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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 3 days ago

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I Don't Hate You (1)

Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary- As you were about to knock on her door you heard what sounded like a groan. You froze at the door. Did you hurt her badly in training? Was she in pain? Steve was going to kill you. Oh god you had fucked up. “Fuck Y/n, right there please,” the witch moaned and you realised. Oh.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Enemies to Lovers?, Dom Reader, Top Reader, Praise, Sub Wanda, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral sex, Multiple Orgasms.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List | Chapter 2

You hated her. She hated you. That was the only thing you and Wanda Maximoff could agree on. The rest of the team had no idea what happened to make you hate a certain witch so much but by the way you acted towards her they could tell it must have been something big. So here you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the Avengers compound with a scowl on your face as Wanda had just entered the room.

“Can’t you just try to be civil with her?” asked Natasha who was your best friend. The spy had been there when they rescued you from Hydra and helped you understand your abilities and control them so you couldn’t hurt anyone else. Natasha was the only person you willingly told about your past. The testing, the abuse, the torture and the stripping of your humanity really did a number on you but you managed to get through it. You had to. With an annoyed look, you turned to the redhead and met her eyes.

“I’m sorry Nat but I just don’t trust her,” you said for what felt like the millionth time. The whole team wanted you two to get along but that was quiet hard as you were both strong independent women who could be annoyingly stubborn. The spy dropped the conversation with a huff and continued to run by old mission files with you. During this you found yourself looking out for a certain brunette and you couldn’t help it. You thought it was just your paranoia acting up as that was a habit you couldn’t shake but you didn’t miss that other odd feeling you felt when looking for her.

“Y/n? Wanda? A word please,” spoke Captain America and you audibly groaned at the names called. You heard her mumbled something under her breath and you just help yourself from being a dick.

“What’s wrong darling?” you sarcastically retort.

“What do you think?” she spat out, her accent thick.

“I think your thinking about having to spend time all alone with me,” you started with a smirk and she just raised her eyebrow at you, “Trying your hardest to keep that little mind of yours from thinking about being under me.” Thanks to your abilities you heard her breath hitch and knew you had riled her up.

“As If I would want to be under you,” she growled but you could see the way her legs slowly squeezed together. You loved teasing her because it always worked and well if you were being honest you had definitely thought about her being under you. The woman was gorgeous! She had a stunning body from all her training, she could kill men twice the size of her and she never backed down from a challenge. How could you not fantasize about her? It would be like some amazing fanfic where the two people who hated each other would some reason have amazing hot sex and maybe fall in love.

“Keep telling yourself that darling,” you said. You were about to tease her even more but a firm grip on your shoulder stopped you.

“Go now,” ordered Natasha and you saluted at her in a mocking manner and walked down the hall to follow the captain and witch. You couldn’t stop yourself and your eyes wandered lower until they reached the brunettes behind. You quickly averted your gaze once you released what you were doing.

“So what’s this for Grandpa,” you joke as he leads you to the training room. You jump up onto the pile of mats to sit on while he just rolls his eyes at the nickname. You and Steve were close as you both shared the super soldier serum but yours was more enhanced.

“You and Wanda will be sparring partners from now on,” his tone serious and you just laughed.

“You think she could fight me?” your voice shocked. “Wow I’m officially hurt Captain,” for dramatics you placed your hand on your heart and acted as if he had shot you.

“Get down Y/n,” he grumbled but you listened as he was still your friend. “You are going to spar with each other and settle your differences otherwise you are both banned from missions.”

“What?” you and Wanda both asked in unison.

“You heard me,” his tone stern, “Now sort this out so we don’t have to listen to anymore arguing.” With that said he left the room and slammed the door making you laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she snapped while tying her hair up and getting in a fighting stance. You looked her up and down unconsciously before clearing your throat.

“Looks like you’ll have plenty of time to be under me darling,” you purred and launched yourself at her. She dodged a few of your punches but you noticed how she put way to much weight onto one of her legs meaning if you swiped at her other-

“Fuck,” she shouted as her back hit the mat and you climbed on top of her to pin her down. You moved her hands over her head while moving your hips to straddle hers. Your faces were inches apart and your smirk was predatory. You looked deeply into her ocean eyes and wondered has she always had such beautiful eyes? You watched as her breathing started to pick up as you moved to whisper in her ear.

“If you want to be under me just ask,” you purred. “I’m sure I could make you scream,” your tone was sultry and as you pulled back you saw her eyes dilate so much only slivers of the green were left. You chuckled at her reaction before getting of her and waiting for her to get back up. You let her make the first move this time and quickly avoided her incoming attacks. You read her movements and analysed her techniques before predicting her next moves. You knew Natasha had trained her mostly so she had learned the spy’s skills but they just weren’t as developed as hers. Once she lifted the weight on one foot you knew she was going to swing her foot at you so you moved back and caught it with your hand. You flipped her over as she was now off balanced but made sure to put a hand on her back before she hit the mat once again. You hated her but that didn’t mean you were going to purposely hurt her. You weren’t like that anymore.

“You really do like being on your back for me,” you teased as you pinned her once again.

“Shut up,” she said with her accent coming out strong. “I’m getting a drink.” You gazed at her as she drank from her water bottle. From where you were you could see the light showing off the sweat that was dripping down the column of her neck and slowly trickling its way to the valley of her breasts. The sight of her was intoxicating and you couldn’t help but stare. You managed to look away before you came off as creepy and she returned to you a few moments later.

“Ready to be beaten again?” you taunted and she just rolled her eyes before throwing a surprise punch. You were impressed but it didn’t work as you countered it and swiped her off her feet once again.

“Wow you really are falling for me,” you joked and she groaned in annoyance. The two of you continued to spar for another hour until Wanda finally called it quits as she was getting annoyed. She managed to land a few hits on you occasionally but would always end up underneath you. When she stormed out of the training room you assumed it was out of frustration as you had being egging her on for ages. However Wanda left in such a hurry as the wetness between her thighs was becoming too much.

Once in her room she quickly shed her self of her sweaty workout clothes and laid down on her bed in nothing but her underwear. She didn’t get why you hated her so much. The only reason she acted the way she did to you was because that’s how you treated her. Wanda pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind as she moved her hands along her sculpted body. Sparring with you had awoken something in her. Yeah sure she had thought about you multiple times while pleasuring herself but to actually be under you and be so close? It had her wet within seconds. Her nimble fingers found themselves teasing her nipples through the fabric of her bra before she moved to unclasp it and throw it somewhere into her room. She pictured you above her, your hands teasing her nipples as she moaned under you. Your name falling out of her lips like a prayer as you took her desperately in her bed. One of her hands moved from her breast to slip underneath the fabric of her underwear and start rubbing circles into her clit. She wondered if you would be dominating during sex as you had that cocky personality or if you were really just a brat who needed to be tamed like she was. She hoped you would take charge and make her scream like you promised. She found herself getting unbearably wet between her thighs as the coil in her stomach started to tighten. She slipped in two fingers and thrusted at a leisurely pace imagining they were your fingers and you were teasing her for being such a brat this morning. Her hips bucked every time her palm brushed her clit and soft whimpers left her lips. She didn’t even notice that she was moaning your name as she edged closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n,” spoke a voice and you whipped your head around. It was Steve great. “Why did Wanda look so annoyed after training with you?”

“I don’t know maybe because all she did was get pinned to the floor by me? I’m sorry Cap I really am but she’s too easy to fight!” you exclaimed and he sighed in frustration.

“Then why don’t you try and help her improve!” he said and you looked at him confused.

“Isn’t that your job? Or Nat’s?” he pinched the bridge of his nose at you and huffed.

“It’s yours now ok?” he said in a serious voice and you just groaned. Why God, why? “Also you can go check on her and apologise for being so rough on her in training,” his voice left no room for arguing so you mumbled stuff under your breath before leaving to go see the witch.

“God Y/n,” she whimpered as her fingers hit her g-spot repeatedly. She was a wet mess by now and she didn’t care. The image of you pounding into her with a strap on was doing wonders for her and she was so close to coming for a second time.

As you were about to knock on her door you heard what sounded like a groan. You froze at the door. Did you hurt her badly in training? Was she in pain? Steve was going to kill you. Oh god you had fucked up. “Fuck Y/n, right there please,” the witch moaned and you realised. Oh.

Wanda curled the two fingers inside her and rubbed tight, fast circles into her clit with her other hand bringing herself right to the edge. With a final thrust she came with a guttural scream and trembled on the bed as her orgasm washed over her. She laid on the bed panting after having two of the best orgasms of her life. Who knew you turned the witch on that much.

You remained frozen at the door as you had just heard Wanda moaning your name and had just orgasmed at the thought of you. Every single ounce of confidence in you went flying out of the widow as Wanda just came thinking about you. You knew you had to see the witch otherwise Steve would definitely ban you from missions so you did the only thing you could think off- make dirty jokes while talking to her.

You knocked three times on the door before saying, “Hey Wanda, I’m sorry for going so hard on you in training I just thought you would have liked it hard and rough.” You could hear an embarrassed noise from through the door and quietly chuckled. “Anyway I can’t wait for you to come tomorrow.” Wanda groaned loudly into her pillow and dreaded training with you tomorrow.

The next day you and Wanda met for training you had decided to wear a tight fitting black t-shirt that showed off how defined your body was as well as slightly curvy. You certainly didn’t expect Wanda to turn up in tight leggings that hugged her ass perfectly and a small sports bra that made her chest look bigger. You had to control yourself as she swayed her hips towards you. There was a glint of mischief in her eyes and you could tell she was going to be a brat.

“Hey Y/n,” her tone sultry and accent thick.

“Hey Wanda,” your tone equally seductive. “Did you have fun last night?” You saw how she blushed and thought this was going to be easy.

“I did actually,” she murmured, her face inches from yours. “I did what you said I would.”

“And what was that darling?” the nickname slipping from your lips.

“Thinking of you,” her voice raspy. You raised an eyebrow at her boldness but let her carry on. “I thought of what it would be like to be under you,” she stepped closer to you and moved to a fight pose. She made sure that in the position she was in her breasts would be pushed up and it would give you a clear view of them. “To have your hands all over me,” she threw a punch and you easily dodged it but grabbed her arm and flung her over you. She landed on her back with you onto and her eyes dilated. You could see how flustered she was and how her thighs tried to squeeze together. You moved apart her legs with your hands, spreading her out for you before crawling above her and putting your knew in between her legs. A soft moan left her lips at the contact and you stopped advancing on her. It felt so wrong to have her here on the floor of the training room.

“Do you actually want this?” you asked in case she didn’t for some reason.

“Yes,” she gasped out. You pressed your lips against hers and heard her moan into the kiss. Fuck she was addicting. The taste of her lips, the sound of her whimpers, the smell of her perfume. You couldn’t get enough of her. You pulled away and saw how her eyes fluttered open, her lips chasing yours. A small peck on her lips was placed before you pulled away for good to stare at her.

“Not here darling,” you panted out on her lips. Her nose brushed yours and you so desperately wanted her now. “My room or yours?”

“Mine,” she whispered and you moved off her and pulled her up. You pulled her close to murmur into her ear.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” you nibbled on her ear lobe. “Go.” Swiftly she left the training room and you chuckled as she fumbled with the door.

Around five minutes later you knocked on her door after making sure no one would see you. As soon as the door opened a hand made its way to the collar of your shirt and she dragged you into her room. Wanda pressed you against the door and reattached your lips together in a hungry kiss. You groaned into her mouth as her body became flush with yours. In one motion, you switched the positions and trapped her body between you and the door.

“If you want to stop just say,” you panted out while resting your forehead against hers, “I won’t judge and will stop as soon as you want me to.” She smiled before lacing her hands through your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss. Your knee made its way back between her thighs and she took this as the chance to grind along it. Your hands moved from beside her head to massage her chest before pulling down the sports bra revealing her chest. She gasped as the cold air met her nipples while you just let out a low chuckle. Your fingers rolled and pinched her nipples as she sighed against your lips and grinded her core on your toned thigh.

“Please,” she whimpered as you moved your kisses to her neck. You sucked hard onto a spot on her neck where everyone could see as it and felt her buck her hips especially hard.

“Oh you like that darling?” you teased. “Do you want everyone to see your mine? To see this and think of me and you?” you bit down on another part of her neck and soothed it with your tongue before moving to her chest. Your name fell from her lips as you took a breast into your mouth and worshipped it. With a pop you let it go before moving onto the other.

“Y/n,” she whined, “Please I’m so close. I need you to,” she moaned out before you cut her off with your lips.

“Need me to what?”

“Touch me here,” she guided one of your hands to between her thighs and you instantly felt how wet she was.

“You’re so wet for me,” you growled out and she moaned at the tone of your voice. You rubbed her through the fabric of her leggings and felt her getting extremely close. “Do you want to come?” you felt her nod against your shoulder and you tsked her. “You’ve got to use your words if you want to be a good girl,” she moaned at the words. “Good girls get to come.”

“Please let me come,” she whimpered and you felt bad for what you were about to do but it would be worth it. “I’m so close,” as soon as she said that you picked her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around your toned abdomen. She whined as you placed her on the bed as she was so close to coming. Once she was on the bed you knelt by the end of it and reached for the waistband of her leggings. You looked at her in the eyes, asking the silent question, and waited for her to say yes. She nodded but you tsked again so she said, “Yes. Please!” You laughed at her neediness but continued to pull the remaining clothing off her skin. As you unveiled the soft, smooth skin of her legs you groaned quietly as she was breath-taking.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered while moving her legs over your shoulder. You peppered open mouthed kisses in between her thighs before leaving a few bites to leave as a reminder. “Is this what you wanted?” you murmured into her skin. “To be spread out and wanting for me?” your hot breath sent all sorts of pleasurable feelings throughout the witch and a low moan left her lips. “Desperate for my touch?” you finally gave in and took her clit into your mouth. Her hips jerked at pleasure so with one of your hands you held her hips down. The show of strength made Wanda feel even more aroused and a new gush of wetness pooled between her thighs. Your tongue licked between her folds while your free hand moved to circle her clit. You thrusted your tongue into her dripping core and felt her clench around you. Wanda was already extremely close from before so it only took a few thrusts of your tongue against her walls and a few rubs of her clit for her legs to wrap around your head. Her legs trembled as she came with a long string of moans, her back arching beautifully and chest heaving from the intensity of it. Once she had rode out the last of her aftershocks you switched your tongue with your fingers and easily slipped two into her.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned as her hips bucked as best they could under your grip. You started a fast pace of moving your digits within her while your mouth sucked and licked around your extremely sensitive clit. It took only a minute or so for the witch to cry out your name out as another orgasm washed over her. You waited once again for her to calm down and tested to see if she could handle another. You worked her up slowly this time and her hands unclenched the sheet in her hand and tangled in your hair. You made her come another time before deciding she had enough and it would be too much for another.

“Are you alright?” you whispered as you moved back above her body. She sighed out a yes before pressing her lips against yours. The brunette moaned as she tasted herself on your lips before pulling away.

“Do you want me to?” she asked breathlessly and you shook your head.

“Its ok,” you said after pressing your lips together once again, “You’re tired. Go and rest.” You moved to her bathroom to grab a towel so you could quickly wipe her down and clean her up. Once you were happy she was alright you went to grab her clothes and put them into a wash basket before passing her some comfortable clothes to wear. You heard her call your name so you turned around to look at her.

“Stay?” she had hope in her eyes and for some reason you felt like you couldn’t deny her. You crawled into the bed with her and felt her move close to cuddle you. This felt weird for you as you had never expected to do this with her but it didn’t feel wrong so you went with it. “Y/n?” you hummed in response, “Why do you hate me?

“I don’t hate you,” you admitted. It was true. You never hated Wanda you were just scared of what she thought of you. When she went into your mind all that time ago when she was with Ultron you were still a new member of the team. You hadn’t done much to remove the ‘red in your ledger’ as Natasha phrased it and you assumed she just thought you were evil. “I just thought you would see me as a monster. I pushed you away because you saw all of me and it just….scared me I guess.” She removed her head from your chest to look at you in the eyes.

“You’re not a monster Y/n. And I never thought that of you.” She pressed her lips onto yours and this time it felt different.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” you whispered against her lips, not meeting her eyes.

“I’m sorry too,” she cooed and you finally looked at her, “But to be honest I was just mad at you. I had a huge crush on you and you just wanted to push me away.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m yours now,” you said and you saw her raise her eyebrow, “Well that’s if you still want me.” She answered you by kissing you passionately on the lips and pulling you closer.

“Of course I do.”

#wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction #wanda x reader #eventual smut #wanda x you #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch #dom reader #enemies to lovers #wlw smut #top reader

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wildflowersandvibranium · 2 days ago

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Muscle Memory : Chapter Eight

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 2.9k+

Chapter Warnings: Angsty with fluff? Mentions of medical emergency , hospital scene , parental health crisis , emotional distress , panic/anxiety , grief themes , mentions of bruises / past Hurt

A/N: heyyy I personally love this chapter sm and have been waitingggg to write it and now its here! I’ve been posting updates back to back recently but I’m so excited for this series and have the time to do so , so why not! andddd I'm sorry not sorry for the cliff hanger hehe enjoy - flower <3

series masterlist or read on ao3!

<- previous chapter - next chapter ->

The sleek local hospital thrived in continuous rhythm , beeping monitors , the echo of squeaky sneakers on linoleum , and the subtle murmur of clipped medical terminology exchanged in quick passing down the long halls.

In her dark blue scrubs and stark white lab coat , Y/N moved through the building with focus , her expression calm even when her body ached from two back-to-back surgeries and very minimal sleep.

She’d become good at this. At compartmentalizing her aches and problems. At doing the job and leaving everything else—including bruises , heartbreak , and hollow silence from the night before last—at the door ready to setp into her role as head of Cardio.

Her happy place.

She leaned her body against and over the counter of the closest nurse’s station , reviewing the post-op notes for the aortic valve replacement she and Peter had just completed together.

It went perfectly , without mistake and fail.

Her hands were sterile clean , purple gloves peeled off , fingers twitching with the phantom pressure of clamps and sutures in her grasp.

Behind her , her intern Peter buzzed breathless about restocking supplies then finally catching up with his attending.

“Dr. Y/N , you’re , like… a machine,” Peter muttered , half in awe looking at her , half in fatigue as he slowed his breathing from chasing her down the hallway. “You seriously don’t stop , or…b-breathe.”

“I’m cardio. If I stop so do people's hearts,” she answered simply , marking the last chart smiling handing it to a nurse whos name tag she looked over reading Brandy .

“Thank you Brandy” she quipped.

