawled across the couch on the way to the washroom is worse.

He'd had more than enough of their scolding for one night. Is it even still night? He isn't sure anymore. If he twists to look at the clock, he'll be sick.

What's worse is that even as his hair sticks to his forehead, slick with sweat, he thinks he'd do it all over again. There's another bottle barely an arms' length away, tucked in his drawer for the moment he would need it most, the same one he’d contemplated having before Satoru’s frat party months ago. It's one of those party favor bottles, the one meant to be a sampler that's hardly a single shot, but with Everclear, it'll go the distance.

It’s not dependency, it’s just… escape. A cowardly escape.

He doesn’t consider himself to be a coward, but there’s relief that comes with the idea of being one, just this one time. If he can’t fix things and reverse the trial then… Just once, he wants to be allowed to do something for himself, even if it’ll actively make him feel worse afterwards. Still, he wants to forget, until the wounds close and the scars fade and his day-to-day routine isn’t filled with questions.

How could he have done better? What had he missed?

What stage of grief would that put him at, anyway? Three?

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

He wants to say that puts him at the bargaining stage, but in truth he thinks he’s experiencing them all at once in some sort of unfair turmoil. The denial and anger hit months ago, as though he knew from day one that he’d lost, but the bargaining and depression hit hard and fast after the trial, pummeling down whatever was left of him.

The acceptance… That slunk its way into his psyche somewhere along the way, like a parasite he never noticed taking root. He can’t remember when it was that he realized he’d lost and began preparing himself, but it was long before the trial ever even started.

His eyes are heavy lidded as he trails his gaze across the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest weighed down by his stomach churning again.

He groans again, slowly raising an arm to rest over his overheating forehead as he’s reminded of his pounding head. He supposes he can only blame himself for that, Uraume had forced him to drink two full bottles of water before letting him pass out. If they hadn’t, he figures he would be worse off.

As the sun rises and filters through the gap in his curtains, a strip of light casts vertically across his wall, his stomach settles enough that he manages to flip onto his side and get some rest.

He can’t say how long he slept, but it can’t be much later when he’s awoken by the sound of knuckles rhythmically hitting the door. Dazed, he groans as he pushes up onto his elbows, bleakly letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. His shadow is cast over the strip of light at the center of the room, his hair sticking up in every which way.

Rubbing at his dry eyes, he kicks his feet off the edge of the bed, still in yesterday’s clothes. Still half asleep, he can practically see his little brother shuffling from foot to foot with teary eyes just outside his door. Probably another nightmare, Sukuna figures.

That makes it all the more jarring as he opens the door and finds Uraume staring at him. It hits him like a head-on collision and he’s pulled to the present suddenly, reminded of just where his life sits now.

Uraume’s gaze evaluates Sukuna’s well-being before they let out a long sigh. “I made you some coffee.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, his mood soured as reality settles in. He pushes past them, making his way to the old coffee machine sitting atop his counter, the vinyl scratched beneath the machine from the amount of times he’s pulled the machine forward and backwards. He pulls the brewed pot out of place, met with a sudden pain right above his left eye as he reaches for a mug. He squints hard at the onset of a hangover headache, setting the mug down and pouring himself a cup of black coffee.

Turning from the counter, he presses the ball of his palm against his forehead in an attempt to dull the pounding, squinting hard. Rubbing small circles into his skull, he takes a sip of his drink, the familiar bitter taste and caffeine providing clarity to his morning, if it can even still be called that.

Half past one in the afternoon. He supposes that makes sense after his tumultuous night. He doesn’t even think he was at the bar that long, completely plastered before ten o’clock even hit, but his stomach kept him up most of the night.

“Are you ready to talk about last night?” Uraume calmly stands opposite him, arms crossed across their chest with a mostly neutral, albeit slightly unimpressed expression.

“What’s there to talk about?” He grumbles from behind his hand, peeking up at them with one eye still shut.

“I’d like to start with what drove you to order three shots of Everclear within an hour,” they begin pointedly.

He sighs, frustrated. “You know what did.”

Uraume nods slowly, casting their gaze aside in thought. “Right,” they affirm to themself quietly. Moving to the side of the open concept apartment, they pull a chair out from the table, taking a seat and settling their hands in their lap. “Everyone knows now,” they state.

Leaning his hip against the counter, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore,” he grumbles.

“Do you really think that? Have you actually given up?”

Sukuna pauses in thought, rubbing the pad of his thumb above his eye to relieve the pressure of his headache.

Does he really think it’s fruitless? He wants to say no, but is that just the first stage of grief, still? Is he just in denial that there’s nothing he can do? He supposes he doesn’t have a definitive answer to their question, like he wants to believe that he has a chance at turning things around.

But… What else can he do? He’d searched endlessly for incriminating records concerning Kaori. He’d searched the internet tirelessly, he’d been through his records twice, and he’d called enough telecommunications companies to last a lifetime. What’s left? At the end of the day, he thinks it’s little more than a daydream to hope for evidence to show up on his door on a silver platter.

Maybe he’d missed something in his documents? But still. Twice, he’d gone through everything. Kaori had tied every loose end with a bow at the end to really rub it in.

His lack of response is all that Uraume needs for their lips to quirk up into a minute smile. He’s not resolute yet in his acceptance of the loss of his brothers, and that’s enough for them. His spark isn’t out yet.

It’s dim, but it’s there. He may not have it in himself to nurse it back to life, but unbeknownst to Sukuna, he has a support system more than willing to help him bear the weight of his loss, if he’ll just let them in.

But therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?

“Maybe you missed something,” they point out, “when you went through your old files. I can take a look through them with you.”

Sukuna’s attention turns back to Uraume as he considers whether they could be right. He wants to say he’s looked through everything rigorously, but some files are harder to look through than others. Some of them he’s more than willing to admit sting to the very core and he avoided looking at them for too long. Some bring back memories that seem to burn the back of his eyelids, desperate to be seen once more, even when he closes his eyes to them.

He wants to say it can’t hurt to check again, but it hurt to check the first time.

He thought the second time would be easier, but that wasn’t the case either.

Still, the old storage closet filled with bankers’ boxes may have been stacked by Sukuna, but it was Uraume who packed them, all those years ago when Sukuna couldn’t bear to do so. Maybe they’ll see something he didn’t.

“Fine,” he relents, pushing a hand through his knotted and messy hair. It still sticks up in places, a sheen of sweat clinging to each and every strand after his shitty night. His skin is slick with that same sickening feeling and his head pounds with no sign of relent. “Not right now, though,” he grumbles, turning away to lean his elbows on the counter as he hunches over with his head in his hands.

Uraume gets up and pats him on the back, setting a bottle of Advil beside his elbow. He recognizes the telling rattle of the bottle and doesn’t hesitate to pop an extra strength tablet into his mouth, completely forgetting about his coffee as he throws the fridge open and grabs a half finished jug of apple juice- one of Yuji’s favorites- and drinks straight from the jug. He supposes it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Tossing it carelessly back onto a shelf in the fridge, he lets the door shut and throws himself down on the couch face-first. His limbs hang over every side, but his headache calms down the moment he’s laid across the cushions.

Unfortunately for him, Uraume’s always had a tough sort of love.

“Let’s start now,” they push, moving across the open kitchen and living space towards the hall.

“Fuck no,” he groans, muffled by the couch cushion. “Gimme a day or two, christ.”

Uraume grimaces, pushing his feet aside as they turn to take a seat at the end of the couch. They want to push to get it done as quickly as possible given that he has one month since the end of the trial to file for an appeal and it’s already been just over a week, but pushing won’t get anywhere when the throbbing of Sukuna’s head is making him increasingly grumpy.

Grumpy is better than numb, though, by Uraume’s standards.

“Can we talk, then?”

“Whatever.”

Uraume’s unphased by his frustration, settling their hands neatly in their lap as they begin. “Satoru told everyone he felt bad. He didn’t mean to get under your skin like that.”

Sukuna’s silent, staring blankly at the coffee table as he slowly blinks.

“You know, I actually think you two would get along well.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Uraume lets out a breath through their nose, something akin to a chuckle. “Toji?”

“Mm.”

They nod to themself, staring up at the movie shelf beside the TV. It’s usually full, with a little Star Wars Lego tank off to one side and a few bead lizards dangling off the higher shelf. That’s not the case anymore, though. A handful of family movies are missing, and the lizards that used to be scattered across the entire apartment have all been gathered in a pile they can just barely spot atop the shelf, mostly out of view.

He’s also cleaned up the final remains of the tinsel that used to pop up every so often from Christmas, the one that used to hang from the edge of the TV now having finally disappeared.

In fact, contrary to Sukuna’s personal living space, which is a mess- clothing everywhere, empty energy drinks and coffee cups scattered across every surface and a surplus of laundry ready to topple over the basket- the apartment is startlingly clean.

They recognize this pattern in him from when he lost his dad.

Wake up, lay in bed until he’s forced to his feet by an outside force, and find any and every way to keep himself busy, whether that’s chores or work or working out. Back then, that outside force was Yuji and Choso who would keep him on track. Now, Uraume can only pray that work is enough of a driving factor to get him out of that slump.

It’s why they aren’t exactly keen on leaving him to his own devices right now.

Moving along, Uraume says your name, trailing off for a moment before they continue, “you didn’t kiss her, did you?”

He shuffles, pulling his feet out from behind Uraume. “No,” he sighs, sitting upright. “Don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

His chest rises and falls heavily as bile sits sourly at the back of his throat. It tastes of Everclear, strong and repugnant. “I didn’t,” he doubles down, sinking back against the couch as his head rests on the back, his weary gaze plastered to the ceiling.

“Did you want to?”

He doesn’t move his gaze as his hands flail up into a frustrated shrug. “I guess, yeah.”

“Do you have feelings for her?”

Sukuna’s head whips up to look at his friend. “Can you stop? Fuck, I don’t wanna talk about it.” He winces as his head pounds in response to his snappy behavior, like sweet karma. Still, he’s too irritated and exhausted to be willing to apologize right now.

The thing about Uraume is that they don’t take anything Sukuna says to heart, really. They’re used to his outbursts and simply move on without a second thought. Simultaneously, Sukuna knows not to take their bluntness and tough love to heart when they’re a little bit too honest. That’s the dynamic that allows their friendship to work so well and has Sukuna just a little bit more willing to let Uraume in.

It’s sheer stubbornness, on their part. They walk in and take matters into their own hands. It pisses him off sometimes, but it was exactly what he needed back when Uraume caught wind of Sukuna’s situation all those years ago. They walked in and taught him the ins and outs of managing a one-year-old’s diet and baby proofing a new apartment, no matter how adamant he was on shutting them out. They even showed up out of the blue to help him pack up his dad’s old room when he couldn’t bear to.

They were there. They were there, and they found a way to help him manage, and they’re here now. For all his complaining and groaning, he appreciates it. Somewhere deep down, there remains a scared and lost man who’s grateful he isn’t alone.

He is, however, genuinely less grateful that they won’t drop the fucking subject.

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Sukuna.”

“It’s not fucking simple,” he growls, twisting in search of his coffee to find he’d left it on the counter. Huffing, he lets it go, unwilling to risk his head pounding if he attempts to get up.

“Why isn’t it?”

He flashes a snarl at his friend. “It’s just not, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Christ, how old are you?” He hisses in exasperation, letting his head hit the back of the couch with enough force that Uraume winces at the sound. “Stop fuckin’ asking, you’re worse than-”

Yuji.

The words die in the back of his throat, his shoulders slumping as realization crosses his face again.

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Uraume to catch his drift. With a sympathetic smile, they get up and cross the room, grabbing his coffee and handing it to him. It’s not quite as hot as he’d prefer, but it’s better than nothing and it’s helping to settle his stomach a bit more, which still churns every so often.

Uraume rephrases their initial question now that Sukuna has some more caffeine in his system. “You do have feelings for her, don’t you?”

Sukuna’s grip on his mug tightens. He wants so badly to say that it’s the hangover making him feel sick again; that maybe three shots of Everclear is too many (two is perfectly acceptable though, of course), because admitting that he drowned his sorrows is easier than admitting there’s something to be said about the way his heart seems to take a different shape when you’re around.

The piece of himself that you hold has transformed over time, becoming something else that he isn’t quite sure what to do with and it’s easier to push it away. Last night, though, something in the way your eyes shone in the moonlight struck a chord with him. Your eyes gleamed, not with pity or sympathy that Sukuna's tired of receiving, but with care.

All the shit he’s put you through, and you’re still goddamn there. Putting your heart into every single thing you do for him.

The clammy skin of his palms sticks to the mug as the same feeling from last night sits heavy in his stomach.

He stills wants to kiss you. Not to guide you to a bed and chase a night of pleasure before moving on with his life, no, he wants to feel how soft your lips are again. He wants the taste of whatever lip gloss you decide to wear to permeate his tongue and coat his own lips. He wants to keep you tucked tightly to his chest and fend off anything or anyone that dares to take your warmth from him, as though your care is fleeting.

Heat blooms in his chest, rising to his throat. It’s not like bile, it doesn’t taste quite as bitter, just… foreign. He doesn’t think he minds it, though. Like your warmth last night, this offers respite from the onslaught of bad thoughts and guilt that presses down harshly on his lungs and threatens to stop his breaths.

It’s almost a relief, he thinks, to come to terms with the thought that he’s been running from for so long now.

Fuck, he has feelings for you.

And they run deep. They’re ingrained into the way he seeks your company, or the pull at the corner of his lips when you say something so sweet that he can’t help but smile. They’ve taken root in him in such a way that holding your hand and wrapping an arm around you is second nature.

But with that realization comes the tightening of his throat, the undeniable and inevitable feeling that he’s not what you deserve, and you both know that. You don’t see him in the same way as he sees you. Why else would your hands press against his chest last night, pushing him back?

Maybe you’re okay with him seeking comfort in your kindness, but the intimacy in which he held you last night was too much.

It’s sickening, to think he’s only just come to terms with something he thinks he’s known all along and you’ve already slipped through his fingers. How many times does he need to lose everything and start over again before he gets a break?

He remains silent for a long while before his thoughts slip from his lips without a second thought. “Doesn’t matter. She pushed me away.”

Nodding slowly, Uraume shifts to face Sukuna. “I’ll admit, I suppose I don’t know how she feels,” they agree, “but you’ve made it through this much and your friendship stayed intact, is it not worth it to ask?”

The truth is, Sukuna doesn’t know. So many last chances crushed under the weight of his arrogance, what if that’s the final straw? He’s not sure if he can handle that.

Not right now.

There’s too much going on, he’s not willing to drown you in his demons or to start something only to pull back when everything is too much to bear. He knows himself well enough to know that no matter what angle he looks at things, he can’t do that to you.

No matter how hard it would be, he’d rather be just your friend than bring you down with him. He’d rather drown alone than be forced to watch the life leave your eyes as you drown alongside him. It’s easier this way.

“‘M gonna go shower,” he mumbles, deflecting Uraume’s question as he sets his mug on the coffee table.

They grimace as he holds his head while he walks away, but they’ll take any amount of progress when it comes to the grumpy man struggling once again to find his place in the world.

–

It was a relief to hear from Sukuna the morning following the night out, even if it was the driest of updates.

Quite literally. He sent a thumbs up emoji.

Uraume had given you updates on him throughout the night. Maybe even too many, honestly. According to their nearly hourly texts, he’d been up most of the night throwing up, which was… a gross dozen texts to wake up to. It’s not like you didn’t expect it (eight shots, and all), but you still didn’t need that much detail.

Hearing from Sukuna himself made your afternoon just a little bit easier. It also made your study session with Kento infinitely more productive as he helped to guide you through the final few chapters of your textbook, putting you back on track with your most difficult class.

A godsend, that man.

In fact, all of your friends are. The views on Sukuna seem to shift over the course of the weekend too, as you fall into step with Suguru the following Monday on your way to lunch. He’s looking relatively disheveled himself in unusually baggy clothes for him, with his hair down, rather than his signature half-bun. Strands fall in front of his eyes as he gives you a small wave.

“Morning,” he greets you with the easy smile he always manages, pushing his raven hair back out of his face.

“Morning, Suguru! How was your weekend?”

He hums. “I’ve had better,” he chuckles, casting the thought aside. “And you?”

“You and me both,” you sigh. “Everything alright?”

Suguru finds himself chuckling once more. “I’m fine, don’t you worry one bit about me.”

Pouting, a crease forms between your brows as you look up at him. “But-”

He interrupts you with a firm statement of your name, though his tone is playful and scolding. “I’m fine,” he reaffirms. “I’ll admit that I’ve been better, but I’m managing. I have lots of support from people with less on their plates and as much as I appreciate your kindness, I would prefer to see you not join myself and Sukuna in this state,” he chuckles, tired amusement pulling at the corners of his lips as his eyes crinkle at the corners just a bit.

You relent, smiling at him. “Just know that I’m here.”

“I’m well aware. Likewise for you,” he offers. “Speaking of Sukuna, how’s he handling things?”

“I’ll spare you the details from Uraume’s texts, but it sounds like he had a rough night.” You wince at the mere thought of the context from Uraume’s texts. “He hasn’t really been all that chatty otherwise.”

“Understandable,” Suguru acknowledges. “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” you sigh as you follow your friend into the lunch hall. A majority of the group from dinner the other night is there, and you know you’re moments away from being bombarded with questions, which does no favors for your disdain for being at the center of the attention.

Satoru also does you no favors as he practically leaps from his chair to take the empty seat that was once Sukuna’s between you and Uraume. “Hey,” he greets you, genuine sorrow painted across his pale features. He’s not the most genuine person, usually hiding behind comedy to mask his feelings, so the painfully serious look in his striking blue eyes causes you to shrink.

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Listen,” he starts, “I didn’t mean to start shit like that. I didn’t realize he-” he cuts himself off in an effort to keep his voice down to outside groups. The last thing he needs is to also accidentally spread rumors.

“You didn’t know,” you brush him off, keeping your eyes down on your lap as you avoid the curious gazes of onlookers and the rest of your friends. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s kinda his fault,” Toji adds dryly from across the table, his mouse full of food. “I fuckin’ told ya to shut up, man.”

“We were drunk!” Satoru retorts, throwing his hands up. “I thought you were just fucking around!”

Toji just shrugs. “I told ya you’d get along with him just fine if you just shut y’re damn mouth for two seconds.”

“Toji,” Uraume scolds him from across the table.

Satoru turns towards Uraume, clearly seeking answers although Uraume is the least likely to give them. “What even happened with his kids that I got to him so much?”

The air is silent as glances are exchanged between those who know of the lawsuit, and his loss. No one is quite sure what to say to appease the rest of the table, jaws ajar and eyes wide as anyone searches for an explanation.

“Would this have anything to do with the woman I heard him talking legal shit to outside his place the other day?” Atsuya asks, sounding wholly disinterested in the entire matter for someone who has no clue whether he’s airing out his friend’s issues. He chews on a toothpick, glancing between you and Uraume.

“Why were you at Sukuna’s place?” Uraume questions, incredulous.

“Didn’t know it was his,” Atsuya shrugs. “I was seeing someone who lives in the same building. Was gonna say hi, but he seemed busy.”

Uraume just sighs, making an executive call on behalf of Sukuna, which you’re grateful for as it pulls the attention to them, rather than you. Going back to Atsuya’s question, they nod. “Yes, it does. I’m not answering any more questions, though. It’s not your business,” they point out.

Satoru’s questions end there, though he still seems confused as he turns back towards you. “Can you tell him I’m sorry, at least?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“I appreciate you, short stuff.”

You swat his hand away as he tries to use your head as leverage to push himself up from the seat and head back around to his spot between Toji and Suguru. You shoot him a scowl, but he just grins, unphased.

–

You send Sukuna a text that afternoon letting him know that Satoru wants to apologize, but Sukuna’s replies remain dry.

In fact, he shifts his attitude not just within his texts, but even when you see him at work.

There’s no coffee awaiting you, nor does he ask you to accompany him for any of his four coffee runs on Tuesday alone, not to mention his five runs on Thursday. He also brushes you off for lunch both days, choosing instead to hole up in his office with headphones in. You can tell he’s at least going home since he’s in different outfits both days, but… you can’t help but feel as though it’s not doing him any favors to brush everyone off.

He’s doing it again.

So, you confront him by text on Thursday night after work.

6:49 PM You || Kuna?

It takes him a bit to get back to you, but he does. His replies are still as dry as ever, though.

8:01 PM Kuna || yeah

8:03 PM You || You’re pulling away again

Another break in his texts, it takes a bit to hear back from him.

8:29 PM Kuna || yeah.

8:30 PM You || I know things are hard right now, but you can’t push me away every time something goes wrong

You do what you can to express your frustrations, praying he takes it well.

8:34 PM Kuna || what do you want from me

8:34 PM You || I just wanna talk

8:35 PM Kuna || fine

8:35 PM Kuna || uraumes on my ass anyway about going through my files again

8:36 PM Kuna || come over tomorrow after your lecture

Able to finally breathe a sigh of relief, you send him confirmation that you’ll be there, followed by a thank you.

8:38 PM Kuna || mhm

Your day passes quickly and you’re standing at his door in a cute burgundy sweatshirt and a skirt, along with a pair of tights and some brown boots before you know it. Waiting outside Sukuna’s door, you smile as Uraume answers, raising your hand in a small wave.

“Hey,” you greet them as they move aside to let you in. Kicking off your boots, you shoot them a glance. “How’s he doing?”

They shrug. “I don’t think he’s sleeping much. I got here maybe ten minutes ago and he answered the door shirtless, then headed straight to his room and shut the door. He doesn’t seem all there.” They shake their head, running a hand through their white locks.

“Distant?”

Uraume grimaces. “Somewhere between distant and angry,” they shrug. “I don’t think he really wants to do this.”

“Look through the files?”

They nod.

Steeling yourself, you nod solemnly in agreement as Sukuna emerges from his room in a pair of black sweatpants and a black hoodie with an illegible band name on it. He’s freshly showered, hair hanging over his forehead and dripping down the bridge of his nose. He wipes the water with the back of his hand, pausing when he meets your gaze. His lips part and his shoulders tense as though the air’s been sucked from his lungs while his gaze travels the length of your body, but he finally shakes himself from his stupor and clears his throat.

“Storage closet’s this way,” he mutters, ducking his head and trudging away. Not even so much as a hello, just straight to the point. His movements are as empty as his words as his heels drag on the hardwood.

You suppose you’ll have to talk to him later about his frustrating tendency to push everyone away.

He barely waits for you both to make it to his side when he pushes the storage closet door open. It scrapes against the cardboard boxes painstakingly shoved inside, many of them on the verge of falling apart with frayed corners, while others look ready to burst at the seams. They’re all labeled with names, though you can’t tell what’s in them otherwise.

Sukuna pulls down the first few boxes, passing them along to the both of you, who move them into the living room. You shove the coffee table aside, attempting to set the piles of boxes up based on which brother they belong to. Sukuna brings out all the ones labelled for his little brothers, as well as any with his name on them in case they have something incriminating concerning Kaori. Lastly, he pulls down a couple of unmarked boxes that are mostly junk, setting those aside as well just to be sure.

With your hands on your hips, you survey the piles of boxes. “Where should we start?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Wherever. Doesn’t matter.”

You nod, looking him up and down before you move to a stack of boxes. His chest rises and falls heavily, you assume from lifting the boxes, his gaze settling heavily on the sight of them. He frowns at the stacks, the crimson of his eyes swimming with uncertainty. You find yourself lingering a moment too long on the gaunt skin beneath his eyes that denotes just how little he sleeps these days, as if he wasn’t already sleep-deprived before losing his brothers.

Now, the thought haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

You miss the way he’d attempt to hide his smirk when you made a dumb joke and the way he’d snort in amusement when you teased him.

Now, every reaction you get from him is hollow. A ‘whatever’ thrown around here, a ‘fine’ there. He just doesn’t care. He’s going through the motions, surviving, and that’s it. Alive, but not living. It hurts to see him so pained as he carelessly tosses a cover aside on the first box he grabs, labelled with his youngest brother’s name.

The detachment is likely the only way he knows how to handle going through this paperwork again.

As Uraume settles on the other side of the couch, you take a seat opposite them both on the floor, leaning back against the coffee table, and open a box marked ‘Ryomen’ in writing you assume must be Jin’s. It’s proper, albeit a bit bubbly. Teacher writing, easy to read.

Peeking into the box, you take in the contents. A variety of documents and paperwork all piled messily on one side, while seemingly random bits and bobs all fit along the side. You pull out a bandana, some pencils with various city names engraved into the sides, keychains that say ‘#1 Teacher’, and a stack of sports trading cards in rough condition, tied together with a dried elastic band that’s one tap away from crumbling.

Setting them aside, you purse your lips as you find an inhaler. The liquid within, or what’s left of it, sloshes around inside as you tilt it to read the label. Sukuna, Ryomen. Salbutemol, two to four puffs per day. Huh.

“Do you have asthma?”

Sukuna pauses, raising a brow. “No, why?”

As an explanation, you hold the inhaler up over the stacks of boxes between you for him to see.

He clicks his tongue, returning to sorting through paperwork. “Nah, it was a misdiagnosis,” he mutters with a hint of frustration.

“Is that what they gave you that day I drove you to the hospital?” Uraume queries as they squint at the plastic puffer held between your fingers.

Sighing heavily, Sukuna nods. “Yeah.” His exasperation doesn’t waver as he explains, “it was supposed to help with my breathing. Didn’t do shit, though.” You run your thumb over the label, nodding as you set it aside with the rest of the trinkets from the box you’re tackling.

His breathing. Anxiety, you figure. Yeah, you can only guess that an inhaler wouldn’t do much for shortness of breath induced by stress.

All three of you return to silence as the sound of paper flipping fills the air. You pull out the top portion of the haphazard pile of documents before you, flipping through a stack of old resumes, cover letters, and job applications. Nothing really sticks out, so you flip through the bottom portion of the pile before dumping the rest back into the box, setting it all aside.

Dragging the next box labeled with your friend’s name towards yourself, you pop the lid of the box off. This one is more well-organized, and when you leaf through the documents, it’s primarily school documentation. Grades, report cards, attendance records, and odds and ends of projects.

It’s organized by grade, beginning with first and ending with seventh. Although you do your best not to snoop, it’s tough when you need to double-check documents for anything that could help Sukuna’s case.

Also, you’re nosy.

His grades are stellar from the first grade all the way to the seventh, though the last couple of files are a little bit thicker. Most of the extra weight from the file comes from permission slips for field trips, as well as notices of school events like sports rallies and school plays. Most of them don’t seem to have much to do with Sukuna as far as you can tell, but Jin must have kept them anyway. A couple of notices of unexcused absences signed by Sukuna’s father are also tucked within the last two files, though one with a different signature catches your eye.

Kaori Itadori. The first sign of her involvement in Sukuna’s life seems to be grade six, coincidentally lining up with the start of Sukuna’s unexcused absences. It could just be by chance, but you’d wager a guess that there’s a reason behind the change in Sukuna’s behavior. After all, he’d mentioned that he was eleven when Jin introduced her to him.

Still, this box is a bust, so you place the lid back on top of it and push it aside with the other completed boxes.

