#eventually i'll remember these tags all on my own

[gothmikewheeler]

girl i have fanfics in my head u wouldnt even dream

[zepskies]

Hi Zep!! I love your writing so much!

How do you think Dean/Beau/ Ben would react to a surprise pregnancy and if the reader was unsure of keeping it?

Hi there! Aw thank you, anon. 💜

I know you asked me this a while back, but to be honest this is a touchy subject, so I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer it. All I can do is give my honest thoughts based on what I know of these three characters, with all their flaws and personality traits and humanity that goes along with that.

Headcanon: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to a surprise pregnancy.

(And if you weren't sure about keeping it.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Dean Winchester

Once Dean gets past the initial shock, and the inevitable "how did this happen??!", he remembers just how he could've gotten you pregnant. Part of him wants to smile at the memory.

Good times.

He slowly realizes that he's...he's happy.

He never thought that he'd have any piece of "normal" after the way things ended with Lisa. Hell, he never thought he'd find what he had with you, let alone have a kid.

He hasn't told you this, because he's locked it deep within himself and hasn't allowed himself to open that door, but the part of Dean that considered what he would leave behind on this earth if he died--the part of him that wanted a family, is still there, beating in his heart. Maybe now he's finally getting his chance.

But he focuses on you.

He gauges your reaction, and his urge to smile falls away when he realizes you're more nervous and freaked out than excited.

Dean sits down with you, taking your hands to calm you down. He suppresses his own feelings on this for a moment, and he asks you the important question.

"What do you wanna do?"

You look up into his eyes, and you really don't know. The hunting lifestyle you both lead, how can you bring a child into this? Would that be right? Are you even ready to be a mom? Are you even capable?

"I don't know if I can..." you confess. "Dean, I don't know if I'm ready."

It breaks Dean's heart, though he tries not to show it.

For once, he thinks hard about what he's going to say next.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and squeezes your hands.

"I get it," he says. "Whatever you want to do here, I'll back you up. But for the record, I'm right here with you. I might be screwed to hell in ways that I can't even...but I got no doubts about you, sweetheart. And I know we could do this together..."

If that's what you want. The rest is implied through his eyes. You read it there, clear as day.

You try blinking your tears away. When that fails, you sink into Dean's warm embrace and let him hold you. You press a lingering kiss against his prickly cheek in a wordless thank you. And I love you.

For now, you know that he's with you, and he's not going to let you go.

Beau Arlen

Like Dean, Beau would go through similar rounds of Oh, dear sweet Lord, and holy shit.

He thought you and him had been careful, damn it! But, apparently he's more potent than he thought he was.

For a few moments, it's just pure unadulterated silence between you two...until he looks over at you and tries to figure out what you're thinking.

He's got a half-grown daughter, sixteen going on seventeen. He's approaching his mid-40s. He hadn't even been thinking about the possibility of another kid...at least not yet.

Though he can admit, the thought of having kids with you makes him smile.

"So, uh..." he trails, earning your teary-eyed expression. He softens. "Aw, darlin'. Come 'ere."

He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close. You bury your face into his neck and sniffle, holding onto him tightly.

You love Beau. You truly, truly do, but you don't know if you're ready for this. You had plans, things you wanted to do, things you feel you have to do.

"I don't know, Beau. I don't know what to do," you admit. You don't want to hurt him, even though you know that you are. You can see it in his eyes when you pull back to look at him, though he tries to hide it.

"I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?" he says. His voice is low and steady. He rubs your back to try and calm you down.

It starts to work. You nod and heave a shaky sigh.

Then you steel yourself, and you work past the fear making your chest tight to ask him an important question.

"What if I tell you that I'm not ready?" you ask.

For once in his life, Beau is quiet. He takes a long beat. So long that your heart begins to break.

But he does answer.

"Then I'd tell you...that I love you," he says. "That I'm with you. That I'll be with you, come whatever. But I gotta tell you...I got no problem being an old-ass dad. If I've got double-knee replacements in my future, then that's just what I gotta do. I'll break my hand building the crib and the porch swing. Hell, I'll build a whole damn tree house."

You can't help but break into giggles through your tears, in the way only Beau manages to accomplish. You stroke his cheek and rest easier against him.

Your heart eases quite a lot just being in Beau's supportive embrace.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Ben isn't all that shocked when you tell him that you're pregnant.

His surprise quickly fades into a pleased grin, and he pulls you into his lap to kiss you. Fucking finally...

But he stops short, realizing that you're not as happy as he expected you to be. Actually, you look anxious, and even scared.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice deep and direct.

You hesitate to meet his gaze, but you gain the courage to do so, resting a hand on his chest.

"Ben, I wanted to be honest with you, and so I am. I'm just...I'm not sure about this."

His brows furrow. "What's not to be sure about?"

Your gaze drops from his, making him frown. Upset begin to rise in his chest, disguised as anger. When you rise to get off his lap, he grasps your hand to stop you from walking away from him.

"Hey..." But then it hits him. The realization dawns, and deep inside, it hurts him. "You better not be saying what I think you're fucking saying."

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your heart clenches tight in pain just watching him work it out in his mind. You try to tug your hand out of his.

"Ben, please. Don't make this harder for me--"

He stands, but doesn't let go of you.

"What, you think I won't take care of you? You think I wouldn't take care of my own kid?" he says angrily.

"That's not it!" you say, shaking your head. "I just need some time to think, for Christ's sake!"

"What's there to think about? If you give a shit about us, about what we have? What, all of that isn't fucking good enough for you?" Ben says incredulously, gesturing at the home you two live in, and the life he thought you were happy with. "What the fuck is the problem?"

You look up at him in frustration with tears in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. You shake your head at him.

This," you say. "This is the problem."

This time, when you tug sharply against his hold, Ben actually lets you go. You walk away from him and slam the door to your bedroom.

Ben just stands there for a while. The silence is only broken when he can hear you in the bedroom, trying to muffle your weeping.

Something unsavory churns in Ben's chest, squeezing tight around his heart. It's the sting of regret, both unfamiliar and irritating.

Blowing out a sigh, Ben cards his fingers through his hair. He can either stand here like an idiot, or he can do something worthwhile.

He goes to you. You haven't locked the door (not that that would matter), so he opens it. He sees you burrowed under the covers, laying on your side away from him. You turn away from him again when he approaches.

Almost hesitantly, he sits down beside you, smoothing a hand over your hair.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have everything you need. You don't need to worry about anything," he says.

"I told you, it's not about that," you say sharply. "It's not about money, or being comfortable."

Ben endeavors to be calm. He counts to five in his mind, then he squeezes your shoulder, taking pains to be gentle.

"Then what's it about?"

After a beat, you finally turn around to face him.

"I just don't know if I'm ready for this," you admit. "We haven't been together that long, and I..."

Ben shakes his head. He strokes your cheek with his thumb.

"Don't worry about that," he says. He hesitates to say anything more.

The truth is, he cares about you more than he's been willing to express. The thought of you leaving him, or even not going through with this pregnancy--both cut him down to the bone.

Is it that you don't trust him? Do you not trust yourself? He doesn't understand all of what's in your head, but if the reason you're not sure about having his kid really is because of him, then...

His curled fingers brush along your jaw and prop under your chin, until your eyes meet his.

"Look, whatever reservations you have about me, just know this," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

You sigh softly. You know how long Ben has wanted to be a father. You know he wants a family. You don't want to take that away from him, but you also need to protect yourself.

You consider his words carefully, as well as his face, and you see that he actually means it. You believe him.

It doesn't take away other concerns you have, but it's a start.

You sit up in bed, letting the sheets slip away from you. You reach up a hand to cup his bearded cheek.

He lets you guide him down to kiss you, his arm wrapping around you strong, but noticeably gentle. Tears sting behind your closed eyelids.

Maybe he is ready to be a father, and a better man.

AN: 😮‍💨 This one was angsty, huh? I think Ben's part was the one that held me up the most. It still assumes he's had some character growth from having a "real," actually caring relationship, but I tried not to sugarcoat what I think his reaction would be.

Let me know what you think! 💜

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[leighsartworks216]

Damn Him

Father!Zayne x Mother!Reader

I NEVER write baby fics or anything with kids and shit EVER. So when I got this idea and felt something deep in my core about it, I simply had to get it out of my system. I'm sorry ;-;

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, angst (at the end), family fic, breasts, Dawnbreaker, swearing

Word Count: 1,275

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Crying broke through the still night air. They crackled slightly, muffled through the baby monitor on your bedside table. Nonetheless, you were awake.

The bed is already starting to shift when you're opening your eyes. You blindly reach out and grab onto the soft sleeve of Zayne's pajama shirt.

"I've got it..." you murmur. "She's prob’ly hungry."

He watches blearily as you slowly push yourself up into a sit. "Are you sure?"

You hum, nodding. You let go of him and pick up the monitor, waving it in the air with a playful, yet sleepy, grin. "It's on my side tonight, remember?" You turn down the volume, set it back down and get to your feet. "Go back to bed, lovey. I'll be back soon."

Zayne sighs, but he stays where he is as you pull a cardigan of his around your shoulders. He listens to the sounds of your shared home: the quiet shuffle of your slippers, the hiccuping cries of your daughter, the soothing lilt of your voice as you calm her down.

He glances at the digital clock beside him. It's only 2am; there's still plenty of time to get enough sleep for work tomorrow. As much as his body wants to fight the exhaustion and join you, he knows you'd scold him if he tried. He trusts you, anyway. There's nothing he can do right now to help.

So, he slips back under the blankets and turns onto his side. As the blankets fall into place, the rustling silences, and he tunes back into the lullaby you sing. It leads him down into the embrace of a peaceful slumber.

When next he wakes, he's disoriented. He blinks droopily at the emptiness of your side of the bed, then at the clock that reads 3:30am. There's no distinct sounds coming from the baby monitor. Down the hall is quiet. Why aren't you in bed?

He pushes the blankets off of himself and sits up, sliding on his slippers like it’s second nature. The cool air of the bedroom doesn't bother him as he crosses the room and out the door.

The door to the nursery is wide open. Blue moonlight pours though, spilling onto the floor and up the opposite wall. He squints slightly as he peeks inside. Any fears he could have vanish as he sees you.

You're sitting back in the armchair beside the window, head tilted back at an awkward angle and mouth open around quiet snores. Your shirt is pulled down to expose one of your breasts. Your daughter is using it as a pillow as your arms securely hold her, even as you are fast asleep.

Zayne drinks it all in. Your sleep-rumpled hair and dark eye bags, the shimmer of a drool trail along your chin, the uncomfortable way the collar of your shirt pulls against the underside of your breast. Your daughter, Jasmine, his beloved little flower, clinging with her tiny baby fists to his cardigan you stole, her chubby cheek resting against your skin and the other catching a stray moonbeam. He considers taking a photo of the moment, though he eventually decides against it. His two girls need to be put to bed and he doesn't wish to delay that any longer. Besides, if nothing else, this moment has been seared into his mind. That is enough for him.

He's as quiet as can be as he crosses the room to the chair. Carefully, he slowly pries Jasmine's hands from the cardigan. Her body is so small and warm in his hands as he lifts her into his arms. Oftentimes, he's overwhelmed with the desire to hold her forever, to feel her tiny little heartbeat alongside his own. Just like people save ultrasounds or ink-presses of their child's feet and hands, Zayne wonders if it would be strange to save an echocardiogram as a memento.

She doesn't stir as he lays her down in the crib. Her long, dark eyelashes curl over her round cheeks, picturesque. Her onesie is covered in little snowmen. He should make one for her with his Evol tomorrow. He can only imagine the bright-eyed stare she'd give him as he creates such cute things out of thin air.

Leaning down, he presses the lightest of kisses to her head, just barely starting to see hair growth. Now to take care of the other girl in his life.

Nimble fingers pull your shirt back over your breast, drawing the open sides of the cardigan together to keep you warm. He debates between waking you or not. And although he really should wake you, he ends up lifting you from the chair and into his arms. The moonlight caresses his back as he carries you down the hall, back to your bedroom. He tucks your feet in first as he lays you down before pulling the blankets up over you. Just as he did with Jasmine, he kisses your forehead, willing portions of his soul to transfer to you in hopes he can somehow get across how much he utterly and truly loves you.

He grabs the baby monitor before he rounds the bed back to his side. He turns the volume dial back up and sets it on his nightstand beside the clock. You'll get onto him about it being your turn to take care of the baby for the entire night, a system born out of his tendency to do everything himself due to his workaholic nature. He'll accept the scolding come daylight. You'll forgive him. You always do. Even if it's with an exaggerated sigh and a fond eye roll.