Peter gave her a sheepish half smile before scuttling off to grab more EKG strips and gloves after they ran out in OR 3.

Y/N pressed her knuckles into the back of her neck rolling it with a little wince.

That’s when her phone rang loud.

Her eyes flicked to the time then to the contact ID.

“ Wands “

Y/N blinked at the name , confusion covering her face and furrowing her brows. Wanda rarely called her in the middle of the work day unless it was an emergency , or now wedding-related.

She picked up seeing she did not currently have a surgery beckoning her name at the moment answering with a quick. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Y/N!” Wanda’s voice was rushed , she sounded like she was mid race “Oh my god, I’m so sorry to bother you while your at the hospital… but I—I really need to ask you something, and it’s kind of a complete and total bridal emergency.”

Y/N glanced at an empty storage closet heading in , switching Wanda to speaker. “What happened?”

“It’s Darcy,” Wanda groaned. “She went on an early morning run this morning—who does that before coffee—and tripped over a stupid freaking tree root. She broke her ankle , clean break all the way through.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Just high on pain meds wobbling on crutches and furious about the timing,” Wanda said with a huff. “But now I have no maid of honor. I mean, I do… if you say yes to me.”

Y/N froze. “Me?”

“Yes , you , dummy,” Wanda said. “I didn’t ask you in the first place because I know you’re swamped with the hospital and moving and all , but please. Please, I need you. You know all the plans and everything about the day already , and everyone adores you. Plus , you’re walking with Bucky anyway since he’s my man of honor. It’s perfect!”

Y/N’s heart stuttered at that name. “Wait—what?”

“You’d be walking with Bucky. Is that okay?” Wanda’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t trust you both not to act like children on my special day.”

Y/N’s lips parted , a hundred feelings trying to surface at once.

But there wasn’t time to process them.

Her pager buzzed, vibrating violently on her hip. A triple-page to the ER.

Code red - 911.

“I—I’ll do it , Wanda,” she blurted out , already moving to the ER. “I’ll text you after. I’m being paged to an emergency.”

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll—”

“Bye!” Y/N hung up on her mid-sentence.

Before she could put up her phone again , it began to buzz in her hand.

“ Bucky ;) ”

She hesitated for a long pause but not stopping her steps , then for whatever reason she didn't even know herself she answered it , still jogging toward the main elevators.

“Hel-”

“Are you at the hospital?!” His voice was raw and breaking , loud enough that she had to hold the phone slightly away from her ear with a grimace.

Her stomach dropped to her knees at his tone. “Yes , Bucky of course I am , I’m literally on my way to the ER right now for an emergency , so can we—”

“It’s Ma!” he shouted , cutting her off again. “She’s the one you’re being paged for!”

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Then took off sprinting passing the elevators taking off down the stairs.

“W-what?”

“She collapsed at a bookstore, the one she loves on 22nd street. I—I got a call from first responders who got her. My number was in her wallet. She wasn’t waking up , they brought her in—” His voice broke. “They said she’s not responsive. Y/N , I don’t know what to do , I—”

“I’m coming. Stay on the phone Bucky i'm coming,” she said , already running as fast as she could. NOt caring about the stares she got from passing families and staff.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The large ER bay doors slid open with a gust of cold , sterile wind.

Her eyes swept across the bouncing and full room searching till she saw him. Bucky.

Standing in the middle of controlled chaos like the eye of a storm that was anything but calm right now , panic written across every line and show of his face.

He was clutching his phone to his chest hard enough to split the screen into a million pieces , looking down the hall toward a gurney being rushed past two trauma bays.

On it lay his mother Winifred Barnes.

She was pale and still. Unmoving. Oxygen mask over her face. Eyes closed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to go to him.

She shoved and elbowed her way through the crowd and grabbed Bucky by the arm. “Hey , I’m here. I’m right here.”

His eyes locked on hers and immediately filled with tears gripping onto her. “Y/N—she just… she collapsed. I wasn’t there. I—I didn’t even—”

She wrapped both arms around him before he could fully collapse into himself.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, a hand coming up to his head raking her fingers in it , grounding him. “You did everything right , I'm here now.”

The paramedics called out vitals as they moved Winifred toward the cardio trauma room.

Y/N turned to one of the nurses who was cleaning where they had Winniefred in the ER bay. “What’s her status Piper?”

“BP is crashing , CT confirmed complete LAD occlusion. We’re prepping the OR as we speak Im sorry Dr., but i gotta go”

“Thanks yes of course go-”

“Blockage?” Bucky whispered brokenly behind her , voice trembling.

Y/N spun turning to him , hands going on his shoulders. “It’s a heart attack , Bucky. A big one. But she’s here now , and I know this hospital, these people—we’re not going to waste a second they've got her.”

“But—what if it’s too late? What if—” he stutters out not breathing.

“Oh-Oh Okay. It’s okay your having a panic attack Bucky,” She acted quickly. “You're safe. Right here with me.”

She reached out and gently took his hand—it was clammy.

He didn’t pull away.

“Just copy me,” She whispered keeping her voice calm. She took a deep breath , in through her nose , slow and steady.

He tried. Too fast. Chest still fluttering rapidly.

“Okay , again. Slower this time.” She exaggerated itc, making her own breath loud.

In. Out.

He followed. Not perfect, but better.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re here. In the hospital with me , standing in a pretty gross ER." she let her lips twitch slightly.

He let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. Still shaking.

“You’re doing good,” He nodded.

His eyes finally met hers—and really met them. The tension in his body eased, just a little.

“I hate this,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said. “But , It’s not too late,” she said firmly cupping his cheek in one hand. “They’ll need to clear the blockage and place a stent. I’ve done this surgery myself a hundred times and the people working on her , I've trained.”

“But you’re not doing it this time,” he whispered, shaking his head. “So what if they mess up-?” He hiccuped.

Y/N’s heart cracked , he was so scared , right now he wasn't the built man who was standing before her. No , right now he was just a boy who’d seen too much grief, too much loss afraid to face more of it.

“I trust them with my life Bucky ,” she said , taking his hand rubbing over his knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They moved to stood outside the OR prep hallway , just beyond the sterile double doors , where Winifred Barnes was being wheeled into her surgery.

Y/N hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand once refusing to drop it.

Her grip had shifted , no longer urgent and needed , but a steady grounding tether.

The same way he used to hold hers after she ran barefoot into his backyard , bruised and shaking.

Only now, he was the one who couldn’t stop shaking or trembling.

“She’ll be okay,” Y/N repeated , voice soft as they stood together pressed against the wall.

The staff buzzed and swarmed around them , moving carts , monitors and medications with seamless precision in the OR.

“Her vitals stabilized enough for surgery. The blockage they found is in the left anterior descending artery. But I'm hopeful they caught it fast enough. They’ll insert a catheter through the femoral artery and place a stent to open it.”

Bucky blinked at her like she was speaking a different language from another planet or world. “I don’t—I can’t follow all that.”

She turned toward him and gently touched his upper arm. “You don’t have to. That's medical nonsense. I’ll translate it into Bucky Barnes terms, okay?”

His lips twitched at that. Not quite a smile. But close.

“She had a heart attack,” Y/N continued calmly. “LIke i said earlier a pretty big one. But she’s in the best possible place right now. This team is the one I trust with my own patients everyday. They’re going to thread a tiny little wire into her heart and open up the artery that got blocked , which caused the heart attack. Once the artery opens again , blood will flow normally and her heart can start healing and getting stronger.”

“How does it know to go back to beating and healing again?”

“Muscle memory” Y/N smiled , squeezing his hand once.

Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the OR doors. “How long?”

“Depending on how stable she stays and how fast they access and treat the blockage… anywhere from 30 minutes to a couple of hours.”

He gave a slow nod , his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.

“She was just going to the bookstore , ” he whispered. “Said she wanted to pick out a new book for Alpine because she “likes being read to during thunderstorms” She was just…fine.”

“I know.” Y/N swallowed the lump rising in her own throat. “That’s how it happens sometimes. There’s no warning no alert. But we’re not going to let her go , Bucky.”

He didn’t respond , just continued staring straight ahead. So she reached up and gently tucked a piece of longer fallen hair behind his ear , the way she used to when they were younger and he couldn’t sleep unless someone ran fingers through his hair.

His shoulders eased a little at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed breathing out a shaky exhale.

“I’m staying with you.”

He looked at her. Really looked , eyes scanning her face for sincerity , searching for it. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

They ended up moving together to the small family waiting alcove near the OR corridor.

It was a private little room with a soft muted blue couch , a few slightly worn and uncomfortable chairs , with a coffee machine that hadn’t worked properly in years.

The overhead lights hummed too loudly , and the air conditioner made a clicking noise every time it kicked on.

But it was quiet. Safe.

Y/N sat down on the couch and gently pulled Bucky beside her wrapping her arms into his jacket and starting stroking his back

She slipped out her phone and sent a message redirecting her last surgery that day to the resident just below her .

They sat close , the space between them was warm with old familiarity and safety.

She couldn't help but be reminded of their late-night study sessions at their shared off-campus apartment—awful coffee-stained old notebooks, half-melted pizza cold , and the curve of Bucky’s knee always brushing hers under their coffee table.

Except this time , there was no young laughter and love. No midnight music playing from her laptop speakers or Bucky's humming and her smile.

Only grief. And desperate waiting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Another ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then forty five.

Bucky didn’t speak the whole time since going to the family room. He just fidgeted—rubbing his thumb over the inside of his wrist , then clenching and unclenching his fists.

His eyes never stayed still , flitting to the door , to the rug , to her, then back to the door again waiting for a doctor or nurse , or anyone to give him the news he needed.

“She’s tough, you know,” She tried to fill the silence. “Your mom , she once brought me soup when I had a cold from sleeping in the treehouse one night and wouldn’t leave until I finished all of it. She glared at me every time I tried to brush her off or say I wasn't hungry.”

A soft watery huff came from Bucky , barely audible but there.

“Yeah mom is a stubborn and stern one , once lectured a grown man at the grocery store for cutting in line in front of a teenager…She made him put all his stuff back,” Bucky added , voice hoarse. “Said the only way entitled jerks learn is through inconvenience.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Yep, that's Winifred Barnes.”

Bucky leaned forward , elbows on his knees , hands clasped tight between them dropping his head low. “I thought I lost her.”

“You didn’t.” She leaned over placing her forehead on his shoulder. “You didn’t.”

Another twenty minutes passed.

His hand found hers again.

And stayed there , neither pulling back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They both must have dozed off at some point while waiting. The exhaustion of the day , the anxiety and fear , the steady lull of the ticking wall clock all pulling them into something softer and restful.

Y/N’s head tilted to the side with an exhale , settling against Bucky’s shoulder.

His arm curved behind her body , on instinct , the way you hold something you don’t want to drop or lose.

His cheek rested lightly on top of her head , taking a risk , he lazily- sleepily kissed her temple with the softest brush of his lips , breathing evening out as she was already asleep.

For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—Y/N’s body was in no harm or pain , as he just held her.

They didn’t speak or wake when the other slightly shifted or stirred.

They didn’t need to just needed each other in this very moment.

The OR door hadn’t opened yet. The news hadn’t come.

But for now, in this sliver of peace between heartbeats and heartbreak.

They had each other-“Bucky?...Y/N?!...”

-end

If you want to be added/removed to series tag list message me or comment <3 (sometimes it can get lost in comments but im trying my best!)

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angel06babysworld · 1 day ago

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cowgirl w military!rafe?

military!rafe x bratty!reader

a/n: i hope you meant the sex position and not an actual cowgirl cus…

Built to Handle Her

⟨⟨⟨ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ⟩⟩⟩

She knew exactly what she was doing the second she climbed on top of him.

The look in her eyes was pure challenge—chin tilted up, lips curved in that infuriating smirk she always wore when she was about to push him too far. She straddled his hips like she owned the space, like she wasn’t wearing his shirt and nothing else, like she hadn’t been begging for it just ten minutes ago.

Now? She was taking her sweet, sweet time.

Rafe lay back against the pillows, bare chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. His dog tags clinked softly where they hung over his sternum, catching the light every time she rolled her hips just a little. He could feel the heat of her, soaked and snug around him, but she wasn’t riding him. Not really. Just slow grinds, shallow little motions that did more to piss him off than satisfy either of them.

And she knew it.

“You’re quiet,” she teased, voice soft but smug. Her palms flattened over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles like she had all the time in the world. “Thought you’d have more to say, soldier.”

His jaw flexed.

“You’re not gonna last long like this,” she continued, bouncing once—shallow, lazy, not nearly enough. “Getting a little soft on me, huh?”

He grabbed her waist in a flash, strong fingers digging into her skin. She gasped, but she didn’t stop smiling. Not even when he sat up just enough to bring his mouth to her ear.

“You talk too much.”

His voice was low and dark, laced with warning. That tone that always made her stomach flip and her thighs squeeze tighter around him. He didn’t have to raise his voice to scare the shit out of her—and turn her on at the same time.

“I let you on top because I thought maybe you’d behave for once,” he muttered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But you’re not even trying, are you?”

She bit back a grin. “I’m trying to make it last.”

His fingers slid up to her throat, not choking—just resting, claiming. He tilted her chin down so she had to look him in the eye.

“You don’t make anything in this bed last,” he said coldly. “I do.”

Her smirk faltered. Just a little.

Rafe leaned back again, hands behind his head now, a taunting smirk of his own curling on his lips.

“Go on, then. Prove me wrong.”

God, she hated him.

Hated how he looked at her like he already knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Hated how calm he stayed while she tried to work him up, hated how her body betrayed her first—tightening around him, breath catching, thighs already starting to tremble from the strain of holding her pace.

He just laid there and watched. Patient. Knowing. His abs flexed every time her hips rocked forward, but his eyes stayed fixed on her face. Waiting for the cracks to show.

She tried. She really did.

Tried to keep her rhythm, to grind faster, bounce harder—but the build was too slow, too thick. Every movement drove him deeper, hit that spot that made her back arch and her hands grab at his chest for balance. The smirk was long gone now, replaced with parted lips and soft, desperate noises she couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asked, voice like gravel. “Getting tired already?”

She whimpered. Tried to shake her head.

He sat up fast—one arm around her waist, the other fisted in her hair. She gasped as he pulled her flush against him, her chest pressed to his, breath coming in quick, shuddering bursts. His mouth was at her ear again, hot and punishing.

“You wanna act like you’re in control?” he growled. “Then ride me like you mean it.”

She moaned, grinding down harder, trying to meet his demand—but it was too much. Her legs burned. Her rhythm broke. Her body trembled in his lap.

“Thought so,” he muttered, dragging his lips across her jaw.

And then he took over.

His hands gripped her hips and slammed her down onto him, hard enough to make her cry out. Her nails dug into his shoulders, but he didn’t stop. He set the pace she couldn’t keep—rough, relentless, deep. Her head dropped to his shoulder as he fucked up into her, using her body like it was his and his alone.

“You don’t get to tease me and think there won’t be consequences,” he hissed. “You come up here acting cocky, running that smart little mouth—now you’re gonna take every goddamn inch.”

She could barely breathe. Could barely think. Her whole body clenched around him, desperate and twitching, pleasure building fast and sharp in her belly.

“Rafe,” she gasped, “I-I’m gonna—”

His teeth grazed her neck. “Not yet.”

He slowed just enough to torture her. Let her feel it, hold it, teeter on the edge until she was begging under her breath, nails raking down his back, tears slipping down the corners of her eyes.

“Now,” he whispered, voice soft and deadly. “Now you can come.”

She shattered in his lap, loud and shaking, mouth open in a moan that barely sounded human. And Rafe held her through it, fucking her through every aftershock until she collapsed against him, limp and used and completely wrecked.

He laid back, dragging her with him, one hand stroking over her thigh like she hadn’t just tried to out-stubborn a soldier ten years older than her.

“You done being a brat now?” he asked, tone casual, cocky.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have the breath.

And Rafe? He just smiled.

Because she’d try again next time.

And he’d ruin her all over again.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby

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ndostairlyrium · 3 days ago

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Your ship and how they sleep (when together and not) questionnaire! 💖

I was tagged by @arcandoria 💛 thanks dear!! This is so fun ;u;

I'm tagging: @celestialteapot @greypetrel @shivunin @star--nymph @melisusthewee @dungeons-and-dragon-age @raflesia65 @bibutterflies @buriedknight & @p0lkadotdotdot

Ankh x Cullen

How often do they sleep together?

After they've established their relationship physically they do as often as they can. Before that moment there has been a couple of accidental naps but never a proper night of sleep in the same bed.

Where do they sleep?

In Skyhold, at Cullen's at first, because the Inquisitor's quarters tend to be packed with staff. Afterwards they manage to carve some private space for their relationship to evolve and he literally moves in her bedroom. Sometimes they isolate in one of the guests room facing the gardens, but it's just a refuge / nap room, nothing more nothing less.

How do they prepare to sleep?

They always try to go to sleep together when Ankh is in Skyhold. When that happens they have their own ritual of helping each other out of their armor/clothes, they bathe / refresh, then they do whatever activity they're obsessed with in that moment of time before going to sleep. This will continue even after the events of Trespasser, just not in Skyhold.

What do they wear to sleep?

It really depends on the activity they were doing before putting themselves to bed 👀 Otherwise, Ankh is a firm believer that people that wear pants in bed are very suspicious so there's a no pants / light clothes policy in her quarters, unless it's too cold and he refuses to humor her.

Do they cuddle?

Often, but not always. Ankh very touchy-feely but she respects Cullen's personal space, in addition some nights they're so tired it's impossible to develop something more than a hug.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

Singularly, Ankh is one that curls in fetal position and takes little space, possibly close to the border. Cullen needs to face the ceiling, because he's used to get up and get ready quickly and that's the most comfortable position for such purpose. When they're together they travel across the bed in a perpetual hug. He doesn't want to let her go, she's just happy to be dragged.

How easy do they fall asleep?

When they're on their own, it takes a lot of time to fall asleep. They have thoughts and they tend to grab the worst one and spiral. When they're together, it's easier because they can talk through their problems. Besides, the sense of security they give each other mitigates their insticts and help them relax more.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Not when they're alone. When they're together it's a competition on who falls out of bed first (see sleep positions answer).

Do they snore?

I don't think so? :'D

Who hogs the blanket?

The blanket is wrapped on them, when the morning comes they have taken the form of a elvhen-human cannellone.

What do they dream about?