As you drag the next box over, Uraume holds something out to Sukuna. Hospital documents, it seems. “Is this from when Yuji got that ear infection?”

He squints at the page, adjusting his view to see it better. “Yeah, it was.”

“That was a nightmare,” Uraume comments, though there’s a certain fond timbre to their words.

“Don’t remind me,” Sukuna grunts.

As you peer curiously over at Uraume, who sets the paperwork aside, they direct their attention to you. “Yuji woke up in the middle of the night and woke Sukuna up complaining that his ear hurt,” they explain, “but by the time Sukuna and I got him to the urgent care clinic, he was in tears.”

“More like having a fuckin’ nuclear meltdown,” Sukuna comments, crumpling and tossing aside something from one of the boxes labelled with Choso’s name.

Uraume chuckles, shaking their head. “Yuji got treated almost immediately because he was causing such a disruption.”

“At least the brat never put slime in his ear again,” Sukuna sighs, shoving aside the box he was looking through.

You wince at the mere thought of what a mess that would have been.

“Because he learned his lesson, or because you never bought slime again for him?” Uraume raises a brow with a hint of a smile.

For a fleeting moment, you think even Sukuna smirks, but the moment is gone when you blink. “Never bought it again.”

“Figured,” Uraume chuckles, shaking their head.

You laugh along with them at the thought, able to picture the poor kid sniffling when Sukuna refuses to buy him any more slime. The poor kid’s clearly been a troublemaker since birth.

Your attention returns to the next box, which you’re expecting to be grades eight to twelve, but it’s a box packed full of old printed photos.

The top few are more recent, mostly made up of photos of little baby Yuji with barely a hair on his little head. You pout at the adorable sight, setting it aside as you quietly sift through photos. The top of the box is made up of baby photos of Yuji, and the deeper you go into the box is where childhood photos of Sukuna begin to pop up, along with many of Choso.

“Oh my god,” you gasp as you pull out a photo of Sukuna all dressed up for his father and Kaori’s wedding with a little scowl. “Look,” you gasp, holding it up for Uraume to see.

They grin at the sight, suppressing their laughter as best as they can. “I see you’ve always been grumpy.”

Unimpressed, Sukuna scowls at you. “Focus,” he grumbles, his expression matching the photo in your hand. Mischievously, you hold it up beside his face, your giggles slipping through as you’re unable to hold it in. Sukuna reaches out to swipe it from you, but you pull it back before he can.

Your smile remains in place as you continue to sift through photos. “Do you think any of these photos would be worth bringing up?” You query as you hold up a tall stack you’d set aside, primarily of Sukuna with his little brothers.

Scratching the stubble along his jaw, Sukuna reaches over the boxes between you to take a look at the stack. Halloween, Christmases, nothing that really screams ‘guardian’ as far as he can tell, aside from the few at the end.

Holding his baby brother’s hand as the infant got his vaccinations. Choso on Sukuna’s shoulders at some sort of outdoor fair show so that the little boy can see. Sukuna helping Choso cut some steak off the bone, followed up by Sukuna flashing the photographer a snarl to stop taking pictures. Sukuna hunched over the table, pointing to something in Choso’s homework. Furious Sukuna covered in whatever baby food Yuji had flung at him.

And lastly, the first time Sukuna held Yuji. He’d held Choso too when he was born, but he was an older teen when he held Yuji, and everything seems so much more daunting at that age. You can see that fear in Sukuna’s expression in the photo, too. Having another little brother to look after felt like a world of responsibility given that Kaori couldn’t seem to be bothered with her own motherly duties.

Even back then, Sukuna knew.

Jin had excused her behavior as a part of the experience of postpartum, but Sukuna wasn’t so sure. His father was blind to Kaori’s quiet mistreatment of her children. Hell, he was blind to her quiet mistreatment of himself.

And so, Yuji always felt like a new responsibility.

He just never expected his father to not be there to handle the brunt of it.

With a sharp inhale, Sukuna passes the stack of photos back. “No.”

Your brow knits together with concern at his obvious dismissal as he buries himself back into whatever he was looking through. You exchange a glance with Uraume, silently sharing their worries. Casting the thoughts aside, you plop the photos back in the box and shove it into the pile of completed boxes.

Surely, you think the next box will be grades eight to twelve, but the inside of the box takes you by surprise. You glance at the label on the outside of the box, but Sukuna’s name is crossed out, with nothing to replace it.

Shuffling through the box’s contents, you pull out a variety of old acrylic paints, little figures of dinosaurs and trees, glue sticks, paint brushes, and toybox sand in a little bag. Setting them all aside, you blink at what sits at the bottom of the box. It’s honestly… hard to decipher exactly what it is.

It’s mostly orange, and whatever it is seems to have somewhat imploded. It… might have been one of those old volcano science fair projects at one point? Jin must have kept it, you can’t envision Sukuna wanting to hold onto it.

Shifting the box towards him, you tilt your head. “Is this a volcano?”

Sukuna swallows hard at the sight. “Yeah. It was a project for our school’s Science Fair Day.”

“Oh! Choso’s?”

“Mine. It was a demo of how eruptions preserve life,” he explains blankly, his scowl deepening as he stares down at his lap.

That was the one box he’d intentionally known to skip the last couple of times he’d gone through files, but it slipped his mind this time around. Seeing that project all these years later doesn’t make the memory any less painful.

“Y’r volcano looks great!”

Sukuna grins at Toji. “Thanks! Dad helped me put it together and I painted it,” Sukuna states. He knows it’s just about the most generic project he could have put together, but it allowed him to show off his history knowledge thanks to his dad by talking about volcanic events throughout the years, and he’d get to show off his art, both of which he prefers over science.

Bonus points that it explodes, and what twelve-year-old doesn’t love that?

“Lucky. I did the lemon and potato battery thing, didn’t know what else to do,” the raven-haired boy shrugs. There’s a hint of jealousy in his eyes, but he moves along. “Is Jin comin’?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna help with the eruption,” Sukuna nods, turning to face the baking soda, water, dish soap and vinegar set up along his table in the corner of the school gymnasium.

Other students wander and look around at different projects around them as Toji shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, his emerald gaze focused on the ground. “I hope he looks at mine, too.”

Sukuna doesn’t really understand why Toji’s parents never show up, too young to grasp his friend’s situation, but he does like that his friend gets to spend a lot of time at his house because of it.

It’s only in the later years of their childhood that Sukuna would grow to realize just what it means to have an absent parental figure. Maybe even neglectful, if he’s more honest with himself.

“I’m sure he will,” Sukuna shrugs. He pulls his flip phone from his pocket to check the time. “He’s supposed to be here in ten minutes.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go back to my project!” Toji calls, racing off towards the middle of the gymnasium.

Watching as he practically barrels over a girl in Sukuna’s math class, the pink-haired boy shakes his head and surveys his project. He adjusts a dinosaur at the base of his volcano and shifts on his feet as he waits for his father to arrive.

Jin’s never late. So, five minutes past the time he said he’d be there, Sukuna pulls out his phone to check for calls or messages.

Nothing. It’s probably an accident.

Picking at his nails, Sukuna glances around the gym. The teachers are a couple of rows away from his project, so he still has time.

Once they’re only a row away, Sukuna finds himself searching the entrances every few seconds. He flips his phone open, but there’s still nothing. Pulling his baseball cap off, he pushes his hair back, settling the black cap back on his head.

The teachers only a few tables away when he pulls his phone out to call his dad.

One ring, two, three.

Five.

He gets the answering machine.

“Hey, Dad. Uh- I’m just waiting for you in the gym. Uh- bye.” He hangs up, staring down at the phone screen as though it’ll light up instantly and his dad will apologize and be running through the door, but that’s not the case. He tucks the phone back in his pocket, shifting from side to side.

As the teachers arrive at his table, he searches the entrances quickly. “Uh- my dad’s just late, can I go last?”

It’s not a problem, and they move on to complete the last few rows circling the outside of the gym. His dad has another thirty minutes or so, plenty of time.

As the minutes go by, the gym begins buzzing as it nears time for the teachers to judge the projects and announce a winner. The students get louder as they converse with friends around them, all while Sukuna silently watches the doors. With each second, he feels his shoulders falling. He wants to believe his father will show up, but…

He’s not sure what the feeling bubbling within him is, really. The emotion that rolls within his stomach and tightens his throat. The one that sends his mind reeling as he wonders if this has something to do with his dad’s girlfriend. He can’t say why his thoughts go there first, but maybe it has to do with that feeling he can’t describe, right?

Maybe he should call her.

He flips his phone open again, scrolling through his few contacts until he finds Kaori, calling her as well.

Voicemail.

He calls his dad.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Scowling down at his phone, his eyes are hot and he wipes any evidence of his disappointment away, turning towards his table.

This can’t be any different from that soda and mint experiment, right? So… the baking soda would be the mints, he supposes.

Sucking in a breath, he pours water into the base of his volcano with a bit of dish soap and food coloring, and finally the vinegar. He picks up the diorama to give it a little shake to mix it all, and stands straight as the teachers make their way to him.

One frowns, concerned when Sukuna is still alone, without his father, but Sukuna begins before they can ask any questions. He explains the process behind the preservation of the dinosaurs due to molten lava rock, the ways it solidifies around its victims and forms shells that allow humanity to cast an approximation of what something may have looked like. He points to a poster board standing behind his volcano with examples of such a thing, and goes over moments in history where it’s been recorded.

He doesn’t falter once.

The teachers can’t even tell that he’s wracked with nerves that his volcano won’t erupt as he dumps the baking soda into the volcano. It erupts without a flaw, leaving a trail of orange across the diorama and demonstrating his point by having bumps where the dinosaurs once were.

The teachers all clap, before heading off to discuss each project.

Sukuna’s hardened expression searches for his friend, threading through the sea of bodies when he finds Toji.

“Hey, where’s your dad?”

Sukuna casts a glance back at the entrance. He pulls out his phone in hopes of a missed call, but the screen is still blank. “Dunno.”

Toji’s head tilts, scratching at his neck. “Sorry, Ryo.”

“It’s fine,” he dismisses, although Toji can see through his friend’s thin-lipped neutrality.

For all his stupid antics and the dumb shit Toji pulls his friend into, Toji was forced into maturity at a young age, even if he doesn’t always come across that way. He recognizes the depths of Sukuna’s disappointment more than he’s willing to admit, so he launches into a discussion about how shitty his favorite basketball player has been this season to distract the pink-haired boy.

It works well enough as Sukuna stops obsessively checking his phone and tapping his foot. Although Toji and Sukuna don’t often talk about their home lives, they’re always there for one another. They’re too young to see all of the pieces of the puzzle when it comes to either of their families, but they do understand the quiet agreement to look out for one another.

Someday in the future, Toji would find himself wondering where exactly he went wrong.

Sukuna would find himself wracked with guilt.

But for now, Toji wraps an arm around his friend’s shoulders with a grin as Sukuna cracks a joke about Toji’s terrible taste in basketball teams.

It’s not long before the teachers return to the gymnasium to congratulate the winners. Third place goes to a girl in Sukuna’s math class who did a demonstration on aerodynamics with paper airplanes.

Second place goes to Sukuna, and though his chest swells with pride at the unexpected victory, something else festers within his chest.

He almost wonders if it’s a pity win. A volcano is nothing special, and to him, the history lesson he threw into it is just another day at the Sukuna household. He doesn’t realize the depths of his research and understanding of history, art, and even science.

He grins as Toji shoves his shoulder in congratulations, but even as he jogs to the front to accept the prize, the eyes of students around him feel…

Do they know, too? Do they feel bad, too? His skin itches with the strange crawling feeling those questions leave behind.

First place goes to a girl in Toji’s science class. She’s beyond smart, everyone knows she’ll go far, and her homemade lava lamp proves it.

When Sukuna’s finally allowed to slip away, he ducks through the dispersing crowd back to his table, where he pulls out an old banker’s box to dump everything into. He doesn’t bother to even wipe down the diorama, just tosses it inside along with all the materials and tucks the box and his display under his arm.

He pushes out of the gymnasium, beelining straight for the outdoors.

Rain downpours, hitting the cardboard lid of the box in his hands with a subtle plap! as droplets accelerate around him until it’s pouring. He blinks, his lips parting as he realizes there’s no car waiting to take him home, and the bus route is still a good twenty minute walk from his house.

“Hey, come back to mine.”

The pink-haired boy spins around to find Toji grinning. There’s no sign of pity in his eyes, to Sukuna’s relief.

He fumbles with his project box to pull his phone out one more time before nodding when he finds the screen blank. “Sure,” he relents, pulling the hood of his sweater over his ball cap to prevent it from getting completely drenched and soaking his hair.

It would be two hours later, just after dinner, when Jin would call Sukuna in a panic.

He’ll apologize- eyes red and cheeks puffy- to his child as he explains what happened. An emergency at work, something completely out of his hands. Sukuna still won’t really get it, but he’s old enough to recognize the signs of tears on his father’s face. He’s at that age where things begin to click, and just as they had clicked earlier than usual for Toji, things are beginning to make sense to Sukuna, as well.

He would learn later that there was no emergency at his father’s work, but rather that his girlfriend had chosen Sukuna’s science fair time to reveal something to Jin.

The pregnancy was an accident on both parts. An unexpected baby boy.

The timing to tell Jin, however, was no accident. It was an opportunity to erase Jin’s past, to pull all focus and attention to a chance at a new life and leave behind the old one, should Jin allow it. That’s the thing about Jin, however. He would never, not in a million years. And so despite Jin’s joy, they had fought. The first- and maybe even only- time, to Sukuna’s knowledge.

Unfortunately for the little boy drenched right down to his socks in rain with his head down as he walks away from the Zenin household that night, he isn’t aware of the depths of Kaori’s manipulation in his life. It’s because of her that it won’t be the last time Sukuna is disappointed by her, or even by his father at her beck and call.

“Sukuna?”

Uraume’s staring at him with a raised brow, their arm outstretched. He blinks, pulling a document from their hands.

“Would that help with anything?”

Flipping the file to face him, Sukuna frowns at the contents. Detailed medical records for Kaori, and thus far the only record of her existence aside from one signed absence record. After looking through his documents the first time earlier this year, he’d come to the conclusion that Kaori had scrubbed her files and taken them with her before she’d left, as though she might someday get accused of something by Sukuna.

As though she knew.

“Maybe,” he hums, looking the records over. They’re detailed records of a full exam before Yuji’s birth with not a single thing out of the ordinary that he could potentially use to disprove whatever medical records Sukuna is certain that Kaori forged. Still, they’re from a year prior to the supposed sickness, so can he even be sure that would work? “Dunno if it’s enough.”

You narrow your eyes briefly at him, having noticed just how zoned out he’d seemed for a good few minutes, but he seems fine now. Shaking it from your head, you pull the next box towards you.

The following banker’s box that you find is grades eight to twelve, as you had expected of both previous boxes. This one is packed as full as it can possibly get, nearly bursting at the seams. Grade eight is similar to seven, a couple of unexcused absences, a few unsubmitted projects that Sukuna was allowed to make up, but nothing that stands out and no evidence of Kaori.

Grade nine does stand out. Dozens of notices of unexcused absences, and for whatever reason all of the signatures shift to Kaori’s. His report cards all seem to be missing from this year, as well as most of the evidence of his grades at all. Tucked between a novel study and math worksheet is also a photocopy of an apology letter, handwritten by Sukuna, asking for forgiveness for stealing an answer key for an exam.

You can only guess the lack of evidence of what took place this year means this is the year that Kaori bailed him out, and consequently the year that changed Sukuna’s entire perception of her.

Following the ninth grade, he seemed to pull his grades together with nothing that really stands out or points to Kaori.

Grade twelve tells a story that has your heart sinking.

Excused absences start here. Each one is signed by Jin, but as they progress, the signatures get sloppier- weaker. There’s a document denoting Sukuna becoming a part-time student in order to take care of ‘familial obligations’, and his signature to sign off on dropping an art class in order to have two spare time slots in his schedule.

You cast a glance up at Sukuna, who yawns and rubs the corner of his eye as he squints at something Choso wrote when he was in second grade, the little boy’s writing nearly illegible. Shaking his head, he continues to sift through files with the same devoid expression on his face.

You can’t help but wonder if this really isn’t affecting him, to go back through his siblings’ files like this, or if he’s just bottling up whatever emotions arise from the documents.

Frowning, you turn your attention back to the box. The last thing tucked at the very end of the box is Sukuna’s graduation cap. You pull it out, unflattening it and untangling the golden tassels with a minute smile. It’s clear that Sukuna meant the world to Jin, keeping every last detail from each year.

Sukuna catches sight of his graduation cap out of the corner of his eye, averting his gaze before you can ask any questions about the day. Talking about the time Yuji shoved slime in his ear is one thing, but he can feel his ability to search through documents waning as the day stretches on.

He’d thought he had no tears left to shed and no anger left to yell, but it would seem that isn’t quite the case as each one of Choso’s little worksheets and duotangs with sweet drawings of him and his brothers claws the wounds open once again. It seems as though Sukuna can still bleed.

Sukuna had never really cared for graduation, he’d always reasoned that high school was just that- high school. Grades hardly mattered to anyone but Jin, attendance was a joke, and he’d been adamant that math was a waste of time when instead of understanding the equations properly, he memorized how to program formulas into his calculator and still got high marks.

But Jin cared.

And Sukuna’s not sure he’ll ever forget the proud look on Jin’s face, alone in the crowd, as Sukuna crossed the stage.

“Right here’s great, Ryomen.”

Sukuna leans down to Jin’s eye level, squinting up at the stage. “You can’t see anything from here, Dad.”

“I can figure it out, you go to your seat,” his father insists, but Sukuna just rolls his eyes. Taking a hold of the handles of his father’s wheelchair, he stands up straight and takes a look around, making the executive decision to find a better spot. The venue choice for the ceremony is just about the least wheelchair-accessible option that the school could have chosen, but Sukuna’s positive they just went with the cheapest choice.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, go to your seat,” Jin attempts to shoo his son away, insistent that he can find a spot, but Sukuna knows damn well from the tremble in his fingers and telltale wheezing that today isn’t a good day for his father’s health and he’s just pushing through. Some days are better than others for Jin, and while today isn’t a good one, Sukuna deems that he’ll make it one, if that’s what his father wants. If he wants to watch his son graduate, then he will.

Slowly wheeling his father down an aisle of chairs, he moves him off to the side, out of the way but with a narrow view between the seats that allows Jin to actually see the ceremony. “Better?”

Jin sighs and nods, grateful to his oldest son. He reaches up to adjust his glasses before affixing the camera in his lap to a stabilizer that Sukuna had saved up for to help with the tremor in his hands. His father always loved photos, and Sukuna wouldn’t let his frailty take that from him.

Jin’s beyond proud of the man his son has become. He once worried Sukuna wouldn’t make it through high school when his grades began plummeting as he and Toji often disappeared the moment they were dropped off at school. As soon as no one was looking, they were gone with the wind.

Jin never blamed Toji, though. They were just kids, out doing what kids do best. Having fun and getting in trouble.

“Got it working?” Sukuna asks, leaning down to check the camera’s screen himself.

“All set!” He smiles, his eyes gleaming from behind his glasses. “Go sit,” he shoos his son away.

Sukuna’s gaze evaluates his father’s wellbeing a moment longer, looking over the way his fingers tremble, his slightly labored breathing, and his pale complexion, paired with obvious weight loss. His illness is undeniable, but he looks happy right now, so Sukuna finally nods and takes his assigned seat between a couple of people he scarcely knows who just happen to share last names close to his in the alphabet.

The ceremony is painfully long and Sukuna pays little attention throughout the majority of it. He probably would have stayed home and had his diploma mailed if this wasn’t the single most important event for his father. All month, it was the only thing Sukuna had heard about.

Could be worse, he supposes. At least he isn’t sitting between four sterile white walls with the sickening smell of some sort of pungent cleaner. There’s no rhythmic beeping, no distant sounds of the chatter of nurses. Just a low buzz of excited students and parents. It’s almost comforting knowing that he’s here with his father, rather than where he could be.

Row by row, students rise and cross the stage until it’s Sukuna’s turn. With a quiet sigh, he steps across the stage under bright lights and shakes the principal’s hand, taking the diploma in his opposite hand as he turns to pose for a photo.

His eyes scan the crowd, settling on his father, who has the biggest grin Sukuna’s seen on his face in months. The pink-haired man’s lips quirk at the corner, his shoulders relaxing at the sight as his father’s contagious smile somehow crosses the whole crowd to Sukuna.

For all his complaining, that one sight might have even made this whole ceremony worth it.

Stepping down off the stage, Sukuna returns to his seat, waiting for the ceremony to end with the traditional cap toss.

Sending his cap flying through the air, the graduate slips out of his seat as the ceremony comes to a close. He makes his way to the back of the conference hall where his dad is still seated, eagerly awaiting his oldest son.

“I’m so proud of you, Ryomen,” Jin beams, tears in his eyes as his son returns to his side.

A puff of air leaves Sukuna’s nose, something between a laugh and embarrassment as the tips of his ears warm. “Thanks, Dad.” He rounds the wheelchair to grab its handles, waiting patiently for the room to clear.

“We should find your cap, I want to make one of those graduation frames with the photo and cap.”

“School’s cheap, they rented the caps and gowns. We don’t get to keep ‘em,” Sukuna explains stoically.

Jin contemplates this for a moment as he places his camera within the bag he’d brought along. He pulls his phone out, fiddling with it as he speaks up again. “You know, they probably won’t notice if one is missing.”

Sukuna’s brow raises, a faint smirk on his lips. “You wanna steal something?”

Jin chuckles, a faint cough rocking his frame that causes Sukuna’s smirk to falter. “Let your old man have this.”

With a quiet sigh, Sukuna stares out at the hats littering the area in front of him. “How am I even supposed to tell which one’s mine?” He mutters, staring across the expanse of unmarked hats.

“My son’s got a big head. You’ll know,” Jin teases in such a way that it’s easy to forget anything is wrong in the first place.

Sukuna snorts. “Thanks, Dad.”

Wheeling his father to the edge of the seats where most of the caps litter the floor, he attempts to look for the biggest hat, but they’re all the same size. Jin knows it, too.

As Sukuna steps over the caps, he moves towards his seat, looking in the general direction that he thinks he tossed it. There’s literally no way of knowing, so he picks up a cap and holds it up for his father’s evaluation.

“Too small,” he calls from the edge of the caps.

Sukuna shoots him a look, but there’s amusement swimming in his eyes. With a little huff, he carelessly tosses the cap back into the pile, sifting through the remainder. After a moment, he picks up another one, flipping it only to see the tassels are somewhat mangled. He makes the executive decision to not even show his father that one, instead finding one that seems to have avoided being stepped on while the students all made their way out. He holds it up, satisfied when his father grins.

“That’s the one.”

“Great,” Sukuna chuckles, setting the cap on his dad’s lap as he steps over the remainder of them. Jin tucks it into his bag, his expression morphing to a more pained one as he pulls up his texts afterwards.

It’s not often that the pink-haired young man snoops, especially on his father, but one look at the contact has him immediately reading over his father’s shoulder. It’s not easy with the tremor in JIn’s hands causing the screen to shake, but that won’t stop Sukuna.

From what Sukuna can tell, Jin and Kaori seem to be in an argument about the graduation ceremony. Jin had told Sukuna that Kaori wouldn’t be able to make it due to her work schedule overseas (which is for the better, if you ask the brutish man), but his heart sinks as he sees the truth of what they’re fighting over.

It was never work at all. Kaori just didn’t want to miss an outing with her friends and colleagues.

It’s not like Sukuna cares, but Jin does. In the eight or so months since she left, she hasn’t once returned. Not for birthdays or anniversaries, not for Christmas, and least of all for graduations.

Yuji isn’t even a year old. 

As he reads over Jin’s shoulder, he wonders if the lie about her being unable to make it due to work was something she said to Jin in an effort to cover up the fact that she doesn’t give a flying fuck, or if Jin always knew all along and came up with the lie himself to protect Sukuna. It’s not like he needs the protection, but his father’s always been a kind soul like that.

With a final ‘talk later’ text, Jin sets his phone inside his bag and glances up at Sukuna, who coolly wheels him out to the parking lot, where he proceeds to help him into the small family car.

“How does lunch sound, kiddo?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sukuna mutters as he lifts his father into the passenger seat before rounding to the driver’s side. “And that’s alright. I know we’re short on cash, we can skip the-”

Jin frowns. “You don’t need to worry about that. As soon as my surgery date’s here, I’ll be back to it in no time and your step-mother can help until then.”

From the driver’s seat, Sukuna’s grip on the gear shift tightens. He knows damn well that Kaori has sent the bare minimum as far as money goes, just enough to pretend she cares. Being as kind-hearted as ever, Jin always sees the best in people and of course he believes her.

“Sure, Dad. Where do you wanna go for lunch?”

Sukuna swallows hard, grateful that when he glances back up at you, that the godforsaken cap is out of sight.

He stares down at the slight tremble in his own fingers, as though his own body is mocking him. His jaw clenches at the mere thought as he shoves aside the box he’d almost finished, deeming whatever sits at the bottom to be a waste of his time as he carelessly shoves more documents into the box.

He pulls the next box from the stack with a hardened expression as nothing continues to jump out at him, given that he’s already seen all of this shit.

Time passes in relative silence until Uraume needs to excuse themself to head to their evening plans. Sukuna follows them to the door to chat, though you hear their quiet exchange as Sukuna claims he doesn’t need them to check on him. Still, his friend insists they don’t mind and want to spend time with him.

You honestly expect him to put up a fight to defend his pride, but whether he’s too dejected or too tired, he doesn’t bother, back to sorting boxes before you know it.

Finishing up with the last box with Sukuna’s name on it, you take a look around. “Which one should I take next?” You ask, unsure what’s already been checked.

With a long inhale, Sukuna scans the remaining boxes. “Uh- just take this one,” he nudges a box near his foot. “It’s another one of Choso’s shit.”

You pull it towards yourself, popping the lid off. You pull out a stack of drawings from the top, unable to hold back a bittersweet smile at the drawings made by a very young Choso of what you can only assume is himself, Sukuna, Jin, and Kaori doing a number of fun activities. As you flip through them, your smile falters when Yuji appears, but Kaori disappears from the art altogether.

Sukuna’s expression in the art changes, too. From a neutral one to a frown.

There are no more drawings following one of the four of them around a Christmas tree. You’re grateful, honestly, because you’re not sure you could stomach seeing the way the drawings would shift after Jin disappears, too. Would Choso’s smile turn into a frown?

You don’t want to know.

You set the drawings atop the last box you sorted, alongside a hospital bracelet with any information completely smudged from its surface.

Sukuna glances up as you set a stack aside, the bracelet catching his attention. He blinks, rubbing his eyes. Why had he agreed to look through everything again? He already knew you would all come up short. A few medical records with Kaori’s name on them won’t do much to help his case. What’s he supposed to say? ‘Well, Your Honor, she was fine a year ago’?

Things change in a year. Hell, they can change in an instant. Sukuna knows that all-too-well.