He lays on his side to face you, the love of his life. He couldn't dream of being anywhere but here, by your side, as he allows sleep to overcome him once again.

-

He wakes up.

Hollow.

He always feels hollow after dreams like that. And why shouldn't he feel the weight of what is missing in his life?

His bed is empty save for him. The room down the hall is full of random stuff he can't be bothered to worry about. It's a guest room; he's not having any guests over, so why bother?

The void within him cries to be filled. It opens like a yawning mouth, only an unfathomable depth waiting within, yearning for that life. The life that doctor has. A life he can never have.

Never will he be able to wake up to your face right beside him. Never will he be able to hold his daughter. Never will he be able to have that life with you.

It isn't fair. It's not-

He presses the balls of his hands into his eyes, biting back the shuddering breaths and the sting of tears. He’ll be forced to watch his daughter grow up through that doctor’s eyes. And it’s not even his. He has no rights to make a claim on her. He never will.

Relegated to watching you grow old through someone else’s eyes, instead of being there with you, to hold and help and love.

The sensor beeps nearby. He turns his head to look, blinking away the moisture in his eyes and meeting the breaking dawn that shines in through the window. A red dot blinks at him. It’s only a few blocks away.

He imagines for a brief second if the victim this time was you.

You, carrying a little baby in your arms, calling him a murderer. The idea of taking her life-

He closes his eyes and wills the thoughts away. Damn that doctor for having the life he can never have. Damn him.

---

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[w1dowatrace]

The Call

Chapter 1: First Day | 3.9k

Summary: Meeting the supposed-to-be-dead assasin.

Pairings: Ex-Russian Agent Natasha Romanoff x Senior S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+ slow burn, angst, violence, triggering Natasha's trauma if you squint

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova"

"Natasha Romanoff"

"Red Room"

"Black Widow"

Your eyes hurt as you look at the screen fiercely, having to put your eyeglasses on your head. Your eyes run over every word and detail gathered by SHIELD on the assassin's life. You've read and reviewed all of this, you've studied her for almost half of your life.

She was supposed to be taken out by Clint, a high-ranking SHIELD agent like you. The difference between you and Clint is that Clint is a level 6 agent and you are a level 8 agent who has more access to information and works as a mission controller. While Clint's level specialized in espionage and combat.

You and Clint have earned your positions through years of service and exceptional performance. In SHIELD, agent rankings ranged from entry-level recruits to senior positions such as Director and Deputy Directors. In the field, agents were typically divided into levels based on their experience and mission success rates, with higher levels earning more autonomy and responsibility. You and Clint were both considered to be in the upper echelons of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s field agent ranks, respected and entrusted with important missions.

You studied Clint's mission report from Budapest as well.

"I made a different call." You read to yourself.

You remembered that day, your father, the director, Nick Fury, accepted that call without hesitation. However, you found yourself unable to accept it as easily as he did. You knew that Natasha's past made her dangerous and unpredictable, and you couldn't shake the feeling that the assassin had her own agenda. Your concerns were real, but you knew that your father, the director of SHIELD trusted Clint's judgment, and you had no choice but to accept that call.

You turned your attention to the screen of your computer scrolling through the series of surveillance photos, eventually pausing at one particular image that caught your eye. It was a picture of Natasha, her face and arms bloodied. She's wearing a tight-fitting black tank top that emphasized her toned abs. You're fixated on the image, your eyes tracing the curve of Natasha's biceps.

"Y/N?"

You jumped in surprise and quickly closed the tabs on your computer. You composed yourself before calling out, "Come in."

"Deputy Hill." You nodded, Maria intently eyed you before the both of you bursted into laughter. "What's up, Ri? I missed you." You immediately circled over your desk and gave her a big hug.

"Fine and you? How's the vacation?" she asked, squeezing your left hand. "Great, so, so great that I wanna sneak out and ditch missions just to go back to Fiji and lay there while I keep my tan up by the beach."

"That sounds really great, Y/N."

"Oh yeah, it is." You replied with a smirk as you walked back towards your desk. "And then I'll get a call that Hawkie made a "different call" with his last mission." You raised a hand, gesturing with your two fingers to make an apostrophe sign in the air as you said, "different call."

Maria just chuckled, her gaze landing on the stack of paper you're fixing on your desk. "I know what those are." She said, before eyeing you softly.

Of course she does, everyone in SHIELD knows what it is, who's behind all those thick papers.

It's all about the shot Clint couldn't take, Natasha Romanoff A.K.A. the Black Widow.

You let out a deep sigh as you looked up at Maria, gathering the papers on your desk. "She's coming today, right?"

"Actually Y/N, I'm here to say that they're all in the meeting room now. Clint, your dad and her."

"Oh."

⧗

There was a charged energy in the air, the assassin's senses something intimidating coming in, she braced herself and leaned her back straight at her seat—and then here you are, entering the meeting room.

Natasha's eyes widened as she took in your appearance, drinking in every detail. Her gaze slid down on your body, taking in the way your skirt and heels accentuated your legs and the way your cleavage peeked on your top…

"That's my daughter, finally." Fury said, smiling at you, you peck a kiss on his cheek before standing beside him.

As soon as Fury spoke the word "daughter" Natasha cursed under her breath, realizing that she had just been checking out the director's daughter. She felt a wave of shame wash over her, embarrassed at her own behavior.

"Agent Y/N Fury." Fury introduced. You scanned the room taking in the presence of Clint and the infamous Black Widow. You smiled politely at Clint, acknowledging his comeback.

"Barton."

"Y/N."

Your gaze swept over the assassin, your eyes meeting for a brief moment. She quickly averted her gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the direct eye contact. You couldn't help but smirk slightly at her reaction, finding it amusing.

You took your seat in front of Clint, eyeing her once again before the meeting began.

You glance at the assassin every now and then and the assassin is very aware of it, you made it obvious that you're staring at her even Clint knows but he did nothing about it.

If looks could kill this assassin would be dead on the spot. Your gaze fixed on every detail that you've seen on the tabs of your computer, your eyes finally landed on her arms—they're much bigger in person you thought but you quickly erased the stupid thought when the main topic of discussion was finally brought up.

"Natasha Romanoff will now be a part of SHIELD." The deputy director, Maria announced.

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested this information. You know this is going to happen, you saw it coming. You huffed trying to keep your expression neutral but it didn't go unnoticed by the people in the room.

Fury leaned forward in his seat, his gaze focused on you as if he's expecting you to show your disagreement to this decision. "If you have any issues with the situation, just report it," he said firmly.

You tried to downplay your concerns and annoyance, giving a small shrug in response, but you couldn't hide the tension that had settled in the room. You know damn well that the entire team, including the assassin herself, could sense your disagreement and disapproval but of course you didn't give them the satisfaction of having their thoughts right about you.

Their eyes shifted between you and Fury, watching carefully for your reaction. But the assassin kept her head down.

"If that would be all, I'd like to excuse myself." You quickly stood from your chair without giving anyone a chance to respond and you made your way towards the door.

Just as you reached for the handle, Fury's voice called out to you, stopping you in your tracks. You shut your eyes before turning to face him, your expression emotionless.

"Sir?" you said, acknowledging his authority, he's still the director after all…and not to mention that he's also your father who you always had dinner with every weekend.

"Romanoff will be under your wing." Before you could even react, he spoke again. "You will be responsible for overseeing her in missions, training, and other SHIELD operations, including both field work and theoretical training. You need to evaluate her progress and provide feedback and guidance as necessary."

Your eyes scanned the room and landed on Natasha, who sat quietly in her seat.

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice, do I?"

Clint pinched his nose to your reply, he already expected this attitude from you. You saw him squeeze the hand of the assassin.

But the assassin once again tried to avoid your gaze, you couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction at her reaction once again. It was clear that your presence and authority intimidated her, which was a good start.

As you turned to leave, you called out to the assassin, "Tomorrow 0600, in my office."

Before Natasha could even reply, you're already gone.

"Yes Ma'am." She muttered in the air.

⧗

You were surprised to see the redhead standing in front of your office. You walked past her as if you saw nothing and immediately placed your bag to your desk, you sat back down and saw her figure still standing outside the glassed windows of your office.

You let out an annoyed sigh and stared at the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes. It was still ten minutes before your scheduled meeting time.

You fidgeted with your foot, tapping it against the floor. The seconds seemed to tick by slower than normal, and you just wanted the clock to reach exactly 6 o'clock so you could call the assassin.

"Come in."

Before she could even close the door you fired off a series of questions.

"Did you report to Deputy Director Hill? Before you come waiting outside my office for what seems like hours?" you asked, cocking your brow at her.

She answered quickly, "Yes."

You continued, "Did you complete your assigned training?"

Again, her reply was prompt, "Yes."

Impressed but not fully satisfied, you pressed on, "Weapons training?"

"I thin—"

As soon as Natasha began to respond again, you cut her off. "What? You think you don't need them?" you demanded, your voice sharp as if you know what she's going to say.

Natasha's head jerked back, clearly not expecting the abrupt interruption. She looked up at you, her eyes wide, and replied softly, "No, ma'am."

You tilt your head, "Then go, meet me after."

"Deputy Hill told me that I might need some guidance in the traini—"

"Guidance?" You shot back with your shocked mocking tone not letting her finish once again, "With a trained assassin like you? You need my guidance?" You chuckled in irritation and disbelief as you slowly shook your head side by side.

"You've got so much red on your ledger, I don't think you need my guidance."

The assassin flinched at your words, it clearly touched a nerve and you knew you had hit that sensitive spot. In that way you wanted her to know that you weren't going to go easy on her.

But only if you knew how much your words affected her.

⧗

"Clint, what's up? Are you supposed to be here? I thought you're still on leave?" Clint brought Natasha in a big hug that she really needs right now after your shoot-to-kill words.

"Nah, not if my best friend is at her first day of work," he replied, patting her shoulder reassuringly. They continued walking together and Clint asked, "How was it?"

Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, "It's okay."

"How's Y/N?" Clint noticed the change in Natasha's mood when he asked about you. She seemed hesitant to talk about you, her answer short and clipped. "She uhm…she's okay." She spoke again, changing the subject quickly. "I'm heading to the training room right now."

He picked up on her avoidance and decided to play along, though concern still flickered in his eyes.

"I can see through you, Nat," he started, "Y/N can be tough, she's not the Furious daughter for nothing."

Natasha looked at him questioningly, "Furious daughter?"

Clint chuckled, finding the ironic nickname funny. "You know, because she's Fury's daughter, fe-yu-ri…fe-yu-ri-us—because she can be furious at times," he explained, adding a little pun to it.

He then grew serious again, looking at the assassin intently. "But seriously, Y/N is not someone to mess around with. She's tough as nails and can be pretty intense when she wants to be."

Natasha muttered under her breath, "Yeah, I knew that right after she walked in the meeting room yesterday."

Clint just chuckled and patted her shoulder reassuringly. He knew that you had made quite an impression on her, and he found it somewhat amusing.

"Seems like she left a lasting impression, huh?" he teased.

Natasha's head dropped slightly as she remembered the words you had shot at her a while ago.

"Guidance?"

"With a trained assassin like you? You need my guidance?"

"You've got so much red on your ledger, I don't think you need my guidance."

"Oh yeah she did."

⧗

You summoned all the agents under your wing. There are 5, Natasha included.

Natasha intently observed each person in the meeting room, her gaze flitting from one face to another as if trying to glean something from their expressions.

Typical guy with blue eyes and blonde hair, with a muscular body and cocky attitude, but Natasha thought that his muscles were just gym muscles. This one girl who introduced herself to Natasha, her name is Madisynn, though chatty, could sometimes talk a mile a minute. And another girl that had this uncanny ability of appearing lost in her work, her face almost buried in piles of papers and documents as soon as she entered the meeting room.

Natasha, the newbie, of course, had observed each of them closely during the small or almost no interaction at all, making mental notes about their personalities but suddenly a girl with blonde hair entered the room with a big smile and boisterous greeting.

"Hiiiiiiii!" She immediately made her way over to you and enveloped you in a tight hug.

"Hi, Lena."

Natasha watched this interaction intently. She observed the way your stern demeanor seemed to soften slightly as the small woman embraced you. It piqued her curiosity as she realized it was the first time she had seen you even crack a smile.

Just as Yelena was settling into conversation mode with you, she suddenly turned her attention to the team and started greeting them individually, her cheerful persona on full display. When she got to Natasha, Yelena's eyes widened in recognition.