Ankh's dreams kinda define her personality. She often relives memories but the places and the people are all messed up - remains of somewhere / someone else significant to her background all mixed together. Another set of "I'm in power but things are still slipping off my hands" dreams feature; being unable to hit her targets when hunting, seeming incapable to run, and sometimes she can't use her voice to warn the people around her that she, or them, are in danger. About the last on the list, when she come across that specific situation she struggles so much that she uses her voice outside the dream, so she has to be woken up. Now, I have an hc about the Anchor, that is able to connect Ankh to the Fade so much that her dreams become more vivid and detailed, so she can be "in the moment" as they unravel in her brain. It is as if she never goes to sleep, so much that she considers falling asleep as checking in for the next part of her day. I think Cullen's dreams, nightmares aside, are a pure re-elaboration of the day / week he's just spent, with different details and maybe a different temporal context. An interesting dream he could have would be being unprepared for something important - lessons, meetings, etc. But also - and here comes another headcanon - he dreams of a world with a black inky sky, with glittering walls and a comforting sound of breathing that seems like a melancholic song. Sometimes he wakes up feeling nostalgic for something above his reach.

How easily do they wake up?

Very easily. It takes the smallest noise to alert the both of them.

How awake they are afterwards?

Oh, she's very awake and ready to jump on the walls like a grasshopper. Also she's a morning babbler of the worst kind. He, on the other hand, would be ready for action out of habits but he needs a moment to wake up and adapt. There are probably a couple of arguments in which he tells her to shut the fuck up :'D but she always wins in the end.

#your ship and how they sleep #tag memes #inquisitor lavellan #ankh #cullen rutherford #primula #they don't sleep a lot but when they do it's time for stuffed cannelloni <3 #and it's not an euphemism I swear lol #also they deprived me of a scene in which [redacted] connects with a templar. any templar. that would have been interesting #considering all the implications

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xechu · 15 hours ago

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[Honor & Vengeance] S. Geto - 夏油傑

Pairing: general!suguru x fem!reader Word Count: 11.6k Series Warnings: please read my blog rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, depiction of gore and violence, mature themes Chapter Warnings: mature themes, emotional angst, description of violence, childhood emotional abuse and trauma, suicidal thoughts, death, grief, description of injuries - please read with care Tags: historical au, non-curse au, marriage of convenience, slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut, angst, hurt/comfort Summary: Yu Haibara—Suguru’s right-hand man and childhood best friend—recounts the rise and fall of House Geto, and the oath that bound them together. Suguru's ambitions are revealed, and King Sato had summoned him in private to task him with a secret mission. While all seems calm within the Geto Estate, unresolved issues from the Eastern Campsite continue to fester. a/n: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, even though it's a bit emotionally heavy. I never expected to write a whole chapter in (mostly) Haibara's POV, but he's easily becoming one of my favorite characters in this series. Also, for clarification in this chapter "sworn kin" = godchild. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for reading! x

Master List: << chapter 5 || chapter 7 (tbc) >>

[Chapter 6]: All-Seeing Advisor

Yu Haibara was the official advisor of House Geto and Suguru’s right-hand man.

One would think that he was constantly shadowed by the Conqueror of Stars, but fear not! For the All-Seeing Advisor was brilliant in his own ways, and a palace court favorite too, particularly among the female servants.

Ah. The tragedy of being the keeper of many beautiful women’s hearts, and by beautiful, he meant the kind who smiled freely and laughed with their whole heart. And if they didn’t? Well, there’s beauty in the quiet mystique as well. And dare he say, even more alluring?

But by no means was he a womanizer!

No. Never.

More like a painting if he might humbly suggest. Destined to only be admired from afar. After all, being his best friend’s right-hand man was already enough—his life’s purpose.

The two arrived at the palace earlier this morning to relay further details of the incident at the Eastern Campsite. It was an unusual request, though not entirely unheard of, but Sato had asked for a private audience with Suguru. There was a special task that he needed to assign to his general, which was how Haibara currently found himself waiting alone in an empty corridor.

In the silence, Haibara couldn’t help but reflect on the current predicament back home.

On the surface, everything at the Geto Estate seemed status quo, but underneath, it was anything but—like a simmering volcano ready to erupt without warning. The silence was more deafening than any scream.

It had been two weeks since everyone returned, but ever since, you had confined yourself in the guest house. Yumi was the only connection between you and the rest of the world.

“How is she?” Haibara asked Yumi in passing.

“Our Lady is recovering steadily.”

As usual, Yumi’s answers were always short and lacked explanation. Of course, he was relieved to hear you were recovering. But her words were underspoken, because he knew the wound on your hand wasn't the only wound that required tending to: it was the one inside your heart, undoubtedly still bleeding and perhaps even more severe.

Everyone had seen it that day, how Suguru leapt to Ayaka’s defense. It may have seemed noble, even loyal. But it was also revealing. Because if a man truly loved his wife the way Suguru so convincingly appeared to, his first instinct would have been to protect you. Even if it meant treason. Even if it meant death.

Lord Shinjiro would have protected Lady Sumire—even at the cost of the King.

“Master Haibara… if I may,” Yumi said softly. “I know it is not in my place to say such things, but it pains me to watch my Lady wither away like this…”

She didn’t even have to explain the details for dread to weigh in the pit of his stomach.

“I hope Geto-sama can understand how much this cost her. My Lady is beloved by many, and also has many hobbies. She can no longer write to her father, nor ride a horse properly—and most of all, she may never pick up a sword again.

“Surely, Geto-sama must understand as a soldier himself—that this is akin to a death sentence. Does your lord not think he should at least grant some decency and visit her?”

Haibara swallowed the lump in his throat. Truth be told, he completely agreed with Yumi. How could he not? Since the first day they had gotten back to the estate, he had tried to convince Suguru several times to go see you, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

He knew that this time Suguru didn’t dare to visit, not because he was too proud, but because he didn’t think he deserved to face you.

And Haibara understood the feeling of guilt and shame better than anyone else—it eats you alive.

It was like that day all over again.

The one person Suguru refused to see a final time before the cremation…

Was Sayuri.

It may come as a surprise to most, but Suguru wasn’t just some cold, calculated warlord from birth. He used to be a boy filled with hopes and dreams just like anyone else. He laughed, smiled, teased, and could even be a little mischievous. On the other hand, Haibara—believe it or not, was the complete opposite. He was quiet, observant, and even a bit distant.

By the age of eight, Haibara was already well-accustomed to shame and embarrassment, and worse yet, how to smile through it.

Now, why would such emotions be placed on a boy who was far too young, far too unequipped, to navigate such feelings?

It was all because of his father: Akito Haibara.

Akito was best described as a sly fox. A social climber. An opportunist. His ambitions outweighed his morals. Though he was intelligent and competent when he needed to be, his achievements had never been through merit, but rather through the connections he had sunk his claws in. He was a senior finance clerk within the royal palace, another administration role among the hundreds within its golden walls, but the only reason such an opportunity was even afforded to him in the first place, was because his wife was a minor lord’s daughter. Otherwise, as a person of common birth, he couldn’t even dream of stepping through the palace gates.

As a senior clerk, Akito was tasked with low-level treasury duties but still made a decent salary, yet, fortune on its own was not good enough. He wanted prestige. Status. Legacy. His dream was to become the Chief of Treasury.

And so, whenever he could, he would try to rub shoulders with whoever he deemed may be useful in catapulting his career, while blatantly ignoring anyone who didn’t serve his ambitions. In hindsight, Haibara was sure that his father saw everyone as chess pieces—quite literally and figuratively.

But sometimes, the universe seemed to favor the cruel, because very soon Akito struck an opportunity of a lifetime: Shinjiro Geto.

Shinjiro came into the House of Revenue one quiet afternoon while Akito was alone at the front desk. And right away, he recognized who the imposing figure was—the famed General of the Nine Suns, the embodiment of good character and integrity, a man that was almost more regal than King Sato himself. In fact, if he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Shinjiro was the king.

Akito, being the conniving fox he was, was already scheming, thinking of what sweet and enticing words to say and make an impression on the unassuming general.

“General Geto, what a pleasant surprise.” He put on his best smile.

“Ah, yes. You are…”

Of course the general—up on his high horse—wouldn’t have known a lowly clerk like himself.

“Forgive my impoliteness. I am Akito Haibara, the senior finance clerk here,” he lightly bowed.

“Akito, a pleasure. And, please, there is no need for such formalities. We are all civil servants here,” Shinjiro chuckled.

Indeed, Akito was a great opportunist. Too cunning for his own good.

That one introduction sparked a string of conversations, and soon, he somehow secured himself an invitation to the Geto Estate.

“I have a son who’s just a year older than Yu, perhaps, if it’s not too much to ask—you can bring him to our home some time,” Shinjiro smiled earnestly.

“How could I ever burden you like that, General Geto?”

“Please, Akito, you can call me Shinjiro. I insist… besides,” the general let out a small weary sigh. “Suguru needs more friends. He spends too much time between books and the sword—I worry for him.”

“Ah, but I’m sure it’s only because he wants to live up to his father’s legacy.”

Shinjiro hummed, but there was a slight sadness in his eyes. “I often wished it weren’t so.”

“I understand your sentiment, Shinjiro. We only ever hope for our children’s happiness.”

“Precisely, I’m glad you understand. Sometimes... I wish my boy wasn’t so hard on himself.”

“And sometimes I wish my boy was more disciplined!”

The two men paused and exchanged an amused look. And then broke out into laughter.

“Then it’s settled—Suguru and Yu could learn from each other.” Shinjiro let out a sigh of relief.

“If it is for our children’s future, then allow me to be a shameless father.” Akito agreed heartily.

—

Confusion washed over Haibara as his father abruptly woke him up. Before his vision could even focus—before he had a chance to understand what was going on—his father had already begun yelling at him for being slow, muttering something about a place they had to visit. The Geto Estate—wherever that was.

Akito screamed for his wife, who bolted into the room, flustered. He barked out the order as he walked away: “Change him into his best clothes, so he doesn’t embarrass me.”

Haibara watched as his mother fumbled to the wardrobe, a familiar feeling bubbled in his chest once again. He had only recently learned the name of this feeling through a book he’d read by chance. Whenever he saw his mother, the name of that feeling was pity.

It was confusing, he didn’t know why his father was so awful to his mother, and he didn’t understand why his father seemed to hate him. He had never said it out loud, but it was evident in his eyes. His father always gave him a mean look. But in front of others, he was timid, soft-spoken—like a kind man.

So which one was his real father?

He wasn’t sure.

He had only hoped it was the kind man.

But he knew, deep down, it probably wasn’t.

…

Haibara found himself standing beside his father in front of the large wooden doors of the Geto Estate. It was enormous! He was certain the door alone could fit twenty of him.

Excitement washed over him as he admired the sheer size of the doors, but it faded quickly as his father let out a harsh grunt. The small boy immediately froze—a warning that he recognized all too well. It usually came before his father lost his temper.

As the doors swung open, he watched his father’s expression shift instantly. The kind-man face was back.

Hand-in-hand, the father and son crossed the threshold and into the front garden. Haibara had never seen such splendor before. The landscape was spectacular—well-manicured greenery, a serene zen garden, vibrant trees, and a few groundskeepers tending to the yard. If the Geto Estate was already this beautiful, he could only imagine what the palace must look like.

“Quit ogling like you’re some low-class commoner,” Akito hissed under his breath.

But he was a hypocrite. Green with envy, his own eyes scanned the yard and the immaculate estate.

If only he hadn’t been born a commoner.

If only his wife weren’t a minor lord’s daughter.

If only his son wasn’t such a weak, fragile thing.

He was competent. Intelligent. Handsome. He had all the makings of nobility. So why did the universe deal him such a lowly hand?

Why couldn’t he live Shinjiro Geto’s life?

As they continued toward the estate entrance, Akito couldn’t help the jealousy simmering inside him. It only deepened when he saw the Geto family standing there—waiting to greet them.

The whispers about Sumire Geto were true. Even after two children, she was still exquisite. A woman whom kings would go to war and tear down kingdoms for. It was a surprise that King Sato did not take her for himself.

A beautiful, picturesque family.

The envy of all men.

“Father, you’re holding my hand too tight!” Haibara squirmed under his grip.

Akito clicked his tongue and glared down at his son. Weak. His boy was so infuriatingly weak.

The day hadn't even begun, and Haibara was already wracked with anxiety. Were the Getos going to be nicer than Father? Or do they also have their kind-man faces?

“Akito, I’m so glad you could make it!” A welcoming voice called out.

“Shinjiro, thank you for your generous invitation.” Akito bowed.

Haibara timidly followed, “Thank you for the invitation, Lord Shinjiro, Lady Sumire.” Mimicking his father’s movements.

“My, you are a polite boy!” Shinjiro smiled, kneeling down on one knee to meet the small child in the eyes.

Lord Shinjiro indeed had a kind-man face, but it was different. His smile felt like the sun, and the slight crinkles around his eyes reminded him of the rays. All Haibara could do was stare at him in awe and slowly nod.

“This is my boy, Suguru, the two of you are around the same age,” he gently pulled Suguru to his side.

Haibara’s first impression of Suguru was that he was rather intimidating. He may have only been a year older, but he was already a few inches taller. He was also handsome like his father, but unlike Lord Shinjiro, Suguru felt like the winter snow. Cold, yet there was also a certain gentleness to him. His voice was rather soft, but his words were unwavering and precise. Sayuri, who was only four, was already a lot livelier than her older brother. And though she looked like Lady Sumire, Sayuri, too, felt like the sun.

But among all of them, if Haibara had to be honest, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Lady Sumire. If Lord Shinjiro and Sayuri were the sun, Suguru the winter snow; Lady Sumire reminded him of sun glitter—the shimmering light on water. He never knew it was possible for someone to be so radiant, and her voice was like a soothing lullaby.

For the first time, Haibara experienced the uncomfortable pangs of jealousy.

Because when he looked at Lord Shinjiro and Lady Sumire, he wished his father could feel like the warm sun too—and his mother could sparkle like sun glitter.

“Suguru, why don’t you go show Yu around? Perhaps you two can get to know each other more.” Lady Sumire smiled.

Suguru nodded and turned to Haibara. “What would you like to do? I can show you the training field or my study.”

“Oh yes. My boy has a variety of interests! He’s very keen on books and the sword as well!” Akito exclaimed.

Haibara shot a nervous look at his father. The sword? That wasn’t true. He had never even touched a wooden sword in his life! He wanted to tell them that his father made a mistake. Perhaps he remembered wrong. He loved books, yes, but never the sword—

“Is that right?” Shinjiro seemed amused. “Then it seems our two boys have a lot in common!”

Nervousness settled in Haibara’s chest as he followed Suguru’s lead. He quietly hoped they'd go to the study instead, and forget all about the training field. But of course, just as luck would have it, Suguru led him straight to the field.

“Here.” Suguru gave a small smile as he handed him a wooden practice sword, a slight interest glimmering in his eyes—unlike Haibara’s, which probably looked like those of a scared deer.

Especially with his father and the Getos watching from afar, he already dreaded how this would unfold.

Why did his father have to lie?

Why did he always put him in these kinds of predicaments?

“Are… you ready?” Suguru asked, but there was a bit of uncertainty in his voice. As if he’d caught on his pretense.

Haibara only nodded. Perhaps he’d just block a few of Suguru’s strikes and then it would be over. Surely, it wasn’t that difficult… right?

Wrong.

It was a lot more difficult than he had imagined.

Thanks to beginner’s luck, Haibara barely managed to block his first strike. Suguru’s wooden sword grazed his shoulder from the way he deflected the sword, and it stung, but Haibara endured it. On the second strike, he completely missed the block with his sword, and blocked it with his wrist instead. By the third strike, Suguru nearly hit his head but immediately stopped when Lord Shinjiro gave him a stern warning that he was being too rough.

Immediately after the warning, Suguru completely deflated—letting out a small huff, and returned the sparring swords to the rack.

“Why did you agree to spar when you didn’t want to?” he asked. There was an unamused look on his face.

“I… don’t know how to,” Haibara murmured, staring down at his feet.

“But your father said you were interested in the sword.”

“No… not really,” Haibara quietly confessed.

“So is your father a liar then?”

Heat rose to Haibara’s ears. He wanted to tell Suguru that his father was indeed a liar... a very good one, too. But what if the truth was relayed to Lord Shinjiro and Lady Sumire—and they never invited Father back?

Father would be angry.

He wished he could tell the truth, but the fear of his father's wrath gripped him like an icy vice.

“N-No…” Haibara lied.

“Then if your father isn’t a liar, then you must be a liar.” Suguru let out a breath of disbelief.

“I’m not!” His voice came out louder, more desperate, than he intended.

All heads turned toward the commotion, and when Haibara met his father’s scornful gaze, the blood drained from his face. The world began to spin, and it felt as though the sky was falling on him.

Everything was too overwhelming.

Tears welled in his eyes, and the more desperately he tried to hold them back, the more they threatened to spill. Father always hated it when he cried. Said that tears were for the weak-willed. Said that emotions were weak.

But he couldn’t stop it this time.

He burst into tears.

Everyone crowded around him, their faces etched with concern. All but Suguru, who stood behind his parents and watched everything unfold with a cold stare. Yet in a moment of vulnerability, Haibara's arms flew around Lady Sumire instead of his own father, seeking comfort and refuge. It caught everyone by surprise—except Lady Sumire, who cradled him without hesitation, as if he were her own child.

“I apologize, Lady Sumire!” Akito said, flustered, as he tried to pry his son off. “The boy must miss his mother.”

“It’s fine, Lord Akito,” she smiled gracefully. But her hands tightened around Haibara. “Let him stay.”

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed in her warm embrace, but she never let him go. Her hand moved in soft, comforting circles along his back as she cooed to him gently. In between sobs he would mutter apologies, though he wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for. But among the muffled sniffles and hiccups, Lady Sumire’s voice rang clear: It’s not your fault, Yu.

After that embarrassing debacle, Haibara was certain he would be reprimanded once he got home. Lady Sumire’s beautiful garment was a mess from all his tears, which his father profusely apologized for. The day dragged on, as he prepared for his impending doom. Suguru also became extremely quiet afterwards, retreating to his study room and then pulling out a book to read. Uncertain, Haibara trailed behind him hesitantly.

“Aren’t you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there?” Suguru murmured.

Something in his tone, and in how he avoided Haibara’s gaze, it reminded him of the way he avoided his father’s gaze whenever he thought he’d done something wrong.

Was it possible… that Suguru was feeling sorry?

Haibara nodded and quickly pulled a seat beside Suguru.

“What books do you like? I have many,” he said, flipping through his own book, but it was clear that he was not actually reading.

“I like all kinds of books—poetry, literature, fiction,” Haibara listed.

Suguru sighed, and reluctantly handed him the book he was currently holding, “How about this one? Your father said you liked books too. I am… a little confused about this one.”