The door shuts behind him as Sukuna turns to hang his keys off of the hook on the wall. Choso’s at a friend’s house, though his father should be around somewhere with Yuji. Sukuna skips every second step on his way up the stairs, heading past the chairlift they’d had installed to allow Jin to remain independent. He peers into his dad’s room, before finding him in Yuji’s nursery.

The kid had almost outgrown it at this point, but his father insisted on waiting until the last moment to swap everything out.

Jin’s not slick with his lies either, unable to hide anything from his keen eldest son. Sukuna knows the real reason is that they aren’t just short on cash, they’re completely and utterly broke. Jin’s relying on the medical leave payments from his work to cover their living expenses, and whatever pitiful amount of money Kaori claims she can spare. It’s not enough to care for the four of them, but he won’t allow Sukuna to drop out of college in order to get a job.

It’s his one and only request from his tattooed son.

Jin doesn’t ask Sukuna to drive him to appointments, or to help him around the house. In fact, if anything, he insists that Sukuna doesn’t help. He continues to take care of Yuji on his own, doing what he can to eliminate work for his oldest, but it doesn’t stop Sukuna from stepping in.

On shaky legs, Jin leans heavily on Yuji’s crib, pulling the child into his arms. It pains Sukuna to watch his father play a balancing game, all the while the baby in his arms is crying.

“I got him,” Sukuna mutters, pulling Yuji from his father’s grip.

“It’s fine, Ryomen, I-” Jin cuts himself off with a sigh, shaking his head as he takes a seat back in his wheelchair.

“Lemme take you guys down to the kitchen.”

Although Jin struggles with his loss of strength and therefore his loss of mobility and overall independence, the kind man struggles the most seeing Sukuna handle so much of the responsibility. He never allows his son to change a diaper or cook, he handles the bulk of the responsibility of having children, but for all of his denial, he’s grateful that his oldest has grown into a smart and capable young man.

It’s easy to see where Sukuna got his prideful independence from when you consider the way he misread his father’s intentions at the time. The young man always assumed that Jin tried to refuse Sukuna’s help out of pride, but that was never the case. From the moment Jin began to need an extra hand, he tried to spare his son of the responsibility not out of pride, but out of love. He always wanted his son to have the opportunity to enjoy the freedom of being a young adult in college.

Still, Sukuna just brings Yuji downstairs without a word, setting him down in a high chair and coming up next for his father.

The process is easy enough when you’re built like Sukuna is. He wheels his father to the stairs and doesn’t bother with the chair lift, opting to carry his dad down to the awaiting second wheelchair to transfer into. From there, he leaves his dad to do his thing, ducking away to his room without another word.

Shutting the door, he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, falling face-first onto his bed.

It’s been a long day. College is a different experience from high school and he needs to put in a lot more effort to apply himself properly and he’s not looking forward to studying for his exam tomorrow. Why did he take geology anyway? There had to be easier credits elsewhere.

Pushing himself back up after taking a breather, he unloads the contents of his backpack onto his desk and settles down with his laptop.

With headphones on over his ears, he stares blankly at his geology textbook as he considers the life choices that led him to learn about sedimentary rocks. He thinks a part of him had expected more of a focus on mountains, or fossils, or… something. Either way, he doesn’t think he likes rocks enough for this.

His brow furrows as he swears he hears something loud and piercing over the sound of his music, which is loud enough as it stands. Pulling his headphones down, he hears Yuji crying, but shrugs it off under the assumption that Jin will handle it.

As a minute goes by and he hears more wails, he pulls his headphones down once more. He hears no movements, no shushing. What the hell?

Huffing, he tosses his headphones down on his desk and makes his way back down the stairs to the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the edge of the tile, blood running cold at the sight of his father on the floor, slumped against the kitchen cabinets. He’s still conscious, clutching his chest, but has no energy to even attempt to soothe Yuji’s cries. His mouth is parted as he focuses on breathing.

“Shit,” Sukuna reaches into his pocket urgently, pulling his phone out and dialing the emergency number. He sets it on the floor on speaker as his wide eyes take in his father’s shallow breaths. His skin is pale with a sickening blue hue, and as Sukuna attempts to adjust him, he groans. “Shit,” Sukuna mutters again as the phone clicks to connect him to an emergency operator.

He runs on autopilot as the emergency operator begins questioning him. The nature of the emergency, his address, his father’s medical history. It comes naturally to him now, but it didn’t always. No matter how many times he’s gone through this cycle, however, it doesn’t get any less terrifying. Even now, the fourth time in five months that he’s called the emergency number, his hands tremble as he attempts to keep his father present and awake while replying to the operator on the other line, all while doing what he can to shush his little brother so that they can hear Sukuna on the phone.

When the ambulance arrives, Sukuna races to the door to let them in, pulling his hungry little brother into his arms as he surveys what his father was doing before he collapsed. There’s some sort of food in the blender, maybe he can just feed that to Yuji and take the kid with him to the hospital.

It’ll have to do.

He races to strap Yuji into his car seat, taking the family car and following closely behind the ambulance. The little boy’s wails only intensify as he grows hungrier, unaware of the goings on around him.

“I know Yu, fuck, gimme a moment, okay?”

Sukuna’s words don’t appease the little boy, who continues to sob. Reaching the hospital parking lot, the brutish man sighs as he parks, the screams of his little brother pounding in his head already. He turns in his seat, grabbing the baby food- or whatever it is- and spoon that he’d shoved into a little bag on his way to the car.

“C’mon, it’s alright,” he grumbles in his best attempt at soothing the toddler when he leans over the center console of the car to attempt to spoon some food into Yuji’s mouth. 

Yuji throws his hands around, knocking the spoon from Sukuna’s hand. The man pulls back, raking his hand aggressively through his hair in frustration.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles to himself, picking it back up and wiping it on his shirt. He can clean it later, it doesn’t matter right now. With a sharp inhale, he scoops up another spoonful of what he can only guess is carrots and pauses before Yuji’s arms can reach out again. “Don’t be a brat,” he mutters, holding it barely out of arms’ reach.

Yuji calms down for a split second, just enough time for Sukuna to propel the spoon through the air towards him. Just before it can reach his mouth, the toddler wails and turns his head, sending the spoon to the floor again.

Sighing heavily, Sukuna twists back into the driver’s seat, head in his hands as he levels himself so as not to take out his frustrations on his baby brother. He isn’t even one year old, Sukuna can’t be upset with him for acting his age. He knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with his current reality.

Sukuna’s head pounds with each sob that tears from the boy’s lips, and after a shaky breath, Sukuna flips again in his seat, composing himself with a frown as he picks the plastic spoon back up, wiping it on his shirt once more with a slight curl of his lip, and tries again. He recalls what his dad likes to do to get Yuji’s attention, raising the tone of his voice as best as he can to mimic his father’s gentle tone.

“Look, Yu,” he holds the spoon out, waiting for the baby to react. Yuji’s cries die down as he curiously stares at his oldest brother, kicking his feet. Sukuna takes the miraculous opportunity to spoon food into the little boy’s mouth, relieved as he eats in spite of his face being drenched in his own tears.

Breathing out a sigh, Sukuna feeds the kid until he begins to rub his eyes and refuse any more, yawning as his eyelids grow heavy. Able to easily get him into a blanket in his arms, Sukuna scoops him out of his seat and finally is able to make it inside, where he’s informed to sit in the waiting area.

He’s been here a handful of times for the same reason once or twice, though he’s sat in this waiting room for other issues more times than he can count. He knows the harsh overhead lights serve a purpose, but he despises the sterile glow they provide. He’d rather sit in the dark if it means he doesn’t need to see the equally terrified and sickly faces plastered across the waiting room around him.

A man with a towel held tightly over his hand, a woman with two crying children hugged tightly to her although she’s barely holding it together herself, a kid around Sukuna’s age, maybe just barely eighteen, asleep under his coat by himself. Different people, all in different stages of their lives, all here with the same shared experience under harsh lighting.

At least the walls are a pale blue, rather than white or eggshell. He wants to think it’s the hospital designer’s way of acknowledging what’s really going on here, like the blue is meant to let everyone down easy. It’s less harsh, more solemn.

He can only pray he isn’t about to be let down as a familiar face makes their way out of the double doors at the front of the room. The attending physician who’s been here the last couple of times this has happened spots Sukuna and makes his way over.

“Hey,” Sukuna greets him, rising from the chair carefully in an effort not to wake Yuji, who’s finally resting quietly in the blanket Sukuna had wrapped him in.

“Hi, Ryomen. Your father’s stable,” the man explains, looking over the records on the clipboard in his hands.

“Thank god,” Sukuna sighs, letting out a breath.

“We do need to discuss something important, though,” the doctor adds, his gaze settling on the page before him.

Sukuna’s chest tightens as he prepares himself.

“Your father’s not responding to his medication anymore. With that being the case, we need to look at surgery now. The original procedure is off the table, we’re looking potentially at a transplant.”

Sukuna’s jaw slacks in disbelief, his back straightening as unease slithers up his spine. His lungs feel as though they’re physically shaking within his chest, squeezing the air straight from him.

“We’ll need to find an urgent donor, so we’ll keep monitoring him here until then, but you need to make the call now whether to proceed, in case he doesn’t wake up before then.”

Sukuna’s eyes shift wildly around the room, searching for something to anchor the way his skin crawls and his heart races. He adjusts his hold on Yuji, hugging the little boy tightly to his chest, though he’s careful not to disturb the baby. “Uh-” his voice breaks before he can begin. He clears his throat, starting again. “I thought the meds were working?”

“They were,” the man affirms. “The human body can change in an instant,” he explains with a shake of his head, offering a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about it.”

Sukuna lets out a shaky breath, staring down at Yuji. “Right.”

The little boy deserves to know his father, and if this is their only change at that, then-

“Do it.”

The physician evaluates Sukuna’s expression as he nods. “I’m glad you’re open to it, though I’d like to go over the risks with you first, transplants aren’t easy on patients or surgeons. In the meantime, you’re welcome to visit him. I’ll meet you in there to discuss potential complications.”

“Thanks,” Sukuna mutters.

“Room three-one-four.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Sukuna passes through the double doors. He hates that he knows his way around like second nature. His dad shouldn’t be going through this to begin with, he’s too young for this shit.

Sukuna, Choso, Yuji, they all are. They’re all too young to sit by their own dad in this state.

He stands at the door to the room, feeling it hit his back and knock him past the frame before he approaches his father. Using his foot, he drags a chair closer to the hospital bed, eyes scanning the man’s pale features, unconscious on the bed. Sukuna keeps Yuji clutched tightly to his chest as he lets out a shaky breath.

Risks, huh?

He knows what that means. He supposes he should see if Choso can get dropped off at the hospital. He should be here.

Just in case.

Sukuna blinks a number of times, moving a hand up to rub his eyes and accidentally sending the paperwork on his lap across the floor. He frowns, reaching down to gather the papers and dump them back into the box he’d pulled them from.

He glances up at you as you sift through a box of mostly Choso’s baby possessions. His first onesie, his first plush, a blanket knitted by one of Kaori’s parents, a baby tooth that you visibly grimace at as it clicks what’s in the little bag you’re holding.

The next sealed bag you grasp is filled with powder that faintly glimmers with pink sparkles. “What’s this?” You query as you notice Sukuna openly staring at the bag as well.

“Tooth Fairy dust.”

Your brow raises as you hold it up to get a better look at it. “Salt and sparkles?”

“Probably,” Sukuna shrugs. “Cho stopped believing pretty quick,” he adds, choosing to omit the fact that it’s because he forgot to replace a tooth with cash.

You frown, tossing it- along with the other contents of the box- back inside and pushing it into the pile of finished boxes. Dusting your hands off with a couple of claps, you peer around, eyes landing on the last box that you think is unfinished. “Can I take that one?”

Sukuna nods, uncaring one way or the other. He just wants to be done with this, at this point. He thought since he’d already been through these files twice that he could steel himself and make it through it, but it hasn’t proven to be that easy. He’d been so sure he’d spilled enough oh his own blood that there was nothing left to bleed, a husk of his former self, but every reopened wound pulls out more from him than he ever thought possible.

You hear him sigh as the silence returns while you both read through your boxes.

The last box is labeled with the youngest Itadori’s name, though when you open it, there’s no drawings, or plushies to be found. It’s filled with paperwork from back to front and side to side. Nothing jumps out at you immediately, so you pull out the stack stuck to the leftmost side and begin sorting through it.

It’s almost all hospital records and paperwork, the whole pile. You quickly flip through what else is in the box, your brow drawn together in confusion. Had Yuji spent a long time in the hospital as a baby? Settling down to get a better look at the documents, you flip the first one open. It seems to be a document printed off the internet with general information on a disease you aren’t familiar with.

Homozygous Familial Hypocholesterolemia. HoFH, for short. Inherited genetically from both parents, and a very rare form of the disease that affects patients from a young age. It influences how the body processes cholesterol and puts those affected at a high risk of heart disease at a young age.

You skim the remainder of the document, lips pursed in confusion as you flip to the next page. Does Yuji have HoFH? You know the document details that it affects kids at a young age, but you would think it would have come up by now.

The next document seems to be the second or third page from some sort of hospital discharge planner with a detailed recovery plan listing a number of prescribed drugs and when to take them in order to prevent heart failure, along with an extremely detailed health and diet plan in order to help the body accept a heart transplant.

Your chest tightens and you check the name on the outside of the box again. It does say Yuji’s name, but you get the feeling these files have nothing to do with him.

Frowning, you quickly flip through paperwork until you find exactly what you’re looking for.

Jin Itadori. HoFH. Heart Disease. Acute Heart Failure. Acute Cellular Rejection.

Your fingers pause on the page as the weight of the loss buried within the box settles in and you frown, sparing a glance up at Sukuna. You delicately and neatly put the paperwork back into a pile, setting it atop the box, and slide it across to him.

“I don’t think I should look through this one,” you tell him softly, your voice low with sympathy.

Attempting to rub the pounding in his head away, Sukuna presses circles into his forehead with the pad of his thumb before looking up at you with a pained sigh. It’s clear that he wants nothing more than for this to be over and it’s getting increasingly difficult to flip through the pages without losing himself in one memory after another, each one tearing away the scabs of old scars.

Dragging his hand down his face, he pulls the box towards himself in exasperation, his eyes skimming the paper you’d placed in a pile atop the box. This is the only box he deems not to check each time, because he knows the contents like the back of his hand. It’s one of the few he’d packed rather than Uraume, over the course of the year that his father had grown ill. The front is shoved full of dumbass brochures on how to handle Heart Disease and transplants, and one of the last things at the very back of the box, poking its corner out, is the obituary he’d been forced to write.

Sukuna’s fingers tapped along the top of the page, his eyes drawn to the photo he’d chosen for the column. Is that what you call an obituary? A column? Makes it sound like some sort of drama piece. He supposes that maybe that’s fitting, given the drama his life had become.

From appointments to unanswered phone calls to lawyers and social workers, followed by funeral arrangements, the most daunting task isn’t even the obituary that he’s struggling with. It’s the baby sound asleep in his little cradle… thing. That, and the kid clinging to his writing arm, watching as Sukuna struggles to figure out how to write an obituary.

Choso’s sitting on his knees in a chair he’s pulled up next to his older brother. Each time he shuffles, he tugs Sukuna’s hoodie, choking him and grating further and further on his nerves.

“Cut it out!” He hisses finally, shooting his little brother a sharp glare.

The little boy looks up at him, his expression entirely unreadable. Sukuna had expected him to be upset at the very least, but he’s just… nothing.

That’s been the case since Jin died.

Pure, unwavering silence.

Sukuna hears the older of his two brothers crying alone at night sometimes, but he doesn’t have it in him to face the kid. He blames himself for a portion of it as it stands, and that only weighs heavier on his conscience. It’s not like lashing out is helping, but his anger towards the world clouds his judgement.

It shouldn’t have happened like this. Sukuna followed every guideline to a T, and made sure his father did too.

So why the hell did his body reject the transplant? It had to be some sort of cruel joke that Sukuna swears he should wake up from any moment now, because this is too much. It’s all too much.

He wrenches his arm out of his little brother’s grip, leaning back in his seat and pushing his hand through his hair. His chest is painfully tight as he captures another glance at his father’s photo. Maybe it’s just the angle, but it feels as though he’s judging Sukuna’s behavior. He’d be disappointed, if he could see what had become of his family, and what had become of Sukuna.

Before Jin had passed, Sukuna had long grown out of his anger towards the world. Jin had labeled it as a ‘rebellious phase’, although Sukuna knows the cause of that ‘phase’ was Kaori. The anger he feels now, it’s not like back then. Sure, he’s always been on the quieter side and not an overly enthusiastic or emotive person, but he wouldn’t have called himself an angry guy. Now, he thinks the label might make sense.

Jin had been so proud of him, even just a couple of months ago when he’d awoken from his heart surgery.

He’d thanked Sukuna for being there for him, and for taking care of the kids. Then, without so much as a break to rest, he’d immediately taken over in caring for them all, again. After the first few weeks, he’d even been able to take some steps on his own. There’d been so much progress, and the whole family’s spirits lifted.

Then, out of nowhere, acute cellular rejection. He’d gotten a fever, and that was it. Sukuna had let Choso say his goodbyes before sending him out of the room. The two Itadori brothers had sat alone on the other side of the wall with the seven-year-old watching his baby brother, while Sukuna held his father’s hand as the light behind his eyes faded.

He turns his gaze back towards Choso, examining the way the little boy quietly sits and stares at the page in front of Sukuna, blank aside from a few scribbled out phrases.

The oldest clenches his jaw.

Choso’s mother should be here. Kaori should fucking be here now. How many more missed calls before Sukuna needs to accept the reality that he’s a guardian to two kids while trying to make his way through college?

It’s not a life he wants, nor one he ever prepared for, and he’ll hold it against his step-mother until the day he croaks. Not just for himself, but for Jin. For his brothers.

With anger festering in his chest, he doesn’t realize how hard he’s pressing the pencil he’d picked back up at some point into the paper until the lead snaps from the pressure. The sound brings him back and he stares at the blank page.

He should just try this again later. Maybe it’ll be easier when Choso’s asleep.

He drops the pencil with a heavy sigh, pushing away from the kitchen table with the heavy scrape of a chair. The sun is setting anyway, he should just make dinner.

He turns to his brother, one hand on the open freezer door. “Chicken fingers?”

No reaction.

“Uh-” he swaps to the pantry. “Veggie soup?”

Nothing.

He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at what’s left of the food from their last shopping trip. “Do you just want cereal, or somethin’?” He shrugs, turning back to the little boy.

No reply, but there’s a shift in his expression.

“Fine,” Sukuna relents, too tired to worry about the fact that his little brother is having cereal for the third dinner in a row.

The little boy slides off the chair, making his way over to Sukuna to be handed a box of Froot Loops and a bowl. His older brother helps to pour the milk before turning on the oven to throw in some spicy chicken pockets for himself. He supposes he can’t judge his little brother when he’s been living off of these for the better part of a week.

He leans back against the counter, watching his little brother silently stare at the multi-colored cheerios in his bowl as they soak up milk.

They’re both shadows of what they once were. Him, and Choso. He knows it’s not fair of him to pull away from the boy, but he’s never been great at managing his emotions, now it’s simply amplified by the situation they’re caught in.

How is he ever meant to take a step in Jin’s shoes when his own barely seemed to fit?

He’s failing his brothers, and he’s failing his father. Hell, he can’t even write an obituary. He’s never been good with words and nothing seems to do his father justice.

His thoughts gnaw at him, even as the oven beeps to let him know it’s preheated, he doesn’t move a muscle, not until Choso has dumped his bowl into the sink and quietly slunk off to his room. It’s then that Sukuna feels everything pressing in on him.

“What am I supposed to do?” He mutters to himself, his eyes hot and watery, as though somewhere his dad might hear him and give him a sign. But this isn’t some sort of fairy tale and he’s hit with the harsh reality that he doesn’t get a happy ending like that.

Sukuna shakes his head as you call his name, bringing him out of his thoughts like a damn life preserver saving him from drowning.

He’s sick of it. Sick and fucking tired of reliving all of these moments, of being forced to recall the way his father deteriorated. Most of all though, he feels shame. Shame, and rage towards himself for how he’d handled everything. His brother only ever seeked comfort from him and what the hell did he do? Shove him off.

For fuck’s sake, he was seven. He didn’t know any better. Probably didn’t even understand what was going on, and Sukuna pushed him away. The guilt eats away at him still, and he wants so badly to go back in time and fix things. The struggle to take care of two kids is one thing, but fuck, he wishes he could go back, erase some of the things he said.

He never meant a word of it. He never meant half of his actions. He was just a kid too, angry at the world with no way to express it.

Yet somehow, they still chose him, didn’t they? Both Yuji and Choso clung to him like their life depended on it, like he’d somehow made their lives better and now more than ever he struggles to see how he could have ever earned that trust, that love from them. Somewhere along the line, they became his world. His family. His anchors.

He wishes he could grab his younger self by the collar and shake some sense into him in order to get him to step up and be the brother those two kids deserve.

He supposes that’s why they’re not with him now, though. He’s never been what they deserve. And as he sees the contents of the final box which have no information regarding Kaori, with very little to work with as new evidence, he thinks that maybe this is just the way things should be.

His jaw tightens, and he scowls as he quickly picks the pile up, opting to shove it forcefully back where it had come from, only for it to get caught on something.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, attempting to shove them in with more force.

Sensing his distress, you shuffle forward on the floor until you’re in front of the box, one hand over his as you gently take the stack from his hands, pulling it back out to adjust it and see what was preventing it from being replaced.

At the bottom of the box is a paper folded neatly into three like a letter ready to be slid into an envelope. You pull it out, setting it aside on one of the boxes you’ve already searched as you neatly tuck the stack of paper back into place.

Catching a glimpse of handwriting on the paper you’ve set aside as the tri-folded paper pops open, Sukuna’s scowl remains in place as he reaches forward to grab it. He slides his thumb along the side of the page, letting the contents of the paper breathe for the first time in four years, unbeknownst to him.

The paper itself is torn from a staff hospital notebook with the facility logo in the corner. It’s lined, with shaky and smudged blue ink spanning the top three quarters of the page. The writing is somewhere between the bubbly and easy-to-read print of a teacher and cursive, though the shakiness of the writer’s hand means it’s no longer as easy to read as it clearly once was.

His eyes scale the length of the page without reading a word for longer than he’d care to admit as he takes in the state of his father’s writing. It’s not hard to deduce when this was written without even reading a word, and that pains him so much that he finds his own hands trembling, afraid to read the text written out before him. He’s not certain that he’s ready to face whatever Jin likely wanted his last words to his eldest son to be.

When he collapsed a month after his operation, when his body rejected his heart, there had been a moment in the hospital that burned itself into Sukuna’s mind. With Yuji in Sukuna’s arms and Choso curled into Jin’s side on the bed, the eldest son had exchanged a look with his father, one that said what they were both thinking.

Jin’s time had become limited. The dour exchange made Sukuna want to get down on his knees and beg for another chance, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Jin looked tired. More tired than Sukuna feels now, and he thinks it was that weariness that told them both that it was time.

Shuffling his hands over the paper, he snaps himself out of his trance. He holds the page taut as his eyes finally settle at the top when he finds some courage.

Ryomen.

I hope by now that you know this, otherwise maybe I haven’t done my job well enough (haha!) but I’m so proud of you. I know how tough the last year has been, but I’m so grateful I got to see you graduate and be there for your first day at college. Thanks for looking after your old man, too. Obviously I made it look easy, but taking care of the three of you is no joke.

Sukuna stiffens, his jaw clenching as he feels pressure build within his chest. A lump forms at the back of his throat as his lip minutely trembles.

You’re a good kid, and I know you’ll nail whatever you put your mind to. If I’m being honest, I was surprised you chose the same major as me, even if I’m proud to see you follow in my footsteps. I think I always expected you to go into art. Maybe I didn’t do a very good job of telling you that I’ll support you no matter what you chose, I just want you to be happy. Or maybe you like history more than I realized! I did make it pretty fun to learn, hey? Maybe I’m a better professor than I thought, haha!

Sukuna’s eyes burn and he blinks, rubbing them with a thumb and forefinger. He stares for a moment down at his hand, wet with warm tears that he can’t feel running down his cheeks, his face otherwise numb from the tension of his grinding teeth.

I wish I could continue to watch the three of you grow. You’re so good with your brothers, it’s always made me happy to see Choso follow you and Toji around. I know I’m supposed to scold you for spray painting around him, but I was just happy to see you including him. Someday, maybe that’ll be Yuji that Choso is including with his friends. Keep an eye on them for me, yeah?

I know you and your step-mom had your fair share of issues, but she told me she’d look out for you. She’s coming back, and she said she’ll make sure there’s space for all three of you until

Sukuna blinks. He flips the page, but the text simply… ends. He inhales shakily as he scans the front of the paper again as though he somehow missed the rest of the letter, but there’s nothing more. Sure, he was nearly at the bottom, but he couldn’t have meant to end it there, right?

You sit with your hands in your lap as you quietly watch Sukuna read the folded paper you’d set aside. You watch as he flips it once, twice, his jaw set with tension and eyes reddened with the streaks of the tears that have run down his cheeks as he searches for something. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he sets the paper aside and drops down to his knees on the floor across from you, beginning to pull documents out of the box, scrutinizing each one.

Your lips purse as his movements grow increasingly urgent, no longer setting the paperwork aside but rather tossing it. Sitting up on your knees, you shuffle towards him, frowning as you gather the paperwork back together into a pile where he’s tossed it aside.

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly, but he’s so caught up in whatever it is that he’s searching for that your words barely register in his mind.

Hospital discharge papers, prescription information, insurance claims, legal documents, that damn obituary that he’s still ashamed of.

It didn’t matter how many times he rewrote it, Sukuna had always been bad with words. There was nothing overtly personal about it, about as generic as an obituary gets, and fuck Jin deserved better than that. His hand trembles as he stares at the paper, unaware of his own strangled gasps as his grip tightens and the paper crinkles.

Attempting to prevent what feels inevitable, you sit up on your knees and attempt to take his hand and grab his attention. Before you can, the obituary slips from between his fingers and he continues digging through the box. His movements grow erratic, tossing paper anywhere in the hopes of finding something that answers the question of what remained to be said.

“Sukuna, stop,” you softly attempt to urge him as you reach for his hands, but he pulls away, intentionally dodging you. His breathing, the tears, his movements, it all grows increasingly manic by the minute, so you try again to reach out. This time, you’re faster. Your hands grip his wrists, gentle but firm as you momentarily halt his movements. “Stop,” you whisper.

“It has to be here, I-” he pauses, but you can tell even he isn’t really sure what he’s saying. “There has to be more.” With that, he pulls himself from your grasp and tosses the remaining neatly stacked paperwork from the box, searching whatever has fallen to the bottom as though there might be another tri-folded paper hidden as well as the first one was.

He sifts through long-dried sticky notes and half-crumpled hospital documentation, continuing to mutter to himself that there has to be more as he ignores every attempt you make to slow his movements and bring him back down to earth. When nothing seems to work and you find your own anxiety bubbling up into your throat at the sight of your friend- hell, the man you love- so broken, you do the only thing you can think of.