"You're...the Black Widow?" she exclaimed, excitement evident in her voice. "I'm Yelena! I'm such a huge fan!"

Natasha looked slightly uncomfortable, wincing at the sudden attention. She saw how you glared at Yelena but of course Yelena didn't see. But before she could even respond, Yelena quickly turned her focus back to you.

Yelena bounded over to stand in front of you, her face lit up with her signature grin. You couldn't help but chuckle lightly at her infectious energy.

"Seriously, what are you doing here, Lena?" you asked, your voice laced with both fondness and a little bit of annoyance.

With a shrug, Yelena replied, "I'm a part of your unit, right?"

You chuckled again and clarified, crossing your arms together. "You're in the process of becoming a senior agent."

Not missing a beat, Yelena dropped her smile and adopted a playful pout, giving you a puppy-dog look. "But I still need your guidance. I'm still your baby, right?" she whined, her bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated manner.

You looked at her now with a serious expression, your gaze narrowing as you asked your question.

"Did Maria ask you to be here?"

The agent shook her head innocently.

You pressed on, your voice was soothing as if you're trying to talk to a kid to have them say the truth. "Did the director ask you to come?"

Again, Yelena replied with a simple, "Nope." Her answer was so childlike popping the p and carefree that it left you no closer to understanding why she was here.

You hummed as you guessed again, "Clint?"

Now she did not reply or give any hint of response, she just fidgeted with her hands.

You sighed, now serious and knowing you were finally getting to the bottom of it. "Did Kate...?"

Yelena's response, "Yeah," was delivered like a kid caught red-handed. Seeing the change in your expression, the agent looked up at you, her eyes widening with realization as she saw just how seriously you were taking this.

"Okay, okay!" she pouted, her mood shifting quickly to defensiveness.

"Well, I guess Clint told her," she muttered, still trying to justify her actions.

You couldn't help but give her a stern look, silently waiting for her to get to the point.

Realizing she was in trouble, Yelena quickly continued, "And you know how Kate is! She told me you're being a 'meanie' to the newbie."

Yelena's explanation had left you a little taken aback, but you're actually satisfied at the thought of being perceived as mean…to the newbie.

That call hadn't been an easy one for you, so might as well don't go easy on her.

"I'm not being mean," you denied calmly, immediately defending yourself as you glance towards the direction of the newbie.

Yelena quickly countered, her pout and the respectful tone in her voice contrasting with her defiance, "You did not make me come at 0600 at your office and expect everything done by that time."

You chuckled at her audacity, a little amused. Just by making her come to your office early everyday made you mean already? How is she supposed to handle all the things you're about to unleash to her?

"And they thought sending you here will stop me from being mean to the newbie?" you asked, raising your brows at her.

"Nope, they sent me so the newbie will have a frennie."

"Frennie, huh?" you replied with a huff. "Great, two pains in my ass."

Yelena shot back, offended at your words, "See? You're being a meanie!"

Hearing her fiery and child-like reply, you couldn't help but chuckle softly, unable to maintain being serious in the face of her petulant pout and defiant attitude.

With a smirk, you gestured ever so slightly with your chin towards the direction of the newbie who has been patiently sitting alone in the meeting room.

"Shoo, go to your frennie now. It seems like she's waiting for you."

"Now you're being a bully." Yelena crossed her arms across her chest, her pouty expression never leaving her face.

You tilt your head, slightly leaning towards the agent, "Go now, before I show you how meanie I can be."

"Yes, Ma'am."

⧗

"Go easy on her."

"You're the second person to tell me that today," you replied coldly to your father, a touch of defensiveness in your voice. "What did I do now? Make her come to the office on weekends when the others don't?" you huffed.

Your father just hummed and you immediately snapped back to reality after you just exposed yourself.

"I heard you never let her out of your office. Never sent her to missions, you know she actually can be the same level as Clint." Your father noted making you bite your inner lip in frustration. She just got in the agency and the thought of her being on the same level as Clint that quickly made you feel threatened. Are you? No. But that's not fair, you spent years getting onto your level.

"Can we just eat, 'pa? Let's just leave work behind for just one night?" you asked curtly despite the tension growing between you and your father.

"I'm starting to think you might actually be obsessed with her." Your father casually said, chuckling slightly thinking you wouldn't take it seriously.

But something just snapped in you.

"Shut up!" your response came out sharper than intended, your frustration seeping into your tone.

Your father flinched slightly as he was shocked by the suddenness of your outburst making him stop cutting the steak he was eating. The sound of the fork and knife rattling against his porcelain plate echoed in the brief and awkward moment of silence that followed.

You breathe heavily, "I studied her for almost half of my life! I was the one who tracked her down!" Your voice started to rise, and you gesticulated wildly as you spoke, feeling the heat of anger rising. He thinks this is funny?You wished he understood how excruciating this is for you. You have kept this to yourself for so long, keeping it under control but at this point, you're starting to crack.

"She was my mission! I know every fiber of her being for fuck's sake! Soviet Intelligence to KGB, Red Room," you listed off furiously, "How she thinks, who she killed and how she's done each kill!"

"You think this is easy on me, Papa?" you looked at him clenching your brows together, trying not to break down in front of him. "Go easy on her? How about go easy on me?"

"Fuck, go easy on me," you repeated, muttering under your breath. You sobbed and immediately got up your chair to retire for the night.

You never had any major disagreements with him and even now, you were aware that you had crossed a line by yelling and cursing at his own home, it's the rules he strictly maintained especially when you were younger. You have always been so respectful of him. Hell, you look up to him—the man was your hero.

"Your mother was a Hydra agent before I met her." He suddenly spoke, the mention of your mother made you stop from your tracks. Fury's voice took on a softer tone as he continued. "The level 10 SHIELD director falling in love with one of the affiliates of a terrorist organization. What would the world think of me?" he chuckled to himself.

Fury stumbled upon your mother when she was still under the control of Hydra. He had managed to rescue her from their clutches, though she was still imprisoned for the reason that she contributed to the Hydra's hell-bent expenditure.

To secure her freedom, your mother agreed to work as an undercover agent for Fury, infiltrating Hydra's ranks. It was a dangerous task, but she had hoped it would give her the chance to start anew with you and leave Hydra's ties behind.

She had died of sickness when you were just 13 years old, but even before that, Fury had adopted you.

"Like you, I knew her too. Every experiment she has done with Hydra, every network operative, plans to overthrow the world government…" he had his own list too. "Her birthday, where she was born, that she was an only child and then I learned her favorite flower, her favorite food, and that she gets rashes when she eats seafoods…like you."

You stood with your back to him, silently crying as you clench your fists together. Each tear rolling down on your cheeks whenever Fury listed off everything she knows about your mom.

"And then," he said quietly, "I found out she had a little version of herself, you. I found out that you were the light of her life, her reason for living. She loved you more than anything in this world. And I do too, Y/N."

You felt Fury approach you from behind, his footsteps echoing faintly on the floor. As he spoke, you could tell he was now standing right behind you.

"I was losing hope for the world, I was tired of putting everything back in place. Everyone might think that I spared her, gave her another chance. But your mother was the one who gave me a reason to give life another chance, she changed me. You both did."

"I miss her," you managed to say between gasps of air. Unable to hold back anymore, you crumble into your father's embrace. Fury wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you cried into his chest. He gently stroked your back, comforting you as you let your emotions pour out.

"I do too, baby," he whispered quietly, "I miss her, too."

The Call: Masterlist

[dreambunnynotes]

bunny's 60-day glow up challenge ❤︎

hi my loves! my birthday is right around the corner and i want to end the year strong, so i thought it would be a cute and encouraging idea to host a challenge for all of us glow-up girlies! the steps for the challenge are very simple and customizable, and they give plenty of space for low-energy days. this challenge is all about trying your best to remain consistent in your goals, not to strive for an impossible "perfection" but instead to build trust in yourself that you can show up for your beautiful self and achieve the glow up that you deserve!

steps for the challenge:

pick three habits or things you want to dedicate time to every day

write a sentence or two on why you want to focus on these habits so that you have motivation and inspiration to complete them on hard days; this could include a basic "why" or you could write out specific goals you'd like to achieve through these habits

write out three different energy level variations of the habits so you can achieve your habits even on low-energy days

optional step: write an intro post sharing your habits and goals with everyone! you can use the tag #bunny60days to connect with others doing the challenge and hype each other up with accountability and love - you can also tag me and i can cheer you on hehe! 🥰 otherwise you can simply keep track on your own using a journal or planner or whatever works best for you!

optional step: write daily (or weekly) check-in posts sharing what you accomplished on the different days of the challenge, what you'd like to improve on the next day, or just a general update on how you're feeling. remember that this is a feel-good challenge, not a shame-filled one, so be kind to yourself and use this reflection as a way to show compassion and empathy to yourself 💕 again, you can use the tag #bunny60days to track your progress and see how others are doing!

the only very important rule for this challenge:

if you fall off and don't complete every habit you've written down in a day, do not start the challenge over, just pick up from where you left off! remember, this challenge is about building self-trust and resiliency - this means that you won't let one bad day or break in a streak stop you from continuing your habits. being "strong and hardworking" doesn't mean doing everything perfectly from day one, it means picking yourself up when you fall off course and trying again even though you may feel imperfect.

why only three habits?

when we do challenges, it's so easy to want to accomplish everything all at once, from working out to sleep schedules to everything in between. however, when you eventually burn yourself out or don't complete everything on your super long list of habits, shame is bound to follow, and shame does not make healthy soil for a beautiful plant to grow. starting off with three habits with different energy levels is a good way to ease into habit building while still feeling challenging enough to be interesting.

i don't know where to begin! can you give me an example of some habits or goals?

absolutely! if you'd like an example, you can check out my own personal goals for the challenge here. i'll be participating too, so you know that you have at least one person joining you in your glow up! 🥰 there is also a blank template below for you to use for your own glow up adventure.

blank template for you:

my chosen habits:

-

-

-

my goals and why's:

habit one:

habit two:

habit three:

my habit energy tiers:

habit one:

low energy:

medium energy:

high energy:

habit two:

low energy:

medium energy:

high energy:

habit three:

low energy:

medium energy:

high energy:

let's do this! bunny xoxo

[really-burnt-toast]

Redesigning my COTL cast pt.1

HAHA I'm finally done! I only made busts tho bc Im lazy and Im not putting myself through drawing a size chart... YET.

It WILL come, just so I can show pretty outfits and show how ridiculous Leshy's hight is LOL

If you see any spelling mistakes, please ignore them <3

(more info and rambling under cut)

Here I'll write some more things relating to each character;

Lamb

Born in Darkwood to a single mother, their mom had named them Mellia after the flowers that grow there, since they had aided in striving off an illness she had during the pregnancy.

The Lamb grew up pretty happily despite being on the run. Their mother was eventually caught whilst they made an escape. During their years of hiding, they broke their leg during one particularly risky escape and were caught not long after.

Their number is 1.600.666 because I keep making a connection between Darkwood and Germany's Schwartzwald - there are 1.6 million sheep in Germany - so I decided to have that be the approximate number. 666 was just added for fun.

Their ear was tagged to keep track of how many sheep were caught in which realm. They just so happened to be the last to be executed. By mere coincidence.

They were born without horns and kinda made the crown shape into a set. It has the benefit that they can rip em off and use them as impromptu weapons.

Due to centuries of being treated as a tool for a prophecy and merely a vessel, their self esteem is downright horrid. Whilst they don't condone followers speaking ill of them, they pretty much let Narinder trample on their feelings up until they had snapped one day. In the end it did help them both, but it wasn't great it had to be taken to that point.

Extra: I added the vitiligo because when I imagine a human version, I couldn't help but see them as having Vitiligo. Their leg limp was made after I thought it would make them look more imposing seeing someone "weak" suddenly pull out a giant hammer.

Narinder

Found within a burning village under rubble, clutching a crown as war raged around them. He was found by Shamura and taken in.

He was the first to create resurrection and back then it was an EXTREMELY taxing ritual. It would require his own godly flesh to beckon people back to life - thus it would literally cause his skin and flesh to melt off his bones. Now that's not needed anymore but his body is still weak to it, meaning during certain stress factors, he can still become skeletal. He doesn't have scarring from it, but gained some cool markings.

He was bound by his arms, torso and neck - all of which are scarred. In the afterlife he was perpetually sitting, causing him to be paralyzed from the waist down. Once he was usurped he had to regain his ability to walk and was taken care of by the Lamb.