Haibara’s eyes widened and he nodded, gingerly taking the book from Suguru’s hands. As he flipped through the pages, he enthusiastically explained each paragraph while Suguru quietly nodded along.

Little did he know, Suguru had already read the same fiction book five times. It was his favorite novel, but he just felt bad for making Haibara cry.

And just like that, a new brotherhood began.

…

“You have done wonderfully today, my boy!” Akito could barely contain his excitement as he stepped inside their home.

It was surprising, he thought he would be reprimanded after his outburst back at the Geto Estate. Instead, his father picked him up and gave him a few spins, chanting praises for being smart and brilliant.

For a moment, it felt good—that his father was finally pleased with him.

Haibara looked up to his father, as he was set back on his feet. Akito was grinning from ear to ear, and the boy couldn’t help but return the smile. But very soon, his father's features subtly twisted into something dark.

“It’s all because you tugged at that woman’s heartstrings,” he practically snickered.

That woman? Was he talking about Lady Sumire?

Haibara’s heart sank at the thought. An unfamiliar feeling coiled in his chest. He didn’t understand it, but all he knew was it didn’t feel so good anymore.

Still, he kept smiling.

“Perhaps your weakness can finally be your strength.”

Did his father mean his tears?

“Just cry a few more times and she might even make you her sworn kin!”

His smile immediately dropped as he watched his father hum happily and retreat into his office.

Ever since that day, Haibara never cried again.

Even from the young age of eight, he realized…

He never wanted to break Lady Sumire’s heart.

He never wanted to abuse her kindness.

—

Since that fateful day, on the twelfth of every month, Akito Haibara would bring his son to the Geto Estate without fail, until his son was the ripe age of fifteen, when he was old enough to travel on his own.

As soon as Haibara gained his independence to travel solo, he would make frequent visits to the Geto Estate, a place that had felt more like a home than his own home. Lord Shinjiro and Lady Sumire would always welcome him with open arms. His and Suguru’s bond continued to deepen. Meanwhile, everyone watched Sayuri blossom into a spirited young girl—a mirror image of Lady Sumire. Haibara treated her like a precious younger sister, though sometimes, the way she bossed him around and teased him, it felt more like she was the older one. It was amusing and strangely endearing.

But even in those warm years, guilt and shame still clung to Haibara like a phantom—an inescapable fate. It was all because of who his father was, and how all this only came to be through his manipulation.

Surely, there was no way someone like Lord Shinjiro couldn’t see through Akito’s deceit…

So then why? Why did he still maintain a relationship with his father? Why did he still help Akito get what he wanted?

Why did he still welcome the likes of Haibara?

He didn't understand it. And a small part of him wasn't sure if he ever wanted to find out.

—

Thanks to Shinjiro’s good word, Akito quickly ascended through the ranks and became the Chief of Treasury. Who would have guessed that a single general had so much sway in the palace? But perhaps, it wasn’t just his simple title—it was the prestige behind the Geto family name.

By then, Akito had also learned to tame his temper—he had an important image to uphold now, and high society (finally) had its eyes on him. Even so, Haibara’s mother eventually divorced him. She cried when she walked out of their home for the last time, but neither Haibara nor his father shed a tear. His father didn’t cry because he was glad to be rid of her. Haibara, on the other hand, did not shed a single tear—not because he was cold, but because he was happy. He no longer had to feel pity every time he saw her. His mother was free. Free from a wrath she never deserved.

It wasn’t a time for mourning.

It was a liberation worth celebrating.

But of course, for a leech like Akito, the satisfaction of his newfound status and fortune quickly faded. After all, human greed was a parasite.

He hungered for more. He wanted his son to be more.

Haibara had always irritated Akito. His son was too soft. Too moral. He may have inherited his intelligence, but he had his useless mother’s judgment. He’d never succeed Akito’s legacy.

Not like Suguru.

Suguru would become the next great general—arguably even greater than the General of the Nine Suns. Everyone could see it and had high hopes for him. Shinjiro Geto’s legacy would live on, whereas Akito’s hard work would be all for naught. The Haibara name would never be remembered. So if Akito couldn’t make his son into something great, then he’d tie him to greatness another way.

Sayuri.

Yes. She would be the key.

She would be his son’s wife.

…

Haibara had just returned home from the Geto Estate. Since his father’s new promotion, they now upgraded to an estate—just like the Getos. The only reason why he appreciated their new living conditions was because of the space, which meant there was more distance to avoid his father.

It always irked him… how his father seemed to be at some odd competition with Lord Shinjiro, except he was the only one entertaining his own delusions. When they first moved, his father immediately hired workers and groundskeepers to bring out his vision for the front yard. And it turned out to be a near replica of the one at the Geto Estate. Thankfully, Akito never extended the Getos an invitation to their new home, because quite frankly, it would have been embarrassing.

Regardless, Haibara kept his mouth shut, because he knew there would be no point. If his father was even reasonable in the first place, his mother would still be here, he would still be a senior clerk, they would still be living in their modest home, but at least they would be happy.

As he quickly made his way through the front of the estate, Akito emerged from his office and pulled him aside for a private word.

“My son, you are at the age where you ought to start considering a wife,” Akito said out of the blue.

“Why the sudden thought, Father?”

“It is not sudden. You will be eighteen soon. I also married your mother when I was that age.”

“I will consider it another time—I am not eighteen yet.” He tried to shut down the conversation.

“Don’t be foolish, son! Surely, you must have met a suitable woman already. Is there anyone who has caught your eye?”

Haibara sighed. “No, Father.”

He had already dreaded this conversation. Akito never spoke to anyone without an agenda, including his own son. He knew his father wasn’t asking out of genuine concern; he was trying to gauge him for something. Whatever scheme he was trying to orchestrate this time, Haibara knew he wanted no part of it. Still, he would at least pretend to hear him out.

Akito leaned in, his voice disturbingly lighthearted. “How about Sayuri?”

Bile rose in his throat, the pit of his stomach churning with disgust. Not because Sayuri disgusted him, but the fact that his vile father had set his dirty sights on her.

“No,” he replied firmly.

“Why not? She is growing up to be just like her mother—you will be the luckiest man in the country!”

“I will not consider her, Father. She is like a sister to me.” Haibara tried to contain the fury swirling inside him like a storm.

“But she isn’t your sister! Think about it—”

“There is no thinking about it. I will not entertain this conversation any longer,” Haibara snapped, beginning to walk away. His body trembled with rage and repulsion.

His father was a lecherous fiend, who only saw women for two things: status and pleasure. And for the first time ever, Haibara finally admitted… he hated his father.

Before he could take more than a few steps, Akito yelled after him. “Have you become so shortsighted?! Sure, you go visit them all the time—but do you think they really consider you as their family?”

Haibara gritted his teeth, ignoring his father and marching straight to his room.

It’s not that what his father said wasn’t true. Even now, he wasn’t sure if the Getos truly saw him as family. But if he must admit, a part of him felt it was for the better that they didn’t, because to this day, Haibara still felt like an outsider among them. He was unworthy. And he never wanted to sully the Geto’s good name.

They could never be family, because he was Akito Haibara’s filthy kin.

Ever since his father had gotten what he wanted, he had even stopped visiting the Geto Estate—stopped visiting Lord Shinjiro altogether.

It was shameless.

How he made it so obvious.

How he couldn’t even pretend.

Every time Haibara visited, Lord Shinjiro would ask him how his father had been doing, and all Haibara could do was come up with the same feeble excuses—that he was busy because of work, or busy entertaining other officials for work. When in reality his disgraceful father would just spend his days gallivanting around town and visiting tea houses… which were fancy fronts for brothels.

At this point, he was quite certain Lord Shinjiro knew he was lying. Yet, after every feeble excuse, he would give the same warm smile, and remind Haibara to tell his good friend Akito that family and health should come before work. Haibara would return a polite smile and promise him to relay the message to his father.

But he never would.

His father didn’t deserve Lord Shinjiro’s kindness.

He himself didn’t deserve Lord Shinjiro’s kindness.

All these years… Haibara felt like a fraud.

Because no matter what, they were cut from the same cloth.

Like father, like son.

And the thought made him sick.

—

Akito’s marriage conversation replayed in Haibara’s mind over and over again. The more he thought about it, the more disgust churned in his stomach. Normally, he was pretty good at hiding his turmoil, but recently, the mask was too suffocating, too heavy to keep on. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend.

“You’re spacing out again, Haibara,” Suguru mused.

“What’s wrong with him today, nii-sama?”

Suguru turned to Sayuri and shrugged.

“It’s nothing… I fell off my horse on the way here, so my back is sore,” Haibara absently lied.

“I don’t believe it,” Suguru gave him a half-amused, half-skeptical look. “You’ve always been a steady rider.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Haibara casually countered, but his gaze was still fixed outside to the courtyard. There was nothing interesting about the courtyard, but his guilt kept him from meeting them in the eyes—especially Sayuri’s.

Sayuri gave Suguru a puzzled look, which he returned with a knowing nod. “Could you bring Haibara an herbal patch?”

She was tempted to protest, but held back from doing so.

“...Fine,” she relented, understanding her brother’s tacit request: a boys’ talk.

She quietly left and slid the room door shut. Suguru stayed silent, carefully listening to her retreating footsteps, until he was confident she was far enough from eavesdropping.

“What’s on your mind?” He began.

It was inconvenient how perceptive Suguru was, nothing ever escaped his keen eyes. And for someone like Haibara, it was uncomfortable, because there were too many shameful things he couldn’t say out loud.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then why are you sulking?”

“I am not—” Haibara clicked his tongue. “I do not sulk.”

“I beg to differ,” Suguru returned, a small lilt in his voice.

“It’s nothing, Suguru. Stop asking.” He rolled his eyes.

A brief stillness fell over the two boys.

“...is it your father?”

Haibara paused, and turned his head slowly to meet his friend’s gaze.

“How would you know?”

“You’re not upset unless it’s him.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Suguru hummed. “Not really.”

It was true, Haibara hid his emotions well. But Suguru also knew his best friend better than anyone else, and it was something he took great pride in. After all, he would be a terrible friend if he didn’t notice.

Haibara let out a deep sigh—a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world. He was utterly ashamed, terrified Suguru might see his father’s cruelty as a reflection of him.

But now that he was here, confronted by his best friend, it felt wrong not to confess the truth… when he’s been lying to them for so long.

“My father is a monster.” The words spilled from his lips before he even had time to properly articulate them.

There was a look of surprise in Suguru’s eyes, and immediately, regret surged in Haibara's chest.

He had already started this conversation wrong.

From here on out, his best friend would never be able to see him the same way again.

“Why is he a monster?”

“He… he’s not a good man. He doesn’t see anyone as an actual human—just a pawn for his gains. Whether it’s his own family or anyone else… I’m sorry I lied to you and your family.”

Heavy silence filled the room. Every second felt suffocating, every breath felt harder and harder to take. Haibara didn’t dare to look into Suguru's eyes.

The shame. The guilt. The remorse. It was all too much to bear.

“I’m sorry, Haibara.”

Was this it?

Was this the end of their friendship—?

“I should have asked you sooner.”

Haibara looked at his best friend, eyes wide in shock, and for once, words failed him. This wasn’t the outcome he expected. He thought Suguru would be angry. Disgusted by him—or at the very least, disappointed. But instead, he was apologizing. Accepting him.

He didn’t know what to say. What to think of this situation.

Because Haibara had only ever prepared for the friendship to be doomed, once the truth of his father’s nature came to light.

Suguru let out a small sigh and narrowed his eyes. Now he was the one who avoided Haibara’s gaze. “I had a feeling—he hadn’t been kind to you. I should have said something.”

“It’s fine…” Haibara quietly said, blinking out the sting in his eyes.

On one hand, he was relieved that Suguru still wanted to be his friend. But on the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel exposed and embarrassed.

“He is my father. He’s not your problem, Suguru. I just feel remorseful that he used your family as well.”

Suguru let out a small scoff. “You think my family would easily be tricked by someone—even like your father—into using them? You think too lowly of Geto.”

“Lord Shinjiro helped my father become Chief! That was all he wanted from him this whole time!”

“And what of it?” Suguru crossed his arms, and leaned back into his chair.

In this light, Haibara realized—Suguru had truly grown into a formidable young man. He was almost the spitting image of Lord Shinjiro, but he had Lady Sumire’s smile and calm demeanor.

“Your father may be insufferable, but he’s competent,” Suguru continued, “And as you said, it is thanks to my father he is where he is now, which means he owes my father.”

“Still, Lord Shinjiro is far too kind. He always wishes my father well and asks how he’s doing, when my father doesn’t even care to visit anymore!”

“Well, have you relayed my father’s messages to him?”

“O-Of course, not! He doesn’t deserve it—”

“You should have delivered my father’s messages.”

Haibara shot him a frustrated glance, but Suguru’s gaze only softened.

“Haibara, I can assure you—his well-wishes were never intended for Lord Akito...

“They were for you.”

Haibara blinked, unsure if he’d misheard. He struggled to draw the connection. He didn’t understand how those kind words were for his sake.

A small, understanding smile graced Suguru’s lips. “That was my father’s way of warning him… that he was watching over you.”

His breath caught. The revelation knocked the air out of his lungs.

He had always known Lord Shinjiro was sharp. His level of perceptiveness was a rarity even among other like-minded individuals. Yet he never understood why he continued to treat Akito with such patience, with such… grace.

But now, it made sense.

Because Lord Shinjiro wasn’t showing kindness to a man who deserved it.

He was showing kindness to protect someone else.

To protect him.

A sense of remorse and unworthiness washed over him. All this time, he felt isolated, like a stranger looking through a window. But he realized it was not his father, it was not his circumstances, it was him—his own insecurities and resentment towards Akito that kept him from being close. That kept him from truly accepting the Getos.

No more.

He cannot hide behind self-pity and play victim like his father.

That would be an insult to Lord Shinjiro, to Lady Sumire, to his mother.

Still, one question lingered.

“When… did he know?” Haibara’s voice shook.

There was a brief pause that followed, only the delicate songbirds cutting into the silence of the study room.

And then, Suguru smiled at him—truly smiled. His eyes carried that same warmth as Lord Shinjiro’s, which was rare.

“It was my mother who noticed it first.”

Lady Sumire?

But how?

“That day,” he said softly. “When you ran to her instead of your own father.”

On that quiet spring day, its gentle warmth thawed the cold vice that had always gripped his conscience. Between two sworn brothers, a liberating realization took shape, lifting the weight Haibara had carried for what felt like a lifetime. He never realized how good freedom could feel—like he could soar through the sky and take on the world.

Did his mother feel the same when she left?

Probably not.

Because Haibara understood that she loved him. And no loving mother would have wanted to leave their child behind.

When Haibara finds his own footing in this world—he will visit her, not as the son of Akito Haibara. But as a worthy, capable man in his own right. A man she could be proud of.

Alas, life always takes the opposite turn when one least expects it.

—

Haibara felt as though the world was ending. Silence drowned beneath a deafening buzz ringing in his ears. His breathing became erratic. He clutched his chest—his heart pounding so rapidly, so harshly, he thought he was having a heart attack.

In fact, it was better that he did and just passed away.

Because what the hell did his father mean that the Geto Family had just been massacred?

Suguru.

Sayuri.

Lady Sumire.

Lord Shinjiro…

“Did you hear me, Yu?” Akito asked, irritation creeping into his voice. He hated repeating himself.

He looked up at his father, who was completely unmoved by the news. Without a flicker of sympathy or sadness, he tossed the scroll aside—a message from the royal court announcing their tragic death.

How could this bastard be so cruel?

Lord Shinjiro welcomed them to his home. Helped Akito rise to power. And this was how he delivered the news? Without even a shred of sympathy? Treating it like it’s an annoyance?

For the first time in his life, Haibara felt something dangerous snap inside him.

A violent, burning rage surged through his veins.

He wanted to kill his father.

Without another word, Haibara rose, grabbed his sword, and secured it at his hip. It was a precious item that was gifted to him by Lord Shinjiro last year. He had always abhorred violence. Mostly because his father had glorified it in such a twisted, hollow way. But over the years, after training with Suguru and Lord Shinjiro, Haibara had learned there could be honor in the sword. And sometimes, it was even a necessity—to protect the ones you cherish.

“Where are you going?” his father asked, irritated.

“I’m riding to the Geto Estate,” Haibara replied, voice unfaltering.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Akito shot up from his seat, his cup of wine spilling all over the desk.

“I should ask you the same,” Haibara snapped, his glare sharp as a blade. “Do you have any honor? Any decency? After all they’ve done for you—this is how you thank them?”

“You really are stupid, just like your mother! What makes you think going there will change anything?! They’re dead—”

Haibara drew his sword, the tip pressing against his father’s throat.

“If you don’t hold your vile tongue, I’ll send another soul to the afterlife tonight,” he said coldly. “Though I doubt even hell would open their gates for you.”

Akito trembled. For the first time, he had seen something foreign in his son's eyes, there was no doubt, no fear, no emotions. He no longer looked weak. Even one more breath, and Akito knew he would certainly be dead.

For all his boasting about power and strength, he folded quickly when faced with the real thing.

Haibara scoffed, sheathing his sword.

If only he had found his strength sooner. If only he could have protected his own mother.

If only he hadn’t been so afraid of this coward.

Without another word, he disappeared into the night. Praying for a miracle, Haibara rode full speed toward the estate, focusing on the pounding of his horse’s hooves—anything to drown out the dark voices in his mind

Because he didn’t know if he could live on, if Suguru was dead.

—

It was dawn by the time Haibara made it to the estate. The sky was painted in hues of blue, purple, and pink—Sayuri’s favorite colors. As if the universe was sending a message, that their souls had found peace.

Standing before the grand doors of the Geto Estate brought back a rush of nostalgia—like the very first time he arrived with his father at eight years old. But now, the wood was splintered, blood stained the entrance.

Haibara had never seen the effects of war or violence, he had only read about them in books. But he could already imagine the gruesome sight he would encounter beyond the doors, because he could already smell it—the acrid tang of putrefaction. Like a rancid meat odor, but a hundred times more pungent.

For the first time, he had come to learn the smell of death, and they say that once you’ve smelt it, you could never forget it. No books, no theory, could prepare him for what’s to come.

Despite it all, he must persevere.

And so, he took a deep breath and marched through the front doors, determined to face the truth, no matter how much it may break him.

There were already royal guards diligently patrolling the premises. Lines of bodies had been covered by white cotton sheets—presumably the servants and in-house workers. Even the horses and chickens were not spared. He made it only a few steps into the front garden before being abruptly stopped by one of the soldiers.

“Halt! What are you doing here?”

“I have come to pay my respects.”