“Sukuna, please,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper as your hands settle on his cheeks. They’re warm with his tears in contrast to your cold fingers, and you feel him stiffen under your touch, his movements coming to a halt. His chest rises and falls heavily as his fingers slow and the sticky note he was holding falls from the tips of his fingers. “Please,” you repeat quietly.

With labored breaths, his gaze rises to meet yours, flickering between your eyes as he searches for answers that he won’t find. Not with you, and not within the box. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, it’s then that he breaks. He grits his teeth harder, if that’s even possible, leaning on the edges of the box. He grips the cardboard so hard that one edge nearly collapses under the force of his hand as finally the tears in his eyes fall freely.

He’s deathly quiet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks and gathering along your palms as he blinks and averts his gaze. His face is warm with his frustration, confusion, and unadulterated melancholy, but the worst feeling of it all is chagrin.

If Jin only knew all the way Sukuna would let him down in the future, the brute’s not so sure his father would have written something of the sort.

You give Sukuna time to let everything he’d bottled up out in the open air and catch his breath, swiping away any stray tears with your thumbs as you keep your grip steady, fighting your own shakiness in order to do so. As his breathing evens, you slowly and carefully nudge the box between you off to the side and out of his grasp and shuffle forward. You let your fingers slide back through his hair and pull his face into your shoulder, letting him relax into you as you rake your fingers soothingly through pink strands.

His hands find purchase on your waist for a moment, before his arms slide around you. He pulls you closer, your body slotting against his like you belong, and he feels the slight vibration of your voice as you speak quietly.

“What was on the paper?”

You feel him swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing against your collarbone. “A letter,” he mumbles hoarsely. “From my dad.”

You nod slightly. “What else were you looking for?”

His grip on you tightens. “The letter-” he pauses, sighing against you, “- it’s not done.”

You shift slightly, looking over his head tucked into your shoulder to the letter folded on the couch. “Like, he didn’t finish writing it?”

He shakes his head against you. “It just ends.”

Nodding slowly, you turn your attention back down to Sukuna, who’s hunched forward in such a way that it can’t be comfortable given how much taller he is than you. “Can I read it?”

His chest rises and falls slowly. “Yeah.”

You pull back from him, sliding your hands back through his hair and down his cheeks with a solemn expression as you separate yourself from him to pick up the letter. Taking a seat on the couch, Sukuna plops down beside you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

The feeling you would describe upon reading the letter is wistful. A musing sadness, mixed with a yearning desire for Sukuna to find peace. Ever since he told you of his father’s passing, you’ve sensed that he never really got the opportunity to grieve, to understand, and to forgive himself for the blame he’s clearly taken when no one is at fault.

Jin’s writing dissipates three quarters of the way down the page. There’s more than enough space for him to have continued, but time clearly wasn’t on Jin’s side, and he’d run out of it before he could finish. You can understand why Sukuna so desperately searched for an end to the letter, but seeing it for yourself, you know he won’t find it. You can see in his eyes that he knows that, too.

The letter may not offer any real parting words given that it’s unfinished, but you can only hope that it’ll offer your friend the closure he desperately seeks.

“Your dad seems really nice.”

His head tilts back to look at you as he nods.

“Was he the kind of dad that made a lot of jokes?”

“Constantly,” he mumbles. “Y’know what one of the last things he said to me was?”

You tilt your head at him.

He lets out a short breath through his nose, shaking his head at the mere thought. “He told me he was glad he made it through his book about anti-gravity.”

Your brow furrows momentarily, but when it comes to you, you find yourself with a small, wry, smile. “Because he couldn’t put it down?”

The faintest hint of a quirk pulls at the edge of his lips as he stares at the pile of paper scattered around your feet. “Guess that’s a common one,” he mutters.

You shrug with one shoulder. “My dad’s a connoisseur too.”

Sukuna’s gaze slides to the side as he eyes you through his peripherals. His hair falls forward over his forehead, blocking most of his view of you, but sharp crimson irises peek through the curtain of pink as he examines the gentle and caring look on your face. Raising a hand, he pushes his hair back, tilting his head more towards you as he catches a glimpse of the tired look you seem to be trying hard to hide, probably for his sake.

A pang of guilt tugs at his chest at the realization that everything has been so focused on him that he’s failed to ask about you.

Fuck, he thinks he may even have never asked about you. Surely he must have, but… he can’t think of a particular moment. The shame makes his skin crawl and he damn near wishes he could crawl right out of it in an effort to rid himself of the feeling.

Maybe he can at least right his wrongs now.

So, he tests the water. “What’s…” he pauses, still leaning forward on his knees. “What’s he like? Your dad.”

You blink a couple of times, glancing off to the side in thought. “He works hard. My parents both do. They work hard to make sure I can be here, in school. It’s why my scholarship is so important,” you begin, considering Sukuna’s question. “I guess… he’s a little bit strict, but he’s always been really supportive. Money is really tight, you know? But…” you pause, smiling, “him and my mom work extra hours to make sure I get to go to school. They help with everything the scholarship doesn’t cover.” You smile at the thought, staring down at the letter held within your hands. It’s clear that Sukuna’s dad felt the same way. “Your dad seemed really proud, too.”

You twist the conversation so naturally back to Sukuna, and he blinks as his opportunity to check in on you seems to dwindle, and he isn’t quite sure how to turn things back. Still, he replies. “Yeah. Back then, maybe.”

You frown, eyeing Sukuna’s contemplative scowl. “He’d still be proud, Kuna. I know it.”

Doing his best to brush past the nickname that he’s still struggling to handle, he sighs. “I don’t think he’d be thrilled to know I dropped out, or lost the kids.”

“None of that is your fault,” you point out, holding the letter pointedly towards Sukuna. He glances down at the paper, sitting upright and leaning over to look at it as you hold it out. “Kaori made promises she didn’t keep.”

“Maybe she really was sick.” The defeat in his tone is devastating from someone who holds that woman in the lowest possible regard.

“You don’t mean that.” You know he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. You turn slightly towards him on the couch, your gaze flickering around his reddened eyes and slightly puffy cheeks. “Why do you blame yourself for all of this?”

He doesn’t move for a moment, his brow twitching as his scowl deepens. You wonder briefly if he’s ever even thought about the answer to that question, if maybe it comes from a place of self-loathing so deep-seated that he’s never once stopped to consider it. Your question is quickly extinguished like a flame underwater when he doesn’t so much as waver when he replies.

“I don’t blame myself for his death, or the shit Kaori pulled,” he explains grimly, his eyes darkening a shade as somewhere within him a wall is broken down as he allows himself to be vulnerable with you. Truly, and utterly vulnerable. “I blame myself for the fact that I’m in this damn position to begin with.”

Unsure of the meaning behind his admission, you set a hand on his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure Kaori lied about a lotta shit,” he shrugs, staring ahead blankly at the wall behind the TV. “But everything she said about me was true. I didn’t…” he trails off, harshly raking his hands through his hair. “I didn’t even know Cho was being bullied.”

Frowning, you run your hand up and down his spine as he leans forward on his knees again. His eyes briefly flicker shut, a sense of calm flooding him as you attempt to soothe his nerves.

Sukuna allows himself a moment to bask in the silence. It’s funny, he thinks, how difficult it seems to let someone in, to air out your stress, and yet this is the first time since he lost the kids that his mind isn’t screaming at him. There’s no flood of self-deprecating thoughts or doubts, no ‘what if’s clawing at his throat and pressing down on his chest. It’s just open air and acceptance, because you never judge or pity him.

His eyes flicker back open, the dark circles beneath them more apparent now than ever. “When Dad died, I was so fuckin’ angry at the world,” he shakes his head, “I never meant to, but I took it out on Choso.” He shuffles to put his head in his hands. “I always wonder if I’m the reason he’s so quiet now,” he admits, muffled from behind his hands. “I know I’m all they had, but-” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t make all the doubts any easier.”

You shuffle closer to him, your thigh brushing his as you drape an arm over him in a makeshift hug. Your warmth and weight seems to lighten the pressure in his chest, even if only for a moment. Resting your cheek on his sculpted back, you run your thumb up and down his side softly. “You’re a good brother, Kuna,” you whisper. His muscles ripple beneath you, something you’ve begun to catch onto. “Your dad said so himself.”

He lifts his head from his hands, letting his eyes adjust for a moment before searching for the letter, settled in your lap. He sits upright, careful to let you slide off of his back without disturbing you too much. Slowly, he flattens the letter within his fingers again, listening only to the distant sounds of cars passing by outside the apartment. His eyes slowly move across the page as he takes in the words once more, settling within him with a sense of finality, rather than the anxiety that had threatened to drown him barely fifteen minutes ago.

You’re so good with your brothers.

With a long, deep inhalation, he grips the paper a bit harder.

Keep an eye on them for me, yeah?

Still, he frowns. He’d dropped out of school and lost his brothers. The two things his dad had asked of him. He can feel your eyes on him, examining the way he stares dejectedly at the scribbled words. He can see a question within those pretty irises of yours, held within the way you purse your lips. He answers before you can ask what he’s thinking.

“He asked me to look out for them, and I-” he shakes his head and shrugs, waving his hands through the air pointlessly.

You nod in understanding. “When do you get to visit them?”

Sukuna scoffs. “Today. She cancelled, shocker.”

Fuck. You had hoped that maybe she would prove both you and Sukuna wrong, but that’s clearly not the case.

“Dunno what the hell I’m supposed to do. There’s nothing here,” he gruffs, hopelessly motioning to the pile of paperwork scattered across the floor and within boxes. You know he has a point, there’s nothing here that won’t get the appeal request denied instantly as far as you can tell, but it’s not in your character to just give up.

It’s not who he is, either. But you hold the pieces of yourself close to your heart, while Sukuna’s are scattered across the floor with the paperwork at your feet. You can see it in the way he doubts himself, how he pauses whenever he gets a glimpse of a mirror, and now he’s flinching at the sound of his own nickname.

He’s lost himself.

“That’s not your fault. He wouldn’t blame you. He would see Kaori for who she really is,” you decide, steeling your own resolve as you attempt to take the blame from him and place it with whom it belongs.

He doesn’t reply, staring at the letter as he contemplates where it ends. He can only assume it was written at the hospital bed where his father passed, but how did Sukuna miss the letter? How did it end up in the box? Had he read it years ago and buried it so deeply within his psyche that it came across as new to him? Hollowly, he shakes his head at the mere thought. He’s not sure he could do such a thing. Not when this is the closest thing to closure that he’ll deem to get.

Silence hangs heavily over your heads, but the shared space held between you is comfortable. Your thighs are still pressed together, his bulky bicep brushing yours each time he shuffles. You help bear the weight of his troubles without so much as a peep.

It’s just who you are, and makes you far more fitting of the nickname he has for you, that he’s always thought was a little too sweet coming from him. Maybe it’s been more fitting than he thought all along, though.

“Are you okay, princess?” He asks out of the blue, finally finding the opportunity to ask the question that had been plaguing him for the better part of the last twenty minutes.

You straighten, eyes wide with confusion. “Yeah, why?”

Sitting upright, he tilts his head to get a better look at you. “You’re startin’ to look like me.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to make heads or tails of what he means. “Buff?” You ask lightheartedly.

“No, smartass,” he scoffs. “You wish.” He lets the teasing quip hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Tired.”

“Oh!” You nod slightly, considering where he’s coming from. “Yeah, I guess. I’m fine though, really.”

Sukuna’s no fool, he can tell you’re hiding your emotions. He’s spent the better part of the last four years with a little brother who hides behind silence when he’s upset and in comparison to Choso, you’re easy to read. “C’mon, princess. Your turn,” he offers you the floor, waving his hand through the air as he leans back against the couch.

With pursed lips, you fiddle with your fingers uncertainly. Of course, he is right. You’ve been struggling a lot recently, and Kento’s told you time and time again that your emotions and stress are just as valid as Sukuna’s, even if his issues feel greater, but…

It doesn’t make it easier to admit to someone who you can’t even really say has seemed like himself in months.

“You don’t need to worry about it, Sukuna,” you brush him off, careful to use his full name. He doesn’t seem as bothered by it. His eye does twitch, but that might just be because you’re attempting to deflect.

You do so much for him, you push him to talk, and yet you won’t.

How frustrating.

Okay, so maybe he gets it, now. It is annoying.

“Princess,” he deadpans with an unimpressed curl to his lip. “What’s goin’ on?”

Sighing, you shake your head. “It’s not a big deal, really,” you attempt to brush off his concerns, but he’s staring at you pointedly now. “I just- um- I’m worried about my scholarship,” you admit. “But I’ll figure it out! It’s really not a big deal,” you quickly add before he can chime in.

He scowls in confusion. “What’s happening with your scholarship?” He queries.

“I- um-” you search for an explanation that doesn’t place the blame on him given that you’ve been helping him so much that your study time went to the wayside. “I missed a paper,” you sigh, deciding on something that might spare him a bit of stress. “It’s stupid, I thought it was due Wednesday but it was due Monday and the prof won’t let me make it up,” you shrug. “And now I’m kinda just behind.”

He nods slowly, staring down again at the letter in his lap. He sets it aside on one of the boxes, wrapping a bulky arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze. “If you’ve got a history class to study for, let me know.”

You chuckle. “Not this semester, but thanks, Kuna.”

He inhales sharply, nodding. His arm doesn’t move from its place as the both of you sit there, silently comforted by one another within your shared stress. Within the warmth of his arm, tucked into his side with your head resting on his pec, things don’t feel quite so bad.

That is, until the realization of just how close you really are sets in, and your poor heart begins to race and a pang of pain overtakes the comfort. You do what you can not to make a big deal of it, sighing as you sit back up and pull yourself from his grasp. You tell yourself it’ll be easier this way. It’s better you let yourself down than have him do it again. You’ll heal in due time, but you need to allow yourself the opportunity to do so. You need to separate the comfort you offer him from the confusing signals he sends you.

“I’ll handle this,” you offer in a mutter, looking for anything to create some space between the both of you as you slip down onto the floor and carefully gather the paperwork at your knees.

Sukuna examines you carefully, trying to make sense of where you stand as friends. It’s strange the way the lines seem blurred and one moment he’s certain you share his feelings, but the next moment… He watches the way you push away from him to gather the paper at your knees.

“I’ll help, just… gimme a moment,” he grumbles behind you, making his way to the washroom.

You breathe out a sigh when the door clicks behind him and the sink turns on. You shouldn’t even be thinking about a romantic relationship between all of the issues you’ve already got to deal with.

How are you even meant to think like that when Sukuna can’t bear the sound of the name that you and the kids call him? You scarcely catch a glimpse of the man you’ve grown so fond of over the last few months, the last thing he needs to add to his plate is romance.

Your eyes scan the contents of each of the pages before you as you sweep them up into a pile, heart sinking with the words strewn across each page, and the knowledge that Sukuna would have just barely been an adult as this was all happening. To need to list your own child as an emergency contact when they’re barely an adult is a terrifying thought.

Casting the thoughts aside, you finish gathering the last of the paperwork and shove it as neatly as possible into the box, taking the lid and shutting it before pushing it aside. Only a couple of documents aside from the letter were taken from the boxes, but Sukuna’s right to say they don’t consist of enough evidence to sway a court that’s clearly already under Kaori’s influence to Sukuna’s side.

Frowning, you take a seat on the couch once more, awaiting Sukuna’s return. You can still hear the sink running, so you find your eyes running along the familiar TV stand and shelves before you find your old GameCube tucked aside.

With Sukuna taking as long as he is, you take the opportunity to move the GameCube back to its original spot (conveniently in the center of the floor, of course) and flip open the disc reader, pulling out a Sonic game and popping in your old Animal Crossing game. Taking a seat back on the couch with an indigo controller in-hand, you wait for all the logos to finish crossing the screen before starting your old save file.

You occupy yourself with trying to figure out how to find bugs and catch neat fish once again when you finally hear Sukuna shut the water off and the handle of the door slightly jiggle. When he re-emerges, his hair is slightly damp near his forehead and a single drop of water drips from his chin to the hardwood below.

He takes in the somewhat cleaner living space and nods to you as thanks, taking a seat beside you and draping his arms across the back of the couch. His forearm brushes the back of your head as he blankly stares at the screen, watching as you run up to a little pink bear villager. An exclamation forms over her head as she notices you, before dropping what might be the funniest line Sukuna’s ever seen from a very family friendly game as the little bear proceeds to say ‘woah! You look so weird! And not weird in a hip way, either. More like, “weird” as in “makes me wanna barf.”’

He snorts. “Isn’t this game for kids?”

Giggling, you nod. “It is. They used to be really mean in the old games, though.”

Sukuna hums.

“Here, hold on.” You leave the dialogue with the bear villager, wandering around until you find the character that was your biggest hater when you were, like, seven. You spot the white cat with purple makeup and run over to her. “I spent so many hours as a kid trying to figure out how to get her to leave my town,” you explain.

“They can leave?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, doing little circles around her as you chat. “She made me cry as a kid, so I sent her hate mail-”

“Hold on,” Sukuna’s chest rumbles at the sheer amount of childhood information that one sentence just unloaded onto him. “You and your lil’ Flower character sent hate mail? You cried?”

You laugh harder, subconsciously leaning into him as he slides somewhat towards you. “Yeah, to both. She was really mean and my friend told me that’s how you get them to move away, so I wrote to her every day to tell her I hate her,” you speak through laughter, throwing your head back.

Even Sukuna seems himself for a moment with a tired smile as he chuckles alongside you, comfortably reclining his feet onto the coffee table. “Christ, princess.”

“The hate mail obviously didn’t work,” you add, finally approaching the cat and speaking with her. You can’t say you’re shocked when she says ‘what’s with you!! Get away from me! You smell!!’

Sukuna snorts again, his chest continuing to rumble with laughter. “Dunno. Maybe she’s right.”

Pouting, you shove Sukuna’s chest, but he hardly budges as he snickers at your side. You roll your eyes as you settle back into place, falling into easy conversation about the goal of the game and why you stopped playing as a kid.

For a moment, Sukuna doesn’t feel quite so hollow. As though maybe the piece of him that crumbled when his father passed can be mended with the revelation of the letter, and the piece of him that you keep within your heart is being held in place, just for a brief moment in time.

He finds himself staring at you more intently than usual, a calm, albeit weary look in his eyes. He settles comfortably into the couch, leaning back into the cushions and eyeing the way the green and blue tint of light from the TV illuminates your features and shines within your irises.

When it comes to you, Sukuna knows he’s a fool. He’s messed up so many times that the look of hurt on your face that he caused is something he knows he’ll be living with for a long time, but he feels like a fool now more than ever. He wants to think that maybe you still have feelings for him, he wants to think that maybe it isn’t just him that finds peace with you subtly tucked into his side, and yet…

You always pull away. And he can’t tell if you’re scared, or if you don’t feel the same way at all.

He frowns, staring down at his lap. Is he that much of a coward that he can’t just ask?

He contemplates it, examining the little content smile on your face.

Yeah, he thinks he is.

Yawning, you catch a glimpse of the time on your phone. “I should probably get going,” you say softly, saving the game and quitting. Sukuna grunts quietly, yawning himself. His eyes don’t leave you as you begin gathering your belongings, shrugging a jacket over your shoulders. “What do you think you’re gonna do next?” You query as you pull your keys from your bag.

He shrugs. “Dunno,” he admits quietly. “Guess I’ll talk to my lawyer again,” he sighs, shrugging hopelessly. “I think my only option is to sue her for not lettin’ me see the kids for visitation.”

You frown. It’s not ideal in the slightest, nor is it what any of you want, but at least he isn’t completely giving up. In fact, he seems okay right now. His breathing is deep and even and his jaw isn’t set with tension. There’s even a sliver of the Sukuna you’ve grown to care very deeply for peeking out at you.

“I’ll let you know what the lawyer says. Maybe there’s another way,” he mumbles from where he sits on the couch.

In comparison to the complete and utter defeat he’d been struggling with, this is a positive change. He’s more present than you’ve seen him in ages, and the drive to do right by his brothers has a flame lit beneath it once more, even if it’s not the brightest.

You smile softly. “Sounds good. See you at work Tuesday?”

“Mm. See ya, princess.”

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; i got a little carried away again with this chapter again LOL i hope everyone enjoyed the long chap!! this was such a challenging chapter to write when it came to keeping sukuna in character, while exploring different parts of his life, times when he wasn't quite so angry. the way he's grumbly and tired but still kinda happy at his grad might be one of my fave scenes tbh

i also really enjoyed writing for jin, even if it was just a bit. adding the little pieces of his personality to the letter was such a bittersweet moment as a writer to kinda wrap up a character i've teased so often :') i love these characters sm

anyway, thank you all for sticking with me for my very long and very slow burn LOL, ily guys and i hope you all enjoyed <33

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[eaterofman]

Yandere Coworker Harem x New Hire Reader: A Meeting with the CEO

Follow up to this post

Finally fed up with it all, you decide to leave... but you learn it may not be that easy.

Content Warnings: General creepiness, yanderes, financial manipulation, manipulation, power difference, gaslighting

AN: Holy shit the first part blew up, more so than any post I've ever made on tumblr... ever. Thank y'all, and I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations? Had to ignore a few asks since they were essentially the plot to this part, haha.

As nice as Jake is... it starts to wear on you. The seclusion from your other coworkers, Warren and Jax's constant attention, it all becomes too much. This was the easiest money you've ever made, but it almost felt... condescending in a way. Seriously, you feel like you haven't actually worked in months, just given simple tasks to complete so that Jax could praise you. Otherwise, you felt like you were just eye candy set in a pretty office. No more, you figure. You make up your mind to go back to HR, it's been a long time coming. They either fix it, or you're gone.

With your mind made up, you return to Leon. He'd been so kind before, surely he'd help, right? As you explain your problems to him, he nods and gently smiles. In your distress, you don't notice his hand moving to cover yours, massaging yours comfortingly. You welcome the comforting sensation, overwhelmed to the point of not really considering the implications. You look into his dark eyes as you finish, silently pleading with him for help.

"That really is something. I'm sorry to hear your experience with the company has been so distressing. Tell me, do you have any proof?"

His demeanor seems to shift instantly back to the colder man you remember from your first sight of him. His fingers rubbing gentle circles into your palm shift into a harsher grip.

"Proof? I-I mean, the cameras have probably caught something?"

You'd say there were eyewitnesses, but all of your other coworkers had been avoiding you. You barely even knew their names...

"Unfortunately, our cameras have been malfunctioning lately, I doubt they'd catch anything. Without any actual witnesses, I'm afraid I can't do anything for you."

"How can you say that without even looking? This place is insane- you know what? I'm just quitting. I can't take this anymore."

You try to remove your hand but he keeps it there. His gaze is suddenly ice cold. He lets your hand go after a few moments of tension, fingers lingering before you yank your hand to your chest.

"Ah, you could quit... but I'd really recommend against it. You'd of course have to pay the dues you signed in your contract, as well as any additional fees. I'm not in charge of finances, but my estimate would be somewhere around... 200 thousand or so?"

You gasp, blood running cold. 200 thousand?! You don't remember signing that, but you also don't recall really reading over the contract in your excitement. You try to think of a way out, surely there had to be some sort of loophole-

"Of course, there's always the option of asking the CEO to change your contract, but..."

You'd tuned anything after that out, insisting to meet with the CEO as soon as possible. Which, to your surprise, was almost immediately. Almost like he'd been... waiting for you? Leon himself lead you to the CEO's room, at the very top of the skyscraper your office resided in. As you're let in, you're met with the biggest office you'd ever seen. It composed of the entire top floor of the skyscraper, massive windows encircling the entire ornate office.

You really try to ignore the feeling that you're walking into a trap.

The CEO was patiently waiting for you. Like a king on a throne, he sat in the middle of the room in front of a surprisingly simple desk. You'd heard of the CEO, Kennedy Grey, but you'd never met him in person before. He had an air of sophistication around him, an older gentlemen with salt and pepper hair and a well trimmed beard. His suit was pristine and looked expensive, probably costing more than your entire yearly salary. He smiled, urging the two of you to sit. His eyes glanced over to Leon's, a slight smirk on his face as if the two were in on a joke you weren't.

"So, what brings you two here? I've heard very good things about you from Jax. Things are going well, I presume?"

You fidget, despite his welcoming tone, he felt oddly... menacing. Like you weren't supposed to disagree with him, even if he asked you a question. You begin to explain your issues, but are quickly stopped with a firm look of disapproval when you bring up the idea of leaving the company.

"Now now, we can't have that, can we? With your contract, that wouldn't be a very smart idea, would it?"

Before you can even respond, he simply continues to talk over you.

"No, no it wouldn't. And you've just been such a good worker, we'd just hate to lose you."

"Well, I was actually hoping we could talk about the contract, I just don't think it's fair-" you can barely get your thoughts out as he cuts you off again.

"Unfair? But my dear, you signed it. I'd just hate to get my lawyers involved... they're top of the line, y'know? Besides, you don't actually want to leave, you're just... stressed. What do you need, a paid week off? A bonus for your hard work?"

"No-"

"Well, now that that's done, let's get back to work, shall we? You'll have a bonus on your next pay-"

You've had enough of his condescension and interruptions, it's time for you to interrupt him.

"You know what, I'll take the lawsuit. You people are insane. You can have the money if you want, but I'm out of here."

As you get up, you find you can't. Leon has moved behind you, surprisingly strong arms holding your chair in, preventing you from moving. You look up at him in angered confusion, but he's sharing a look with Kennedy. You once again feel like you're missing an important part of an inside joke again. You try to struggle, but you're stopped as Kennedy interrupts.

"Apartment 101, Evergreen Apartments, right?"

"W-wha-"

"You know, I've been venturing into the rental market recently. Very profitable at the moment. I actually just bought a few buildings in your area, including your little apartment. Such a shame, you know you could do better, right? All you have to do is ask..."

He smiles at you as if this was a normal conversation to him, like he was doing you a favor.

"I guess that makes me your landlord now, if you think about it!" his smile turns colder, eyes crinkling like he's laughing at you, "That being said, I just don't see how you're going to pay for the rent increase without this job. I hate to do it, but it's a necessity, y'know? Cost of living and such."

He waves his hand like it's no big deal, like he isn't playing with your livelihood and threatening you.

"You could move out, of course, but well, word gets around, and I just don't know how the other investors in the area would react to your... history."

You feel dread well up in the pit of your stomach and tears in your eyes. He... has you. What could you even do? Moving out of the city would mean starting over, and that's if you could even find a place and a job to pay for said place, and paying for the lawsuit-

In your panic, you can only whimper, "I just... why? Why me? i don't understand-"

"That's the beauty of it all, you don't have to. All you have to worry about is coming in and doing your job. We'll handle all the rest."

You jump, having almost forgotten Leon was behind you in your panic. You go to open your mouth-

"Wonderful insight, Leon. Now that we're all on the same foot, let's get back to work, shall we?"

You can only numbly nod your head, too overwhelmed to continue fighting.

You're finally allowed to sit up and begin walking towards the door, trying to speed walk out of the huge room that somehow managed to feel claustrophobic. You just wanted out at this point, you needed somewhere to think.