He was in a catatonic state for many years and it only got better gradually with many setbacks. For years he never left the bed and by the time his Siblings had been rescued, he had barely started going outside. He was also suffering from chronic pains which wasn't really helpful.

He's also very... Temperamental. It took him just as long to say anything nice to the Lamb and it took him extra long to see them as more than his vessel.

Extra: I changed his markings to be more like I had imagined them. The catatonic trait and chronic pain was added after the update and I remember how horrible it was having tendonitis and I wanted to channel my distaste into Narinder.

Shamura

Found and raised by the last gods, they weren't the greatest sibling. They may have taken in the others but it took them a long time to be anything other than cold. With Kallamar, Shamura was distant and strict - then with Narinder they attempted to be less harsh after the kid started crying himself to sleep. With Heket and Leshy they got less and less cold. They tried their best, they'd argue.

They got carried away by their feelings as they had feared at the start and that's when the first prophecy came to them. They had kept it hidden for way too long until the balance of the crown's powers were ripping at the seams due to Narinder's pursuit in power - and they made a decision. They had told Kallamar first. Then Heket and Leshy were brought in.

Stuff happened. Now they are barely coherent and at most have an hour or two at a time where they seem to make sense. Leshy stays with them the most. Kallamar takes care of them. Heket takes care of the rest. Their skull is caved in, they lost an eye and limbs - some of the damages can't be hidden by bandages.

There's also this thing that their crown keeps getting out of control whilst trying to keep their mind stable - sometimes they'll get startled - attempt to form a weapon and instead end up with their arm speared through. They have scarring all over their body from it.

Upon recruitment they are pretty overwhelmed. Their crown can't stop them from breaking anymore and they have gotten so used to godhood that mortality now feels like they are literally rotting alive. They can feel their body wasting away.

Only after getting their relic back do they start becoming more independent and stable. They nowadays go through some sort of rehab to try and regain their sense of self.

Extra: Not much was added. I wanted to give them Glasses but I can't for the life of me draw them with a pair... So Ill just say they have them but not show them LOL

Kallamar

His past is basically forgotten. It sorta slipped away since he hadn't deemed it fit to be remembered. At first he had MANY fights with Shamura, then it ceased after a confrontation turned violent which left him with a bad scar.

He had to take care of his younger siblings whilst coming to terms with godhood - filling in whenever Shamura wasn't physically or mostly emotionally unavailable. For a long time he was the only one that could comfort his ailing siblings. Dealing with that sort of made him pretty easily agitated.

When Shamura proposed the plan, he had been hesitant - but ultimately didn't say anything.

Now he takes care of his siblings medically. He hates himself more than he hates anyone else and as much as he is quick to condemn and betray Shamura - he is also quick to condemn himself. Though maybe not as enthusiastically or openly.

He likes to compensate. Giving gifts to request forgiveness - grand displays of favoritism or mainly decking himself and his multiple spouses out with Jewels. He still keeps his wedding rings around his neck and his earring references his siblings.

Funnily enough, he caused the least troubles to the Lamb. They could argue he even seemed relieved after a short while of staying in the cult.

Extra: Added Jewelry and two tentacles because he looked naked without them.

Heket

Loudmouth frog that when found with her crown, she started trying to fight Shamura - insulting whatever parent they had. She kept threatening to poison them too.

In the lineup of her siblings, she was often the one who took the sidelines. If she was happy, she was left alone. If she was displeased, she'd let herself known. The most uncomplicated of the siblings.

You'd almost miss how every other bishop would seek her out when help was needed. While Shamura helped with godhood and Kallamar with emotional needs - Heket was a good person to pester with anything else. She'd handle it - just let big sis do it. Even if she was the second youngest - it's funny how even Kallamar and Narinder would occasionally use the nickname.

Then when everyone else was dealing with their wounds, she picked up the pace and kept their respective cults from falling apart. She handled Silk cradle until Shamura could - helped with Darkwood and took over Anchordeep when Kallamar was tending to the others. No problem.

She was still loud when entering the cult. Not as much as her brother - but she loved to cause scenes. Her muteness didn't seem to hinder her at all with that. She's not allowed near knives but somehow can handle axes?

Her temper problems don't get better. She just stops being an asshole about it.

She prefers having scarfs covering her neck bandages whilst they're all bloody and disgusting.

Extra: Nothing because Heket is already perfect.

Leshy

Literally a weird insect that kept clinging to the crown until it grew big enough to hold in one hand. It bit anything that got close and by the time Shamura found it - he had started eating small critters.

And god, he kept growing and growing until he wasn't a small worm in Shamura's hand but literally too big to fit through most doors. They suspected he'd grow until the end of time. Or well, now since his crown is gone.

He never listens. He screams for fun and overshares the worst details to the point he manages to break his siblings into just accepting anything he talks about. They can't even scold him or punish him since Leshy always finds a way to make things worse for anyone else but himself.

He also copies everyone. First it was Heket's tone. Then it was Narinder's behavior - now he started growing flowers and vine braids to make fun of Kallamar and his antlers were at first a crude mimic of Shamura's pedipalps and now they grow vines to be similar to the jewels hanging from them. He refuses to acknowledge doing so.

He's very clingy. After locking away Narinder, he stayed with Shamura every day until they were out of bed rest. He follows his siblings around and when he does give them a second to breathe - hes probably laying around in Darkwood instead of doing anything productive. He does tends to plants occasionally, but he prefers "to let chaos do its thing" - as if that means anything.

He makes for a great gardener after he stopped trying to break everything upon recruitment. And once he got over growling at every living thing - he actually became one of the most well liked people living there.

Leshy knows exactly what someone needs and somehow finds a way to achieve that with the littlest of efforts. It's the thought that counts.

Extra: Braid and vines because I thought Leshy would look cute with it.

Special: The 4 bishops all wear old faith themed robes, but Shamura got the elder clothes for comfort and Leshy kept tearing his clothes apart so he is not permanently excluded from having any special outfits as punishment. Narinder wears fancy robes (who happen to be loose and warm while being special - otherwise he'd complain)

The Lamb wears one of the leaked fleeces since I loved the red riding hood aesthetic.

In the end this turned more into biographies than actual explanations but its 3:30am, Im sleep deprived and I wanted to get my thoughts out because I start having memory problems again YIPPEE

[retiredteabag]

The Open Window Lets The Rain In

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - next part

pairing: satoru x reader (semi suguru x reader)

synopsis: Your time at Jujutsu Tech was something of a sanctuary for you. The position you were born for did not allow you wishes of your own. Resigning yourself to your destiny, you savor the moments you have with your friends. And don't dare to wish for more.

tags/warnings -angst to eventual fluff, multi pov, canon compliant, series, mentions of child abuse, manipulation, malnutrition, violence, injuries, and smoking-

In your younger, and more venerable years, you would have never left the estate unattended. Maybe that is why, after everything that unraveled today, the lingering thought on your mind was how strange it felt to not fear solitude unchained.

"Do you ever feel like...she's not fully there?" Suguru murmured, filing through his bag, unpacking into his dorm once again. The boys had just made it back from the bullet train to Tokyo.

The summer break had been a nice respite for the two strongest, but there was nothing they enjoyed more than being in school, cracking jokes, and wasting time together.

"Huhh? Suguru, you seriously think too much." Satoru rolled his eyes beneath his glasses. He was splayed across Geto's bed, staring at the ceiling. "What does that even mean?" He giggles.

"Just-" Suguru sighs, "I don't know." He shakes his head in a 'never mind' type of way, and pulled out his uniform jacket, going to hang it up in the closet.

"Ughhhhh don't do that Suguru, you know you get in your head, right? Just say what you mean." Satoru pulled himself up and took off his shades, watching as Geto stretched his jacket onto a hanger.

Geto pauses to think, "You remember when Shoko was talking about marriage and stuff?" He began.

It had been in the middle of second year, the group had just been getting to know you. You had been starting to feel at home in Tokyo. One warm day, you and Shoko were laying out in the school yard, sunbathing and giggling about nonsense.

"They're trying to pull me away from missions, ya know? Totally sucks, I feel like I'm gonna be missing out." Shoko sighed, her eyes closed.

You both were on your backs, you turn to face her and grin, "You're just too important Ieiri, can't be loosing our precious healer!" But Shoko doesn't laugh.

"I just hate all this 'duty stuff'. I don't want to be...I don't know..." She runs a hand down her face. "Holed up in a lab all my life while my classmates eliminate curses and- and save people."

You continue to stare in her direction, hoping she'll meet your eyes. "You are saving people E, you must know that. Don't let the fomo get to you."

"I do, of course, but... I don't want to be valuable like this. I want... ugh" She cuts herself off as the two boys in your class make there way into the courtyard. Satoru takes gaping steps in the grass.

"What do you want Shoko? Hmm??" He squats down and hides her face from the sun. She attempts to shove him back but infinity gets in her way and she grimaces. "I want you to mind your own business, Gojo."

"Awe you're no fun." Gojo pouts. Plopping himself to your left. "What are you girls whining about anyway. It's so somber out here."

Neither of you said anything, you didn't want to speak about something Shoko didn't want to share. "Are we discussing our dreams, ladies?" He turned to look at you but you just roll your eyes. "Suguru?" He calls in a high pitch voice, "Suguru, have you got a dream?"

"Screw off, Gojo." Shoko sat up and threw Satoru a dirty look.

"Just askin'. I'll have you know I dream about my Digimon trading collection all the time."

The four of you sat in silence for awhile. It was strange, being amongst a group friends and not feeling left out. Eventually Shoko turned to look at Geto. He was always kinder.

"Have you got a dream?" She asked.

Gojo made a puking noise, "Oh my goooooshh not this again, I was kidding you know."

Suguru rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess I do, if you're talking about outside of the Jujutsu world."

"Do share with the class." She smiled. Satoru threw a silent tantrum, pulling up a chunk of grass at your side.

"It's pretty typical. Get married, fall in love, the normal stuff."

That really sent Satoru over the edge. "You've GOT to be kidding me." He wheezed. Suguru just raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Oh, you are soooo cringy." He plopped himself back on the grass and made one of the blades into a kazoo.

"Don't listen to him Geto, he's immature."

"AM NOT!"

You all chuckle. Eventually Shoko nods, "Yeah. That sounds nice." The two of them share a moment of ease before she finishes, "Sounds...normal."

You can hear Gojo mentally plugging his ears at this discussion. But eventually Shoko looks down at you. "What about you," she calls your name. "Do you want a family and all that?"

You were hoping she wouldn't have said anything. You were content to hear them speak about their perfectly attainable dreams. But you weren't sure if you were comfortable enough to bear your true feelings out in the open like this.

"Ummm..." You mumble. Having also taken up anxiously pulling at the weeds in the lawn, you fiddle with some between your fingers. "Meh, ya know?"

You shrug, twisting your lips. Shoko does look at you this time, "Meh? Really? I would have though you would be a total romantic!" She pushes at your shoulder and you smile.

"Well, I don't know..." You wish the boys weren't there to hear about all this, but they had gone silent. Listening intently. Even Gojo appeared to have his eyes closed, not interrupting this time.

Shoko pokes at your side, "What do you mean you don't know.... oh my gosh don't tell me-" She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, "did you get your heart broken over in Kyoto?!" She leans in closer to grasp your shoulders, shaking you violantly. You break out in giggles at the thought.

"No! N-no, Shoko!" You laugh.

"Well what is it? Even the big guy over here got all cheesy." She pulls back and smacks Geto in the chest.

In the moment of light humor, you puff out a breath, "It's not that, its just..." You try to find the words. Knowing they wouldn't understand but hoping they might. "That type of stuff isn't really in the cards for me."

It took a moment but it seemed as though time stopped. It got quiet and Shoko hesitated before laughing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The sun suddenly feels too bright behind your eyelids, you lift yourself up, crossing your arms over your knees, grateful Satoru is still laying prone on the grass below you. "I'm not really..." you hesitate, trying to be nice, "The same at you guys."

Shoko laughs again but it's clear she's confused. She yanks at your ear, and you pretend to smile while tugging her hand away. "I have a...I don't know...I have a life laid out for me, right?" You turn to your right and see Shoko and Geto staring at you now, brows furrowed.

"No, no, no, its not- ugh this is coming out wrong..." You giggle, adjusting your hair, suddenly flustered by their avid attention. "I just... hate the idea of loving someone and then...dying, right? That would be pretty bad..." You mumble off.

There's silence and it's starting to feel awkward again, just as you're about to break it and apologize, Suguru speaks up.

"You can still marry though. I mean...your life isn't just Jujutsu."