“Does this look like the appropriate time to pay your respect?! Leave now before—”

“I do not think you understand your position,” Haibara snapped. “I am Yu Haibara, son of Lord Akito Haibara, Chief of Treasury—and I am also the sworn kin of Lord Shinjiro and Lady Sumire Geto.”

Using his father’s name felt like swallowing glass, but perhaps Akito was no longer the only one in the family well-versed in manipulation and deceit. At least this once, his name had served some purpose.

Haibara drew his sword—the steel glimmered under dawn's first light—and presented it to the guard, who assessed it with a discerining eye. The pommel bore the crest of House Geto, while the blade was engraved with his name: Yu Haibara. The guard immediately stiffened, casting a glance toward his superior.

“Now that we are in understanding,” Haibara said coldly. “Do not stand in my way. I’ve come to mourn my family.”

“Our apologies, Lord Haibara. You have our deepest condolences,” the soldiers nodded, and without another word gave him a slight bow—gesturing to him to proceed.

As Haibara made his way through the familiar corridors, every step was bogged by the weight of grief, regret, and sorrow. He should have been here. Not that he would have been useful if even Lord Shinjiro had been felled. But at least he could have been with them to the very end.

Each step brought him closer to the brink, brought him closer to a truth he wasn’t sure if he could survive. How much more could he endure?

Should he just end it here, and be with them?

No.

He had sworn not to be a coward. At the very least, he should see all of them—see it with his own eyes. And then he can decide what to do next…

“I need a report on the bodies recovered,” Haibara demanded, stopping one of the soldiers in the corridor.

“Y-Yes, Lord Haibara,” one of the soldiers replied. But his wavering gaze and unsteady breath were enough to tell Haibara that the brutality of this massacre shook even the strongest of men.

As the soldier listed the names one by one, Haibara sank further and further into despair. Lord Shinjiro died a gruesome death—countless stab wounds and arrows to his back. He was found shielding Lady Sumire and Sayuri until the very end. Both Lady Sumire and Sayuri died swiftly. Apparently the killer gave them quick deaths—a merciful kill they said. But there was nothing merciful about this. They had done nothing to incur this heinous atrocity. Haibara couldn’t stomach the details and told the soldier to stop. He didn’t want the images of their final moment engraved in his mind—especially not Sayuri’s death. He just wanted to know if they had suffered or not. And as the soldier finished up the list he realized: Suguru’s body had yet to be discovered.

Call it instinct, or a brotherly bond, but he felt it in his very core: Suguru was still alive, somewhere. And he needed to find him quick, before anyone else did. Without wasting another second, Haibara began to walk towards a secluded area of the estate, his heart beating rapidly.

Logically speaking, by now, the entirety of the estate should be swept—so if they hadn’t found Suguru yet, it was safe to assume that he had gone somewhere obscure.

Somewhere easy to miss.

Like Sayuri’s hidden tea garden.

It was a small area that she had cleared in the courtyard—hidden behind bushes. Her safe haven, as she liked to call it. For when she wanted to hide herself away from the world, read her books, and enjoy sweet treats. It was a secret that she had only revealed to Suguru and Haibara, as her most trusted confidants.

Please be there, Suguru, he silently begged.

As Haibara approached the area, he noticed two unfamiliar bodies.

Were they servants of House Geto?

But as he looked closer at their uniform, he realized they couldn’t be—because he didn’t recognize the all-black attire.

Perhaps they were the assassins?

Did Suguru take them down?

As Haibara continued to track behind the vibrant patches of green, he noticed the blood streaks trailing into the bush.

There was no doubt. Suguru was there.

He quickly wove his way through the bushes, and there he was laying face down on the ground with deep wounds. His blade was still clutched in his hands.

He never yielded, even when his body broke down.

With trembling hands, Haibara reached out, searching for breath.

Please, live, he chanted over and over again like a silent prayer.

You must live, Suguru.

And then he felt it.

It was shallow, to a point where it could have easily been swept with the gentle breeze of the wind. But there was no denying it, he was still alive.

Haibara nearly broke down right there and then, but there was no time. Each second was precious. Each second dragged him closer to the edge of death.

“Suguru,” he whispered.

He remained unresponsive.

Immediately springing into action, he tore the fabric of his clothes—trying to wrap up any large injuries. As he was tying up one of the wounds, a hand reached out to him, nearly causing him to yell.

“They…” Suguru said with a strained breath. “They can’t… be trusted…”

They?

What was he talking about?

Was he perhaps delirious from losing too much blood?

“I’ll get you out of here, I swear it, Suguru.”

“Do not let them… see you…”

Then, he fell out of consciousness.

…

After Suguru’s warning, Haibara somehow managed to slip through the Geto Estate undetected, and returned home.

Akito’s face drained of color when he saw Haibara carrying a battered, barely recognizable Suguru through the entrance.

“What are you doing, Yu?!”

Haibara ignored his father and rushed to his room with Suguru still on his back

“Call the physician—now.” He commanded, desperation bleeding through his voice.

“No! I will not! Why didn’t you just leave him there?!” Akito protested, urgently trailing behind his son. “This is clearly an omen! Surely, the Geto family must have incurred the gods’ wrath!”

Time and time again, Akito proved himself a heartless bastard. Yet, he shouldn’t have expected any less from this bottom-feeding scum. However, now wasn’t the time for arguments—Haibara needed his father’s cooperation.

“Don’t be so short-sighted, Father,” Haibara said, sliding open the bedroom door with urgency and carefully setting Suguru on his bed.

“Think about it—he’s now the sole survivor of House Geto.” He locked eyes with his father.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into! What if the assassins come for us?!” Akito was hysterical. His hands trembled, fear finally breaking through his usual conceited demeanor.

He was scared.

Good. Now, he would prey on that fear, the same way his father always had.

This would be the last time. Like father, like son he shall be.

“Have you grown complacent after becoming Chief?”

“That’s not true—”

“I thought better of you, Father. I never expected your ambitions to be so… shallow.”

Akito grumbled. His ambitions were shallow? Never!

“This is different! You don't know what you're getting all of us into!”

“Do you think you would be safe after all this, Father? Think about it, now that Lord Shinjiro—the man who vouched for your current position—is gone. What’s not to say that your position as Chief would soon be given to someone else?”

There was a brief pause, and as much as Akito loathed to admit it, his son had brought up a valid point. When had he become so cowardly and short-sighted?!

“Then what do you suggest?”

Haibara smirked, spotting the greed glinting in his father’s eyes. A glow Akito couldn’t hide even if he tried.

“We make him owe us—owe you, father. He has no family, no one to turn to—so naturally, he will turn to you, his savior.”

Akito began to nod, the gears already turning before the words had even fully settled. In the face of opportunity, he never hesitated. Covetousness flowed through him like blood—vital, instinctive, endless.

“If he survives this, you will have all of House Geto under your thumb. And you will be revered among the court as a man of integrity. Lord Shinjiro’s trusted friend, the savior of his only kin. And that House Geto was only able to survive, because of Akito Haibara, the honorable Chief of Treasury.”

There was a moment of silence, but Haibara already knew he had his father right where he wanted. As wicked as his father was, at least he was predictable. His greed and selfishness made him ironically easy to manipulate.

“My son…” Akito’s eyes glimmered, as he gave him a strong pat on the arm. “You have grown to be a brilliant man! I see you are indeed intelligent and wise, just like your old man!”

The compliment felt more like an insult. And his smile only made the rage inside him simmer.

“Of course, Father. I only learn from the greatest of minds,” he smiled and leaned in. “But we must make sure this does not get out. Otherwise, others will try to steal your glory like vultures.”

Akito grinned and nodded with grotesque enthusiasm. Only a man like him could still manage to find gold among bones. He wasted no time and sprang into action. He ordered the servants to tend to Suguru, stationed guards outside his room, and summoned only the best physicians.

“I want to make sure not even a strand of this boy’s hair is lost!” He barked with urgency.

“Prepare the warmest and healthiest meals with haste!”

“Summon Physician Masashi immediately!”

“I want two guards stationed by the door at all times, and one guard standing watch inside!”

“Be sure not a single word gets out that the head of House Geto is here, or I’ll have your tongues!”

Servants all scrambled as Akito took matters into his own hands.

It was always the heartless ones that could act so convincingly.

He had never understood why Lord Shinjiro had decided to help elevate his father’s career. But now, seeing him take charge so efficiently, Haibara grudgingly admitted his father could be competent when it suited him.

Regardless, Haibara harbored no resentment at this moment, because he had gained what he needed out of this: a second wind for Suguru.

—

3 days later…

Everything was cold and dark.

He was sinking into an endless black sea. All he could hear was the burbling of water. He wasn’t sure how long he had been freefalling. Time and space seemed to warp in this realm, but as time passed, he slowly grew accustomed to the perpetual darkness. It became oddly comfortable, even.

Is this what the afterlife looked like?

Just an endless abyss of nothingness?

Or was he being condemned for making his sister cry?

He was supposed to apologize to her. In fact, he was about to—he didn’t want her to go to bed misunderstanding him. It had never been his intention to say something so callous.

The more he thought about his sister’s words, the more he realized that she was just… scared.

And there was no sin, no shame in fear.

Because that night, he too had been afraid.

Fear gripped him when he heard the blood curdling scream from outside his study room.

Terror washed over him when he armed his sword to his hips and stepped outside to find the courtyard already painted in crimson and gore.

Anxiety coiled around his body when he tried to make his way to his family and protect them.

Dread loomed over when a group of assassins intercepted him and he finally had to arm himself to kill.

Horror devastated him when he sunk his blade into two of them, but was dealt a fatal blow from behind.

Despair consumed him when his world began to fade to black… because he knew he’d never have a chance to properly reconcile.

He was scared that she would never forgive him.

Suddenly, a harsh light ripped him from the black sea. And that was when he realized…

He had survived.

He’s awake. Someone call the physician immediately! A muffled voice said.

He still felt a bit disoriented. But he soon realized it was Haibara’s voice.

“Suguru!” His good friend called.

Yet in this moment, he couldn’t think of anything except for Sayuri, Mother, Father.

“Haibara.” His voice rasped as he mustered the strength to grab his friend. “Where is my family?”

Haibara didn’t need to say anything for Suguru to understand—the look of despair on his friend’s face said it all: they were gone.

Damn it.

Why didn’t he go with them?!

Why was he the only one to live?!

Why must the universe be so cruel?!

He laid there, numb and devoid of emotions, Haibara explained to him what had happened. How he immediately rode to his residence when he heard of his family’s demise. How he had miraculously found him in Sayuri’s tea garden. How he had been in a coma for three days.

What will he ever do now—now that all he’s ever known and cherished is gone?

How could he move on?

It was impossible.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before, so much so that it became numb.

And then that numbness eventually prickled.

And then it turned hot.

And then it became scorching rage.

A heaviness settled in the room. Haibara had sent everyone out.

“It was King Sato,” Suguru finally muttered.

Haibara’s eyes widened. “King Sato—why? A-are you sure?”

Suguru nodded. His eyes were hollow, but rimmed with unshed tears.

All these years, Haibara had never seen Suguru cry. Even now, his best friend was stubbornly holding onto his tears. Nobody would have blamed him for crying, his entire family had just been murdered in cold blood.

“There were talks of a rebellion,” he let out a shaky breath. “I heard it in passing a few nights ago... before the attack.

“They wanted to make my father king—but he didn’t want it! He never asked for it!” Suguru’s voice cracked. “Even if they handed my father the crown, he would have never taken it!”

The dam within Suguru broke. He faltered, and agonizing sobs filled the room. The pain, the grievance, the injustice—it was all palpable.

The revelation was earthshattering.

Haibara’s entire body trembled with rage, sorrow, but also… with fear. Because if it were true, then this was no simple agenda.

This wasn’t the work of mere enemies.

This was an execution order from the crown itself.

He had heard of rumors and read in some historical texts that every monarch throughout history had something called a Shadow Division. As the name implies, those among this covert group lived in the shadow of the king who appointed them. And their duties ran anywhere between espionage to assassinations—essentially, anything the crown wanted hidden from the world.

Like specters, nobody knows who they are, what they looked like, how they were recruited. Apparently, even among the group itself, it was entirely possible that they didn't know who their fellow members were. They were all discreetly enlisted by the king—and they died with their king.

That would explain two of the unidentified bodies wearing unrecognizable uniforms, found near Suguru.

Surely, there will be repercussions.

Surely, King Sato would not sit idly by while the heir of House Geto remained undiscovered.

No… there must be a way to survive all this. Because fate—although cruel—had allowed Suguru to live.

“I’ll kill that bastard who took my family—who took everything from me!” Suguru seethed.

Haibara’s heart beat violently in his chest. Suguru was not just pointing his sword at anyone, he was pointing it at the crown.

It was utter suicide.

This would not be what his family had wanted.

But the unyielding look in Suguru’s eyes said it all: there was no stopping him. There was only vengeance. Only pure hatred. It was an inferno that could never be extinguished. And perhaps, the only thing fueling him at this very moment to live.

There was no doubt, if Haibara left Suguru in his current state, he would have just marched straight through the palace and gotten killed by the royal guards before he even had a chance of touching King Sato.

Suguru needed a voice of reason, someone to steady his feet, someone to ground him.

Or how else was he going to exact his revenge?

A part of Haibara, too, wanted revenge.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Trying to think of the next move on the board.

Together, they will endure this.

Together, they will survive this.

There were no guarantees, but he will have to roll the dice and leave the rest up to fate. And should it be the universe's will to have the two die in the process? Then so be it. At least the five of them can reunite again then, which wouldn’t be so terrible.

There was nothing to lose at this point.

“We will hold a funeral for your family first—a funeral of the century,” Haibara said steadily.

“What would that change? It wouldn’t bring them back, Haibara!” Suguru looked up at him, fury in his eyes. “And you want to have their deaths paraded among the very ones who wished for their demise?!”

“I implore you to think, Suguru,” Haibara gritted his teeth. “I loathe the thought just as much. But if King Sato, and whoever else, truly wants your family gone—it means they’re still after you. They will want your silence. They will want you cowering in fear.”

Suguru’s fists balled so tightly it drew blood.

But Haibara was right.

If they remained in hiding, they would be playing right into their hands. It would only be a matter of time before King Sato sent assassins his way again, and he was certain, this time they would finish the job without issues.

He must solidify his stance. He must make it so he becomes hard to ignore, and that his absence would be noticed, questioned, and could even cause a revolt.

He must swallow it all down. He must prevail.

He must display courage.

He shall walk through hellfire to ensure Sato’s inglorious death.

Suguru looked up, voice tremoring with wrath. “Then let’s give my family the honor and glory of a lifetime.”

Haibara gave a firm nod. Their wills refortified.

“Then from this moment on, Geto-sama, let me—Yu Haibara—be your first ally.

Your eyes, where you cannot see.

Your ears, where you cannot hear.

Your voice, when you cannot speak.

Your mind and heart, when you cannot judge.

My allegiance shall be to House Geto, before all else.”

Without hesitation, Suguru accepts.

“Yu Haibara, you honor me with your allegiance. From here on out, I shall entrust you with my life. You shall become my brother in arms, my All-Seeing Advisor.”

Henceforth, Haibara shall no longer be shackled by the shadow of his father. His intelligence and blade shall be sharp, but with grace. It would be used for good—to protect. Just as Lord Shinjiro had done for him many years ago.

Suguru will never be alone again. He will be his watcher.

—

The day of the funeral processions commenced, Suguru did not shed a single tear and stood there, unmoving, like a soldier on guard. There was no anger, no sorrow, only a numbness accompanied by slight paranoia. Across the sea of mourners, he couldn’t help but try to discern who were the ones that were secretly rejoicing at his family’s demise, and who were genuinely mourning their deaths.

Akito Haibara shamelessly pushed to the front, weeping on his knees like the fraud he was, loudly professing how beloved a friend Shinjiro had been. His acts were so grossly performative, that Haibara couldn’t stand another second, and waved to a guard to usher him away. And as they plucked Akito off the ground, he continued to hold steadfast onto his performance to the very end, wailing, sobbing, and calling out Shinjiro’s name.

Don’t trust any of them. They all wanted your family dead. The thoughts wound through Suguru’s mind, threatening to corrupt like poisoned tendrils.

It was all too overwhelming. He just wanted this to be over soon.

How he managed to keep a blank face when King Sato approached him was beyond Suguru’s comprehension. Perhaps he had already disassociated. Nevertheless, it was something he would need to master if he wanted to exact his revenge.

And then, just for a fleeting moment, something unexpected happened.

His eyes found a father and daughter standing quietly at the far end of the crowd. If it hadn’t been for his naturally keen eyes, he might have missed it. But as soon as his eyes landed on you, the intrusive whispers vanished in an instant.

How strange.

Though he didn’t know then how your fates would intertwine, and he would have long forgotten this moment by the time the two of you met again. At the time, he silently thanked you for giving him a moment of reprieve.

A chance to breathe again.

—

A year later…

Shortly after the funeral, Haibara abandoned Akito overnight and began his new life serving under House Geto. During this time, Suguru and Haibara worked tirelessly to revitalize the Geto Estate, and vetted out loyal servants.

Their first political gamble had been successful; there had been no further assassination attempts since the funeral. Perhaps, it was Lord Shinjiro, Lady Sumire, and Sayuri’s way of watching over them. Whatever it may be, they had to stay vigilant. There was no room for complacency.

It may surprise some that Suguru chose to remain on the very grounds where his family had been massacred. But for Haibara, who had been there from the beginning and had become a part of their family, he too, wouldn’t have abandoned this place.

The Geto Estate was a sacred place that should be remembered and celebrated, not reduced to a haunted ground of tragedy.

Of all that had been destroyed, the cherry blossom tree that Lord Shinjiro gifted to his beloved wife survived. That alone stood as a testament to their enduring legacy.

One afternoon, a royal messenger came knocking on the front gates of the Geto Estate.

“A letter to the kin of Akito Haibara,” the messenger said, handing the scroll to Haibara, who received it with both hands.

And as he returned to Suguru’s office and read its contents, he couldn’t help but let out an exasperated laugh.

The universe truly had its strange sense of justice.

To the kin of Akito Haibara, It is the Royal Palace’s utmost regret to inform you that your father, Akito Haibara, has passed. According to the palace physician, he contracted multiple brothel illnesses and was found deceased in his estate. In light of this disgrace, His Majesty has seen fit to posthumously revoke your father’s title as Chief of Treasury. Furthermore, it has been decreed that his next of kin shall not be granted the privilege of serving within the palace. Akito’s ashes are currently held at the Royal Crematory Hall. Should they remain unclaimed within seven days’ time, they shall be discarded. House of Civil Affairs By Royal Decree of His Majesty, King Sato

“What’s so amusing?” Suguru asked, an eyebrow arched.