As you step into the elevator, Leon staying behind in the office-thank god-you're interrupted one final time.

"Oh, and I meant what I said. If you ever need any assistance, anything at all, just come to me. All you have to do is ask."

[ladyloveandjustice]

Mental Illness in Anime

I saw someone say Komi Can't Communicate is the only anime they've ever seen that talks about mental illness and that's kinda sad, so for you to not end in the same boat, I've decided to put together an overview of mental illness in anime, what I'd recommend, what comes with caveats, and so on.

It's a little nebulous what "talks about mental illness" means as lots of anime depict characters who are very obviously depressed, traumatized and even suicidal (suicide will be mentioned a lot in this list, so watch out for that), but don't directly name mental illness. It is very stigmatized in Japan, even moreso than many other countries, you don't see much talk about therapy and so on.

However, naturally there are many Japanese people who are mental health advocates, and I found an interview with Makoto Kageyama, a mental health awareness advocate who volunteered at Aokigahara forest. He points out anime he feels deal with mental illness. One we'll cover fully, many of them I haven't watched:

I think the most accurate and positive portrayals I got were actually from Kiriyama Rei (March Comes in Like a Lion), Naruse Jun (The Anthem of the Heart), Miyamura Miyako (ef: A Tale of Memories), Takeya Yuki (School-Live!) and Smile (Ping Pong: The Animation)

I'm super open to suggestions for additions, and might be adding them as reblogs and under the cut.

I'll also be making a post on mental illness in manga if this post does well, which I will link here when I post it.

So I'll start:

Anime that directly discusses mental illness:

March Comes in Like a Lion- not only is the main character one of the most accurate depictions of depression I've ever seen, it's the rare anime that actually talks about counseling, showing a traumatized character attending counseling and slowly getting back on her feet.

Orange--it...certainly is about mental illness, but it's a pretty mixed/problematic one because it seems to be confused by how mental illness works at times. It centers around a character who's suicidally depressed and his friend's efforts to save him after receiving a time travel message about his future suicide. It also does mention offhand that this character was supposed to go to therapy and is skipping out at one point. But yeah, how it handles it is...not always great. It kind of gives an impression that if you try hard enough you can "fix" someone's suicidal depression. With friendship. I guess. You have been warned.

I haven't watched it in a really long time, so it might even be worse than I remember. But I'm including it bc I definitely cried and felt parts of it were very relatable when I saw it way back when. so there's some resonant stuff there.

Monster: Kind of mixed, but it's definitely notable as an anime that not only has a psychiatrist as a major character, but also shows prominent characters going to therapy and getting better. Characters go to him for alcoholism, depression, PTSD (PTSD is not named but yeah it's definitely PTSD). At one point he helps a main character recover some repressed traumatic memories.

What makes it mixed is that while several heroes definitely are mentally ill in some way, the (complex) antagonist of the series also has some sort of mental health condition , and the story is often weirdly muddled about it. At one point they make it out like he has Dissociative Identity Disorder (calling it "split personality") but then he never shows any symptoms of that and it's kind of dropped and not bought up again. He does definitely have repressed traumatic memories though, so maybe that's all they were getting at but said it very badly.

A heroic character that actually seems to have Dissociative Identity Disorder and YMMV in how it's handled and how accurate it is. It's a "the other personality is violent" one, but rather than the other personality being evil, it's. a defense mechanism, and the violence is always in self defense or defense of others..

Sort of names the problem:

My New Boss is Goofy: One of the main characters is recovering from an abusive boss, and definitely has anxiety attacks and flashbacks as a result. This is directly named as "trauma" (though much like in the West where the loan word came from, anime characters use the words to refer to minor things that aren't mental illness too. But in this case it's treated very seriously). At any rate, the entire anime is about others helping the MC slowly recover with his new boss and friends showing immense compassion for his anxiety and other problems. Here's a good article going into it!

Anime that focuses on social anxiety:

I think what stands out about Komi is that it directly says she has a communication disorder, but tons of anime focus on characters with social anxiety, and even state what the problem is directly.

Bocchi the Rock- The girl with the social anxiety is the main character and not the bland self insert guy who has a crush on her?, amazing. it lets her be a mess too? whaaat. Yeah, Bocchi does say directly she has severe social anxiety, and the series is very relatable in how it explores that. There are a lot of gags about it, but in a knowing, sympathetic way. Her recovery is realistically slow, and sometimes she backslides. She talks directly about her social anxiety, using the term.

Tsuritama: MC's social anxiety is so bad he can have panic attacks when people talk to him...the attacks are also represented in this really interesting way where they have water come in to drown him.

My Roommate is a Cat: Man dealing with social anxiety slowly recovers with the help of his cat. It's cute. Here's an article going into it!

Anime that don't namedrop mental illness directly, but really resonates:

Natsume's Book of Friends: I wrote an entire article about how relatable it is to me and my mental illness, how it uses the characters seeing yokai as metaphor for mental ilness at times (Natsume was textually mistreated by so-called guardians who thought he "wasn't right in the head" and his grandmother was often called that too) but also Natsume shows a lot of textual symptoms of trauma (possibly PTSD), depression and so on, and they're explored very poignantly. Here is my article: “The Courage to Speak”: Mental illness and recovery in Natsume’s Book of Friends

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Probably one of the most poignant explorations of what it means to be depressed and traumatized as a teenage girl. Several moments with Utena herself resonate, starting with when she was a child and declares she doesn't want to go on living, Anthy is also...dealing with a lot, and it's powerful how the show goes into it.

Neon Genesis Evangelion-- Many characters in it show symptoms of mental illness. Though it isn't named as depression directly (i think?), but Shinji shows every symptom you can think of, and the director Anno has said that he was extremely depressed while making it and channeled a lot of that into the characters, and we definitely see his mental journey for the better very strongly reflected in the reboot.

Kyousougiga: One of the main characters is suicidally depressed (this one is graphic, because he commits suicide on screen...only it turns out he can't die), and his journey towards becoming okay with living is a focus and was very resonant to me.

She and Her Cat: A short anime about a girl who definitely has depression and how her cat helps her. Rather simplistic ending but it's good otherwise. CW animal death too, but in a very gentle way.

Haibane Renmei: It deals with suicidal depression and other mental health struggles in a pretty intense way, it's touching, but if you have triggers consider looking into it.

Fruits Basket: Truly a cocktail of mental illnesses among the cast. YMMV on how it's handled but some parts really resonate. These articles go into it:

The Always Smiling Girl: How Tohru critiques toxic positivity

“A Man Who Can Experience His Feelings”: Fruits Basket, toxic masculinity, and mental health

Colorful: This is a submission from Nickyenchilada from the notes of this post: "I would also recommend the movie/novel Colorful. I think YMMV on how it handles the central issue of suicide but I think it does portray how even kids can be thrust into very complex situations without necessary outlets for coping with them."

Vinland Saga: This was an addition I got from a discord conversation, the entire second season explore the main character's PTSD

Yuri on Ice- A conversation on discord reminded me that a lot of people read Yuri as having an anxiety disorder, which I can totally see!

A Silent Voice- a submission from @boku-no-anime-phase who says: "I think it deserves its own shout out! This movie is nuanced, gentle, beautifully told and brimming with hope. I love the fact that just like in real life, things don't resolve particularly easily; but the characters make important progress that's rewarding to watch. TW for suicide discussion, ideation and attempt".

Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai - From boku-no-anime-phase who says: "YMMV but there's an arc that deals with bullying and memory loss where a character who deals with those things is supported and encouraged through it".

My Happy Marriage - From boku-no-anime-phase who says: "also YMMV but I think there were some lovely moments in this where you can see Miyo beginning to heal from her trauma and abuse, and learn to trust."

Anime Feminist has a whole host of articles on mental health in anime and they're all here. It covers a lot of different anime I don't know about or didn't mention and offers a lot of cool perspectives, so check 'em out! Here's a few that stuck out to me:

Finding Inner Magic: Depression in The Ancient Magus’ Bride

(I don't like this anime's narrative due to the issue with the ending pointed out in this article, but it did have resonant moments of exploring depression).

How Clean Freak! Aoyama-kun compassionately handles mental illness

The Sound of Depression: Liminal spaces, sound design, and Super Cub

From Yandere Girlfriends to Social Anxiety: Handling mental illness in The Future Diary and A Silent Voice

Footnote on Hikikomori in anime:

Any anime that focuses on Hikikomori characters are dealing with characters that are mentally ill, as being so depressed/traumatized/agoraphobic/anxious you can't even leave your room or house is obviously not mentally healthy. But what really matters is how that’s handled and if these issues are explained, as Makoto Kageyama notes:

Usually, the most common issues I’ve seen covered is the “hikikomori phenomena” and light eating disorders. Basically, a bullied character that becomes a recluse out of social anxiety, but… The characters don’t usually get shown correctly, since their issues are not explained properly and basically it ends up with a “Hey, see? People are not that bad, we are your friends!” and “Yay, I have friends, I am cured and I can trust others again!” Which is not the case, because real hikikomori can take a lot of talk and patience to get them out and when they get back to normal society (if they do), they become very wary of others. And ironically, “hikikomori” has also been used as a “moe trait” in anime even though it’s a mental health issue.

One I saw a lot of people namedrop as handling it well when I googled around was Welcome to the NHK, though I haven't seen it. But, if you look at Nickyenchilada's take in the comments to this post, it's mentioned as being resonant and it's noted that the recovery is not an easy fix, and it's also noted that several characters in the story are mentally ill.

Bonus list:

Neurodiversity in Anime- (that don't namedrop mental illness directly, but really resonate)

I initially didn't include a neurodiversity section in this post because I honestly could not think of any anime that directly talks about neurodiversity or has a textually neurodivergent character.

(However, there are manga that actually do! I pointed some out in my Mental Illness and Neurodiversity in Manga post I did to complement this one!)

You can also read some articles about neurodiversity in anime here

And the list of characters that can simply be read as neurodivergent is huge, and if I tried to list every popular read it would be endless, plus I don't feel comfortable "diagnosing" any characters with developmental disorders I don't personally have. However, I am willing to take suggestions from others on this one, so here are a few!

Mob Psycho 100 - submitted by boku-no-anime-phase, who says " Mob is autistic and I will die on this hill; the trouble he has with fitting in, relating to others and knowing the right things to do imo stems directly from that."

Princess Jellyfish - submitted by boku-no-anime-phase, who says "I'd be willing to bet that all the women who live in that apartment are neurodivergent. They all have their special interests and they live together in mutual neurodivergent infodumping bliss and it's wonderful. (Unrelated but TW for sexual assault and some transphobia)"

Chihayafuru- submission by @noisepartythumpingmusic who says "It's never noted explicitly, but I firmly believe the main character of Chihayafuru has ADHD, which is perfect for a main character of a sports" josei. As someone who does have ADHD, I personally can totally see that read of Chihaya (the main character)!

Anti-recommendations (as in seems potentially resonant but then drop the ball hard, because if I listed all the anime that's blatantly gross about mental illness from the second the subject comes up we'd be here all day) (Dead Dove Do Not Eat)

Wonder Egg Priority: Starts out like it's going to be a nuanced exploration of recovering from abuse, suicidal depression, and so on, only to end up incredibly stupid and offensive. The writer also believes some stupid and misogynist things about "reasons" girls commit suicide. This article goes into it a little.

Your Lie In April: Depiction of depression and trauma is completely undermined by how all the characters tell the MC he needs to get over it because his talent for piano is more important, and the clumsy, gross take on forgiving your abuser, and so many other things. This article goes into it.

---

And that's it for now! Again. I might be updating this with new stuff based on feedback or me remembering something I missed, through both updates and adding stuff under the cut.

[moodymisty]

Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh! I just saw that your requests were back open and I am SO excited.

I humbly request anything involving our favorite Salamander Sa'kan. I've seen no content for him... and that is a travesty. If I didn't have a million other things planned I would write him myself.

Anyway, I'd love something about him actually being able to save a civilian. A pretty young widow, perhaps? And her baby? (For additional heart-warming cuteness... or angst.) You know I'm never opposed to romance/spiciness, but I'll leave that up to you.

Thanks!

Author's note: Since I have so many smut requests including Vulkan ;3 I decided to make this more fluffy. Relationships: Sa'kan/Fem!Reader Warnings: None really other than brief mentions of an orphaned baby

Sa'kan watched as people hovered around you; Dark red eyes flickered between each any every person with inhuman speed. Each one he could see every movement they made, examined for intent.

They were making sure you- as well as the baby in your arms- were in good health, but he had trouble not reacting to your noticeable discomfort of the whole thing.

He notices your grip on the child tighten and wrinkle the blanket when people get too close. You'd said you only found the child days before the Salamanders cleared the area where you were found, and you've already attached to the baby deeply. Blood had no significance to you.

Armor briefly whirs and clicks in his left ear, caused by the other marine standing beside him. Sa'kan's head turns just slightly to look their way inquisitively just as they open their mouth to speak.

"She could stay with the serfs."

Sa'kan shakes his head at the prospect.

"My quarters is large enough for another cot. It inconveniences me little."

The other Salamander grows a bit stiffer and dark eyes look his directly at him now. The hand that had be resting on his hip dropped down to hang limp.

"She should stay with the serfs. They can help her."

Sa'kan doesn't entirely understand why the idea upsets him so. His brother was right; A gaggle of baseline serfs could help you far more than him.

But then he remembers pulling you from rubble. The way you'd thanked him, hovered so close to him you could feel the heat from his armor- Sa'kan could feel it heavy on his heart like a chain.

He could help you just fine enough on his own. You didn't need a dozen strangers pestering you, of male baselines perusing around the new female aboard.

That particularly makes him tense, especially when he watches you scooch ever so slightly away from someone who had gotten too close for comfort.

Ignoring the commands of his battle brother Sa'kan approaches you and gently puts a hand on your shoulders. Fear tenses you up for a moment, but he sees relief cross your face when you look up and see him. The other baselines quickly begin to back off.

"Oh, it's you. I, I should thank you again. I'll never repay my debt to you for saving us."

Sa'kan doesn't respond to it, but he does acknowledge your heartfelt thanks with a small nod.

"Come with me. I will bring you to a place you can rest."

Your heartbeat is higher than it should be, more than likely stress and nerves. Your lack of sleep however doesn't help, and he can see the dullness in your features. The baby in your arms however has gotten no shortage of rest; Sa'kan had only seen the child awake a couple of times. The age he can't hazard a guess, but they seem quite young. He eyes them curiously, but doesn't gain anything of interest from the sleeping child.

After he begins to walk you quickly scurry to follow him, slightly behind in stride but almost shoulder to shoulder. You don't say a word, but quick glances and Sa'kan sees you examining this unknown place with no small amount of nerves. The only souls in these halls are astartes, and suddenly what little familiarity you had was gone again.

Perhaps his battle brother was right. Though it's too late now to go back on it.

As you trail behind him Sa'kan notes just how much smaller you are than him. His armor makes your body seem more meek than it actually is. You have lost strength over time however; The adrenaline is long gone from your body and it tires, you need the rest before you collapse.

His quarters will suffice for that. The serfs quarters will be too loud and filled with people, he thought you might appreciate somewhere more quiet.

When you enter in front of him, you briefly glance around before getting startled by the sound of the door closing behind him. You don't say anything however, watching him walk right by you with wide eyes. Eventually, you take to sitting on the cot when your movement towards it doesn't get reprimanded. Sa'kan uses the opportunity to speak up when you adjust the dirty blanket wrapped around the baby.

Still asleep. How much of it does a young child need? His brow furrows curiously as he stares, only to see you nervously watching him. He wishes you wouldn't be so nervous about him, but it's understandable to him; Unlike many of his cousins. Underneath the endless respect for the Emperor's Angels, is an innately primal fear of a predator who treads the line between humanity and something else.

"What do you need for the child?" You look down and sigh, pursing your lips.

"A lot. The serfs said they would help me scrounge up what I needed. Food, mostly."

Sa'kan contends to rest his eyes and pick the bits of flesh from his chainsword as time passes, only looking back your way once it's acceptably clean and no longer jammed.

"Can they not eat what is fed to the serfs?"

You shake your head and almost laugh, and his confusion grows.

"Oh, goodness no. They're too young for solid food like that."

With a slight exhale, He ever so slightly smiles at you. Your tension has relaxed significantly.

"Ah. Forgive me on my lack of knowledge."

You laugh a bit more as the child wiggles in their sleep, before firmly shoving half of their hand into their mouth.

Sa'kan recoils a tad- not enough for you to notice. What a weird thing.

"I don't imagine these sorts of things are important for the Emperor's angels to know."

He notices the dirt and mud covering the both of you, and vows to remember to see about getting you a place to clean off.

By the Emperor, he cares too much. It comes too easily. Perhaps his brother was right once again. Salamanders have a bad habit of attaching themselves too deeply and too quickly.

You've fallen asleep on his cot, he instantly notices; Body slumped to the side a bit. Despite the noise of the ship you don't do anything more than shift just a tad. Your fingers are locked together to keep the child firmly in your arms.

The sight stirs something odd in him. There's a tenseness in his upper chest he can't explain.

He'll stay here and tend to his weapons some more until he is needed. With you resting, you need someone to keep an eye on you and the child.

He can fulfill that purpose.

[messenger-of-babel]

Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

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Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

 As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

[cookies-after-dark]

BRO AND W/ THE BEAST SOUNDS

i think they have?? multiple grows?? stay with me now-

there's growls that are mildly threatening, smth small that are used as a warning (think of like,, animals getting nipped during play and they get annoyed; it's a sort of growl that says "hey i didn't like that")

AND THEN there's the growls that are actually threatening, like they're wildly pissed off, and in my head they sound eldritch, like something you would never hear on earthbread, something that awakens primal fear in cookies (altho all growls sound different, they cause the same effect)

i can imagine w/ all the beasts in yandere contexts (altho smilk is always on my mind), when their darling escapes that growl leaves them and the jam (?) of everyone around gets cold. or they catch their darling mid-escape attempt and growl like that, to scare the darling out of ever trying that again (picture smilk growling like that while his darling is almost out of the spire, the darling freezes, and he picks them up by the scruff and drags them back to his bedroom *ahem, nest*, no words needed; as a side note, i think the darling would never expect a sound like that to leave smilk, which is even more terrifying and they remember that truly, at the end of the day, they're dealing w/ an eldritch god)

eldritch beasts my beloveds

additional tags: yanderes, unhealthy relationship dynamics, kidnapping, isolation, predator/prey dynamics, possessiveness

ships: yan!burning spice cookie x reader, yan!mystic flour cookie x reader, yan!shadow milk cookie x reader

The very very few (two) mutuals from my mains/discord that I allow to see this blog will read this and look at me like 😒 because projecting animal linguistics and animal behaviors/socialization onto animal-like characters are like, the only things I ever talk about.

I cannot imagine in any universe that any Beast (that have so far been released) other than Shadow Milknwould ever he angry that you escaped, even the yabdwre versions. Burning Spice Cookie delights in having another chance to hunt you down like a prized buck, and Mystic Flour Cookie is so emotionally balanced and capable that any feelings or urgency or dissatisfaction can be tempered before she brings you back herself.

Burning Spice Cookie, upon seeing your nest empty and your scent stale, would growl in excitement. He'd climb atop the highest ledge and let out a loud bellow; not of rage but a rallying call, a mighty sound that carries for miles. Whereever you may be, it's most likely you hear it, and so does any other spice warrior in the vicnity. Burning Spice Cookie wants to let everyone in his territory know that the hunt is on.

Mystic Flour Cookie is mostly unpreturbed by your escape, she knows you won't be gone for long. Her vocalizations are mostly saved for you anyway; so the most you'll hear is a chuff or a deep sigh as soon as she curls your arms around you to take you home.

Even as yanderes, those two are pretty "well adjusted", for Beasts anyway, that they won't immediately fly off the rail in anger if they find you missing. Surprisingly, yandere Burning Spice Cookie is slower to anger than yandere Shadow Milk Cookie for several reasons (BS isn't nearly as insecure, for one very important reason).

Shadow Milk Cookie, though? It would be a straight up lie to say that Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't enjoy scaring the wits out of you when you step out of line. Either through his illusions or his straight up Eldritch Call that basically says "You little annoying gnat, stop right where you are." in unholy monster language. But make no mistake, it pisses him off when he has to go fetch you again.

He's possessive in a way that feels more personal and targeted than even Burning Spice Cookie, and he's unrelenting in a way that feels more restricting than Mystic Flour Cookie.

Even Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie can't help but back off when they hear Shadow Milk Cookie snarl so dreadfully like that. They don't risk getting in his way to bring you back and discipline you; they know he's got a handle on that.

[hirschkuh-traumvoll]

The shadows' dance

the plot is: alastor hates when somebody's too similar to him, and you appear his reflection with only a few differences. but what is more annoying is that his shadow simply can't leave you alone, more precisely, your shadow. but alastor isn't the only one who's tired of the situation. the ever-absence of your dark double just draws you mad... but perhaps there is something more to it? something hidden in the shadows?

words ≈ 6k

warnings: reader has an intelligent (?) shadow like alastor does, romantic interaction with alastor's shadow

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

There was a thin line between making Alastor like you and hate you. He didn't like those who were too similar to him, feeling as if they stole his individuality or perhaps even feeling that he wasn't as unique as he used to believe, but he didn't like either too different people, his antithesis, ones who didn't understand his adherence to traditions, his devotion to the past times. Such people aroused annoyance in him, because he considered them illiterates and cads.

You were not like many others in hell. In addition to you being rather well-bred and calm you also had a good taste similar to Alastor's but unique at the same time. Both of you were suckers for attention. Desiring to ravish anyone who looked at you, win their adoration, you chose the same strategy for this but realised it differently. If he dressed up in a red and old-fashioned suit, drawing the attention of everyone in a room, you preferred to charm with help of elegance and simplicity. A black long dress was perfect for your thin and high frame, for your light grey skin and black silk hair. You didn't remember how you looked on earth, but every time looking in the mirror now you felt as if you were born like this, and this shadow-like appearance was the only one fitting you. Judging by the glances of the ruby eyes on you, which slowly changed into a stare, Alastor seemed to be engaged. But your lingering looks couldn't stay unnoticed to the Radio Demon as well.

Sometimes the residents of the hotel couldn't believe that there could be another as twisted soul as Alastor, but indeed you finished each other's sentences, laughed at the same grim jokes and stupid puns, enjoyed the same music, bemused others with your rich and terrifying experience of your earthly lives… And this was another way to enchant others' hearts. It was no secret how bewitching Alastor's speech was, and not only his voice and timbre, but also the way he juggled with words easily sliding from his lips. You in reverse had a calm and slow manner of speaking as if made for sharing a secret, and in fact your low voice made your listeners believe the story you were telling was spilt especially for them. And neither Alastor nor you could help but feel a pleasant prickle over your skin when you heard each other's voices.

This all was a balance of your character, what made Alastor like you. You were different enough to be prejudiced against each other, but your outlook was so similar that you simply couldn't help but become friends. Extremes don't meet, but identical people get bored with each other; you and Alastor were the perfect tandem.

So what was stopping both of you from being together?

Your powers.

Alastor didn't forgive any encroachment on his power, but right from the start you were obviously too strong to be turned into his puppet. And though he could imagine you in the role of his ideal partner for a crime or for a night drink, the fact you had the same magical powers as him ruined everything. Alastor couldn't stand that you were similar to him in that. He had been training his shadow magic for years and then you waltzed into hell being already able to control your shadow.

In fact, it was the only similarity connected with conjure, and in actual fact it was the only magical ability of yours. And you even didn't consider it as your power, more like your shadow was alive, able to lead its own shadowlife and all you could do is accept it. But nevertheless the independence of your shadow was exactly what crossed the line of Alastor's temper.

But though your very existence in the hotel naturally bothered Alastor (firstly in the way he could call agreeable but then turned into the unbearable feeling), his own shadow seemed to enjoy the situation. It liked swirling around you and your shadow especially, as if it wanted to befriend. And Alastor couldn't deny that at first he liked it, took it as another proof that you fit each other perfectly. Until his shadow began to spend more time with you than with him. And it didn't just leave for a minute to check if you were fine (what the shadow actually asked for at first, and what Alastor happily agreed to), but disappeared for hours, and once even for the whole day. It never returned to him by itself. Every time Alastor found his umbra in the presence of your dark copy, it returned under his control only being ashamed under the owner's strict gaze. But only to escape the next day. It was insufferable.

But in his arrogance Alastor couldn't see how you worried about your own shadow disappearing more and more recently…

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Since you spilt soup in your bed Niffty forbid you to eat in your quarters, so now you had to come down to eat your lunch. You hated it. It was another day when your shadow slipped away somewhere, and you knew who to blame. Catching your dark self twice and thrice with Alastor's dark silhouette near a new-made bedlam, you came to think that your always obedient shadow now turned into a real troublemaker under bad influence of Alastor’s shadow known for its mischievous character. You only didn’t comprehend why that was happening, and whether it was Alastor’s plan by irritating you, or whether it was only his shadow's decision. And as you were stepping down the maroon carpet without black spot under your feet, anger was boiling in you. You hated to show yourself in front of others without your shadow. People underestimated shadows, you felt vulnerable without yours, just too weird and lonely. After all, a shadow is what follows you wherever you go, your devoted companion, and what in hell Alastor thought of himself, depriving you from it? Or why couldn’t he keep his friend in control?

You took a deep breath to collect yourself before entering the dining room, you couldn't let others see your hurt. But to your surprise the room was empty. Almost empty. Alastor was sitting at the table, back to the doors, eating stew which was still steaming in his bowl and spoon. Seemed like he returned from the overlord meeting earlier than expected.

Approaching the table you looked at the floor. Hm, only a grey silhouette of the chair on the boards. Seemed the demon also lost his companion. You crossed the room and took your usual seat in front of Alastor. A portion of the hot meal was already on your plate, the spicy smell tickled your nose. You sighed, taking a spoon and thanked Alastor, who reservedly nodded back. Sometimes you didn't understand how he could be polite and caring at one moment and then turned into an arrogant egoist… You just wondered what side of these were sincere to you. After all, you wanted to know him. You knew how others thought about you and Alastor: you were a hellish couple. Though you were not even friends, the way you both reflected each other could seem to somebody as if you were long connected. Sometimes even you believed you were. Despite all the differences you knew you were the same in core. And to be honest you were attracted to the parts that differed you. These differences, you knew, were based on the reasons that united you, made you two so resembling. And you longed to know them better. And you hoped that every time when Alastor acted kindly to you was a signal he shared your urge of being closer.

You were eating in silence when suddenly you heard a terrible thunder from the stairs and then a furious female scream. You exchanged surprised glances with Alastor. The enraged trampling accompanied with Spanish curses approached the dining room and in the doorframe stood Vaggie. Her fits on the hips, jaws clenched, the only eye sparkled with anger.

“Who’s gonna explain what the hell?!” At your and Alastor's astonished looks she exhaled heavily, “Your shadows. Why none of you hold them on a leash?” Immediately two oblong dark silhouettes flew above her frame and landed to the feet of their owners. She glared at them angrily and looked back at you two. “So? Who will explain?”

You narrowed your eyes at Alastor, but he reacted first,

“My dear, as soon as I got back to the hotel, my shadow had already left me.” He grinned at you as if it was your fault.