You smile at him. "Right..." You agree, but you know he's wrong. They would never understand. The only person who might is Satoru, and he wouldn't talk about it, even if he wanted to.

Because, Suguru is wrong, your life IS Jujutsu, it was what you were born and bred to do. The scars on your neck stand as proof. You were nothing more than a weapon.

And wishing for more would give you nothing but unnecessary hope to eventually be crushed under the weight of reality.

--

That had been almost a year ago now, Satoru couldn't believe Suguru was still thinking about that time. Gojo hates thinking about it, actually. And he certainly didn't want to be talking about it right now.

"Yeah. I remember, why are you bringing that up?"

Suguru puts his clothing into the closet and kicks a pair of shoes under a desk on his way back to his duffle. "Just that, I don't think she really confides in us. I feel like she's being used by the higher-ups."

Gojo stops flipping his sunglasses around in his hands and shoves them up on top of his head. "Really, Suguru." His voice is lower than usual. He's looking directly at the boy before him, and he shoves himself off the bed as he proclaims, "You're an idiot if you think she's the only one."

--

While you're classmates were unpacking at school, you still had to wait the full deration of break before returning to your sanctuary. You had spent the day meticulously preparing your few items for the return journey. Moseying throughout the establishment you had been raised in.

Today you would be seeing your one and only friend that knew you fully.

You had always felt comfortable in the silence with Kaito. In your first year back from school, the boy wanted nothing more than to hear of your adventures learning your technique, of your daily life, of the friends you had made.

It was not uncommon for the pair of you to fantasize of a life beyond the boarding you grew up within, but as your naivety fled from you, so too fled the wishful dreams you carried in your youth.

You had always assumed Kaito felt the same...

It started the night before summer breaks end. Kaito told you to meet him in the far gardens that next morning. Him, unwatched as an unskilled member of the staff, you, now too important to be enslaved to the ring. You were thrilled to be able to have a moment alone. To feel normal, to feel like friends... like kids.

Kaito seemed off even then. Asking you with a far away look about your time in Tokyo. About the sorcerers you met, about your new life.

Hours later, you would sit, alone in the garden playing back the words you had shared.

"They work us to the bone, Kai, sometimes I wish I was still here with you." You had said.

You hadn't meant it. Every day you were at Jujutsu Tech was an insurmountable gratitude. There was almost nothing you would give it up for. But Kaito was still stuck at the estate, only a few months left in his contract, and you didn't want to flaunt the joy he had yet to experience away from the place.

"Can't be that bad..." He gave you a faraway smile.

"I'm serious" you fibbed, "It's like I'm always on a mission, and when I'm not, I'm stressing over all the homework they give us." You roll your eyes, not looking back to the boy fiddling with his hands.

He looked so much like a man now. "You would probably do well there, Kai, you were always smarter than me." You make to look at him but notice he's fallen behind, focused on a patch of weeds growing behind a fence.

You make to call for him but he beats you, muttering your name, and some unintelligible phrase.

"What?" You turn fully now, taking a step towards him.

He swallows. "You don't have to go back." He says with more finality.

And you don't know what to say.

He can't be serious. You were well past pretending to have a life of your own. You chuckle, thinking he must be joking. "Why, should we run off and join the circus?"

There is nothing but humor in your words, but his eyes are more serious then you've ever seen them. And suddenly you know what was coming. Perhaps it had always been there, but you simply could not allow him to say it. You're filled with panic at the thought.

Later you would sit on a stepping stone, pulling up grass like Satoru once had, knowing that there had been nothing you could have said to have prevented it from happening, but at the time, you couldn't help but try.

He says nothing. Looking at you with intensity.

"No." You want to turn away from him. Shut the whole discussion in a box and never think about it again. But you stare at him with might. Begging him to see the severity of your expression. "No. Kai, no."

"Please." And then he's begging you. Just like he used to when you would tell him to not patch up your wounds. Like he used to when you would give him too much of your food. Like he used to when the teachers would torture you for something so trivial. He says your name again.

"Please." He calls to you, "Don't you see, it's always been you. You're all there is for me, you're all I want." And though you hear his words, you have already deigned to ignore them. Still, he does not stop.

"You have to know." He keeps calling your name, hoping you would soften, "I would do anything." "Stop." You've chosen a new tactic. Perhaps if you are mean. Mean to him and he won't say it.

But he says it anyway.

"You're all I have ever loved."

And there it is.

"Kai." You close your eyes. Hoping this is a nightmare.

"I've already thought about it!" He's known you long enough to tell you are attempting to block him out, "We could do it. I've saved up, and I'm of age now, listen-" He smiles painfully "-you don't have to go..."

He's coming closer to you but you're stumbling back. Refusing to allow yourself any comfort.

You have to try, "You don't... get it." You whisper.

"I do. I do!" He raises his hands. "I promise you, we could do it. Come with me! Let me...let me show you." He reaches for your hand but you spin from him, stumbling.

"Please stop... I can't- I can never- you don't see." You are unsure of how to say it. This has all come as a shock.

But then he's grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around. He's looking you dead in the face. Those words coming from him like a dam you cannot contain. "I love you. I am in love with you. Please. Please don't go back. You don't have to fulfill-" He laughs, feeling enlightened, "Sorcery. You don't have to do it."

Even through his laughter though, you know. He knows. You both do. That there might have been something there. Maybe because you shared each other's struggles. Maybe it was strung in after all those hours together in that hell... but you both also know it would never work.

Because your destiny has already been chosen for you. And you were not made to love, or be loved.

"We could be married. And be done with it." He looks so certain and there is a tiny, muted part of you that wants to believe him. "Don't go back..."

And despite your knowledge of that muted space in your heart, the overwhelming response has been waiting for him to finish.

"We can't." And a stupid part of you wants that to be enough. For him to turn from you and never speak of it again.

But Kai has always been resilient in his own way.

"We can! I love you.... do you hear me? We can-"

"No. Kai. Stop." You pull your hand to put distance between you two.

And after years with the boy, you can see the emotions raise in him. "Is there someone else?" His gaze falls, "Someone... at that school?"

And this being his reply draws out the most ridiculous laugh from you. Does he think that is why you're turning him down? That you've fallen for some other man?

"No! Kai, please. No." But the humor is far from your voice.

The silence that follows is painful.

"This is so-ugh...Kaito. Don't you get it?" You're looking at him, gently now, but he just seems incredulous.

"Don't you see I can never marry?" There.

And oddly enough, though you were certain you had come to terms with it, it feels good to say it out loud.

"I have a path laid out before me." Before he can interrupt you shove out your hand, "And I care too deeply for you to put you in a position like that."

You're resolved. And maybe he's finally seeing it now.

"I'll never be able to live that way. God, Kai, I thought you knew!" You roll your eyes. Hoping to play the whole garden fiasco off but he won't turn from you.

"No." He's shaking his head. And suddenly he looks more like a boy than he has in years.

"Yes. Kaito. You will find some girl and love her, and live long lives together, and be happy. I am certain. But that life... we are different in this way." He hasn't stopped shaking his head.

"You're wrong. You don't see it now... but you will." And for the first time this evening he isn't making sense to you, "You will find it...and live that way. I'm sure."

"Kaito..." You sigh. But he's done now. And it has ended poorly for both of you it seems.

He's turned from you.

"You're leaving. Today, aren't you, on the train?"

You swallow thickly. Nod, and finally say, "Yes." Instead of 'I have to".

"There's nothing." His shoulders shake. And he hiccups. "There isn't anything I could say. To change your mind, is there?"

Everything in you is saying to follow him now. To wrap your arms around him like you did when he was a small child. To say something about your duty to make this a little better.

But if you are kind now, perhaps he will never let this go... and that, that is more cruel than anything you could say. So instead of being kind, all you say is,

"No. There's nothing."

And then he's gone. And he's left you alone in the garden.

It takes hours for your first tears to fall.

And you miss your train.

--

Four and a half hours away in Tokyo your friends eat dinner.

As they eat, they wonder where you are and why you haven't come.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

taglist @giyuuuuuu4ever

[cherryheairt]

Law of Attraction ch.3

Previous Chapter

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Finally meeting Chishiya!

chapter three: Outlier

“Death to all traitors” Was the third and final rule that Hatter decided on. While you stayed silent in pure shock, the rest seemed to unanimously agree. Across from you, Mira even seemed to shift in her seat and unconsciously lean forward like the idea enthralled her. You shrunk back, uncomfortable at the idea of a few select ‘Militants’ running this group's security.

Anyone could be deemed a traitor so long as an accuser has backup. The mood lifted as Hatter dismissed everyone, keeping only the three that had been in the room from the very beginning and himself. Promising to assign more specific roles in the morning, he let everyone off with a jovial ‘goodnight!’

The next floor down was the suite rooms, only ten on the floor that marked the rooms that each of the top residents would stay in. Niragi split off immediately, following Aguni as if he'd known the older man his whole life and not uttering another word to you and Hoshiko.

In your room, labeled ‘Six’ with the original ones crossed out with black spray paint, you sighed and slumped down on your bed. The room was clean enough besides the faint scent of dust, and was otherwise empty of all personal touches as any resort room should be. The only things in the room that were usable were sample hair and body products plus some towels and bathrobes. Briefly, you wondered if it was even worth it to find anything around Tokyo to fill your room with, but the thought of having to move everyone when you might eventually be usurped out of your spot wiped that brief hope away. If you lived past the next game long enough to be usurped, that is.

Your only respite from the somber evening after Laser Tag was the promise of a shower. Cold or not, you wouldn't do jack shit before getting that shower.

A knock on your door shattered your one dream.

“Who is it?” You asked suspiciously, wondering is Hoshiko or Niragi would bother to knock.

“Ann.” Came the monotone female voice from behind. Ann? What would she want?

Opening the door, your confused expression was cleansed away from your face at the sight of a stack of skimpy bikinis in her arms. Holding them out to you with a downturn to her lips, you scowled.

“Hatter is instating the rule immediately?”

“There was a shoppe downstairs, for the tourists. Filled to the brim with nonsensical souvenirs and emergency outfits.”

You took the bikinis into your grasp, deciding vaguely between throwing them off your balcony or into Hatter's face. “Are there coverups down there?”

Shrugging, she straightened up, long legs shown off in the shorts she'd been wearing since you met her a few hours ago. “Not that I saw. Next game, I'll find some with you.” She promised, leaving promptly immediately after.

Not having room to say anything else, you dumped the suits on your desk and jumped into the shower before any more interruptions could stop you.

It was better than you ever remembered. Something as simple and mundane as a shower was taken for granted your entire life, but now you never wanted to leave it. Using way too much of all of the soaps and simply standing under the hot water for what might have been all night, you reluctantly parted with the bathtub and wrapped a fluffy white towel around your body. Finding a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash you immediately got to work yet again. The refreshment was almost worth the two harrowing games you had survived.

Almost.

Outside, Niragi's figure lounging on your bed as if it were his own startled you. Clutching your towel tighter over your chest to ensure no slips, you glared down at him from the bathroom door. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Niragi laughed and fell back into the bed, showing the brand new automatic weapon Aguni had apparently trusted him with. “Can't I visit my companion?”

“Not with the shit you pulled this evening.” You said, sifting through the pile of swimwear irritatedly. He frowned, no longer in his giddy mood and instead joining you near the table. He sat at the office chair, leaning forward to look into your eyes. He looked intensely sobered up, even though he was never inebriated to begin with, and spoke.

“This is good. You, me, and that kid you wanted to keep around can stay here and leave this place for good. There's power in numbers. No more scrounging around for food or clean water.” He said your name with a pleading tone.

“You really believe that gathering all of those stupid cards will work?” You asked. “Just, hold all the cards in your hands and poof! Back home again!” You exasperated, throwing your hands up. “This guy doesn't know anything for certain. We could end up at the back of the line in a few weeks for all we know—or! get accused of being traitors and killed on the spot.”

He leaned back, resting his head on the back of the chair and staring at the ceiling tiles. “No. We don't know if it's true or not. But I need to keep us safe, and this is the best way.”

You sat across from him on your bed, nodding slowly to his words. “It's not all on you, Niragi. We could make it out there, just the three of us.”

“It's too late, now. There are more Militants that Hatter didn't let attend the meeting earlier. Not many, but every Game Night they go out and recruit others at the games they play.”

You hummed, taking his words into consideration. “So you're a recruiter and gunman. What about me and Hoshiko? Did Aguni say anything?”

Niragi shook his head. “Hatter decides that. Probably with those other head honchos there.” He pointed upwards. “They seemed pretty close.”