Haibara handed him the letter. As Suguru’s eyes trailed the words, he let out a scoff.

“What do you intend to do?” He passed the letter back.

Haibara shrugged and threw the parchment into the brazier.

“Nothing.”

Life indeed worked in mysterious ways. For all the pain, suffering, and chaos that Akito Haibara had wrought, this quiet ending seemed the most befitting way for him to go. One where he would not be remembered, honored, or mourned…

Reduced to nothing but dust, and blown away with time.

Present Day

Over the years, the two sailed through turbulent waves, and faced countless trials and tribulations. But through it all, their bond remained strong. It goes without saying that Haibara would lay down his life for Suguru without hesitation. Yet it’d also be a lie to say that there weren’t moments of doubt.

Was their path to vengeance reasonable?

Would they ever succeed?

It had been exactly ten years since they began working within the shadows—trying to find an opportunity to overthrow King Sato. Still, there was a final piece missing. Haibara could see that Suguru was growing impatient. But something had shifted lately—an undercurrent in the air, as if revolution was nigh.

Suguru didn’t need many allies, but he needed someone who was powerful in their own right. Someone who would not bow down to the crown so easily. Someone who will not cower in fear. Someone who could turn the tides of war.

Someone like you.

Haibara let out a small sigh as he glanced toward the palace courtyard. A few servant girls passing by giggled and waved. He returned his signature smile and politely nodded, garnering timid gasps and gushes. Even amid the beauty, unease still churned quietly within him. Suguru may have successfully evaded a war, but the chasm between you and him had only widened.

It was going to be a long road ahead. He feared that the path to reconciliation would not be an easy one. But it was during these trying times that it was Haibara’s time to shine.

He had full confidence that you, Lady Geto, would not crumble so easily. And that Suguru will make things right—he always had.

And as the All-Seeing Advisor, whose allegiance is to House Geto, Haibara will not falter. Suguru may not have realized it yet, but Haibara knew from the very beginning: you were his perfect match. He had known it since the day you stepped off the carriage and took your first steps through the front doors of the Geto Estate. The way you were nervous, but your eyes still glimmered with hope. The way you remained dignified and determined, even in the face of injustice and obstacles. The way you were strong and intelligent, but used it to protect and not to gain.

Courageous. Honorable. Indomitable.

They were all qualities that House Geto represented. There was no doubt that Lord Shinjiro, Lady Sumire, and Sayuri would have welcomed you with open arms, adoring you as their own.

Haibara may serve as Suguru’s right hand until the day he dies, but his loyalty had always begun with Lady Sumire.

The woman who showed him safety.

The woman who showed him kindness.

The woman who showed him unconditional love.

The woman who helped him realize…

It’s not your fault, Yu.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Taglist: @katsukiseyebrows @uzuimirika @saoirses-things @what-just-happened-to-me @exitingmusic @vellichor01 @miacakess @webyueve

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asce-of-hearts · 2 days ago

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23. The Face-to-Face Hug - Ryomen Sukuna

Contents: Sukuna smut with prompt 23 of the hug category

Event M.List

TAG LIST

more Sukuna content here

WARNINGS: GENERALLY NSFW

As Sukuna’s human pet and lover, he always makes sure to be a little extra careful around you.

Touches that are always reverent, words always softly spoken. Anything that involves you will always be thought out, carefully planned. Your diet, your schedule, your clothing; he has thought about everything because he loves you that much, because he cares for you that much. And when it comes to sex, he has to have the biggest self restraint, because to be honest, he likes it rough.

But in this moment, he’s cradling you in his arms, laid over your back. Completely naked, vulnerable under his enormous form. And he loves to have you like this, pliant, tender, ready to be devoured, the primal part of his brain loves it, loves to have you falling apart under him. Split apart on his cock, the other one rubbing against your clit as he thrusts, quickly, at a fast pace, making your moans staccato and high pitched. Your hands digging its nails, raking them in red lines that’ll disappear by the morning, but if they didn’t, he’d wear them proudly. Honored to have been marked by you.

“So pretty under me,” He growls, the rumbling of his chest making you tremble. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as his second cock rubs against your clit once more, the one inside you continuously pressing against your g-spot, hitting your cervix. The wet, squelching sounds of your cunt, mixed with the slapping of skin against skin deafens the world around you. Everything becomes him, you can’t think, or speak, or do anything other than feel what Sukuna is putting you through, the most cruel pleasure, the most mind numbing form of love. “Are you enjoying yourself, pet?” He asks, and you only moan his name as an answer. And then you realize it, sex spell broken. You’re sweaty, your legs disgustingly sore, and your cunt so abused that pleasure becomes an overwhelming, stinging pain. And you tap his shoulder, just like he taught you, his eyes narrowing to search for any sign of discomfort.

“Please, Kuna. Slow down–” You sniffle, you plead. Salty tears leaving your beautiful eyes. And he stops, letting you catch your break, his tongue coming to lick away the remnants of tears. Slowly, gently, he switches positions. You are sitting on top of his cock, facing him. Arms wrapped around you, his second pair of arms coming to cup at your face. Your foreheads touching as he presses tender kisses over your face.

“You’re always so beautiful like this,” He whispers, reverently. His hands come to cup your ass, helping you lift your body up. You shiver, whimpering under his ministrations. He gives you a smile, wolfish and predatory. Even when he has no ill intentions. “Choose your own pace, little dove. I’ll help you finish.”

TAGGING: @sunnymmoon @lilithlunas @purplechan9 @eroscastle @goldenglow149@lurexin @stranger00001 @delicatelycraftedbambi @rania200527 @mizzhellsingsstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @lilyalone @oliviathatgirl @eeelieschariot @hannas16 @surelynotaspider @mimihaitani @raxshall @ayn-yurbestie @jellystar-star @janeisnotonline @sukunaspillow @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy @w1tchyaurea @poopooindamouf @samstrav @yutterfly @staarflowerr @nanamiswife @majissunshine @privthemis @starberryzos @waywardfanwinner @blackmoonchilee @darlingken @tenaciousavenueavenue @l-lailiy @bluemailhiot @kaylarilla

#asce of hearts #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic

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ao3-rex1223 · 2 days ago

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𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕀𝕟 𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕦𝕖 - Part I

Pairing: Father-in-law Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your secret relationship with Leon grows and keeping it hidden from your husband is getting tricky. When Leon's house is struck by a branch, he stays with you and your husband. Sparks continue to fly, but can you keep your love affair a secret, or will everything come crashing down?

Tags: Shower sex, cheating, creampies, try-not-to-get-caught, unprotected sex, divorce, second marriage, unplanned pregnancy

Part II

It was only supposed to be a one time thing, cheating on your husband. You just needed Leon once. You just needed to feel his touch, his kiss, his body all over yours…just…once…

But once wasn’t enough. Next, it was twice. Just twice. Then three times. Then it was every time Chase was away. Then it was every day while Chase was away, and as if your husband ever noticed anything or made any effort to be close to you. He still ignored you for the most part when he was home, planning his next business trip or going out with his friends. It was a conflicting mess! Chase neglected you about as badly as a husband could neglect a wife, and Leon made you feel alive, special…loved…like a husband should make his wife feel. So, how is it so wrong that you seek your comfort, your needs in his arms?

Leon holds himself above you, his body melded to yours, supported by his forearms so as not to crush you under his bulk. He kisses you passionately as he moves inside you, hips undulating against yours, cockhead brushing your cervix, tongues tangling, dancing together. It's complete and total heaven, like coming home after ages away in a strange place. You're in love with him…you just can't admit it yet.

“Baby…I'm close…” Leon warns, his voice warm and smooth like melted butter. You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting your hips slightly to take him even deeper, as if you could merge your very souls together. His hips begin moving faster and faster, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm. The sultry aroma of sweat and sex fills the air, adding to the potent eroticism, already thick from the taboo act of fucking your husband's father.

Just then, his dick hits that special spot inside you, that well innervated area that makes your head spin and fireworks dance through your vision. Leon smirks, seeing the ecstatic look on your face, knowing he's hitting just the right place with his cock. He pulls back and thrusts hard, stroking it again. He knows he's got the right spot since your eyes roll back in your head and your walls squeeze him, wringing out every ounce of pleasure. If your face wasn't enough to convey your satisfaction, the moan you belt out is. Pleasure explodes within you as you reach your orgasm. Leon prolongs your euphoria by rubbing your clit in time with his accelerating thrusts. Meanwhile, your body is spasming like you're being struck by lightning over and over again. Every time with Leon is better than the last.

“Fuck!” Leon belts out as he thrusts deep inside you, his thumb stilling, forgotten by his brain as all of the blood has migrated to his cock. He spills himself in your tight channel, torrents of cum filling you up, a sensation of which you know you'll never tire. He lets every last drop pour into you before he slips his softening length out of your welcoming vault. He flops onto the bed beside you, turning to face your glowing visage. He caresses your face reverently, thumb gently stroking your soft cheek. Your eyes slip closed, savoring the sweet feeling. No words are spoken; there's no need. You simply enjoy each other's presence, relishing these stolen moments.

And every time doubt creeps into your mind, every time you begin to question yourself…you quiet those intrusive thoughts with memories of the pleasure Leon gives you every time you're together. You know Leon is doing the same; how else could he justify fucking his daughter-in-law?

Suddenly, you hear your name called from the entryway of your house. Fuck, you think to yourself. Chase is home…

You and Leon look at each other, expressions a mix of shock and fear. You have to think quickly… Surely, you can think of something to tell your husband to explain why his dad's car is in the driveway. “Bathroom!” you exclaim quietly. “We'll tell him you're fixing a leak from the sink.”

Leon nods and quickly dresses then slips into the bathroom. You dress too, then pull a bunch of clothes out of your dresser, rumple them up, and lay them in a pile on the bed, then begin refolding them. By the time Chase walks into the bedroom, you're seemingly just doing some laundry while his father fixes a leaky sink.

“Hey, honey,” you greet with a relaxed smile, folding up a sweater.

“Hey, what's Dad doing here?” He asks then kisses you on the cheek. What limited displays of affection you get from him feel cold and uninviting, but you hide your displeased reaction. He sets down his briefcase and hangs up his suit coat in the closet.

“The sink in the master bath is leaking so he said he'd take a look. I didn't think you'd be back today so I didn't wait.”

“Yeah, meetings got done early so I flew home.”

You nod in understanding then return your focus to folding your clothes. All the while, you can feel Leon's cum leaking out of you into your panties. It almost turns you on, knowing Chase is so close but has no idea what just happened in your marital bed.

Leon, ever the fast thinker, rubbed dust from underneath the sink onto his hands and arms as well as a splash of water here and there to really sell your cover story. He walks back into the bedroom and pats his son on the shoulder. “Hey there, kiddo. Welcome home,” he greets kindly.

“Hey, Dad. Thanks for looking out for the house.” Chase turns and faces you. “I'm gonna head downtown with the guys, watch the game, and have a few beers.” He doesn't even wait for an answer before he heads for the door.

“‘Kay. Later,” you reply half-heartedly, uncaring if he actually heard you. You and Leon wait carefully for the sound of his car backing out of the driveway before finally relaxing, hugging each other tightly and sighing with relief. “How about we make some pasta and watch a movie together? Chase will probably crash at a friend's place tonight anyway.”

“That sounds amazing,” Leon replies and kisses your forehead lovingly, his lips lingering on your skin. You feel warmth and joy soothing your fried nerves.

Just as you're both sitting down in front of a comedy movie, each with a plate full of pasta, Leon's phone rings. His face drops from whatever the person on the other line says, eyes wide with shock. You place your hand on his shoulder in silent support.

“Thank you,” Leon replies weakly to the caller and hangs up the call. His eyes slowly look up to meet yours. “There was a lightning strike that knocked over a tree branch in my yard…it fell on my house and crushed the kitchen…”

Your jaw slides open. “Oh my God…I…I’m so glad you weren't there…no one else was hurt right?”

“No, thankfully.”

“Well…did you wanna go check it out?” You ask, hand gently rubbing his arm.

Leon thinks for a moment then nods. “Yeah…we should probably go do what we can…”

Hours later, you've helped Leon move his valuables into a storage facility and grabbed some clothes along with other essentials so he can stay with you and Chase while his house is repaired. It's three o'clock in the morning when you make it back to the house and your husband is nowhere to be found, of course. You fix up the guest room for Leon with fresh sheets and pillows.

“Here ya go!” You proclaim cheerfully, fluffing the pillows.

“You're an angel,” Leon tells you affectionately. His hand comes up to cup your face. “Wish you could stay here with me…” he adds, not quite sure he meant to say it out loud.

You seriously contemplate staying with him anyway; it's not likely that Chase will come home… Fuck, he looks so handsome, even after getting all sweaty from the work you did earlier. A subtle smirk glides across your face. You gently place your hand on his chest and purr, “We should get cleaned up. We're all…dirty…” With a seductive wink, you lead him to the guest bathroom shower.

You turn the handle and start the steady stream of water. You capture his lips with yours as you begin tugging at the hem of his T-shirt, breaking your kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. The process repeats for your own shirt.

Once you're both naked, you step into the shower. Leon steps in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back against his chest. His lips drop to the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. His fingertips roam your wet body briefly before he grabs a bar of soap, lathering it in his hands then returning to caressing your every curve and swell. You feel his hard length pressing against your ass. When you're sufficiently lathered, he cups water from the shower stream and slowly washes away the suds, a tedious method, but his aim is clearly not efficiency.

When you try to turn to wash him, he tightens his grip, keeping you firmly against him. Your head turns back to meet his tender kiss, lips moving in sync together. His hands continue roaming yet again, caressing, making you feel more loved and cherished than you ever have before.

He cups your breast, massaging you. The sweet little noises he coaxes from your lips spur him on. You can feel precum leaking from his throbbing tip and sliding down your inner thigh. In response, your back arches and your ass presses against him. He groans wantonly in response, hand trailing down your gorgeous body towards your quivering center. Your breath hitches when his fingers finally reach your folds, already generously coated in your thick cream. You moan loudly as the pads of his digits circle your swollen clit.

“I could listen to that all day…” Leon growls, his voice dripping with hunger. You can hear each one of his ragged breaths in your ear. The hand he has on your breast slides down your waist, around your hip, and briefly squeezes your ass before he lets go and guides his cock to your quivering center. With the hand strumming your clit, he spreads your folds and guides himself inside you. You arch your back, ass pressing harder against his hips and pussy angled for deeper penetration.

He continues rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves while he sets a slow but strong pace. His other hand returns to your breast, kneading and caressing the plushy flesh. The exquisite fullness overwhelms your senses.

The erotic sounds of wet skin slapping together fill the shower, echoing through you. You let yourself fall back onto his dick each time he thrusts forward, eventually bracing yourself on the wall as his pace quickens, stronger, faster. The passion between you two only grows, deepening the connection you've built even further. “Oh God, Leon!” you moan, your climax approaching rapidly. He speeds up his ministrations on your clit, ensuring you cum together.

You're slamming back against his hips as he fucks you harder and harder. A deep cry explodes from your throat as you cum hard, your walls squeezing down on his cock, sucking it in. Leon grips your hips tightly, pulling your ass flush with his hips. “Fuck!” He exclaims as he reaches his peak and cums deep inside you. His arms hold you closely, lovingly. His lips lazily kiss your neck and jaw as the last of his hot spend hits your cervix. “You're so incredible,” he murmurs. “I can never get enough of you.” He delicately rubs your body while kissing you.

Suddenly, the garage door opens, its sound reverberating through the house as the mechanism shakes and shudders. “Shit!” You exclaim. “Chase is home!” You panic, trying to think quickly. “Okay…stay in the shower and I'll rush into my and Chase’s bathroom and pretend I'm just finishing a shower there.” You kiss him quickly then bolt before your husband gets inside the house. You make it to the master bathroom before the front door opens and you stand in front of the mirror, trying to appear like you're lazily drying your hair with a towel. Chase doesn't even stop to see you. You let out a shaky breath, releasing your tension and then head into your bedroom to find him already in bed, snoring.

You quietly head back to Leon’s room. “He's asleep. I'm not sure he's even noticed you're here,” you explain with a light chuckle of disbelief.

Leon sighs with relief. “That was close.” He walks up to you and kisses you tenderly, more out of a need for the comfort only you can provide than anything else.

You return his kiss and hug him tightly. “We need to be more careful.” You gently rub his chest.

“Yeah, we do,” Leon agrees with a slight twinge of disappointment. Something is bothering him, but now isn't the time to dive into it.

You gaze longingly into each other's eyes for several moments before you finally speak, “I should…get to bed. We'll talk in the morning okay?”

Leon nods, still troubled. He kisses you once more then without thinking whispers, “I love you.” You both freeze. You know you heard it; he knows he said it, but he didn't expect himself to admit it, and yet both of you already knew it was true, long before the words were spoken. He said it like he's used to it, like he's always said it, like he tells you as frequently as he tells you hello or goodbye.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back, knowing it's the only reply that makes sense. How could you not say it? You do love him, more than anything, more than your own life. Leon is your everything. He's your soul mate, your Mr. Right, your true love. Love.

As you lie in bed that night, sleep the furthest from your mind as it could possibly be, you realize your life is reaching a turning point. You come to one, clear, sobering realization:

Your marriage needs to end.

What's the point? You don't love Chase and he clearly doesn't love you. Oh sure, you loved him at one time, but even the most beautiful plants die without water, and your marriage to Chase was drier than the Sahara. It's time to quit. Would it be annulment or divorce? Oh well, you think to yourself. It doesn't really matter. All that matters is that you end the ridiculous farce and be with the one you truly love.

Finally having a path forward, you drift into a fitful slumber. Sure, it's a difficult path, but at the end is hope; hope for your future, yours and Leon's. Lazy Sunday mornings sipping coffee and kissing tenderly, never having to hide your feelings for one another. It's a dream for now, but one you're willing to fight to secure.

#leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x reader #father in law leon kennedy

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lllunaverde · 2 days ago

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𝐘𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

"I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way." Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf

DEFAULT TAGS: BYI / BYR❕I WRITE AND SUPPORT DARK CONTENT, THIS WORK IS NOT DARK, THIS TAG IS ONLY A WARNING TO NOT DISAPPOINT IF YOU DON'T LIKE SUCH OR AN ANTI || anyone is welcome to read my works but all my y/n / readers are afab, fat / plus size / chubby and of color, always. whether it's heavily described in my works or not.