“What?” You exclaimed, “What do you mean by that? I didn't do anything to your shadow. Rather, what did you do to mine?”

He tilted his head and arched his brow at you, “Don't you want to say, dear, that it is me who brought all this bedlam?”

“Hah, of course not!” You threw your hands up and evilly laughed, “You're the one who always says ‘my shadow has escaped me’, so how can I blame you? Only your shadow, the very one you can't control, the very one that always escapes you!”

His right eye nervously twitched, but his grin went wider.

“Do you doubt my authority over my own shadow, dear? That’s ridiculous!” He rolled his eyes, yellow fangs reflected the glim of your own demonic glare.

“The only ridiculous thing is how you blame me and my shadow for all the mess, though you know perfectly that it is your shadow that is the cause of everything!”

Harshly Alastor left his seat and made several long and loud steps to tower over you. With a squeak you moved your chair back and stood up, raised your head to face the demon in front of you. None of you noticed how the shoulders of Alastor's shadow slightly rose and fell as if it was chuckling.

"Hmm. Fair enough!” He tilted his head to you too close but you didn't stir, “Perhaps the fault of the havoc is on my shadow indeed. I don't deny, it likes a little chaos, but this always could be avoid because my shadow’s always in my control and never goes against my will and never did, until you came here!”

“So you blame me?! You blame me that you can't control your shadow?”

“I blame your shadow for this, darling. Yours influenced mine and… It's rather worrisome.” Alastor hissed through his fangs.

You laughed again, “So, big bad overlord can't handle a common sinner?” It was almost funny how Alastor replaced the responsibility of his shadow's behaviour on you. But you had enough. It was him who spoiled your shadow.

The pupils of his eyes turned into dials, antlers immediately increased in size, but before things could go too far Vaggie pointed her spear on his chest, standing in front of you. Your shadows, which all this time were nervously swirling at your feet, shifting their gaze from each other to you and Alastor, now froze.

“Enough! Both of you!” She looked darkly at you and Alastor, who had already returned to his usual form although his hair was still slightly disheveled. Vaggie tapped the weapon against the floor as if declaring the end of your fight, “You can blame each other endlessly, I don't care, I just want you to clear up that mess and never repeat it again. And your squabbles you can keep to yourself, I have absolutely no desire of finding out which of you is more to blame for it's-all- your-shadow's-fault bullshit.” As she stated and gave you both another frown she left the room.

The static noise popped in the air, Alastor's red eyes sharply watched you, but you tried to ignore the gaze. Your umbra still kept your feet, and Alastor's one hid behind his shoulder. Their empty eyes watched each other, but you couldn't understand what was hidden in them. Suddenly Alastor's shadow sharply turned its head to you, giving you its wide grin. You shivered and looked away. Hia umbra was even more irritating and frightening than him. Alastor still didn't utter a word, but so did you, knowing that he would shift blame on you again, so you rolled your eyes and left the room. But two pairs of red and hollow eyes never left you.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

You rushed down the stairs into the lobby. Your leather shoes loudly clattered even on the carpeted floor. Your eyes, usually of dim pearly light, now blazed brightly snow-white in fury. You jumped off the last step and screamed out,

“Where is he?!”

He promised it would never happen again. And you said you would do all that was in your power to also keep it under control. You shook your hands that day, while your shadows were forced by you to clear up all the bedlam they had committed. So why then a few minutes ago you witnessed Alastor's shadow emerging out of nowhere in your room, fucking snatching your shadow and waltzing off with it?

“ALASTOR!” You rolled out the last consonant of his name growling. The whole hotel for sure heard you. And a second later a tall silhouette formed in front of you from the darkness. And when you already filled your lungs with air to shout again, his long finger was pressed to your lips. Alastor leaned to you, his sharp teeth just an inch from your face,

“I have rights to bawl and freak out as well, my dear, but I’m not doing this.” He said in low and stood straight again, grasping a cane in his fists behind his back. His posture was tense, smile patently strained, but all in all he conducted himself better than you. You breathed out. Alastor's self-control was the feature you envied.

“Guess, you’re blaming me again in the absence of your shadow.” Alastor pronounced, casting a look under your feet. There was only trampled red pile, and none of you cast your shadows.

“I'm sick of this.” You exhaled. But anger boiled in you again and the next words you shouted at Alastor, “Why does your dumb shadow burst into my room and take my one away?! But! You don't like it too, do you? So why is it happening?!”

But did Alastor only open his mouth to talk, you attacked again. You didn't give him a chance to say a word and that got on his nerves, after all not only you suffered in this situation. The whole thing was outrageous but it had its reasons. And Alastor had been thinking about it a lot at least to suppose the possible causes of this all. And remembering the answer now made his foot nervously tap at the floor.

In the end of your accusation you demanded,

“Answer where’s my shadow. Now!”

Alastor smirked down at you and bent himself to you so close you had to take a step back to avoid bumping into his nose. You felt your cheeks became hotter at that closeness or maybe because of how rudely he invited your personal space.

“Must be hanging around somewhere with your shadow.” He huffed and held for a little too long, bending to you. His gaze roamed over your face until dropped down then he harshly straight himself up, leaving you amusingly staring where he just stood.

“Anyways,” You started slowly after clearing your throat, “I don't know what your shadow's trying to get from mine but it won't get it.” Alastor turned his head to you, and you gave him a sly smile full of white fangs, “Your shadow's just too weak to deal with mine.”

Alastor sniffed. Seemed like you tried to get on his nerves again. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he looked down at you and promised in low,

“You can't imagine what my shadow can do to you, darling.” Alastor growled.

“Ooh, kinky!” You both turned your head to the high voice. Angel was sitting at the bar and smirking at your quarrel. He witnessed all the skirmish, obviously enjoying the show. You headed for him, Alastor followed you.

“Angel? Do you know where is- um.. Where are our shadows?”

Angel raised his brow at you, a smirk was still on his face, then he asked, “How can I?”

“Somebody in this hotel has to know!” You were losing your patience again. “And you seem to be sitting here all the time, so perhaps you've seen something?”

“Eh.” He shrugged his shoulders, rolling his eyes. He shouldn’t comment on your quarrel but just watch where the drama would go. Well now under the piercing gaze of two sharp-toothed demons he couldn't hide anything. “I saw something creeping to the side stairs, but I'm not sure. I could drink too much.”

There were indeed a couple of empty glass bottles on the board. Strangely, there wasn't Husk. Could Alastor send him looking for his shadow? Well, he could.

“Don't drink alone, Angel,” You said and wanted to head to the stairs but bumped into Alastor's chest as you turned around. “Aw!” You lifted your look up. Alastor didn't step aside surprisingly. Must be waiting when you do so, you thought and moved aside.

“Which one you chose, my dear?” He asked, lowering his voice.

“Huh?”

“There are two side stairs: the left and the right one. I suggest we split up, what do you say?”

It made sense. The two stairs seemed darker than usual. They actually had a strange construction, as they were two long corridors with steps leading right to the third floor, passing the second one. You supposed there was some kind of magic behind it, for from the lobby it seemed like the stairs ended on the second floor. You took a closer look at the stairs. They indeed were much darker, but the left side was lit up with flickering scones. You considered it as a sign of Alastor's shadow presence, after all, playing with electricity was his cup of tea.

“Well. Let it be right.” You said.

“Splendid!” Alastor gave you one last glare and made his way to the left hall stairs.

The behaviour of his shadow was describable. He knew it wasn't your fault that his shadow, the incarceration of his desires, acted the way it did. Alastor knew that he… that you attracted him. But was that attraction so powerful that he could barely control these impulses to become closer to you? And interesting was the fact that his shadow almost never interacted directly with you, only with your own shadow… And Alastor wondered if your shadow was the personification of your desires too? Because if it was so it could explain why his shadow preferred the company of your dark copy and not yours directly. His umbra was wild, never worried about consequences and if it wanted to do something it did it. And so was yours in its nature, but you held it on a too short leash. For Alastor it was evidently that your shadow delighted in the chaos his shadow taught it. Alastor never minded his shadow to create a little mess here and there, it was entertaining for him! And your shadow was too quiet, too shy, always swirling somewhere at your feet. His shadow gave yours what it desired — enjoyment of chaos.

But could there be another reason? Of course. And this one seemed to Alastor, despite his disliking to it, more verisimilar. Alastor was attentive to himself and others, so he never ruled out your liking for him. He couldn't say if you really sought its attention, but you never escaped it for sure. Your slight blush when he leaned to you, your eyes always catching his figure first of all when you entered a room, your compliments to him and a bright smile when he complimented back. If this was really your desire, then your shadow wouldn't bound itself if it once learned the reciprocal feelings.

This was precisely the ground of the circumstances that led you both to these dark corridors. Own blindness for feelings and irrepressibility of the subordinates.

The burst of a light bulb interrupted his thoughts. Now the stairs drown in complete darkness, but Alastor's eyes of a predator could still discern. He blinked twice and continued his way up, his steps echoed through the narrow stair. His thoughts returned to you.

Suddenly Alastor perceived something in the darkness. It was a silhouette, slim and darker than the walls around. It was a shadow hiding in the darkness.

“Well, how do the last minutes of your freedom feel, hm? Come here.” At his command the shadow trembled slightly and sank down closer to him, and Alastor realised it had the wrong shape, not his. It was thinner, lighter.

“Oh?” Two round white flames lit up where the eyes could be, and Alastor’s teeth bared in a grin as he understood “Oh! The little one!” Alastor smiled cheerfully. He had never been in private with your shadow before, he wondered where it could lead. But his head was still full of his theories, so when he outstretched his hand to your shadow his palm was slightly sweated.

“Well, at least one of the runaways is caught. Come now, dear, let's get you to your owner.”

The silhouette slowly flew up to him and he was ready to grasp it, when suddenly the darkness pinned him to the wall with strength he could never expect from a tiny thing like this. He gasped, as your shadow put its hands against his shoulder and chest, keeping him firmly.

You stopped and looked at your palms. It felt as if you were touching some fabric, maybe tweed, but your hands were empty. And you felt a little pressure on your fingertips and base of your palms. Your shadow might come across something. The so to say co-feeling between you and your shadow was rather irksome, especially when it hung out with Alastor's umbra, because in that case when the shadow bumped into something you felt everything on your body. And now it was the same ghosting feeling on your palms, as if your double was pressing down on something. But… If it was touching something soft it could not be in this stairs-corridor, for there were nothing but steps and scones…

You dropped your hands, looked up and nearly jumped up — Alastor's hunched shadow was standing five steps higher. Its hollow orbits gazed right into you.

“Hi?” You said.

Alastor huffed as your shadow pinned his arms to the wall, its tail twined around his legs so that he couldn't make a move.

“What are you up to, dear? Does your master know what you are doing, huh? Does she?” He hated that he was nervous but he couldn't help it. This touch was cold as ice even through the fabric, it sent shivers down his spine, and he clenched his teeth in a tight smile when the grasp on his wrists became stronger. Snow white lights of the shadow's eyes moved closer and closer to his face. He knew your shadow couldn't devour unlike his, but nevertheless he tilted his head, escaping whatever your shadow was up to do. But as Alastor tilted his head to the left, your shadow brought its face to the right side of his neck, he felt the chill and then the shadow slowly moved to his other shoulder and, as being hypnotised, he tilted his head to the right, letting your twin to send the cold through his body one more time. It was thrilling. The body of your shadow was velvety, its fingers no longer held him tightly, but placed themselves in his palms, the tail around his legs loosened now caressing his calf.

“Darling, you don't know what you are doing.” He whispered, hoping his voice was trembling because of the cold. But could your shadow hear him? Could you hear him?

The lights disappeared as if the shadow lowered its eyelids. Next moment Alastor felt an icy soft touch on his lips.

As you raised your leg to step over to Alastor's shadow you froze. What was that?

Instinctively you moved your head back, but the true feeling of someone's lips on you didn't leave you. You felt being kissed. And this someone seemed to return the kiss, deepening it, traced their hands to your forearms and put them on your waist.

You never knew it could be. Your shadow..? But who?! Was it..? Could it be..? You looked up. He..? If you had found his shadow, he could find yours. But why was there this feeling? You couldn't mistake it. Definitely you felt the touch of your lips to someone, you stiffened as your shadow did, but then you felt it melt in his arms, and the trace of kiss on your lips was so realistic you struggled the urge to give into nothing that was in front of you. With foggy eyes you glanced up again, Alastor's shadow slowly tilted its head to the side. You parted your lips and made a step back, going one step down. The figure in front of you moved closer, but before you could stop to think about something else but these ghost lips on you, the shadow seized you. You only gasped when Alastor's shadow covered your mouth with its.

He felt. The cold melted, giving place to the gentle warmth on his lips. Apparently you'd found his lost shadow too, and of course now it was doing to you the same thing your shadow was doing to him. He growled as jealousy was growing in him. But most important was that Alastor felt this kiss. And though it was an indirect kiss, though he couldn't feel the taste of you, and the touches he felt wasn't actually yours but his own through the perspective of your both shadows, despite all of this Alastor didn't dare to break the kiss. The first kiss. And evidently you enjoyed this too. As your shadow cupped his face, the chill was immediately replaced with warmth, as your shadow clung to his chest, he felt as if your body pressed to him. You followed the movements of your double which conducted you. You felt the moments, the way your shadow touched him, and you hurried to repeat the gesture — from the master you turned into a shadow obediently reflecting the movements of the one who was guiding you. And now Alastor jeloused not only to his shadow which directly was holding you, but also to your shadow for its power over you. He wanted to lead the process. He wanted to be the one who made you finally surrender to your desire.

Alastor's shadow kept a possessive hold on you, squeezing your shoulders and bringing you closer. You wished it was his hands, real hands. You felt how its tendrils played around your hips, the chill around your legs told you so, and you wished it was him, caressing and slightly pinching your skin. You wished you could feel more than the pressure of your shadow to his face, because that was exactly what you were experiencing now. But you still cherished the thought that It was his shadow who was kissing you, it was him who hadn't run from your shadow, you both surrendered to the plan devised by your sly umbras. And this thought, this knowing that right now Alastor was holding your fragile frame in his hands, leaning closer, feeling the way you were feeling — these all made your heart beat painfully fast in your chest.

You felt a phantom touch on the small of your back as if guiding you closer to the kisser and you wanted to follow the silent command, but your foot missed a step and instead of falling into the arms of your lover's shadow you just fell down on the stairs.

“Ouch!” You opened your eyes as your knees and then hips landed on the hard step and looked around but saw no one and nothing around. There was only you sitting on the red carpet with a bruised hip and arms propped against the prickly pile. It was silent and dim here. Nothing reminded of the love you'd just been sharing.

With a heavy exhale you stood up and leaned against the wall with your legs standing on different steps. Well… How could you meet Alastor now? The shadow kiss felt pretty awkward, especially when you and Alastor hadn’t even had a normal kiss… How would he react? You didn’t even know how you would react when you saw him again.

“My dear, are you there?” Your heart sank deep down and immediately flew high as you heard a familiar static voice from the top of the stairs. Alastor better stop doing these things to your heart. You were sure you could die the second time with such a roller coaster in your chest.

“Y-yeah…” You looked up. The doorframe was empty, but then Alastor slowly came out of the corner, first you saw his head, then shoulders and finally he showed himself. From your position you couldn't see if he had returned his loss.

“Have you found your shadow?” He asked.

“Yes,” You were not sure, it was too dark in the corridor to perceive a shadow, but you hoped it was so. At least if Alastor was here it meant that you had found what you were looking for, right?

“Why wouldn't you then come out of the darkness, darling?” His voice sounded softer than ever and it brought another painful kick in your chest. You got out of your torpor and went upstairs. Alastor's yellow smile lit up as you went up, he outstretched his hand to you which you took with a warm tingle on your fingertips.

As you came out to him, Alastor saw how your pupils constricted and how your irises changed their colour into soft yellowish as the light pouring from the scones around. Alastor noticed long ago that the happier you were, the warmer shine of your eyes became, and now his chest filled with pride and gladness of knowing that it was him who made you feel so. You watched him discreetly as if unsure how to hold yourself in his presence. But your previous boldness hadn't disappeared wholly, your smile was still saucy.

Alastor was still holding your hand, his fingertips slowly drew circles on your knuckles. There was a special kind of silence between you, it was pleasurable and yet nervous and gave birth to the whirlpool of emotions tightening your stomachs and weakening your knees. Alastor's eyes ran over your face, his fingers jittery squeezed your wrist, he definitely wanted to say something but hesitated. Alastor hesitated.

Suddenly your eyes caught the sight of a black spot, flying out from behind Alastor's back and sliding under your feet. Well, your naughty shadow had come back. And now you also noticed a wicked grin of the other shadow behind Alastor's shoulder.

“You know what I've been thinking there.. on the stairs while… uhm...” You muttered, eyeing up at the man whose shadow you kissed two minutes ago. A tad embarrassing, but you'd already started and really wanted to finish your thoughts but Alastor's crimson eyes made every word coming to your lips stop and be swallowed by your fear.

“I wanted…” You started again, but a warm palm on your cheek interrupted you again. You closed your eyes at the touch.

“Well, dear, something tells me that our thoughts were quite… similar.” His thumb slid down, followed the contour of your lower lip, causing shivers over you. “Don't you think so?” The static hum sounded closer to your ear, you felt hot breath fanning over your face. You finally looked at Alastor again, illuminating his slightly pink cheeks with the warm light of your eyes, and murmured “Uh-huh.”

Alastor smirked at your shy answer, his palm cupped your cheek, and you stood on your tiptoes. Your lips met. It was absolutely different from what you'd been sharing on the stairs, but the warmth, the unexpected bitter and spicy taste made you lean back, escaping his lips. You didn't even know what made you do so, but Alastor seemed to be ready for this and immediately caught you again, pressing you closer to himself, kissing you once again. This time you gave in. He felt how you relaxed in his arms and smiled in the kiss. He knew he wouldn't let you rob yourself of pleasure ever again.

You ran your tongue over his lower lip and felt his quiver. It was so much better than with the shadow: now you could taste, breathe in each other's exhales, pull closer and embrace tighter. You moaned into the kiss as Alastor delved his tongue into your mouth and felt his claws sinking into your waist, it was obvious that he was holding himself back from something you would agree to without hesitation if he’d only ask.

Alastor broke the kiss, looked into your eyes. You only caught your breath, when he descended his lips on you again. The knot in your stomach turned into a flamed ball and the hands caressing your body ignited it more. Alastor often broke the kiss, but only to bring several more, and each one was longer than previous, until you felt as if endlessness of love was on your tongues.

Suddenly Vaggie stopped. Her gaze fixed to the carpet before her. More accurately, to the shadows on the carpet. The corners of her lips went down and the only eye opened wide in surprise slowly growing into shock. These shadows… They were acting strangely. At first Vaggie didn't even realise what it waswas: the silhouette wasn't similar to neither you nor Alastor. She tilted her head, looking at the spot and approaching it. She almost passed it by, when her eyes reflexively looked aside, catching some action there, and as soon as her brain realised what she'd just witnessed, she stopped and turned her head in that direction.

There in the end of the narrow corridor stood you and Alastor, illuminated by an old sconce and casting a long eldritch shadow to her feet, a shadow of two kissing sinners. That's why Vaggie couldn't understand whose shadow it was — the shadow didn't belong to one person, there were two in it. With tenderness unusual for the two of you, you held onto each other as if you were crystal and seemed absolutely lost in your kiss. There was vulnerability in you two, which none of you had shown to anyone before, and it was beautiful. The way Alastor gently cupped your face and bent himself over you, and how you stood on your tiptoes, held on his neck and tightly pressed yourself to him, while he put his hand on your back to pull you closer. Yes, it was beauty and tenderness itself. Your palm reached to Alastor's ears pressed to the crown of his head, he visibly quivered at the touch to the red fur and buried his face in the crook of your neck, whispering to you something Vaggie couldn't hear but caused a chuckle from you. All the movements and even your smiles were reflected by the shadows on the floor. Finally they behaved as they should — repeated after their owners.

But Vaggie stood there and stared too long. Alastor's lips attacked your neck, or perhaps it was his teeth, because between your quiet moans she could hear quiet cries and Alastor's low chuckle. And his hands went lower and lower…

Vaggie shook her head and turned away,

“Ew. Disgusting.” She mumbled, heading further down the corridor. She didn't notice how two grinning shadows turned their haeds to the sound of her remark, left their places and followed the fallen angel, rubbing their hands with anticipation.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

May 25th

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1. Hi! I have a fic finder request, please. It was a wip I was reading about a year ago. Set in the modern day, they found cultivator! ancient! Wei Wuxian frozen in ice and then they thawed him out and he was still alive. The fic was about research between modern doctor Wen Qing learning about cultivation through Wei Wuxian and ancient Wei Wuxian learning about modern times. I think Wei Wuxian moved in with Lan Wangji, not sure. There were a lot of cool scenes where Wei Wuxian was overpowered (like walking on water, flying on sword in front of awed civilians). Would love to read this again, thank you!

FOUND! 🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX)

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2. Hello, I am looking for a fic I was reading just a day or two ago and I put it down and can’t find it again TT It was an ongoing wip, modern cultivation, where Wei Wuxian made highly capable prostheses that a cultivator could control with their qi. Wei Wuxian had needed a prosthesis for his arm, and I think the story had just gotten to Lan Wangji meeting him to discuss a prosthesis for his leg. I really want to keep up with this story but have lost it! Hugs and kisses forever to whoever can point me in the right direction xoxo

FOUND! Black Sun by thelastdboy (E, 89k, WIP, WangXian, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Fall of Lotus Pier, Modern with Magic, No Sunshot Campaign, Hurt WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Not Cultivation World Friendly, WZL Redemption, Wen Remnants Live, WWX Lives, Amputation, Hurt LWJ, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultivation Sect Politics, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Disability, Classism)

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3. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where they go to CR and Wwx starts a sexual relationship with Lwj, but Lwj is abusive with Wwx, he doesn’t treat Wwx well, Wwx is in love with him but Lwj only wants him for sex, and When Wwx gets pregnant, Lwj makes him drink something for abortion.

But things end and Lxc is in love with Wwx, he doesn’t want Lwj being mean with Wwx, so, Lxc proposes a marriage between him and Wwx, When the wedding is closer, Lwj all the time was possessed by a demon, that’s why he was mean with WWX, and he really loves him, at the wedding day, Lwj stops the wedding and says the truth, he regrets about everything and Lxc let him be with Wwx

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4. Hello! I absolutely love this site and I appreciate the hard work you do find us our fics. Keep up the good work!

I have a fic request. I don't remember the fic name, or even what it was about per say. What I do remember is that Wei Ying marries a-yuan's biological mother (I believe it was his mother) to save her. And a-yuan's actual father was Wen Yu (I think that is the name, Wen Chao's brother). I believe this was a Wangixan fic, and got permission from Lan Zhan to do it. I also think that Wen Qing had some babies with Wei Ying as well. Or became his wife as well. Can't remember which. I also believe that either Wei Ying took over the Wen sect or started his own. Again, not sure. I just remembered the part where he marries a woman to save her life as no one knew the baby was Wen Yu's so he married her and everyone thought it was his kid.

Any help in finding this fic would be appreciated! @marietsy40-blog

FOUND? The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 86k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It, Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Gore, Not Lan Sect Friendly, Bad Dads, good dads, JFM’s A+ parenting, QHJ’s F- Existence, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Mothers Who Live, (sorry Wei Wuxian not yours), Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Not Everyone Dies, Canonical Character Death) One of the same moon series, in which Lan Zhan went back in time.

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5. Hi I've been going nuts trying to find this one fic for the last few days. It's a fic where WQ is doing the Golden Core surgery but finds out WWX is pregnant and refuses to do it. Instead WN give JC his Golden Core. WWX still gets thrown into the burial mound though. I also remember that WWX gave birth to a little girl that he gave to the Dafan Wen to raise while the Sunshot Campaign is happening and didn't tell LWJ about her just in case the Lan sect tried to take her away from WWX. JYL also knew about the kid and would visit with WWX. A-Yuan and his sister get raised with Wangxian baby until the Jin go on a murder spree and kill their mother and almost kill WN before WWX turn him into our favorite undead. I know I read it on AO3 and have tried so many configurations of tags to find it to no avail. @knittedbunnies

FOUND! 🧡 Don’t Wanna Fall by nekojita (M, 111k, WangXian, Mpreg, A/B/O, Fix-it, Lots of pining, Angst with a happy ending, Canon Divergence, Child thief WN)

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6. hi, I’m sorry if I have sent this ask twice but do you guys know of a fic where wwx and lwj were working on a case together? and lwj is being extra caring of him, he gets chili oil for him to eat with, wwx thinks lwj doesn’t want him and there’s only one bed? thank you for helping…I have more details if needed

For 6, there are a number of fics that come to mind. The requester offered more details if that would help and I think it might. It would be particularly helpful to know more about the case Wei Ying and Lan Zhan were working on if they remember that information. Thank you!

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7. the story is about wwx and lwj married each other then somehow the war is not over yet. lwj has to go to war but wwx cant so he dont want to let lwj go. then lqr scold him asking him to be understanding while all he wanted is to his husband to stay by his side

FOUND? where the heart lies is home by kazzywx (E, 12k, WangXian, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, General LWJ, Sunshot Campaign,Arranged Marriage, Falling In Love, Feminization, Boypussy, WWX Has a Vulva, Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Intercrural Sex, Smut, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant WWX, Missing in Action, War, Dirty Talk, Soft WangXian, lwj builds wwx a lotus pond, Attempted Sexual Assault, Lwj stops it before anything happens)

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8. I believe the intro/summary says something like "How many children can I give Lan Zhan and Wei Ying without changing the plot". The eldest daughter is named A-Jie and the second child has red eyes.

FOUND? 🧡 Like Rabbits by Setari (T, 41k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Canon Rewrite, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, Family Feels, POV Multiple, Next Generation Original Characters, Subverted Blame the Bastard Trope, Miscarriage Scare, Horny Teenagers, Hopeful Ending, Crack Treated Seriously, Oblivious WWX, Pining LWJ, Not As Dark As The Tags Make It Sound)

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9. Fic finder request please!!

I only remember this specific scene near the ending where Wangxian have kids and one of them rings theirJiang clarity bell for the first time and Yanli and everyone is so excited while the Lans were very upset/grumpy about it. It was a very fun and big sprawling kind of fic with lots of worldbuilding in it but I can’t find it again. 😭😭😭

FOUND? ❤️ And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 138k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together, And Time is But a Paper Moon [PODFIC] by sami, Winterstar1412, [Podfic] Cold read of And Time Is But A Paper Moon by kisahawklin, multiple translations available) A-Yuan ringing the bell happens in chapter 34

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10. Hi! I am looking for a specific fic I lost, please. It was set during Cloud Recesses lectures arc, and Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were dueling out in a field. I can’t remember if it was a soulmate au or if they were just in love, but halfway through the duel they smooch and I think I particularly remember Lan Wangji kissing Wei Wuxian on the forehead. I remember Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang had been watching the duel from the side of the field and Jiang Cheng storms away all embarrassed by his brother. I think the fic was short, it was just this dueling scene.