“For now,” You urged. “Let's just stay low and play the games. If shit gets out of control here, we leave. Promise me that you'll leave, Niragi.”

“I swear.” He said, grabbing your hand to softly interlock your pinkies like children do.

Feeling extremely exposed, you loosely hugged yourself as the other members of the table gathered around to sit with each other. You picked out a pastel spring color that didn't stand out too much in color yet wasn't a neutral to blend into your skin tone, giving more to the imagination than others already were given. The seat was cold on your back and the bottom of your thighs but you kept all complaints to yourself. After all, Ann and Mira were in quite a similar situation with their white and black bikinis respectively. Only, Ann had her shorts on again and Mira had a long flowy skirt to appear more modest. You were the odd duckling out, it appeared, and all the men had on swim trunks that were basically cargo shorts along with open button-ups. Fair rules, your ass. The Militants were downstairs, fixing up a car that worked on diesel, apparently.

Hatter calling your name drew your attention immediately. “I want you and Mira to finish the card paintings until the games tonight, which have been partnered already.”

“Got it.” You smiled tightly, nodding to the silly request. Though, you supposed you had nothing better to do with your time. Mira looked nice enough, but the anxiety of waiting for another game bit at you. “Wait—tonight?” You whipped your head around again.

“We're joining games every night.” Kuzuryu pointed out like you were stupid. “To get people to join us at a rapid pace, we cannot simply join games on our last visa days.”

“So my five days are just cut to the very next evening?” You rubbed your temples. Niragi better have his bags packed.

“Only temporarily.” Hatter smiled sympathetically. “I know it seems wasteful to not use your days for yourself, but after we get more members for The Beach we will follow a different schedule.”

You agreed to appease him, irritation climbing up your throat yet again.

Glancing around, you were entirely alone yet again in your displeasure for Hatter's insane rules and regulations. One against everyone else. Even Hoshiko didn't outwardly seem to mind the rule, giving you a knowing and sympathetic smile while bouncing his leg.

Perhaps the Beach would simply fall before you could escape it. Waiting it out wouldn't take too long, especially when it was being run by someone like Hatter, who you could easily imagine allowing things to get out of hand just enough to be controllable—but would accidentally allow the scales to tip out of his favor.

You never knew how long fifty days truly were until you lived them with no internet. At first, it was fine. You weren't bored with all the work needed to set up The Beach. Games every evening, glueing locks and painting stupid cards on the wall while Hatter and his closest friends drank downstairs. There were a few other things to do, sure, but nothing to fully occupy the waking hours of the day. The main thing to do was mingle with your fellow Beachers.

Not to say that you weren't social, it was just easy to get tired of the way people acted when drunk or high twenty-four/seven. You unfortunately got stuck with bartending duty on nights that you had no game, which meant you were in the thick of it most every night. The sounds of moans, vomiting, or whoops and hollers of intoxicated men and women never let your ears have a day of rest.

Every day, the numbers grew at The Beach and you and the other executives were finally allowed to play your games whenever you pleased—which was usually the very last visa day available. The lower numbered people were unlucky enough to continue doing games every day or other while also recruiting more people. The resort was nearly full, you would guess, and never slept either. People truly lived up to Hatter’s rules. Parties lasted all day and all night, never broken by the solemn news of many not making it back to home base after a game was completed. You hadn't even dipped a toe into the pool since the second week—horrified at the sights that occured, defacing the public pool itself. Chlorine was strong in the air, but no amount of cleaner would ever allow you to trust it again.

A team system was developed quickly by the Militants, who you also quickly learned to avoid when possible. While the Idealists first came up with the idea that certain people should be lumped together, Aguni suggested that at least one militant member is on each team. He seemed to be the most sane member, and you considered yourself lucky that he was the leader rather than anyone else. What do you get when you mix drunks and druggies with guns? Trigger-happy and controlling bastards who never got told ‘no’ anymore.

Niragi was one of them. He had taken to their partying and carried around his gun like it was a lifeline. He parted the crowds like the Red Sea wherever he went, usually either following Aguni or having his own followers behind him. He seemed to take the unofficial spot as ‘second in command’ to the Militant branch. You and him rarely spoke during the day, but always got partnered up in your ‘teams’. Since you were in good with Mira (who worked with Kuzuryu to make the perfect teams according to ‘player specialty’ and their estimates about what venue was what card type) you were able to get Hoshiko and Niragi in your car 90% of the time. There always had to be at least one militant in a car for every group attending games, and you got either Aguni or Niragi each time. You didn't exactly know why Aguni was your spare when Niragi was busy, but you wouldn't deny the security his broad shoulders brought when you lingered behind him.

You were apparently a Clubs player, according to the monotone voice of Kuzuryu. Mira had disagreed, telling you that Hearts was definitely your specialty although you haven't joined a single one yet. From what you'd heard of it, you'd hoped you could continue that lucky streak.

When the rare occurrence did happen and Niragi was off to a Spade while you were sent to a Club with Hosiko (also a Club specialist) your anxiety about not seeing your companion upon your return had worsened. You could only comfort yourself with the knowledge that Niragi was indeed a smart guy who presented himself as a pure meathead and had passed every game sent his way so far.

You were not even aware of just how many games you had survived. You stopped counting after Hatter finally allowed the top 10 group the freedom of decision. With the amount of death you had seen and the blood on your hands, you felt like the games had turned you into an entirely new person. Born of blood and desperation and fear.

Though, life in The New World was not entirely miserable.

You had grown quite close to Mira and Ann during your two month stay. The two women were proven to be a godsend amongst the raving people of The Beach. They rarely went down to the bar and when either of them did, it was to simply sip on a cocktail and have a genuine conversation with you. Of course, you had little girl's nights in your room and celebrated surviving games with champagne or little treats brought back by scavengers. It wasn't nearly what the Old World's nights of enjoyment might be like, but none of you complained when in each other's comforting company.

Aguni was an unexpected friend, although he would never call you one. He lingered downstairs when no meetings were called, sharp eyes making sure no fights broke out between the drunks. You were grateful for his interventions whenever Niragi was involved: one sharp look from the older man and Niragi was silenced like a dog. You and him quietly cooked and ate your meals together after a game completion. His fight and tension seemed to release in the quiet parts of the day when no one else was around. The games were tiring him, too, and the fact that someone as strong as Aguni had grown exhausted of the games was a true testament to how much you'd endured.

Hoshiko was a designated supply runner, usually taking a car out in the mornings and not returning until the early hours of the next and happily digging into whatever hot meal you scrounged up for him. Occasionally, Niragi would linger around to ensure Hosiko was safe from his trip before he said curt ‘goodnights’ and went up to his room, still number Six You were honestly shocked that you were still number Seven although Hoshiko was demoted to the 20's and now stayed on a different floor of the hotel.

Hatter’s intentions of keeping you in the Six spot bemused you to no end but you kept your mouth shut and didn't outwardly question his choices. You had brought back many useful cards for Hatter, you and your team often being the sole survivors in the randomized games and that was an undeniable benefit to The Beach, but you knew your main use lay in your communication skills and the sheer number of recruits you brought in.

You were young and a kind face in a sea of people who adapted the ‘every man for themself’ mentality, which increased your geniality to the fresh meat of the New World. Some were lost causes, namely the few that had been you as long or even longer than you. They developed their routines and made safehouses, not willing to trust a stranger who promised them a life of luxury at a resort. You couldn't blame them, and found yourself feeling all the more guilty when the teary eyed desperate ones eagerly clung to your every word and joined your team’s car home.

You never told them about the third rule—not when Aguni and Niragi were always looming over your shoulder to ensure just that. Blindside the recruits with promise of safety, food, and community while keeping the darkness of The Beach away from them.

Tonight, you had Hoshiko and Niragi with you in an old Chevette with you in passenger and Niragi driving. It was only you three and you were unsettled about the potential suite of the card you would be forced to play.

“Do you think it'll be Hearts tonight?” Hoshiko quietly piped up from the back. He was the only one out of the three of you to play one before in the early days. It took him three days to speak again and you tiptoed around him all the while trying to get him cheered up. You never found out exactly what happened during his game, but one of the other scavengers that he usually hung around didn't return with him.

“Kuzuryu said it would be Diamond.” Niragi said casually. He didn't ever seem bothered by games anymore, and in fact seemed to look forward to the more aggressive ones like Spade and Club.

You agreed with a short nod. “It's a small venue. Usually Diamonds are held in them, and Kuzuryu is rarely wrong.”

Hoshiko swallows harshly but bobs his head in an eager agreement. “Yeah! He and Mira are practically geniuses.”

Mira and Kuzuryu were extremely intelligent and they both knew it well. Mira wasn't as cocky and outward about it like Kuzuryu was, but her silent emotional intelligence spoke volumes when you watched her expressions change whenever others were speaking. Usually, she was amused by the drunks that argued or mindlessly fought around the pool or lobby area but she never seemed to gossip about it afterwards. Contained and elegant outside as she was inside.

She was an angel not in disguise, though her dark wardrobe was a stark contrast to her personality. She often wore long, flowy cover ups to match her black or red bikinis and let you have your pickings in whatever clothes had arrived in the scavengers’ car before she did. You always left the darker colors for her and the knowing smile she sent you afterwards made your heart warm. You had grown used to the revealing clothes and even more confident as days went on, choosing to wear tube tops and mini skirts over your bikinis. Hatter learned to stop pestering you about your clothing decisions, knowing it was the best he could manage out of you before you rebelled and switched clothes right after he was out of your room again.

For the games, however, you stuck with more athletic wear to protect yourself from any scraped skin or roadburn. Even knives, as much as you hated to know that other players were often your biggest threat. Breathable leggings and a thin jacket over a sports bra did the trick and was easy to move in when the time called for it. You missed jeans and hoodies, but they seemed to be a thing of the past at The Beach.

Niragi pulled up to the glowing venue, turning the car engine off and simply staring at the building for a few long and silent moments while everyone got ready to leave the car. Hoshiko entered ahead, sensing Niragi’s tension and wanting nothing to do with his temper.

“Is something up?” You asked, hand hovering over the handle. His hands limply sat over his thighs as he breathed through his nose—pierced now, by the way, to your shock (it had been somewhat of an argument when he came back from a ‘scavenging trip’ with some Militants with multiple facial piercings. They looked good on him, you had to admit, but Hoshiko thought so too and you had to be the one to shut the kid down, explaining that his parents would be furious when he got back home)—and mumbled something about ‘everything being just fine’.

“If you want to sulk for no reason, be my guest. Don't make it everyone else's problem in the game.” You rolled your eyes at his juvenile behavior, leaving the car with a pinched brow and growing headache.

Hoshiko was already in the game arena, phone in hand and awkwardly shifting his weight between both legs. You seemed to get here extra early, being the only three to register in the small building. It was a fairly small building in a strip mall-type huddle, with a glowing sign that simply said ‘Game Lounge’ at the top. Inside, it was rows of computers and cozy seating with bean bags and couches in corners with large tvs and game consoles. You'd never been the type to pay to play games in a random building with a bunch of others shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but the concept was easy to understand. Probably the easiest and most affordable way to meet friends with similar nerdy hobbies that didn't include spending hundreds of dollars at a ComicCon.

Niragi inspected the area, staying mysteriously silent as he seated himself laxly on a bean bag. You rolled your eyes and Hoshiko tensely found a seat at one of the desks, keeping his eyes on the lasered entrance.

“One minute remaining until registration closes.” The robotic voice announced.

“Looks like it's just us three today.” Hoshiko said, though his brow furrowed deeper at the thought.

“No problem.” You shrugged. “We're plenty smart enough together to figure out a diamond game.” By the look of the computers, it was best to assume Diamond was the game you'd be playing.

The bell chime of the glass door broke the silence. A man around your age stepped in completely alone, wearing regular cargo shorts and a greyish jacket over a plain t-shirt that stayed half-zipped. His hoodie was over his head, but the little strands at the sides of his neck gave away the slightest curl of white-blonde hair. From what you could see of his face, your first thought was that he was pretty cute.

“Registration closed. The game will begin shortly.”

He made no move to greet anyone, simply taking a phone and unlocking it with a blank look on his face.

The voice chimed again. “Game; Would you Rather: Outlier. Difficulty: 5 of Clubs.

“Clubs?” You asked no one in particular. How would an all-rounder game work in a place so small?

“Rules: Players will use the devices available to choose from options on the screen. Each round, your goal is to pick the option that you think the other players would prefer. If you choose the less popular option, you are the Outlier. Three wrong answers is an elimination.”