CW: 1.5k words. fluff. light smut

NOTES: continuation of inevitability of nature

©lllunaverde, january 2024

Nanami would have never thought himself to be....needy. But there he is, each time his class ends, he makes you stay, always catching your arm before you could step away from his vicinity.

Burying himself in your embrace, at this point everyone in his class knew that you and him were a thing and how fucking glad you were none of them didn't give a fuck enough for a drama to happen. Shit, if anything, there's always that one student who's always the last before you to leave the room, whichver of them—locks the room for you both. Lucky enough that you were on good terms with them and that Nanami is a respectable and highly regard of a professor after all.

"You have a vacant time right now, come with me to my office," he says, his voice deep on your neck as he holds you tight.

A little and quiet laugh you make while you caress his hair, emitting a low groan from him. "I need to use my vacant time to continue writing my paper." That was almost a lie. You wanted nothing more than to indulge him and even more yourself, but you know you couldn't spoil yourself too much, at least it was a little backup for your pride that you try to keep.

Nanami was beginning to be known of it and he's found it rather endearing. He nuzzles his face on your neck, always liking the way your head lolled against his with your shaking breath leaving you. "You have more than enough days to finish your paper. I'm just asking for an hour or two, angel."

It wasn't that hard for your resolve to crack early when it comes to him. Perhaps that's how it is anyways—love. Even when it's not there yet. It's there.

Still, you try for now. "You talk of an hour or two as if you don't hate wasting time nor you like working past your shift." You remarked playfully.

And how could he not find you even more endearing whenever you manage to make the man break a smirk or even a smile. A soft breath of little laugh escapes him, you found to crave the shivers that comes with being covered with his presence. "For you, angel, for you." He mutters softly before trailing his lips on your neck to your chin, your supple cheeks and to your forehead. "And you could never waste my time."

How could you keep your resolve?

"Alright." That word was the reason you found yourself sitting on your professor's lap in his office. While he rests back heavily on his chair, his eyes closed, as your skirt is bunched up to your waist, his pants just on his knees. Enjoying how good you were for him as you take his cock so well, buried deep in you to warm him up.

Eased you were on him, all the goodness of your weight rest heavy on him, but it was taking all of your restraint to not chase the itch you were aching to burn in your core. Trying to focus on the cold of the room instead of the heat beginning to get thick between you two, sweat rolling down on your skins, the pounding of your heart. Trying to mute it all away as you slowly slid up your grasping palms on his arms to his biceps, wrinkling his dress shirt as you fists on them.

"This is torture, you know." You breathe, having couldn't bear it.

A low rumble thrums from Nanami's chest, his eyes opening slowly to look at you. "One which I enjoy truly." A little tug of his lips showing as he says. While he begins to slid his hands beneath your shirt and gently fondle your fat tummy, the sheet of sweat wetting his skin.

You inhale a hiss softly from the feel of his big hands fondling you against the burning goodness in your cunt swallowing his cock deeply. "I can see that." You hardly spoke. You couldn't find the push to even glare at him.

Nanami laughs a little, keeping his eyes on you. "Angel." He spoke then, breathing it out softly as he grazes his knuckles on your cheek and you lolled against it, your eyes closing for a moment—before you gently hold that wrist of his, opening his closed hand and nestled your cheek onto his palm.

His eyes almost shines. His breath flowing in deep in his mouth.

A reminiscing moment flashes fleetingly in his memories.

"So," Gojo hisses with a low laugh, gently swirling his glass of alcohol. Geto rolls his eyes as he chugs his own, already knowing where the first conversation of their night will lead. "You wanna tell us about her?" He lightly grins.

It has been a month of you and him being together, though with the two of his trusted friends have known of it—nothing has been said from Nanami himself. With the exception of the said best friends or more so lovers gossiping to themselves about it, of course. And not that Nanami didn't know about it anyway.

"What's there to tell about?" Nanami responds simply. He wasn't about to tell them how he's been always wanting and needing of you. The gallery in his phone filled with the pictures you send him randomly, images of your smiles, many of trivial things you come across in your day, and many of him that ones which you take of. The many sections of his wallet tucked with coupons and receipts from the cafes and bakeries you two go to. Each and every pieces he finds and come across has him reminding of you whenever. That it's been difficult to keep himself from smiling to only the thought of you.

It's been difficult to keep it difficult.

Geto laughs as his stubborn lover scowled at Nanami, no doubt that his piercing blue eyes were glaring behind his glasses against Nanami's ever calm ones. Geto pours himself another shot of their bottle of alcohol before speaking up then. "Humor him, Kento. He's been nothing but a pester to me about the subject." He tells, ever amused. "Though of course I'm not saying I ain't curious as well nor it hasn't been entertaining me."

Nanami only tuts his head aside, almost rolling his eyes, not at all surprised about it. His eyes reflects through his glasses against the thick crystallized rock that was filled with scotch, still untouched. It would only make the burn in his heart more hurtful.

It's addicting.

Yet indeed—what is there to say? It seems that it wasn't only his friends he's been avoiding of speaking about his situation.

He was....brave enough to let himself say yes in the beginning, though the more he delve in farther—of course, the remnants of his....fear was still there and surfacing every now and then. But who wouldn't be having needles tearing their seams as they sail through uncharted waters?

As suave he is, Nanami downs his drink. The lovers wait for him to speak with a knowing and fond smile. The coldness of the drink did nothing against the scorch of its essence, and more so your being etched in him. It drags so heavy in his mind. Every fiber, down to the littlest of nerves. It's so good.

Nanami looks down at his now empty glass, tightening his fingers around it as he sees them tremble. The burn in his throat there as he speaks. "She's....the one." God, even his lips were shaky. "She's her. Everything."

He laid down his glass on the table, exhaling gently as deeply from his mouth—the weight in his chest not changing nonetheless. And when he sits back, looking to his friends again, the silence with the three of them so heard; Gojo and Geto had such loving smiles on their faces.

Nanami uncontrollably laughs a breathless smile as he looks down. He was blinding. Ever in awe they were; Gojo had remove his glasses, letting his bared eyes admire his friend, with Geto sliding his palm up on his mouth, tears threatening to seep from the revelation.

They were so happy.

And he still is if not even so much more. Never mind the heated situation you were both in the moment. Nanami, with his other hand from your stomach slowly went to him and up to his chest, all while he held your other and laid it upon his chest.

Your eyes opened when he does, the pound of his heart hitting against your palm, echoing against your own. When you looked at his eyes, you almost gasped—the fingers laying on his chest suddenly twitching. Every little thing, he catches.

Such things he never thought he'd be doing, much less feel—yet there he is; declaring what he was beginning to yearn for. Offering his heart. "For you" You could have cried right then and there. "If you'll have me." He murmured, tangling your fingers together while he keeps you feeling his heart beat.

And with your tears spilling out after all, there comes yourself surrending to the currents.

If you'd have daydreamt of this kind of moment before, you would have laughed in the absurdity of it all.

And you were, but not alone. There you were laughing in breathless tears with him, basking in the love you were both making of your bodies in his office.

Nanami stays in his paradise.

#jjk x reader #chubby!reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #nanami kento #fat reader #nanami fluff #chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x plus size reader #jjk x chubby reader #starr's creations ☀️#nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #plus size reader

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kindrewind · 22 hours ago

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"well. before you go calling up real estate agents — " van waves, slowing taissa down. slowing them both down. " — you should ask yourself where you want to be."

the compass of van's lingering desire for taissa points them in a direction at odds with their reasoning — the reasoning which tells them they can't answer this for her. no, they don't know each other anymore, so how could van realistically know the answer to that? "and — this," peering up, "seriously isn't my scene." not just the extravagance of taissa's lifestyle, but how this house screams with an intimate history that van has no place in.

they give taissa's hand a gentle parting squeeze. it isn't that van doesn't want anything to do with taissa. it's that they want so much more to do with her than what they can say out loud — than what they have admitted to even themself. their want is converted into a felt charge between them. taissa, in her absence, has had a way of crossing van's mind. in absence, van shoved those thoughts away. otherwise they would be wondering about someone, who, in the golden glow of successive accomplishments, was no way in hell wondering about van. why punish themself? why inflame the hurt? that was why she left them behind all those years ago.

taissa's presence has intensified their wonderings about her. the powerful sight of her, her touch bringing to the fore how it all was real — everything that happened to and between them. there is a cavernous ache in van that only taissa knows how to reach and understands the fathoms of, for better or for worse. as taissa looks at van, expressing her regret, they are overwhelmed by the realization that she is facing everything too. she's not running from it. she's not running from van.

the kid in them is overwhelmed by this. they're bothered by how she gave up on them and for how fucking stellar her timing is now. but there's also a mending from her words, her acknowledgements. an antiseptic sting, and a soothing. this is the kid with whom van perpetually argues, the kid who desperately wants to know the meaning of what's happening to them in the hopes that they will make some sense of it all, and understand why they are here — which is dangerous. there are risks involved in the pursuit of van and tai's kind of knowledge, in trying to make sense of what they have done. it doesn't always help to have answers.

that kid's in their ear now, asking what it means when one day you're diagnosed with months to live, only for weeks later, see the woman who you thought was the love of your life walk back into it. van doesn't want to rush into anything with taissa. van cannot afford to take it too slowly either.

they float a suggestion. it's noncommittal. at least, that's how they try to play it, cool: "thing is, i do need to get back — check in on business. if you wanted to tag along."

this is not the first time van has extended some offhand excuse to tai, to get her to stick around. to stay for just a little while longer. it began in ohio, 'you could shelve some of these tapes', and continued in new york. idled along a disconcertingly quiet, forested road where van gave tai an out to go to ihop — before everything devolved even more painfully. before they lost natalie. before lottie lost everything.

lottie. if they do decide to leave, it won't be for long because van won't neglect lottie either.

"just be for a few days." they murmur, taking careful measure. for their friends who need them. and against how taissa's impulsivity does appeal to van, in some way, their relationship to time considered.

van stretches forward, elbows on their knees. holding their face, it barely obscures their tired half-smile. "gotta warn you though, you'd be, like, totally at the envy of all my super cool collections." there's that kid again, speaking out across time. "dunno if you could take it." perhaps it's because they deeply need the dose of humor. these past few weeks have been terribly fraught, and van needs a little uplift. it's a callback to the hard-won play on which they used to rely, a light in the suffocating darkness.

van's smile plummets at taissa's question. are we good? are they? whatever they are to each other anymore. they sigh, "tai."

tonight, it feels like they've turned a corner — but onto where, exactly? as recuperative as words may be, they set intentions but fall short without a follow through. are they going to climb this mountain?

"we — we're on some road to figuring that out." they settle back on the couch. they tease at her need for control, "but ya can't drive all night." van holds tai's gaze. sinking into her eyes, they can feel with every nerve alive that they're both holding back.

does she? she wants to. but the truth is, she probably can’t truly understand until she sees van back at their own home, with much more open eyes this time, because the first time tai was there with them, she was focused on herself.

instinctively, she wants to argue, tell van that it is and can be her place. but she knows better, knows van too well to know that she can’t bullshit her way through this. she has to be honest. ❝ no. it’s not really my scene, ❞ she admits, shrugging her shoulders as a hint to let them know she’s trying to be realistic about it this. ❝ but maybe this isn’t, either. ❞ it was, at some point. some way. but if taissa was being honest, she has no real answer for people when they ask why she didn’t stray too far from her hometown. maybe there’s part of her, for the first time in so long, that feels like she’d benefit from getting away from new jersey. that doesn’t mean van should take her in, nor does it mean ohio is the right place for her, or that van should have be there with her as she tries to figure it out. taissa also knows that for the first time since she was a teenager, she’s not putting herself first. she’s trying to put van first, like she should have done a long time ago.

❝ i know it’s important to you. ❞ that’s not the same empty statement she would’ve made without caring — she means it, and she wants to know. ❝ and i’m not trying to keep you from it. i’m not. i’d like to understand it, though. understand…. you, who you are now, ❞ she says, because she knows they don’t know each other anymore, as badly as it stings when van reminds her of it, and as much as she tried to convince them both otherwise before. but she wants to know them, more than anything. she knows she has to prove that, too.

her face falls, and she’s quick to shake her head in defense. it’s not a joke — but maybe it is an impulsive suggestion, one she hasn’t completely thought through, because before they make any moves, she needs to know how van feels about it.

❝ van. i’m not… no, i’m not joking. i’m not trying to mess with you. ❞ i’m not full of shit this time. ❝ i want to try. i want to get to know you again, and — yeah, i want to figure out who the fuck i am in all of this, too. i don’t have all the answers. ❞ something she never likes to admit, and even saying it now makes her feel even more vulnerable, but she needs to be honest with herself and she needs to be honest with van. ❝ but maybe, we can figure them out together. ❞ because she’s promising them now: she’s no longer deciding what’s best for both of them. she can’t. that’s how she hurt them before, too many times.

she doesn’t need the reminder that van’s sick— she dreads it, the idea that this is something they don’t have any control over. but they’ve been there before, leaving their fates up to outside ‘forces’ — and after what happened on her expedition, she made a promise then to never let anything happen to van again, even if it meant cheating the systems, putting others in danger just to spare van, taking control any way she could find that would ensure their safety, even at the expense of others. she knows that’s not an option anymore, that this is beyond their control — she also doesn’t accept that.

she looks down, because she doesn’t want to hear it. but soon after, she looks back up, forcing herself to face it anyway, her head slowly nodding. they deserved more time together — time that taissa took from them, a part of her still wishing van would’ve told her about her diagnosis before all this, even if that’s not something she can put on them. they didn’t owe her that.

she lets out a sigh of relief when van actually does hold onto her hand, taking that as enough hope that they may be getting somewhere, even if taissa still feels in over her head. she always feels most lost when she feels everything is out of her control.

her head leans into van’s touch, desperate to cherish it, nearly chasing it once they pull away, because she understands that van is starting to give in even if only slightly, and she needs to hang onto this moment for as long as she can. she opens her mouth to argue, because it’s a process, getting tai to this point of knowing she must be more open than she’s used to and finally take accountability for the things she’s broken between them, and while she’s already talking, she wants to get it all out so they can get somewhere. but her lips purse together almost immediately, because that’s the problem — this is not up to her. so she takes a deep breath, nodding her head again to tell van that she hears them. ❝ okay, ❞ she gives in. ❝ i’m sorry. this was a lot. but… you were right. we have a lot of shit to figure out, ❞ she admits, because she knows it’s not as easy as she wanted it to be, and van was right to stop her and bring her back.

❝ but we— ❞ she pauses. ❝ are we good? ❞ they're not the 'we' they once were. she knows that, and she gives van a look that implies she that, too. but right now, she just needs to hear that.

#ladyintree #the push-pull between them is killing me #* s3 reworked.

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pidgeyatto · 2 years ago

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i am Thinking. i'm probably going to be doing a total revamp of this account. while i'm not gonna be erasing any of falkner's prior relationships, i want to do a.... sort of soft reboot of this blog, i suppose? i don't know how else to describe it, but i definitely want to get back on here and be active again. i wouldn't be remaking this blog or anything, i'd just be redoing it's theme, redoing falkner's carrd (i lost the subscription for his bio carrd anyways so it's not even accessible anymore) and throwing myself back out into the rpc!!

#⌜-- ooc #continuing thoughts in tags so warning for that #this is probably what i'm gonna bedoing today sdjgsh #if i'm not lazy #but i've been thinking a lot and i need to get over this random anxiety that i've been having lately #thats why if youve tried reaching out to me lately i just ..... haven't responded #because ive had it in my head that nobody cares #and thats nobody's fault but my own and i apologize for it #but i want to try and get over this anxiety and i think . revamping things a little bit would help

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megaerakles · 1 year ago

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To Whom It May Concern

Tim couldn’t stay.

No matter what Bruce had said when he caught Tim in the act of laying the paper trail to establish his Fake Uncle, no matter how long Dick had sobbed into the phone at him during an inordinately expensive long distance (read: off planet) phone call, no matter how much Alfred had been fussing over him and insisting it was no trouble at all to care for him since Tim’s scheme had been revealed and promptly foiled, it just didn’t change the fact that Tim couldn’t stay. Truthfully, the Wayne family’s apparent sudden burst of affection for him actually made this whole thing worse because somewhere along the way, without even trying, Tim had failed to keep things wholly professional between them and somehow tricked them into thinking he belonged in their family!

He couldn’t let it stand. For the sake of Jason’s memory, for the sake of preserving the sanctity of the true Wayne family, he had to stop this… this absurdity of pretending that Tim belonged with them from continuing! Tim had to run. Tim had to vanish. It was the only way to make things right again. Sure, the thought of never seeing any of them again, the thought of being done with Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Barbara and everyone in his life he currently held dear once and for all made it feel as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest only to be shoved back down his throat to stop the flow of air into his body—but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not nearly as much as they did. This would be for their own good.

Tim was leaving, and it turned out to be easier than he thought it would be in the end. Not emotionally easier, but logistically easier. Bruce had been extra attentive lately, so he thought he’d have to fake an injury and get ‘benched’ so that they would lower their guard long enough for him to slip away. But by some divine stroke of luck, a new player had waltzed onto Gotham’s criminal scene not too long after Tim’s Fake Uncle plan fell through and started making threats against Batman and Robin. They had apparently freaked B out enough to prompt him to send Tim off to Titan’s Tower to ‘focus on his team for awhile’. Tim had accepted the command with the requisite amount of complaint, planted some fake texts to make it look like he’d actually communicated to his Team that he would be there, shoved everything from his guest room in the Manor that he couldn’t bear to part with into a duffel bag underneath a spare uniform, gave Bruce what only he knew was a more emotionally charged nod goodbye than usual, and then poof. Tim Drake was zapped out of the Batcave for the last time ever.

He let himself have one night in the Tower. Partly to catch a few hours of sleep in a familiar and secure environment, but mostly so he could clean up his room for its next occupant, sweep his belongings and his person for any extra trackers, and repack his bag more efficiently. He also took the time to grab a spare backpack and fill it up with emergency rations. While he was taking plenty of cash, he didn’t want to risk having to go into stores with security cameras for a while, at least until he’d cleared a suitable distance from San Francisco proper as well as implemented the first of his many planned disguises. He didn’t think a bottle of cheap hair dye and some colored contacts would be enough to fool Oracle indefinitely, but if he was appropriately cautious it might keep her from getting a confirmation of his location long enough for the Bats to either get bored looking for him or to actually realize they were better off without him around.