FOUND? 🔒💖 That Moment When You Find Out That Your Classmates Apparently Have a Fighting Kink by whos_the_seme (T, 2k, WangXian, POV Outsider, Time Travel, Sexual Tension, Fighting Kink, POV NHS, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Crack, Swordfighting)

FOUND? An accidental kiss by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 4k, WangXian, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Fluff and Humor, Marriage, Non-Explicit Sex, No Angst)

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11. Fic Finder request: AU where WRH was the emperor and had LWJ as his concubine, then abandoned him in a forgotten, run down part of the inner palace and eventually they stop sending food. He sits there and nearly starves to death, but then gets up and walks out, running into WWX, who nurses him back to health.

Unknown to LWJ, WRH has been defeated and WWX is the new emperor. WWX is keeping it a secret because he's worried Lan Wangji will follow the rule of killing himself to die with the old emperor (which LWJ had escaped because everyone forgot him), and is working with LXC on how to break the news to him carefully so he can send him back to the Cloud Recesses. One day LWJ wants his sword and WWX (who he thinks is a eunuch) "sneaks him out" to get it but they bump into A-Yuan, who calls WWX father, and LWJ realizes the truth and runs to the Cloud Recesses.

In the end he comes back and marries WWX. @mondengel2

FOUND! The Last Concubine by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 13k, WangXian, Royalty, Emperor WWX, Concubine LWJ, LWJ Whump, Forced Marriage, Starvation, Non-physical spousal abuse, Fluff and Angst, Doing the Wrong Thing for the Right Reasons, Happy Ending, WWX Takes Care of LWJ)

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12. For ff, please! There is a fic I read where Jin Ling grew up haunted (in a good way!) by Wei Wuxian. I think WWX was described as shadows which surrounded Jin Ling. Spirit!WWX could manipulate shadows and could move through them quickly. WWX could sometimes briefly take corporeal form to protect Jin Ling, but he couldn’t do it for long because it took a lot of energy. I think the fic description was something like “There is a rumor a ghost haunts Lotus Pier. Only Jin Ling knows the truth” but I could be mixing up different fics. Thank you for your help! @gloriousclotpole

FOUND! Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Canon Divergence, Ghost WWX, Hurt/comfort, Family bonding, Fluff, Angst)

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13. Hi!

A) So there are two fics that I haven't been able to find. The first one was a case fic of some kind where wx were with a bunch of junior lans. There was a scene where they started making out on a table (i think it was their first kiss, like a post-canon get together) and jiang cheng, who has come to help, walks in on them. Cue yunmeng bros squaking.

B) The second was also wangxian post-canon. I can only remember one scene where Jin Ling bursts into Jiang Cheng's room and triggers a ptsd response from the sunshot campaign. JC then scolds JL for startling people who had been in a war. I'm not sure if wx were background or not.

Thanks in advance!! @lunaloup

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14. hiiii! sorry to bother you, but i sent a request a while ago and there was no response, and i'm not sure if it was lost in your inbox or missed so i just wanted to send it again! i'm looking for a bj alex au of wangxian @ashxi-wx

FOUND? I’m not afraid of a little disaster by catbrainedschemes (E, 19k, WangXian, College/University, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, camboy WWX, Oblivious WWX, oblivious LWJ, grad student LWJ, student librarian WWX, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Masturbation, Fluff and Smut, Misunderstandings, Blow Jobs, Happy Ending)

FOUND? Collaboration by Blueflower740 (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern, Canon Divergence, Streamers AU, BDSM, Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Deepthroating, Rough Sex, Spanking, Sounding, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Dry Orgasm, Secret Crush, Idiots in Love, Romance, Roleplay, Master/Servant, Awkward Flirting, Verbal Humiliation, Consensual Sex, Bodywriting, Sex Toys, Broadcaster AU, Double Penetration, Mutual Pining, LWJ & WWX Have a Breeding Kink, Breeding, Creampie)

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15. I read this really amazing wangxian × eternal sunshine of the spotless mind fic amd aparantly didn't bookmark it and now desperately wanna read it again please help me find it!!!!

FOUND? long have you been alone by martyrsdaughter (E, 56k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, Amnesia, Curses, Hanahaki Disease, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Workplace Relationship, Light Angst, Sexual Content, Mild Painplay, Overstimulation, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Light Bondage, Mild Gore, Mild Breathplay, Brief Mentions of WWX/Others and LWJ/Others, other relationships are past tense and off screen exclusively)

FOUND? skim the waters you are forgetting by eena (E, 14k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC/WWX/LWJ, WIP, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, JC's A+ Coping Mechanisms, WWX's A+ Ability to Read the Room, LWJ's A+ Ability to Let Things Go, Alternative Title: LWJ and the Curious Case of the Shidi Who Would Not Shidi Anymore, tumblr did not give me JC loud in cloud recesses smut)

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16. Hi! Could you help me find a fic? I remember reading it last year but now I can’t find it anymore on ao3 (scared it’s deleted icl). Basically it’s a selectively mute wei ying ff where wei ying comes back to cloud recesses heavily traumatised since he was essentially sold to the wen clan as a servant for a while. He’s mute, acts like a servant and is constantly on guard and terrified. Lan qiren doesn’t rlly see this and assumes Wei ying is mocking him but lan wanji and lan zichen notice somethings off. I remember him sleeping on the floor in wanjis room, sushi (su she) crushing wei yings hands while protecting a-yuan and mo xuanyu taking care of a-yuan. That’s pretty much all I can remember T^T

Hope you find it, thank you in advance <33

FOUND? Scars of Lightning by The_peregrine_falcon (T, 6k, YZY & WWX, WWX & WRH, WangXian, YZY’s A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Wen WWX, zidian, YZY is a bitch, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Heavy Angst, Lotus Pier, Nightless City, Young WWX, Muteness, Hurt kind of comfort) sounds a bit like Scars of Lightning but Wei Ying doesn't become a servant of the Wen in this one. Instead, he swears brotherhood with Wen Xu and Wen Chao and, I think, becomes the head disciple of the Wens. Wei Ying has selective mutism, though, and is punished by Lan Qiren for not responding during class.

FOUND? The Dawn Shepherd by FairyGardenCorgis (E, 145k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, PTSD, Trauma, Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Fluff and Angst, Panic Attacks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Trust Issues, Eventual Smut, Slow Build, Selective Muteness, Gang Rape, Accidental Cuddling, obscene amounts of cuddling)

FOUND? Won't you smile for me? by Mydla (M, 194k, WangXian, Past Abuse, nobility au, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Miscommunication, Selective Mutism, Master/Servant, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Abuse, Slow Burn, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Heavy Angst)

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17. hello! FF please. I am looking for a modern fic where Wei Wuxian looked middle aged due to his lack of core but Lan Wangji still looked very young, and I think they were in a cafe and some other patron thought that WWX was an old pervert taking advantage of a susceptible young man. I think the patron was a woman who kept glaring at them, and LWJ made sure to give WWX a big smooch to rub it in her face that he wasn’t being taken advantage of and he wanted to be there. Thank you!

FOUND? Father Figure by thunderwear (T, 2k, WangXian, Immortals, Modern, though not really an au, more like continuation of canon, Fluff, Soft Husbands, they're married your honor, talk of sex but to actual sex, Age Difference, but not actually)

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18. I've got a request for a fic finder. I don't remember the name of the fic but WWX was asked to become Prince LWJ's concubine (as a gift from emperor LXC to his brother ). WWX is initially very confused when everyone's expecting him to improve LWJ's mood because in his mind he's just there to be LWJ's friend/entertainment. It's a super slow burn. I thought the author had orphaned it, but now I can't find it in my bookmarks. @okionlywanttoreadforever

NOT FOUND! The Concubine Mo Chronicles Series by Enigmatree (T, 109k, WangXian, Royalty AU, Prince LWJ, Concubine WWX, Mild Hurt/Comfort)

FOUND! the hidden work Impenetrable Walls by Gina3 - the author said they'll post google docs of all their completed fics eventually, but I don't know if they did that yet info here. the mystery worked URL for Impenetrable Walls if it's the right one and the asker wants to track it

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19. Hiiii, so I'm looking for this fic where it got 'five days contract' something like that in the title , modern, college/university, where wwx was kicked from almost all universities abroad probably America where the jiang where living because he refused to behave or because madam yu and jfm kept fighting so jfm sent him to the Lans in China in hopes they could succeed in fixing him and he keeps barging into lwj room and annoying him.

FOUND! The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut) I think 19 is The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force but Wei Ying was kicked out of high schools rather than colleges/universities in this one.

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20. So I'm looking for a really good fic I read a while ago. It was a modern au with established relationship wangxian and baby/Toddler a-yuan. Wangxian were not living together due to bumps in their relationships, a yuan stayed with wwx and visited lwj. They decide to go to therapy to fix their relationship and its eventually a happy ending. Some points I remember from the fic,

•) mian mian was their therapist

•) lwj buys himself some bunnies as pets

•) they aren't divorced, they're on "break"

•) wwx is transmasc, and gave birth to a yuan, and the body changes made him very insecure which contributed to their daily squabbles.

That's it. Thanks!

FOUND!🔒Don't Let This Be Goodbye by RohanBerry (E, 81k, WangXian, Exes to Lovers, Break Up, Getting Back Together, Therapy, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, WangXian, Get a Happy Ending, Married WangXian, LWJ is LSZ's Parent, WWX is LSZ's Parent, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Background Nieyao and Xicheng, LWJ and XY are besties, Trans WWX)

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[lazycats-stuff]

Yo, Can u write about Mexican! Batbro (same age or a year older than Damian, like Damian he's a biological son of Bruce) who celebrates dia de muertos, he could make an altar of Thomas and Martha Wayne, he could explain his roots and culture to the batfamily

Sure thing. Damn, Bruce is really mister Worldwide.

Summary: (Y/N) is Mexican. Everyone is curious.

Warnings: nothing bad, talking about Mexican culture, which is really cool with the day of the dead honestly,

Bruce has been thinking about getting a vasectomy, since he has found out about (Y/N), his son who was born and is being raised in Mexico. Bruce slept with a model and hence, (Y/N) was born. His mother loved him, but she wanted (Y/N) to go to the USA, to get a safer life and better education.

Bruce, being ever so suspicious, decided to do a DNA test, just in case. You just never know and Bruce didn't want to be used for his money and a green card for the boy that wasn't his. And once a DNA test showed that Bruce was the father, he took it upon himself to get (Y/N) into the USA and to get him his citizenship.

And immigration is not fun to deal with, everyone knows that. After pulling some connections, (Y/N) managed to get to the USA on a visa for now at least. Bruce has started the process right away with an immigration lawyer, the best on he could find in Gotham city. And since last name Wayne opens up a lot of doors everywhere, Bruce has decided to use that to his advantage.

The boys were not shocked by the news of another biological son. Damian wasn't afraid or threatened and unlike the first time he came to the manor, he's established himself as a biological son. And (Y/N) is a year younger than Damian anyway, so Damian welcomed (Y/N), but of course, it would take time for everyone to adjust to the new addition to the family.

Once (Y/N) settled down in the manor, Bruce sat him down to talk about everything moving forward. Bruce told (Y/N) that he will never prohibit any aspect of his culture and that if there are holidays that are important to him, that they would celebrate it. Bruce didn't want (Y/N) to lose his culture. He wanted (Y/N) to be proud of his culture and seeing the beaming smile on (Y/N)'s face made it all worth it.

So, the two decided to make a list of holidays that are important to him and that they were going to celebrate. (Y/N) made sure to put Día de los Muertos, alongside  Cinco de Mayo and El Grito de Independencia. Which (Y/N) clarified for his brothers. Cinco de Mayo commemorates the bravery of Mexican soldiers who made the French army retreat. El Grito de Independencia is the actual independence day, where they got their independence from Spain.

For some reason, Americans think that Cinco de Mayo is their independence day, which (Y/N) doesn't understand why Americans would think so. Like why? Do they not like to research? (Y/N) couldn't understand it, but decided to let it go since maybe Cinco the Mayo is far more easier to remember for them... No, that doesn't make any sense in that.

Maybe he'll never know.

(Y/N) was doing just fine in school. Bruce noticed how hard working he was. And it wasn't like Bruce had to force him to, he was just doing it on his own. Bruce wondered why, since he was a good student before coming to the USA. (Y/N) just explained how his mother taught that hard work is something that will make him succeed in life. She told him her story of hard work and how she became successful.

And Bruce understood why. (Y/N)'s mom didn't have connections and a last name that could open doors and simply pave the way. Bruce understood that and agreed that his mom did good. You can't expect that last name open up doors for you. Because anything can crumble when you least expect it.

So Bruce encouraged (Y/N) to take breaks, since it's not good to study for a long time. (Y/N) nodded and understood that. He promised Bruce that he would try his best to take breaks and Bruce smiled, knowing that he can't force change over night.

Jason on the other hand, needed help. He couldn't understand Spanish for the life of him. And he asked (Y/N) for help. And (Y/N) was surprisingly a good teacher. Teaching him how to pronounce certain sounds and taught him more than the teacher did. Jason was thankful and (Y/N) had no problem giving him tips he needed to remember certain things.

Dick was more interested in his culture. What were certain traditions of Mexican culture? What were values there? What is something you shouldn't do there? What should you do there? Dick was always more interested in learning about other cultures.

That turned into a nice during dinner. (Y/N) explained his roots and culture to them, beating a few stereotypes along the way and everyone listen intently. (Y/N) also said that he would like to celebrate the Día de los Muertos, reminding them that it start from the eve of October 31st until November 2nd. Bruce nodded having no problem.

What did shock Bruce was that (Y/N) revealed that he made an altar of Martha and Thomas Wayne. Bruce didn't know about it, but wasn't mad. (Y/N) explained what it meant to have an altar. It would mean having pictures of the deceased, alongside some candles and a cross. (Y/N) also added their favorite flowers.

Bruce was touched by that. To have his parents honored and remembered like that was... Touching. And a bit better than the way they do it here in America...

" Can you show the altar to me? " Bruce asked and (Y/N) nodded.

" I will papa. " (Y/N) sipped his water and Bruce nodded. After dinner, (Y/N) would show Bruce the altar of Martha and Bruce Wayne. It was a simply altar, with pictures, probably provided by Alfred, favorite flowers, just like (Y/N) said. There was also a cross.

" And it's normally that simple? " Bruce asked, curiously.

" Well on the Day of the Dead, we make ofrendas, in English language that means offerings. We leave water in the pitcher so that the spirits can quench their thirst, paper banners that are traditional and they represent wind and then we have earth which is normally bread. Then you have candles that are often arranged to look like a cross, so that the spirits can find their way, " (Y/N) explained and Bruce nodded.

" Also, some altars have level. Most elaborate ones have have seven levels, but most have 3 levels. And we also have flowers in Mexico that grow a lot and have a strong smell that is said that spirits are attracted to it to visit their mortal loved ones, " (Y/N) added and Bruce was going to get those flowers for (Y/N), no matter what connections he had to pull.

Bruce nodded as he listened more. He really liked this holiday. It was nice and you can feel closer to your lost ones, rather than in America where you bury your loved ones and then simply visit their grave. Bruce never thought about the spirit of his dead loved ones would come.

But he liked the Mexican mindset on that matter.

" That's a nice way of thinking. That their spirits try to come and visit... " Bruce trailed off, smiling at the altar.

" Whatever you need for the altar, you'll get it. Whatever it is, I'll get it for you. "

(Y/N) nodded, knowing that Bruce would do that.

" Well, you can help with cleaning up the grave, since we take care of the graves to put some offerings there. Oh, you and the rest of the family need to learn a lot. " (Y/N) crossed his arms as he chuckled, Bruce chuckling alongside him.

[not-rigel]

I'm listening

Rating: M

Warning: description of depression, depressive spiral, self loathing, soft sevika, sevika comforts you, sevikas love language is gift giving, words of affirmation is a very close second, I wrote this to cope with my emotions I hope that serves as a BIG WARNING, literally didnt sleep because I was writing this.

WC: 1.4

Darkness embraces you, literally and mentally, while you sit in your room. It's the dead of the night, the worst time for thoughts like the ones crowding your mind to exist. Each horrible thought stacked one atop the other, increasing in cruelty. 

A knock comes at your door and you're ready to pretend you're not home but you hear a familiar voice calling your name. 

“Open up. I got your fancy knife you asked for,” Sevika says on the other side of the door. 

You remember you mentioned wanting a specific knife, and Sevika offered to find it for you. But you didn't expect her to show up at your door in the middle of the night and you certainly didn't want her visit to occur in the middle of a spiral. You'd ask her to leave it by the door but you don't want any of your neighbors to help themselves to your new weapon. 

Shelving your self hatred, you make the exhausting walk to your door and open it for her. Sevika hears your footsteps approach and has the knife held out for you to take. She couldn't wait to give it to you, excited to see your reaction. 

But when you open the door and glance down at the knife in her hand, you don't look delighted. Instead you're indifferent. Sevika suddenly questions if she somehow misremembered which knife she was supposed to get you. 

“Did I get the wrong one?” She turns it over in her hand, checking the engraving on the hilt. She confirms it's the one you wanted. 

“Nothing like that. It's beautiful. I'm just too tired to appreciate it. Haven't been able to sleep tonight,” you half-lie. You gingerly take it from her hand and try to close the door but she holds it open. 

“Wait, I got you something else too,” she digs into her back pocket and pulls out a lighter. “For your candles,” she explains. Months ago she noticed you kept a candle lit inside your home so she brings you a new one whenever she can. A nice lighter felt like a long overdue addition. 

Still, you don't react and it worries Sevika. This can't just be because you're tired. She's been around you enough to know what you're like when you're sleep deprived and this wasn't it. She knows better than to outright ask if you're okay so she tries a different approach. 

“Is there something going on that I don't know about? I can tell you're not just tired,” she pries. 

“Personal shit. Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the knife and lighter. I really do appreciate it.” 

“Can you talk to me about it?” 

“I don't know. You probably won't understand.” You're trying to reject her support but Sevika won't stand for it. 

“Try me,” she urges and for a reason you cannot decipher, you pull your door wider so she can step in, shutting and locking it behind her. She's been in your home several times, walking over to your couch and taking a seat like it's her own. You timidly sit next to her, picking your cuticles and holding a staring contest with the floor. It takes a while for your words to find you. 

“I uh… Just keep having bad thoughts. It starts out small like… I'm not going to get enough sleep in time for work tomorrow then it becomes I'm not good enough at my job because I can't get enough sleep at night and it makes me perform badly. Then it's just… I'm not good enough period because no matter what I do, I'll mess up in some way and I'm just running around aimless. Trying one thing after another like it'll ever work out. All I could think before you showed up was I'm a failure,” you unload a few of your thoughts to Sevika and she listens intently. 

You're a bit caught by surprise when her strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. She gently pulls you across the couch and into her chest. Her right hand cups the back of your neck. 

When she speaks there's only softness in her voice, “I understand. I can't stop you from having those thoughts but I understand. Tell me more,” she soothes, determined to help you through this. She's never heard you speak like this, never heard such harsh words from your mouth. And it killed her inside that they were about yourself. 

You pull back to look up at her. Sevika was usually so stony, expression steeled into a scowl. But all of that roughness was gone. It's too intense and you look back to the floor. 

“I feel ridiculous and repulsive and stupid and worthless and hopeless and empty and like there's no fix for it. It's like I'm remembering every bad memory at once.”

Her hand moved to your chin, tilting your head upwards gently so she could look at you properly.

“I'm going to tell you something, but I need you to look me in the eyes okay?” she asks you, knowing she's asking for a lot at the moment. Even if it's a gesture as small as eye contact. You frown as you fight to pull your gaze from the floor. Sevika watches the struggle heartbroken but she knows you can do it. Eventually, your eyes meet hers and she sighs in relief. 

Her fingers move from your chin to your cheek, holding you to keep your gaze on her, “Listen closely, okay? I need you to not look away. Can you do that? For me?” 

“I'm listening,” you promise, now that you're looking at her you're not able to break from her hypnotic stare. She takes a moment to think of what to say. 

“You’re a good person. Not just a good person, a great person. You don't deserve the blame you give yourself,” she affirms and you listen to every word. You face twitches, lips trying to pull into a frown and brows trying to pinch into a furrow. The words aren't enough to get past the wall but they weaken the foundation. 

“You still listening?” She checks in, making sure you won't shut down. She knows she would try to tune out every word to avoid feeling their weight. 

You nod, eyes welling with tears and sniffling up the snot that drips from your nose. 

“Good. Keep listening,” she continued to hold eye contact with you, “You're smart, you're resourceful, you're good at what you do, you're appreciated, and you're loved.” 

You can't stop the tears now. Sevika avoids lying, feeling like people only lie when they have something to gain and there's nothing she wants from most people. If anything, Sevika felt using the truth is what earns the most. With your tears streaming down your cheeks and falling onto her thumb, she earned the sight of seeing you vulnerable. Sevika has never held something so fragile before. You were so frail, looking up at her with glassy eyes that made her afraid if she moved a finger you would shatter. But when she wiped the tears from your cheek, you remained intact. 

“I- I'm loved?” you heave between cries. Love is a strong word and it's rarely uttered in the Undercity so it's hard to know who really cares about you. You felt guilty for doubting Sevika's words, knowing she's trying her best to comfort you. 

“You're loved by me,” her confession is groundbreaking. Her thumb moved to feel the stream of tears, not wiping them away but allowing them to exist. 

“I never said it but I love you. And I have so many reasons to. Because you're more capable than you believe yourself to be. Because you're resilient. Because you mean the world to me. But mostly because you need love and I need to be the one who gives it to you.” 

Sevika needs to give you everything you need, needs to be the one to hold your face like this every time you cry. Needs to be the one to tell you how beautiful and wonderful you are. She needs to be the one you seek. Be the one to bring you gifts because she can't help but think about you.

“I love you too, Sevika. I'm sorry but … I wish I knew the person you're describing,” you sobbed. 

“No, don't apologize. You are that person, you might not see it that way but you are the person I'm describing. You'll see it one day. I promise. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, convince you that you're any other than the person I'm describing. Are you listening to me?” 

“Yes, I'm listening.” 

[aboutchriss]

Horses of Sydney

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader (we call him Chris in here)

Genre: fluff, crack

Warnings: spiders, like big spiders, the ones that you can find only in Australia, slightly arachnophobia

Author note: I wrote it last night, I don’t know what is this, it just came out after I saw a video on instagram lmao, hope you enjoyed it.

💌 remember! english it's not my first language, please be gentle with me! let me know if there's any mistake(s) 💌

Are you wearing a towel in a hotel lobby? Yes do you have shampoo in my hair? yes do you look weird? probably but there's a reason behind this

"uhm, Miss can i help you?" a voice with a thick australian accent asks

"y-yes, oh my god yes" WHY THE GORGEOUS RECEPTIONIST WHY?

"is there something wrong with your room?" he asks

"no, no the room is perfet it's just that i have a big guest in my room and i can't handle it, not big things like that, i can handle small things, but not that"

"there's condoms of every size on the bed side table miss”

"what? NO, NO. tha-that's not what i mean oh my god; as you can tell i was taking a shower, without my glasses, of course, because who takes showers with their glasses on? my blind ass can't see shit okay? i was washing my hair, music blasting from the shower speakers then boom a giant black-ish thing is on the wall, i thought 'am i losing that much hair?how does my hair ended up there?’ so i put my glasses on to grab it, AND THANKS GOD I DIDN'T DO IT, there was a huge, big, enormous spider in the shower with me, so i grabbed a towel and run here" You say walking back and forth, looking at the man with his stupid fucking glasses, and he's trying not to laugh, the hot dude at the recption is trying not to laugh at you.

"i'm sorry, i'm making such a big deal out of this and i know that big spiders are common in here but...that thing was not a spider...it was but with the dimensions of a horse, i could ride and do a fucking promenade on the beach with it!"

and this bitch is laughing, hands on his stomach, dimples out and eyes closed

"i'm sorry miss, it's the first time that someone describe a spider like this, do you want me to take it off the wall for you?" he asks

"please, i'll do anything, i'll pay an additional, another room please i'm begging you" You say desperate

"okay, okay, let's go, show me the horse...i mean the spider" he says walking out of the recption, with a plastic box

the two of you start walking towards your room, once you're inside you let him go into the bathroom

"oh hello buddy...come here, c'mon here in the little box. we don't look at women without they're consent buddy, especially if they're naked, come here...oooh such a good boy" is he talking to the spider? is he teaching consent to a fucking spider? what the fuck? "and we're done" he said closing the plastic box and walking outide the bathroom

"were you talking to...him?" you ask

"yeah...his not poisonous...just a curious spider...trying to get ladies attention" he says smiling

"thank you really..."

"Christopher, call me christopher" he smiles and once again his dimples are out

"y/n, and thanks again i own you something" you say looking at him

"you don't own me anything...maybe a drink...in the city center? downstaris at 8 p.m?" he asks looking at the spider

"i- damn that was smooth...okay, see you tonight" you say smiling

he opens the door to get out and then he stops

"i prefer light blue panties" he winks at you and get out

“You saw her naked before me, you lucky bastard”

He says to the spider

"what?" you ask your self entering the bathroom and there they are a pair a light pink panties.

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Kansas to Tucson [10/17]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.5k Summary: The fallout from the interview with Oprah comes immediately, but with it is an unexpected attack that rocks you to your core.

Content/Warnings: discussion of women's health issues [notably pregnancy and abortion], deep fakes, political maneuvering, marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Please pay attention to the content/warnings for this chapter. Thematically, we're going to get into some discussion about family planning, and I do think and hope I've given it the care and respect I think it deserves, but KNOW YOURSELF and know whether or not you have the bandwidth to read this without judgment. That said, if you've read the story to this point - a tenth chapter - and been okay with what I've included politically, I don't think you'll be shocked or offended by the discussions had here.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[OCTOBER 12 - KANSAS CITY TO TUCSON]

The next morning, you are eating breakfast on the plane with Steve and Bucky in the private cabin on the Rogers campaign plane on the way to Tucson. You’re trying to hold off on being too tense or apprehensive, but a lot has already happened over social media while you slept. You’ve already done a lot of scrolling of your own and Jake and Lisa have already gone over the landscape of things so far with you and Steve and the core campaign staff.

The negative voices are loud. The hashtag #FakeFirstLady is trending on Twitter/X, along with countless memes mocking your relationship.

The headlines are brutal:

"ROGERS CAMPAIGN BUILT ON LIES: Captain America's Marriage a Sham"

"AMERICA'S GOLDEN BOY TARNISHED: Steve Rogers Admits to Political Marriage"

"CAPTAIN AMERICA OR CAPTAIN BETRAYAL”

But there are some people are praising the honesty, calling it a refreshing change from typical political marriages - and typical marriages, even, pointing out that a partnership built on shared values from the beginning over sparks or chemistry is a sensible and inspiring approach.

TikTok already has shops selling shirts and stickers that say “Blipped and Back,” people are clipping and posting their takes on parts of the interview, and BookTok is eating it up with many creators asking, “How long until we see the book based on this plot?”