Hoshiko sucked a sharp breath in. “That should be fine! We just need to communicate and we'll all live.”

“Speaking is prohibited at this time until the game is cleared. Cheating results in an automatic elimination. The game is cleared when ten rounds are successfully passed. Three minutes are provided per question.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach at the conditions. Sure, you and your two companions have grown closer due to the mutual desperation to survive and supposed trauma-bonding, but it's not like you'd stopped your days and played 20 questions with them. The new guy has also an annoying variable who could have everything or absolutely nothing in common with any of you.

Behind you, the amused breathy laugh from the blonde guy made you turn your neck and glare back at him. He had no worries or care plastered on his features, just a small cat-like smirk as he brushed past you and sat himself at one of the laptops.

Your second thought was that this guy might be a bigger asshole than Niragi.

The four of you sat parallel and side-by-side in a four square formation, glances shared between the three of you who were familiar.

The screen lit up right when you seated yourself. It's bright light caused you to squint for a moment, eyes adjusting to see the first question plastered on screen in a colorful display that reminded you of the Norwegian online game: Kahoot.

Four options. Much more niche than the two you were expecting to choose between. The only sound in the room was the four of you breathing and shifting in your seats, and the urge to glance at the screen of the stranger next to you was growing by the second.

‘Question One’

‘Would you rather visit:

♡ America

◇ China

♧ Brazil

♤ Finland’

The answers stumped you. The four options were all entirely different countries with different languages and cultures. You had zero clue what the others had experienced in their lives. Personally, you'd never even left Japan your entire life. You highly doubted Hoshiko did, either, with his young age. Niragi was a wild card but given his timid demeanor when you first met him the most likely chance was that he never ventured outside of Tokyo. And the asshole next to you? You wouldn't even begin to assume.

Time felt like it passed quickly, though there was no clock or timer on your screen to tell.

You changed your internal question, taking a deep breath in to sooth your frazzled nerves.

It didn't matter where they might have visited before. What did matter was what is the most popular general tourist area? Picking the most popular one was likely what everyone else would do, and you doing the same would mean all the answers line up.

Although Japan was extremely close to China, most of your friends always gushed about the tourist cities in America like Los Angeles or New York. The Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, Yellowstone National Park, the Hollywood walk of fame. So many bucket list options could be crossed off with one country.

Steeling yourself, you clicked ‘America’ and sat back to watch Niragi and Hoshiko in front of you. Hoshiko's face was glistening with sweat at the sheer anxiety of the game, and Niragi was slightly squinting at the question. You remembered the glasses that he was all too quick to ditch early on in the New World, and almost laughed at his lack of planning.

When all the answers were submitted, you smiled at the pie chart lying on the screen. 75% choose America.

But who was the Outlier? You scanned the three for panicked faces, and saw Hoshiko's face lit up with a red light on his screen. As much as you wished to give words of comfort, all you could provide was a tight smile.

Three chances out of ten games. The odds were not too challenging.

The next question was fast and the answer even faster. You felt confident in your pick, sitting back first to observe again. Your eyes caught on the man next to you, who had never seemed to be ill at ease like the rest of you and rather seemed to enjoy people-watching when he clicked an answer.

You looked away immediately, his dark eyes almost drawing you in and distracting you from the game. What exactly made him so confident in a low strategy game like this?

The game's second round came to a close and every screen was green. Sighing in relief, you felt ever more confident for Round Three.

‘Would you rather choose between yourself or your best friend?’

What kind of question was that? You chewed your lip, looking at the two options given, which simply said ‘Yourself’ and ‘Friend’. There was little context, so your best bet was to assume that the situation was life or death. You glanced at Niragi and Hoshiko. You weren't the type to hang around many people in the Old World given your busy schedule, so you didn't have a specific person that came to mind when ‘best friend’ was in question.

However, Niragi and Hoshiko, as well as perhaps Aguni, Mira, and Ann were your friends. Though half of them would simply name you an ally, that was the closest to a friend you could ask for in this world.

Would you sacrifice your life for theirs? Or rather, would they sacrifice theirs for you? Your tablemate seemed to turn his head and stare into your side profile when he finished answering, his dark gaze burning into your skull like lasers that you tried to vehemently ignore. What's his deal? The scrutiny felt like being held under a microscope and observed for testing, leaving a prickly feeling up your spine and down your arms.

Everyone would pick ‘Friend’, right? It was the obvious answer to pick whatever made you look more selfless and agreeable. When it truly came down to it in a life-or-death scenario, most would abandon all relationships and instinctively protect themself.

You took the question from the others’ perspective, wondering what they might assume was your answer.

Niragi would choose himself, undoubtedly.

Hoshiko might choose ‘Friend’.

The stranger would also certainly choose himself.

You pressed ‘Yourself’ and sat back, hoping that Hoshiko had the same thought process as you.

Your heart dropped yet again when his screen lit up a blazing red. Two dings, there were 7 more rounds and he only had one more chance. You bit your tongue, the forced silence nearly killing you. You'd have to try and take two questions for him, or manipulate the answers so it was possible to split the decision half and half and that way no one would be an outlier. Everyone could live through the ten rounds easily, so long as you took the questions seriously.

With no way of communication and the constant anxiety of your hands being watched for cheating, you'd have no other choice but to attempt it alone.

The next was a much simpler question. No moral compass in play, just; “Would you rather own a:

‘♡ Bird

◇ Cat

♧ Fish

♤ Dog’

Bird and fish were the obvious outliers, as none would risk choosing such unpopular options. Personally, you thought both cats and dogs made great pets for you. As far as your schedule, a cat would work better.

Niragi would pick the dog. The comparison was almost ironic but you knew one would suit his new lifestyle well. Perhaps a Doberman Pinscher or even a Belgian Malinois that he would train diligently for protection or hunting.

Glancing at the guy next to you, you couldn't help but associate him with ‘Cat’.

That's 50/50 right there, and Hoshiko could do either way. Dog, maybe. He was an energetic teenage boy, and dogs often found the best lives with active owners.

You picked ‘Cat’ and waited for the pie chart.

All the screens lit up green, and you couldn't hide your satisfied grin at the results: 50% Cat and 50% Dog. There were no outliers and everyone moved on. Meeting Niragi's eyeline, he seemed to understand the strategy and nodded to himself, slumping in his desk chair.

Everyone moved on to the next round safely. Hoshiko let a loud breath out and wiped sweat from his forehead.

Question five was next. Half way done.

‘Would you rather live in:

♡ A townhouse

◇ A beach house

♧ A mansion

♤ A cabin’

You smiled slightly, wasting no time to press the Diamond option, knowing that your companions would, too. It almost felt like an inside joke, seeing the option pop up on your screen. A safe, free round.

Your screen lit up green. As did Niragi and Hoshiko's, who both looked relieved in their own ways. Beside you, a dim glow of red caught your eye. The man in the hoodie pursed his lips for only a split second before letting his face be neutral again. He met your eye, raising a brow as if to say, ‘what about it?’ You quickly left it at that.

‘Question Six’

‘Would you rather have the power to:

♡ Fly

◇ Read minds

♧ Gain super speed

♤ Use the elements to your will’

The juvenile question felt quite nostalgic. The blurred memories of you asking your middle school friends the exact same type of questions during late night sleep-overs and giggling at which celebrity you'd ‘rather date’ or what career you'd (unrealistically) want as your dream job. Without fail, you always choose something impossible like ‘actress’ or ‘popstar’.

The question was hard. It could go any of the four ways. Really, this one relied on personal knowledge of a person. You weren't even quite sure of your own answer. The most practical one, maybe, would be a realistic answer that the other three would pick. Either way, if you all choose a different answer then there would still be no outliers. All it took was one answer having two players choose it for the other two to be dinged. For Hoshiko, it was his final chance and his most stressful. With only about two minutes left, he wasn't looking confident.

You choose Club, the presumably least popular option among the others. Praying that no one else picked it or had the same thought process, you held your breath and focused on the others in your peripherals.

The pie chart lit up, showing you a green screen. Immediately, you checked to see Hoshiko's, which was also green. There was 25% pieces evenly splitting up the chart, making everyone clear the round.

Round seven was next.

‘Would you rather own:

◇ A game company

♧ A private airport

♡ A theme park

♤ A race track’

You hesitantly clicked the option for Diamond again. You hoped the other three might put together ‘game’ in common with the game room and also choose it, but there was no differentiating between personalities and answers. All were nice things to own and would all make good money, leaving personal preferences out the window.

The answers were all submitted and you were the only one with a red screen. You grew tense again, rubbing your sweaty palms on your leggings and soothing yourself. Only three more anyway, and you had another chance before you were out. Niragi's stare was obvious in your peripherals, but you sent a small smile to him to let him know that you were just fine. Rolling his eyes, he read the next question as it appeared.

‘Question Eight.

Would you rather:

♡ Drown

♤ Get set on fire’

Morbid and jarring at the same time, a stark contrast to the last question. It seemed like every few questions that were light-hearted also gave one question that was serious.

You'd rather neither entirely. You shuddered when you remembered your very first game and how the water completely submerged you in its grasp, leaving no room for escape until Niragi saved your life. If possible, you'd rather avoid large bodies of water for the rest of your life. Living next to the water on the beach resort was uneasy enough, although the pool was small and open enough to be fine.

You picked the spade.

After the minutes passed, the final person (Hoshiko, you knew, who was definitely overthinking the most due to his two dings) submitted their answer.

Your screen lit up green.

The chart was 50% for both answers, and you grew more hopeful that all four of you would pass the game together. Only two more.

‘Question Nine’

‘Would you rather fight:

♡ A gorilla

◇ A kangaroo

♧ A tiger

♤ A shark’

Your first thought was that Niragi might actually fight whatever option he picked. You felt like the easiest might be the shark, simply from the fact that you enjoyed ‘fun fact’ videos in your little spare time. Most sharks were passive upon crossing paths with humans, and did not blindly attack them unless they flailed around and tried to swim away, giving themselves away as easy prey. And, it never specified what type of shark, either. Fighting a lemon or mako would be easy as pie. You picked Spades with little thought for how the others might vote.

Your screen lit up red, as did Niragi's. 25% for shark, 25% for tiger while kangaroo had 50%. The white jacket guy breathed through his nose in what might be considered a laugh. You shot a look to him, wondering what could be so amusing at the prospect of three others dying right in front of his eyes. Even if Jacket Guy was the Outlier in the next round, he would survive.

Well, shit. Although it was only one more round, the three of you now all had two dings and the 10th round could very well make or break the entire thing.

Final question. You missed your lifeless room at The Beach.

‘Would you rather:

♡ Go back home

♧ Stay here?’

It felt like a pin dropped in the middle of the room. Unanimously, all of the answers were placed at once and the screens lit up green. The question felt sentient, like someone was behind the screen rather than an AI making up random questions. It was a taunt. Someone knew you were trapped here and even possibly had the power to bring people in or out.

“Game clear. All remaining players may exit.”

You tucked your head into your palms, dragging them across your face in ragged relief. Hoshiko stood like the seat he was on got lit on fire, jumping with all the energy any teenager should have but you never seemed to.

You watched Jacket Guy stand up cooly from his seat, hands stuffed into his pockets as he turned towards the exit, opening the door to see a table, probably holding the Club card on it.

“Wait,” you spoke up, chasing after him after your nerves settled and your throat no longer felt like you were being choked out by the tension.

He looked subtly over his shoulder at you, face still frustratingly neutral and holding no signs of being relieved that he had just won a Five of Clubs game.

“What's your name?” You asked politely after quickly introducing yourself. Bringing home a new resident as well as a decently valued card would make Hatter all the more content and allow you to be left alone until at least your next game.

“Why?” He asked, the first word spoken since you'd met.

“Can't I learn the name of the guy who I survived a game with?” You shrugged, eyes gleaming with the hope that he wasn't a huge jagoff like you suspected. Maybe he was simply socially inept.

“You won't see me again.” He stated matter-of-factly, walking away to the card table before he was cut off by Niragi, who made a show of snatching the card and pocketing it.

Great, now he would feel cornered.

“The lady asked you a question.”

Hoshiko stood awkwardly in the doorway, not having any experience recruiting players.

“Oh? Are you her guard dog?” Jacket Guy asked with a purring amusement in his deep voice.

Niragi was all too happy to whip his gun out, which had been strapped over his shoulder. “Want to find out?” He growled, inching closer while shoving the head of the gun to the other guy's face. Jacket Guy showed no indication of fear but had the wit to at least put his arms up, glancing sideways at you like you truly were Niragi's handler.