When the early rays of dawn started to bathe the sides of Titan’s Tower in ember colored light, he was off. He left behind seven trackers pulled from his clothes and bag and one more from behind his ear; he’d kept the one he noticed in his favorite pair of sneakers because it was a type that wouldn’t start transmitting data until the Bats actively started tracking it and he was hoping to find someone who wore his size at the bus station he could pay to wear them so he could throw them off for even longer. If all else failed, he would just toss them in an out of the way trash can. He had also left a letter of resignation for Batman that he’d whipped up based off of an online template, signed and sealed and awaiting discovery atop the pillow in his nearly empty dorm room (he had tried for something more personal, a longer note of explanation for Bruce about why he couldn’t stay despite being asked, but—the words just wouldn’t come, and he’d been running out of time). His bag was heavy, courtesy of all of the extra supplies he’d grabbed in anticipation of having to evade not only Batman’s team but the rest of the Justice League. His heart was heavy, courtesy of emotional baggage that he wished was as easy to unpack as his actual bags would be when he finally found somewhere to settle.

He boarded the first bus he saw after he’d gone a few blocks and took a seat towards the back, where he leaned against the window and stared back at the iconic giant T that he used to belong in, however briefly, until it disappeared from sight. And just like that, Tim Drake’s life as Robin was over.

—

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately.

Thank you so much for the opportunity to work with you all for the past three years. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the team and appreciated the opportunity to learn about vigilantism and hone my detective skills. I’m excited to take these skills with me as I pursue the next step of my career.

During the past two weeks, I have done everything possible to wrap up any ongoing cases and leave no unfinished business. The Robin suit as well as my spare have been cleaned and placed in the armory of Titan’s Tower along with any gear I have been issued.

I wish Batman and team the best, but am afraid I will be out of contact for the foreseeable future.

Sincerely,

T. J. Drake

—

Red Hood stalked into Titan’s Tower with all the grace of a wildcat closing in on its prey, his vicious smirk hidden by his helmet, his unauthorized entrance hidden by virtue of the heroes’ own stupidity in failing to remove his codes from the database. Seriously—he’d thought gaining entry into their so-called fortress would be the hardest part of this little trip, and had only tried his access codes for the sake of checking the most stupidly obvious Plan A off his list! For them to work, to realize that there was nothing truly separating the precious sidekicks from the wrath of a vengeance minded crime lord, well… it sure made the message he was about to send feel all the more poignant.

He had come equipped to subdue an entire horde of Teeny Titans without hurting them (much), but to his surprise, the tower was empty of kid sidekicks despite Robin having been sent to work with his team yesterday afternoon, a fact Jason had gleaned last night from listening to the mind numbing chatter of Nightwing being bored on a stakeout and wanting to chat with anyone over the comms Jason had hacked into. Which he’d done in order to better plan his aggressive takeover of Crime Alley, not because he missed hearing his family’s voices. Nope.

(Since coming back to Gotham, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to stick to the plan when some part of his mind still stubbornly clung to those foolish, childhood dreams of belonging and family and a father who gave a shit and things like that, and kept popping up with annoying questions like ‘what if he revealed his identity to Dick or Alfred or someone just to see if maybe Talia had been right and they’d want him back after all. Clearly, the existence of a new Robin meant that they’d never really given a damn about him, so he was going to go through with this thing, just watch him.)

Truly this had to be fate, because the path to Robin was practically unfolding before him with no barriers. All that was left to do was find where in this gigantic clubhouse the itty little birdie was nesting. Jason tried the common room first. Then the kitchen. Then the rec room. And then the training floor. And the med bay. And then the armory, where he found Robin’s suit, but no actual Robin. He supposed the next place to check would be Robin’s bedroom, because even though it was well past eleven, Drake was a teenager and could conceivably be sleeping in, especially since there was no Alfred around to rouse him at a reasonable hour. Luckily, the doors on the floor with sleeping quarters were all clearly marked with either the name or symbol of the person it belonged to, so it was easy enough to find the one with that all too familiar stylized ‘R’. Jason paused to take a steadying breath before gritting his teeth and deciding to really make an entrance by kicking down the door.

…To an empty bedroom. Like, not just devoid of Tim Drake, but also devoid of books, trinkets, photos, decoration, clothes, dishes, mess, et cetera, et cetera. It looked as clean and sterile as a hotel room, and if Jason hadn’t literally just seen Robin’s insignia on the door he would think he’d entered an unassigned room by mistake. He frowned and yanked off his helmet, as if looking with his own two eyes would suddenly change the scene, but no. Nothing. He strode into the room and yanked open the closet—empty. He walked over to the desk and yanked open the top drawer—empty. He yanked open the bottom drawer, and mostly empty except for—wait, was that a pile of deactivated Bat trackers? Fucking bizarre. When he stood up, he glanced around again, and this time something on the bed caught his eye. It had been easy to miss against the white pillowcase, but there was an envelope tucked up against the pillow. With a scowl, he stalked over and grabbed it.

When Jason flipped it over, he noted that it was addressed to Batman, but decided that since he was a crime lord now he didn’t have to care about something as trivial as opening someone else’s mail. He didn't want to take off his gloves and risk leaving prints on anything, so he pulled out a dagger and used it to slice open the envelope. As he flipped it over to dump its contents on the desk, he had the fleeting thought that he probably should have put back on his mask in case this had been some villain’s ploy to poison Batman, but luckily all that fell out was a single sheet of printer paper folded into thirds.

This he was careful not to damage as he unfolded it. It wasn’t a long note, just a few small paragraphs, so it was quick enough to read: To whom it may concern. This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately…

Jason dropped the letter and took a step back, staring at the innocuous piece of paper with wide eyes and racing thoughts. Robin had—Drake wasn’t—Timothy—the kid, he was quitting? Leaving? Gone?

It could be a trap. It probably was a trap. Except Robin shouldn’t have had any way of knowing Red Hood would be able to track him all the way to Titan’s Tower so why would he have set a trap for him in the first place? A trap for someone else, then? If it was, it was really, really stupid of him because the kid had signed his resignation letter from Robin with his actual name, and surely he wouldn’t have made it this far if he were that careless with his identity. So, it was either a very bad trap, or not a trap at all. And if it was not a trap at all, then…

Then Robin had… resigned. Which, ok, Jason’s stated goal coming into this thing was to get Tim Drake to stop being Robin. So he should be happy about this, right? Except he’d not gotten to toss the kid around and work out his aggression at all so there was no satisfaction in it. Also, the timing was fucking obnoxious. Go figure that the very day he decides to do something about his replacement, the kid decides to peace out of the Gotham vigilante scene and… and go…

… Somewhere. Jason had no idea where Tim Drake would go if he were no longer Robin. Given how he’d waited until he was alone and then left the note to be found on the other side of the country, Jason had a sneaking suspicion that returning to Gotham was currently off the table. The letter had said he would be ‘out of contact’ for the foreseeable future; Jason could read between the lines enough to figure out that meant he was running away.

—Which, fuck. Another Robin was running away from Batman because of… well, Jason didn’t know what this kid’s issue with B was, but there were plenty of potential flaws in the man to choose from so Jason was going to play it safe and assume it was something Bruce did. Clearly, the man could never learn. And now, this poor dumb Robin was going to pay the price! Jason was more than familiar with the number of horrors that awaited kids who ended up on their own. He could starve; he could freeze to death; he could catch some disease like the flu, or get cut on a rusty nail and get tetanus, and then die from it because he couldn’t access medical treatment. He could get mugged, or harassed by cops, or snatched up by traffickers, or—

And fine; Jason himself had meant to hurt him. But that had been for ideological purposes, to prove a point about putting children in danger and not taking good enough care of them and stuff. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt him that badly, just bad enough to freak out Bruce a bit. But Jason was also the Red Hood, and the Red Hood’s mission was to do what was necessary to stop awful shit from happening to vulnerable kids. And this stupid, stupid letter was apparently enough to abruptly transfer Timothy Drake into that category in his head.

Everything Jason had heard about the kid said he was smart, and the timing of his disappearance pointed to some thoughtful planning on his part. Jason could imagine that the little shit had some sort of plan in place to evade Batman’s attempts to locate him, and he probably could manage to run without getting caught by Bruce and the Gotham team for a while. Heck, the kid probably had strategies to get away from most if not all of the Justice League members, since B was sure to call in favors once he got frantic enough about the little bird. But one thing the kid likely did not plan for was being pursued by him. Ex-Robin, currently a crime lord, League of Assassins connections, and a bone to pick with Timothy specifically? (He ran away from home and left a fucking resignation letter about it? Does he not realize what that would do to Dick, to Alfred, to Bruce—)

After stuffing the letter into his pocket, Jason put back on his helmet and stalked out of Titans Tower as silently as he’d arrived, this time with a new yet equally furious purpose sharpening his steps. Sucked to be Timothy Drake, he thought, because the Red Hood got his message and he was officially concerned.

#my writing #my fanfic #tim drake #jason todd #to whom it may concern #would be what this fic is called if I ever continue it haha #but this is as far as I got and then kinda lost steam #but it stands as a one shot pretty nicely so I thought I'd share it here see what people thought. ya know.#could it be a multi chapter fic one day? sure. what do I know. will it be soon? probably not.#um ok what else #unreliable narrator #tim drake has self worth issues #are probably the two most critical tags/warnings for this one.#anyway actually being on desktop is giving me way too much power look at me go all these tags and no typos damn!

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aventurineswife · 3 days ago

Note

Can you do Obey me brothers with a reader who is like Robin from hsr?

Melodies of a Shattered Heart

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Leviathan x Reader, Satan x Reader, Asmodeus x Reader, Beelzebub x Reader, Belphgor x Reader, Robin (from HSR) based Reader, Fluff, Emotional/Comfort, Slow Burn, Emotional Healing, Light Angst.

Warnings: Mild angst (Some references to past trauma and loss), Character introspection (Some moments where characters reflect on emotions).

The faint hum of your melody filled the room, the notes almost floating in the air like whispers of an ethereal dream. Lucifer stood by the large window of the mansion, watching as the moonlight bathed the world in soft silvery hues, his arms crossed with that ever-present stoic expression. But tonight, even he couldn’t hide the way his gaze softened as you sang, your voice weaving its way through his defenses.

“Your voice,” he began, the words slow, measured, as if each syllable weighed more than the last, “It is a reflection of something deeper. A story I can’t quite touch, yet it feels so familiar.”

You paused, the song finishing on a gentle note. “It’s a reflection of the heart, of what I’ve lost... and what I’ve come to cherish,” you replied softly, your eyes meeting his with a quiet intensity. There was a lingering sadness, but a calm acceptance behind your gaze.

Lucifer nodded thoughtfully, his usual coolness fading slightly. “Then allow me to be part of that journey. You’ve touched the hearts of many, but there are some hearts that need you more than they know.”

The sound of soft, lilting music drifted across the room as Mammon sprawled lazily on the couch, staring at you with a gleam of admiration in his eyes. His usual arrogance was toned down when you were around, as though your music had the uncanny ability to disarm his bravado.

The night stretched on, filled with unspoken words, your voice carrying them both through the silence.

“Ya know, I’m gonna be the first to admit it…” Mammon leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “I didn’t think you could be so—y’know, so—perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers resting on the strings of the instrument you were playing, the song ebbing to a tranquil end. “Perfect?” You asked, a smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah. Like, yer voice? It’s like it’s got this power. I never thought someone could be so... beautiful,” he continued, his words stumbling out in a rare moment of sincerity.

Your soft laughter filled the air. “Beauty is only skin deep, Mammon. What you hear is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Then I guess I’m in over my head.” He grinned, leaning closer. “If I had someone like ya in my life, I’d be unstoppable.”

“You already are, in your own way,” you said, your gaze meeting his with a quiet understanding.

The dim light of the room flickered as you played, your soft lilac hair falling like a veil around your face as you strummed the chords. Leviathan watched from the corner, his usual awkwardness intensified by the vulnerability of the moment. His eyes followed your every movement, utterly entranced by the haunting beauty of the song.

Mammon’s grin widened, though there was a touch of vulnerability beneath the surface. “Don’t go gettin’ all poetic on me now.”

“You, um…” His voice was hesitant as he shuffled closer, still maintaining a respectful distance. “You’ve been playing for hours. Aren’t you tired?”

You paused, glancing up at him with a soft, knowing smile. “Music isn’t tiring when it speaks the language of the soul.”

Levi shifted on his feet, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah, well… your music, it… it kinda makes me forget about everything else. Even the whole, um, ‘game’ I was playing before you started.”

The words hung in the air, a quiet admission. You couldn’t help but smile, offering him a gentle nod. “I’m glad it helps. Sometimes, we all need an escape.”

The room was silent save for the soft hum of your song, your fingers dancing effortlessly along the strings of the instrument. Satan sat nearby, his usual air of composed indifference replaced with an expression of quiet reverence. Your music had a way of stirring something deep within him, a longing he often tried to bury beneath layers of logic.

Levi nodded, his eyes not leaving you for a moment, before awkwardly shuffling back toward his corner, but the warmth in his gaze remained.

“I never imagined music could carry such weight,” he murmured, breaking the silence between you. “It’s as if your voice holds the very fabric of the universe in its notes.”

You met his gaze, your eyes soft with an understanding that only someone who had lived through grief could possess. “Music isn’t just sound. It’s a reflection of what we experience, what we endure.”

Satan’s eyes flickered with a mixture of admiration and something darker, something more yearning. “And what have you endured?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

You lowered your gaze, your fingers pausing for a moment. “A life of loss. But through it, I’ve learned that we find meaning in our scars.”

Asmodeus lounged on the couch, his usual flair for the dramatic on full display as he watched you from across the room. He had always been captivated by beauty, and there was no denying the spell your elegance and grace had cast upon him. But tonight, something about your music pulled at him more than your outward appearance ever could.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Satan absorbed your words, his heart a little heavier, but somehow, a little more at peace.

“Darling, I must say,” he purred, his eyes gleaming as he approached. “You’re absolutely radiant when you sing.”

You smiled, finishing your song with a delicate flourish. “You’re too kind, Asmodeus. Music is my way of sharing my soul.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “And what is it that your soul is sharing with us today?”

Your gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, the lightness in your eyes shifted into something more wistful. “The quiet moments that go unnoticed. The spaces between the noise.”

Asmodeus leaned forward, his usual playfulness subdued. “You truly are a mystery, darling. But a mystery I’m eager to uncover.”

The soft notes of your song drifted through the room, bringing a sense of peace that even Beelzebub, the ever-hungry and sometimes distant brother, couldn’t ignore. He had been watching you for some time now, his appetite momentarily forgotten as he listened to the music that seemed to fill the room with an almost otherworldly serenity.

There was a quiet, knowing pause between you both, filled with unspoken understanding.

“Your music… it’s different,” Beelzebub remarked, his voice low, a rare softness in his tone. “It makes me feel full, not in the way I usually do, but in a way that I can’t quite explain.”

You smiled gently, pausing your song and glancing up at him. “Food can nourish the body, but music nourishes the soul.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his usual hunger temporarily sated by something far more profound. “I never realized how much I needed something like this.”

The soft strum of the instrument you played echoed in the room, a lullaby of sorts that reached the tired corners of Belphegor’s mind. He had been lying on the couch, eyes closed, yet your voice somehow made him feel more at ease than he had in days.

There was a quiet moment as he regarded you, as though you had offered him something more than just your music—something that filled a deeper hunger he had long ignored.

“You’re good at this,” he muttered, not opening his eyes, but the praise was clear in his tone.

You smiled, continuing the melody. “Thank you. Music helps me express what words cannot.”

Belphegor shifted slightly, his voice still a whisper. “I know the feeling. Sometimes… the best thing to do is just… be quiet, and listen.”

You paused, your fingers stilling on the strings for a moment. “Then I’m glad you’re listening.”

The silence stretched between you both, peaceful, without the need for further words. Just the quiet understanding that music, like sleep, could heal in ways nothing else could.

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sysig · 2 years ago

Text

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Law Abiding Citizen

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: Patreon Promo +4:20 PM Bonus!: Koisuru Boukun vine shitpost

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: Villainsona Style Study

Thursday:

2:30 PM: Villainsona

Friday:

2:30 PM: Law Abiding Citizen

Saturday:

2:30 PM: LAC

Sunday:

2:30 PM: LAC

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

#Weekly TV Guide #Was I expecting to have such a LAC-heavy week? What a silly question lol #It's especially funny 'cause the first post inspired the rest which I'll expand upon in the tags when we get there haha #The Patreon Promos keep sneaking up on me lol - I made that one so so so long ago and I'm relieved that it's finally posting!#It's outdated but not in a bad way lol ♪#And since there's no new art I thought it'd be good timing to sneak in a silly little thing I made recently lol #When else would I post it! But I want to! It's silly! Haha #Technically Thursday's is a continuation of the style study but only half ways so no specialized caption lol #I wonder if you can guess - it's fairly obvious if you also follow VLH lol #Should I warn you that the LAC stuff is mostly Roug? Ft. some kisses? Nah it's fine don't worry about it lol

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wiwiurikawa · 7 months ago

Text

the black panel hit hard

How much longer 'til your luck runs out?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #Aaargh...I have so many thoughts about this scene.#This is a hard goodbye. I'm not your burden to bear. Not anymore.#This is the culmination of years of miscommunication. There was so much love there. They trusted each other with everything once.#I think it is easy to hear the anger in JC's voice and consider him the aggressor in this but listen to the words not the tone.#It is anger yes - but it is an anger born out of love.#Jiang Cheng wanted him to live - damn the rest of the world to hell if that's what it took. And Wei Wuxian chose strangers over him.#Sometimes two people who once flourished together become each other's worst wounds.#A goodbye to someone you once would have done anything for is a wound you don't easily recover from.#Jiang Cheng could have stood at Wei Wuxian's side and joined him. Consider though; as a sect leader his life is not his own anymore.#JC cannot just abandon the fledgling New Yunmeng Jiang without also dooming people.#And that is the lynch pin of it all. Both of them are trapped by duty. And the older they got the more tangled the web became.#The song I linked (Hi Epic fans) is such a good JC and WWX song that doesn't fit this scene exactly #But it does fit *them*. The words of warning that go dismissed. The Tactical Genius who continues to press on.#The seeds of doubt that grow louder until they creep towards mutiny. Ultimatly this *is* a mutiny! It *is* betrayal!#'You rely on wit and people die by it'. Is that not Wei Wuxian?#Just smashing my brainworms together over here. Don't mind me.#prev tags #sobbing #mdzs fanart #mdzs comic #comic #art #mo dao zu shi

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pedgito · 3 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial.

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive.

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in.

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?”

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard.

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer.

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless.

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before.

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved.

Up.

Barely.

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin.

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire.

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too.

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job.

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

#harry castillo #pedro pascal #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x y/n #randy castillo #the materialists #my writing #pedro pascal fic

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