You’ve been on BookTok, and so you know they’re speculating over more than that but aren’t surprised the sordid details weren’t included in the professional briefing.

You're trying to focus on your breakfast, but your mind keeps drifting to the swirling media storm.

You can't help but glance at your phone again, scrolling through the flood of notifications. The mix of support and vitriol is dizzying.

"You might want to put that away for a bit," Bucky suggests gently, noticing your furrowed brow. "It's not going to do you any good to keep reading all that right now."

Steve reaches over, taking your hand in his. "We knew this wasn't going to be easy," he says, his voice steady and reassuring. "But we're in this together, remember?"

You nod, squeezing his hand gratefully. "I know. It's just one thing to know it in theory and another to see it all playing out in real-time."

Just then, Jake enters the cabin, his face serious. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a situation developing."

Sophia, Lisa, and Sam enter swiftly right behind him.

Your stomach drops as you brace yourself for more bad news. "What is it?"

Jake grabs the remote from the side table and turns on the large flat-screen TV mounted on the cabin wall. The Fox News logo flashes across the screen as the sound comes to life.

"...and that's why this revelation about the Rogers' marriage is so troubling," a stern-faced commentator is saying. "It calls into question everything we thought we knew about Steve Rogers and his values."

Your heart races as you glance at Steve, whose jaw is clenched tight. Bucky leans forward, his eyes narrowed at the screen.

Another panelist, a woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair, nods in agreement. "Absolutely, John. And let's not forget their non-answer about having children. When Oprah asked about their plans for a family, Mrs. Rogers was notably evasive." She refers to you as ‘Mrs. Rogers’ with so much sarcasm it’s mortifying.

The first commentator, John, picks things right back up. "Speaking of which, we may have an answer to whether or not Mrs. Rogers wants children from some information sent to us this morning."

Your heart stops as the first image fills the screen.

The woman continues, her voice dripping with sensationalism, "Our sources have provided us with some shocking photos that seem to show Mrs. Rogers entering a Planned Parenthood clinic from two years ago. And as you can see in these images, she appears to be visibly pregnant - probably five or six months along.”

The screen splits to show a second photo - the same woman, a slightly different angle - entering the clinic, and you don’t even know how to react because these images are such high quality you would believe they were real.

"According to our anonymous source," John jumps in eagerly, "Mrs. Rogers was there to terminate the pregnancy. If true, this raises serious questions about the Rogers' values and their fitness for the White House."

“We reached out to this Planned Parenthood clinic for comment, but they would only confirm that Mrs. Rogers had been a patient there.”

“That’s enough,” Steve nearly growls, and Jake mutes the screen.

The cabin falls silent, the tension palpable. You feel like you can't breathe, your mind reeling from the accusations being hurled at you on national television. Steve's hand tightens almost painfully around yours, but you don’t protest because you’re clutching it like a lifeline.

Jake turns to face the group, his expression grim. "I know we're all shocked by this, but we need to address it head-on. We've got to get ahead of this story before it spirals out of control. We've all read the opposition research file on you," he says, gesturing to the team. "There's no record of any pregnancy or abortion in your past, and I won’t judge you either way, but did you ev-"

“Wait a minute, Jake.”

It’s Sophia who takes a step forward, her voice sharp as she says, “She shouldn’t have to answer that question to us or anyone else, period. With the negative coverage that has reared its head since last night, the bulk of it is not being directed at Steve. The fire and the big guns are being directed straight at the woman in the situation - which is unsurprising, but ridiculously unfair.”

Your eyes burn and your throat aches as tears threaten to burst out of you, but you fight to keep them in. You’re gutted by what you’ve just seen on tv, angry at the reality Sophia has pointed out, but also moved by her fierce defense of you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "Sophia's right. I shouldn't have to answer that question. But I will, because I want there to be no doubt." You look each person in the eye as you continue, "I have never been pregnant. I have never had an abortion. Those photos are fake."

Steve's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close. "We need to shut this down immediately," he says, his voice tight with barely contained anger.

“There will be no shutting this down completely; it’s out there,” Jake counters, already typing furiously on his phone. "But we do have a press corps traveling with us who are going to want statements as soon as possible and I suggest we make them as soon as possible as it’s the most powerful option available to you to have any voice in the direction this narrative will go.”

Jake turns to you directly, and his voice softens. “Sophia was right to check me,” and at this he glances at your assistant. “I’m not going to step back, but I want to step right in line behind you and have you work directly with Lisa on what you want to say now that we’re stepping into this arena. You have a lot of power in this moment to direct the attention of this situation. And I think we all know this man,” he nods at Steve, “will back whatever you choose.”

You take a deep breath, trying to center yourself amidst the chaos swirling around you. The weight of the moment settles on your shoulders, but you feel Steve's steadying presence beside you and draw strength from it.

"Thank you, Jake," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "And thank you, Sophia." You lock eyes with your assistant, conveying your gratitude for her fierce defense.

Turning to Lisa, you nod. "Let's draft a statement. I want to be clear and direct."

Lisa sits and pulls out her laptop, ready to take notes. "What key points do you want to hit?"

You consider for another moment, then begin, "First and foremost, I want to set the record straight. Those photos are fake - but rather than saying I’ve never had an abortion, I only want to say I’ve never been pregnant. A woman’s reproductive choices are her own, and I don’t want to elevate or disparage whether or not a woman has been or wants to be pregnant, nor whether or not she’s had or wanted to have an abortion. They’re all deeply personal choices and can change over the course of a woman’s life.

"Second, I want to confirm that I was indeed a patient at Planned Parenthood, as the report stated. But I want to use this as an opportunity to educate people about the wide range of essential health services they provide," you continue, your voice growing stronger as you speak.

“This is an excellent start,” Lisa affirms, her fingers flying across the keyboard of the laptop screen as she types. “We can tie into Steve’s healthcare plans with this, too,” Lisa says.

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing at the front of the press cabin, addressing the reporters, podcasters, and bloggers with Lisa and Steve standing just off to the side of you. After making your first point that you’ve never been pregnant and that any choice about whether or not to have children is deeply personal and can change over the course of time, you move into expanding on the value of Planned Parenthood clinics since you know they’re often misunderstood, misrepresented, and that they provide beneficial services some don’t even know about.

"When I was in college, working part-time and struggling to make ends meet, Planned Parenthood was there for me. They provided me with affordable, compassionate care when I needed it`."

You pause, glancing around the cabin before continuing. "I received my annual well-woman exams there, including pap smears and breast cancer screenings. They provided me with birth control and counseling on reproductive health. Planned Parenthood has been a crucial healthcare provider for me and millions of other women, especially those who are uninsured or underinsured.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of every word. "These clinics offer vital services beyond what many people realize - STI testing and treatment, prenatal care, and even primary care and mental health care services in some locations. They are often the only source of healthcare for many women in underserved communities."

A reporter raises her hand, and you nod for her to speak.

"Mrs. Rogers, how do you respond to critics who may say your support of Planned Parenthood conflicts with traditional family values?"

You meet her gaze steadily. "I believe that supporting women's health and reproductive rights is entirely consistent with family values. Healthy women build healthy families. Access to comprehensive healthcare, including family planning services, empowers women to make the best choices for themselves and their families."

"As for the doctored images being circulated," you continue, your voice growing firmer, "they are a blatant attempt to mislead the American people and distract from the real issues at hand. This kind of dirty politics has no place in our democracy. We should be focusing on healthcare reform, economic policies, education, climate change, and how we can build a stronger country.”

As you finish your statement, a flurry of hands shoot up, reporters eager to ask follow-up questions. You field a few more, your responses growing more confident with each answer. The cabin buzzes with the rapid-fire clicks of laptop keys and the occasional flash of a camera.

After about ten minutes, Lisa steps forward, gently touching your elbow. "Thank you all for your time," she addresses the press corps. "We'll be releasing a full statement shortly with additional details."

As you turn to leave, you catch sight of a young woman in the back, her press badge identifying her as a reporter for a small Midwestern paper. She's not raising her hand or shouting questions like the others, but there's an intensity in her gaze that catches your attention. You make a mental note to speak with her later, sensing there might be a story there.

Steve's hand finds the small of your back, following you back to the staff area of the plane, and the buzz of excited chatter from the press corps fades behind you as the door closes.

Back in the relative quiet of the staff cabin, you let out a long breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away. This cabin, usually a hive of activity, seems almost serene now as some of the staff move around, working on the transcript of your press statement and the questions you fielded, jumping on social media, preparing for the events you’re all headed to once you hit the ground in Tucson.

“You did well,” Jake says.

You glance at Jake, grateful for the praise but still feeling the weight of the situation. "Thanks, but this is far from over, isn't it?"

Jake shakes his head. "You’re right. But you've given us a solid foundation to build on. Your statements were clear, compassionate, and hit all the right notes. We can work with this."

Steve, who's been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks up. "I'm proud of you," he says, his voice low and intense. "You handled that with grace and strength. But I can't help feeling responsible for putting you in this position."

You turn to him, seeing the guilt etched on his face. "Steve, we're in this together, remember? We knew there would be challenges. This is just... a bigger one than we anticipated."

Bucky, who's been watching the whole scene unfold, chimes in. He hesitates for a moment before speaking. "I was just thinking this might be an opportunity to do more than just defend ourselves. We could use this to push the conversation forward."

Jake nods thoughtfully. "Bucky’s right. It’s like I said earlier, we've got the nation's attention right now. What do you want to do with it?"

You consider for a moment, then turn to Lisa. "Can we set up a series of interviews and speaking engagements focused on women’s health and the lack of comprehensive knowledge and education? The US has one of the worst - if not the worst - maternal mortality rate among developed nations in the world, if I’m remembering correctly.”

You turn to Sophia. “You’ve been mentioning that I should be thinking about one or two causes I want to truly champion if I were to be elected. Looks like I’m locking in on one for sure.”

Steve pulls you into a tight embrace. "You are incredible," he murmurs into your hair. "Thank you for being so strong."

You burrow into him for a moment. His praise and reassurance bolster you in the moment, but you feel the tightrope you’re walking on getting higher and higher. You can only hope you won’t fall.

Once you pull away from Steve's embrace, you notice his gaze shift over your shoulder. His brow furrows slightly, and you turn to follow his line of sight. In the corner of the cabin, Bucky and Jake have their heads close together, engaged in an intense, hushed conversation. Their expressions are grave, and Bucky's metal arm whirs softly as he gesticulates, emphasizing whatever point he's making.

Steve clears his throat. "Hey, you two," he calls out, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern. "What are you two strategizing?"

Bucky and Jake exchange a quick glance before Bucky straightens up, his steel-blue eyes meeting Steve's. "We were just discussing the photos," he says, his voice low and determined. "I want to see if I can track down the source."

The cabin seems to grow quieter, as Bucky continues. “Somebody doctored them, and they doctored them for a reason.”

Jake nods, his expression serious. "Bucky thinks he might be able to trace the origin of those photos. I’d like to know who we’re dealing with - they aren’t amateurs, and I doubt they’re officially on the campaign team of either of your opponents, but they have an agenda, and I want to get ahead of it."

"Is it even possible?” you ask. “And is it legal?"

Bucky's lips quirk into a small, wry smile. "I have some unique skills from my past that might come in handy. As for legal... well, I won’t cross any actual lines."

Steve looks conflicted, running a hand over his beard. "I don't know, Buck. We can't afford any more scandals right now."

"Which is exactly why we need to get ahead of this," Bucky argues. "If we can find out who's behind the root of this, we can potentially stop them before they escalate further."

Steve's jaw clenches as he mulls it over. "What exactly did you have in mind, Buck?"

"I've got some contacts from my previous line of work. They can trace the digital footprint of those images, maybe even identify the software used to create them. It's all above board, I promise."

You and Steve exchange a long look, a silent conversation passing between you. The weight of the decision hangs in the air, but after a moment, you both nod almost imperceptibly.

Steve turns back to Bucky, his voice low but resolute. "Alright, go ahead. But tread carefully. We're walking a fine line here."

Bucky's face is set with determination. "I'll be discreet."

Bucky pulls out his phone and steps into the private cabin to make some calls.

Steve steps across the cabin to where Sophia is conferring with Lisa, their heads bent over a tablet as they likely discuss the upcoming schedule adjustments.

“There’s a Fox News reporter on the plane in our press group right now, isn’t there?” Steve asks Lisa. “I want him out as soon as we land,” Steve declares, his anger dialed back, but still palpable.

“Yes,” Lisa confirms, “Ryan Jackson. But he’s been a reasonably fair advocate for coverage of your campaign up to this point, and he’s actually the one who tipped us off about this before it went live, said his producer gave him an advance about ten minutes before with the instructions to get a response from you.”

Steve's brow furrows as he processes this information. "He tipped us off? Why would he do that?"

Lisa shrugs. "Not everyone at Fox agrees with their editorial stance. Some journalists there are just reasonable conservatives who still believe in fair reporting."

You step closer, joining the conversation. "If he's willing to give us a heads up, he might be an valuable ally."

Steve looks at you, his expression softening slightly. "You're right. I let my anger rush my judgment." He turns back to Lisa. "Can you arrange a private conversation with Ryan once we land? I'd like to thank him personally for the warning."

Lisa nods, making a note on her tablet. "I'll set it up."

You take a seat next to Sophia so you can weigh in if they need you, and Steve crosses back over to talk to Jake. The initial flurry of activity in the campaign cabin has settled into a focused hum, with staff members working diligently at their laptops or speaking in hushed tones on their phones. The plane's engines provide a steady background noise, a constant reminder of your journey towards Tucson and the challenges that awaits, and you try and steel yourself for what’s coming.

[OCTOBER 12 - TUCSON, ARIZONA]

You’ve often felt like days on the campaign trail are equal to three or four days of real life, but by the time you get to the hotel that night, you feel like you’ve lived a full week in this day from hell. The fake photos, the impromptu press conference, the endless strategizing throughout the day in pockets between the campaign events that had already been scheduled, and more interaction with the press corps - and public - as the day unfolded all blend together in an exhausting blur.

Two notable developments changed the trajectory of the day, as well. Once you hit the afternoon and had been asked some of the same judgmental questions - that would never have been asked to a man - you had shot back with your disappointment that once again, double standards were at play. “Beyond fake photos,” you had said, “this is just another display of how women in politics are treated, especially when they dare to challenge the status quo. Shots are fired at women because we’re not given equal footing with men - we’re viewed as expendable targets in a continual hunting season."

That had rattled a lot of cages and been received as a battle cry, as well.

And around dinnertime, Bucky had come back with confirmed evidence that the doctored photos had been given to Fox News by the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today* (CSFAT). He had not discovered yet who gave the photos to CSFAT, but their staff had bypassed checking their validity and wanted to get the word about you out immediately. And though the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today hadn’t worked with their campaign staff at all, CSFAT - as it turned out - were huge contributors to the Republican candidate’s campaign.

Bucky was still working to find out who had created the images and given them to CSFAT.

But Lisa had worked used her superpowers to masterfully reveal Fox News’ source and suggest further commentary and investigation of the matter.

After that final briefing with the press, there had been a meeting to debrief the day and strategize for tomorrow, and then you had quickly and quietly snuck away as quickly as you possibly could and escaped to your room, desperate to get away from everyone and from the nightmare of the day.

But you had only dropped your phone onto the small coffee table in your room when there was a knock on your door.

You shut your eyes your shoulders slump. The last thing you want to do is answer that door.

But after another few moments of your reticence, whoever’s on the other side knocks again, and you know instinctively they’re not going away before they talk to you.

You drag yourself to the door, steeling yourself for another round of strategy or crisis management. But when you open it, you find Steve standing there, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. His face is etched with concern, the worry lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual.

"Hey," he says softly, his blue eyes searching yours. "Can I come in?"

You nod, stepping aside to let him enter.

Steve moves into the room, his gaze taking in the untouched bed, your jacket tossed haphazardly over a chair, the room service menu lying unopened on the nightstand. He turns back to you, his expression softening.

"You haven't eaten, have you?"

You shake your head, suddenly realizing how hungry you are. "No, I… I guess I forgot."

Steve's brow furrows with even more concern. "Let me order something for you," he says, reaching for the room service menu.

"Steve, you don't have to—" you start to protest, but he cuts you off gently.

"I want to," he insists. "You need to eat. And... I thought maybe we could talk. If you're up for it."

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. "Okay," you agree softly.

“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll order us some dinner.”

You nod, grab your bag, and Steve is already picking up the phone as you step into the bathroom.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, comfy in a pair of silk pajamas, you find Steve sitting in the armchair by the couch. He's shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, looking more relaxed than he has all day. The room service cart is beside him, covered dishes waiting.

"Feel better?" he asks, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You nod, managing a small smile in return. "A little, yeah. Thanks."

You sink onto the couch, feeling the full weight of exhaustion from the day. Steve stands and moves to the cart. He passes you a set of utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin, a drink, which you set on the end table next to you, and then finally a plate of food that makes you gasp.

“How did you know?” you ask, smiling up at him.

“That it’s your favorite? I pay attention,” he answers simply.

Steve sits beside you with his own plate, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

The two of you eat and talk - though only a little bit, as it’s evident you were both incredibly hungry. But once you’re both done, plates are set aside, and Steve shifts, angling himself to face you better, and you do the same, tucking your legs up to be more comfortable.

"How are you holding up?" he asks softly.

You let out a long sigh. "Honestly? I'm not sure. It feels like we're in the eye of a hurricane, and I have no idea what's coming next."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "I know. It's been one hell of a day."

Steve reaches for your hand, enveloping it in his much larger one. His touch is warm and comforting.

"You've been beyond incredible," he says, his voice low and earnest. "The way you handled everything today - the press conference, the interviews, the constant barrage of questions - it was nothing short of remarkable."

His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand as he continues, and you look up into his blue eyes, which are locked on yours. "Your strength, your composure, your eloquence - it's been awe-inspiring. You didn't just weather the storm; you stood up to it and turned it into something powerful."

Steve's words, filled with such genuine admiration and unwavering support, begin to chip away at the walls you've built up throughout the day. The compassion in his eyes, the absolute confidence in his voice - it hits you like the sun, and it’s warm and powerful, but after the day you’ve had, wearing a brave face of poise and power that took more strength than you even thought you had, it’s too much.

Your breath hitches, and before you can stop it, a sob escapes your lips. Tears spring to your eyes, blurring your vision as they spill down your cheeks. Your shoulders shake as you try to hold back the flood, but it's no use. The weight of the day, the constant scrutiny, the vicious attacks - it all comes crashing down on you at once.

"I'm sorry," you choke out between sobs, "I didn't mean to-"

But Steve doesn't let you finish. He pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. One of his hands moves to stroke your hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. "Shh," he murmurs, "You don't have to apologize. Let it out. I've got you."

And with those words, the floodgates truly open. You cry for what feels like hours, your tears soaking into Steve's shirt. Steve holds you through it all, his strong arms a protective barrier against the world.

As your tears begin to subside, replaced by hiccupping breaths, you realize this has been the hardest day of your life.

When you came back from the Blip to find Jeff had moved on, it had been devastating. But that pain was private, shared only with those closest to you. You could grieve in the safety of your own home, away from prying eyes and judgmental whispers. And you also weren't alone in the world - millions of others were going through the similar losses, a shared trauma that bonded you all together.

But this? This was different. This was a targeted attack, aimed squarely at you, broadcast to the entire world. Your name, your face, your most personal choices - real or fabricated - were splashed across every screen, dissected not only by the media but the millions and millions of people with access to the internet and had decided to commentate as well.

You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say again, your voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

Steve gently cups your face, his thumbs brushing away the remaining tears. "You have nothing to apologize for. You're human," he corrects softly. "And you've been through hell today. You're allowed to break down."

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "I knew it would be hard, but I didn't expect this. The lies, the scrutiny, the judgment. It feels like the whole world is watching, waiting for mistakes."

Steve nods, his expression somber. "I know. And I'm sorry. I never wanted to put you through this."

You shake your head. "No, Steve. This isn't your fault. We're in this together, remember?"

He smiles softly at you. “And you’ve been so strong through everything - not just today, but every day since I met you.”

You feel a sudden rush of emotions, as if the floodgates have opened. The dam that held back your fears and insecurities has finally broken, and everything comes pouring out at once.

"I've been trying so hard to be strong," you whisper, your voice trembling. "To be the person you need me to be. The person America needs me to be. But sometimes, I feel like I'm barely treading water. Tonight, I feel like I’m drowning."

Steve's brow furrows in concern, but you continue before he can speak.

"You're Captain America, Steve. You're a hero, a legend. And I'm just... me. I worry constantly that I'm not good enough, that I'm going to let you down somehow."

Steve's arms tighten around you, and you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. It's comforting, grounding you in the midst of your emotional storm.

“You could never disappoint me,” he says quietly, but with a fervent power that seeps into you. “You may not see it yet, but I see how people look at you. With such hope, such admiration, because you’re so real to them. I got a super soldier serum that changed my life. You showed up in your life every day and worked hard and built relationships - people see that and they resonate with that. They could do it, because you could - because you are.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, Steve's words sinking in. The sincerity in his voice is palpable, and you find yourself clinging to it like a lifeline.

"I just... I don't want to let anyone down," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Especially not you."

Steve pulls back slightly, his hands moving to cup your face. His blue eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering. "Listen to me," he says, his voice low and firm. "You could never let me down. Ever. You've already exceeded every expectation I could have had."

He pauses, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "When we started this, I thought I was just getting a partner to help me navigate the political landscape. But you've become so much more than that. You're my rock, my compass. You keep me grounded when everything is moving a thousand miles an hour around us.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders start to ease, your breathing becoming steadier.

"You're not just keeping up," Steve continues, his voice soft but intense. "You're leading the way in so many aspects. The way you've handled yourself, the causes you've chosen to champion, the connections you've made with people - it's all been incredible to watch."

You take a shaky breath, feeling overwhelmed by his praise. "I'm just trying to do what's right," you murmur.

Steve smiles softly. "And that's exactly why you're perfect for this. Your moral compass, your compassion, your determination to make things better - that's what this country needs. That's what I need."

You surge close to him again, but this time wrapping your arms around his neck. He returns your embrace, his strong arms surround you completely, holding you firmly to him.

You stay in Steve's embrace for a long moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. His warmth and strength envelop you, providing a sense of safety and comfort you didn't realize you desperately needed. For the last three years, you’ve done life on your own, and you’re strong and independent and more than capable. But to be held, and in being held have someone hold part of the emotional battle with you… you didn’t know how much you needed that.

When you finally pull back, you meet Steve's gaze. His blue eyes are filled with concern, but also with something else - a warmth and tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you say softly. "For everything. For being here, for listening, for... for just being you."

Steve's lips curve into a gentle smile. "Always," he replies, his voice low and sincere. "We're in this together, remember?"

You nod, managing a small smile in return. "I do."

A comfortable silence falls between you, and you find yourself studying Steve's face. The worry lines around his eyes have softened, but you can still see the concern etched in his features. It strikes you how much he's been carrying too.

"Steve," you say softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. "How are you holding up through all of this?"

He lets out a long breath, leaning into your touch. "I'm alright," he says after a moment. "It's not easy, seeing you go through this. Knowing that my choices, my campaign, have put you in this position."

You shake your head. "We've been over this. It was my choice too."

"I know," he sighs. "But that doesn't make it any easier to watch. And then there's the constant pressure, the scrutiny. I do still wonder if I'm cut out for this. Fighting Thanos almost seems simpler in comparison."

You can't help but let out a small laugh at that, and Steve's lips quirk up in response.

"At least with Thanos, the enemy was clear," he continues. "Here, my opponents aren’t my enemies, but they have enemies attached to them - like we saw today.” He runs a hand over his beard, before he continues. "I've been in the public eye for a long time, but this is different. More personal. And I hate that today you're bearing the brunt of it."

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. "We're in this together, remember?" you echo his words back to him, squeezing his hand gently.

Steve smiles softly, squeezing your hand in return. "We are."

For a moment, you both sit quietly, the weight of the day settling around you but softer and lighter now that it’s shared between you. The room feels like a sanctuary, a quiet bubble away from the chaos of the campaign trail.

"You know," Steve says after a while, his voice thoughtful, "I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About feeling like you're drowning sometimes."

You look up at him, curious.

"I want you to know that it's okay to feel that way," he continues. "This isn't easy, and I want you to know that I see your strength, even when you don't."

His blue eyes lock onto yours, intense and sincere. "You've faced every challenge head-on and your support has sustained to me than you know on days when I’ve quietly doubted myself, too.”

The sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze - it's almost overwhelming. You've spent so much time focusing on being strong for him, for the campaign, that you hadn't realized how much you needed to hear those words.

"Thank you," you say softly, your voice thick with emotion. "That means more than you know."

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I meant every word."

Steve's hand reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers, and you find yourself leaning into it almost instinctively. And then you yawn.

He laughs softly. “Come on, it’s late. Let’s get you to bed,” he says, and stands, scooping you up in his arms bridal style. You hold on around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder for the short walk into the bedroom area of your small suite.

Steve carries you to the bed, his strong arms cradling you gently. He sets you down carefully on the plush mattress, the soft sheets cool against your skin.

With tender care, Steve pulls the covers up over you, tucking them snugly around your shoulders. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's savoring each moment. Your eyes are drooping closed, but you still notice the way the lamp on the bedside table casts a warm, golden glow across the room, softening the angles of Steve's face as he leans over you.

He brushes the hair from your forehead, his touch feather-light. Then, with infinite gentleness, he presses a soft kiss to your brow. His lips linger for a moment, warm and comforting against your skin. Then he places another soft but quick kiss to your cheek, and murmurs, “Goodnight,” as he pulls away.

“Mmm, stay?” you mumble in reply, reaching for him.

Steve hesitates for a moment, his fingers curling softly around yours. You can almost see the internal debate playing out behind his eyes. But then his expression softens, and he nods, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Alright," he says softly, "I'll stay."

You hear the soft thud of his shoes hitting the carpet, followed by the rustle of fabric as he removes his dress shirt and slacks, leaving him in only a simple white undershirt and his boxers.

He turns off the lamp next to you, then moves around to the other side of the room. The mattress dips slightly as he slips under the covers behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body immediately radiating through the thin fabric of your silk pajamas.

Steve's arm drapes over your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, a soothing rhythm that begins to lull you towards sleep. The cotton of his undershirt is soft, the scent of him so comforting.

Outside, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren serve as a reminder of the world beyond this room, but here, in this moment, it all feels far away.

Steve's breathing evens out behind you, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against your back. His arm is a comforting weight around your waist, his hand splayed protectively over your stomach. You can feel the calluses on his palm, testament to years of fighting and sacrifice, now a source of gentle comfort.

As you drift off to sleep in Steve’s arms, you know everything is far from fixed, but the chaos of the day fades enough, replaced at least for the night by a sense of peace and security you haven't felt in a long, long time.

next part: TUCSON

Thoughts? Feelings?

thank you @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me to work out some of this chapter - you know what you said/did 😎

I had said there were only going to be 12 chapters, but I think we might need to push it to 13, if there are no complaints...

*The "Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today" is a name that I made up - or at least I tried to! I Googled just to make sure I didn't use the name of a group that already exists.

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