You set a hand on the gun, lowering it with a raised brow to Niragi. “We don't wanna fight. I'm just asking to be friendly, I promise you. It's good to have allies in this place.”

Jacket Guy hummed. “Shoving guns in people's faces gives off friendly vibes.”

You felt your face grow hot, glaring at the smirking Niragi. “It won't happen again. I wanted to extend an olive branch. You seem experienced in these games, am I right? Smart, useful—we're always looking for people like you.”

He only seemed to grow more amused, like he was listening to a child ramble on about their new favorite tv show or video game.

“We live in a sanctuary not far from here. The Beach. We have electricity, running water, and vehicles.” You nodded to the car parked just outside of the front entrance. “If you don't like it, you can leave. I'll even give you a car.” You offered.

That was a blatant lie, and Niragi and Hoshiko knew it well. Once you were recruited, you were a resident of The Beach and would live there until you died. All your previous thoughts of leaving were quickly nullified by Aguni's militant team growing in numbers and actually taking that part of their responsibilities seriously.

You'd offered it many times before, but it's not like anyone actually ever wanted to leave. This guy was no different from the others.

“You're in a position to hand out cars?” He asked.

You waved your, honestly extremely ugly, bracelet that had the key number ‘Six’ on it. “I'm an executive. I can do pretty much anything.” It wasn't too far off. You did get away with more stuff than the average person, probably because you had a suspicion that Hatter wanted to get in your pants (bikini) and buttered you up for it. It wasn't like you were abnormally smart like Mira, Ann, and Kuzuryu or strong like Aguni and Niragi, so your continued stay on the executive branch was something of an anomaly.

He seemed to think it over for a minute, looking to the streets as they seemed to grow dark once more as the games finished one by one. “Fine, I'll bite. I'm Chishiya.”

You smiled genuinely, glad to have brought another into the mix. You'd grown numb to the guilty feeling what felt like years ago, but in reality it was only weeks. The Beach was lawless and gave no sympathy for the weak, but ultimately if a person died from their games or being labeled a traitor—it was their fault, not the recruiters.

“You won't regret this, Chishiya.”

mira trying to pair up people who would lose their best friends in heart games core

actually not my proudest game idea, it came out more childish and simple than I imagined 🥲 I have others that are much more intense, but this was just a way to introduce Chishiya.

Their bracelets are so ugly. was originally gonna have one of MCs responsibilities be making the player's bracelets with actual materials but that was kind of a ridiculous notion lmao making like 200 bracelets for all the people plus more for the ones who needed replacement numbers when they die in games

longer or shorter chapters? idrk, this one's about 7k but took a while to pump out.

subtle forshadowing with answers hint hint

[cloudedangels]

Only You~

≈3.2k words. Caleb x MC fluff

Caleb drops by with groceries and forgotten boxes from their childhood home—just an excuse to see her again before he returns to Skyhaven. What starts as a casual visit unfolds into an evening steeped in nostalgia, unspoken feelings, and a dress she never got to wear. Over dinner, old memories surface, tension simmers, and in the quiet between laughter and longing, something nearly changes. Fluffy yearning (my favorite)

tags: petnames (pipsqueak) caleb x fem mc, alcohol, drunk mc, slow burn, friends to lovers, unresolved romantic tension, childhood friends, reminiscing, will they won't they, mutual pining, domestic fluff, cooking together, memory boxes, red dress, almost kiss, spooning

Caleb knocked once, but he was already fidgeting with his carabiner for the spare key she'd given him a few months ago, right after seeing he didn’t need to make up lame excuses to come see her. An overfilled canvas tote of groceries hung on one arm and he precariously balanced a couple of taped-up boxes in the other. He finally got the key to turn, pulling the handle with the back of his hand and shoving the door open with his foot. He stepped inside, shut the door with his foot, and put down the boxes.

“Hey, pips, don't freak, it's just me!”

The apartment smelled like her. Candles and laundry, vanilla. She came stumbling out of her bedroom, half sleepy and barefoot, wearing one of his old Academy shirts. It was thin, hanging off one shoulder paired with a tiny pair of pink sleep shorts. She walked out confused before her eyes lit up with realization.

“Caleb?! Ohmygosh!”

He barely had time to sit the bag on the floor before she launched herself into him, crashing against his chest with her arms coiled tight around his waist. He let out a choked chuckle before lifting her up and spinning her around. She squealed with silly excitement.

“Easy, pipsqueak, one of these days you'll crack all of my ribs.”

He put her down and she pulled back with a cheerful grin, catching a glimpse of the groceries on the floor.

“You're so ridiculous! You know I can buy my own groceries right? I'm not as helpless as you think.”

“Your lonely, barren refrigerator seems to disagree with you,” he said, sidestepping around her to begin unloading the food. She tailed behind him like a shadow, arms loosely wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. He passed her a bag of candy without looking and she made a happy little sound, teasing it open immediately as he filled her cabinets and fridge like he used to when they were young.

She shook her head as he started mixing drinks, the same one she'd made for him last time he was here: crushed ice, apple syrup and soda.

“You remember too much.” She mumbled between a handful of candy.

“I think you meant ‘thank you, Caleb’ but don't sweat, I'll just pretend that's what you said,” he said coolly, his smile as sly as always.

It wasn’t until they’d eaten some snacks off the counter and drank most of the drinks that she finally turned toward the boxes he’d brought.

“What are those?” She pointed at them.

“You don’t recognize them?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel. “Some of your old stuff.”

She frowned, padding closer.

“Gran needed help clearing out the attic back home a while ago. These were in the back. I meant to bring them to you a while ago, but then…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The accident had rearranged everything. “I figured I’d drop by before I head back to Skyhaven. Work’s picking up again.”

“You don’t need an excuse,” she said, softer now, reminding him.

He smiled at her. “Old habits die hard.”

They ended up sitting on the floor, legs tangled, going through the boxes together. She eventually climbed into his lap and stayed there, and neither of them commented on it.

They just kept digging through memories: childhood plushies, crumpled cards, old shirts, the book of grievances she used to write in when they got mad at each other. She even pulled out a weather-worn denim baseball cap she’d stolen from him on her sixteenth birthday. It still smelled faintly like the sun and their old home. She put it on her head and looked at him with a dumb smile. “I told you I'd never give it back~”

Then she found it. The red dress.

Folded carefully, tucked beneath one of his old jackets. Her breath caught. She lifted it, stunned, holding it up in the light.

Caleb looked at her carefully, judging her reaction, his heart rate picking up as suddenly their proximity seemed closer than he remembered. She climbed off of his lap, sitting next to him, holding the dress up to his face as he focused on being expressionless.

“Do you remember that?” He asked quietly, carefully.

She nodded, wordless as her eyes moved across the velvet fabric. He'd bought it for her impulsively the spring before her junior (and his senior) prom, back when she mentioned not being able to find one yet.

Looking at her in his shirt, that hat, holding that dress, Caleb almost felt shot back in time, old butterflies swirling like they missed him.

Back then, she hadn't even decided if she was going to go. Neither of them had dates. Or, at least, that was what they told each other and themselves. The truth was something murkier. They wanted to go with each other. Neither one of them had the guts to ask. Because what would they go as? Friends? Something else? Too complicated. And going with other friends would've been disappointing for them both.

They ended up skipping prom. Spent the night instead lying in the grass at the old apple orchard, watching the clouds turn to stars, saying everything except what mattered most.

Caleb watched the way her eyes moved across the dress in silence, fingers running across the fabric. He rubbed the back of his neck, face red.

“I didn't want anyone else to see you in it.” He admitted, filling the silence nervously. “Seems selfish now, but I think that was part of why I couldn't ask you.”

Her expression was unreadable as she hummed softly. “Hm. At least we had a nice time.” She shook something in her head away, he saw it in her face, and she smiled at him. It didn't quite reach her eyes.

He scrutinized her for a second. Not having it, Caleb stood up, wiping his hands on his pants.

“All right,” he said, suddenly animated. “If you never got to wear it to prom, we’re doing this right. Let me turn this place into a five-star restaurant, one night only.” He bowed.

“Your very own Chef Caleb at your service once again. You just worry about the dress, and getting as pretty as you'd like to, yeah?”

She blinked. “Here?”

“Yup. I’ll handle everything. Let me braid your hair and run you a bath. By the time you're all dolled up, I'll have your favorite, locked and loaded.”

She didn’t respond, not in words at least, but the way she gently folded the dress over her arm and walked toward the bathroom was answer enough.

He ran her a bath and braided her hair down with quiet precision, fingers moving through her strands like he’d done it a hundred times. Because he had.

“Okay,” he whispered, massaging her shoulders for a bit before kissing her temple. “Relax, get ready. Take your time. I'll be waiting for you.”

Something in the way he said that made her blush before he walked out into the kitchen and started his duty as chef.

After a bit of time, braised wings were in the oven, wine was breathing on the counter, and soft music was thumping through her apartment speaker. He lit some candles she had shoved under her sink, put an apple blanket from one of the boxes over her table and set it with plates, a teddy bear plushie holding a flower as a centerpiece, and napkins folded into paper planes.

When she stepped out, Caleb's back was turned as he pulled the wings out the oven. When he turned to place them on the counter, he saw her, his breath leaving as he froze in place, and her eyes darted down to the floor.

Everything in him went still.

The oven mitt slipped from his hand, thudding soft against the floor.

She stood in the doorway, one hand tucked behind her back, the other brushing at her side nervously, as if unsure where to let it rest. The dress clung in a way velvet wasn't supposed to. It was soft but sharp, catching the dim candlelight, holding onto it like it belonged to her. Her bare shoulders glowed, the braid he’d done falling over one collarbone like it knew what it was doing.

She looked up when he didn’t say anything. Then down.

Caleb blinked, blinked again, and felt everything slam into him at once.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Her head jerked up, startled. “What?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, running a hand over his mouth like that might give him a second to form words.

“I—” He looked at her, looked at her for real this time. “You’re... you look really, really pretty.” A beat. Then quieter, more honest than he meant to be: “Beautiful.”

The word felt too big in his mouth. He swallowed.

She blinked, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked now, lips twitching like she didn’t know whether to laugh or look away. Her hand came up to touch the edge of the braid, then hovered like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to mess it up.

"Surprised?" She says awkwardly, a foreign fluttering feeling in her stomach.

"Not how you think, pips. Don't tease me."

She bit her lip. Surprised by his response. The strangeness in his tone.

Caleb reached for the wine just to have something to do with his hands. Poured a glass and handed it to her, careful not to touch her fingers when she took it.

“Okay,” he said, shaking himself off with a breath that sounded more like a prayer.

She took a sip, then another. He watched the way her lips pressed against the rim of the glass. He didn’t sit at first. Just leaned a hip against the counter, watching her float around the candlelit table like some kind of fever dream.

The dress shifted when she moved. It was clinging, letting go, clinging again. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that had slipped from the braid, smiling like she was still adjusting to being seen this much.

“I like the set up, Chef Caleb.”

She sat down finally, crossing her legs neatly, the slit in the velvet whispering open just enough to drive him insane. He sat across from her, slowly, like that might ground the warmth in his chest. His brain was stuck in a feedback loop of don’t stare, don’t stare while he filled her plate.

They ate, or rather, he ate, and she picked. Chewed here and there while she stared. She kept watching him over the rim of her wine glass, face soft, eyes half-lidded now. The second glass went down quicker than the first.

"You should really slow down," he said, mostly to her glass.

“I’m fine,” she sang, leaning her chin into her palm. “Just a little loose. It’s nice. You’re nice.”

He shook his head with a smile and reached for her plate, gently nudging it closer to her.

“Eat something, before the drinking catches up with you.”

She gave a faux pout but obeyed, spearing a wing lazily, licking her fingers after. Caleb looked away. Looked back. Looked away again.

“You're really good at this, you know,” she said after a while, voice loose and low. “Making things feel special.”

“It’s just dinner.”

She hummed. “No, it’s not.”

There was a pause. She looked at him, then down at her hand resting on the table. Slowly, she moved it forward, just an inch or two closer to his.

"You never made anyone else a dinner like this, right? I would never forgive you if you used these charms on every girl…" she muttered, quieter now, not quite joking anymore, jealousy peaking over a hypothetical.

He didn't answer right away.

She turned back to her plate with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, that was…” she laughs, a childish giggle. “Ignore me. Sort of Drunk girl talking.”

“No,” he said, voice lower now. “You’re right.”

She looked up.

“I haven’t. You're the reason I even learned how to cook.”

The wine between them felt heavier than it should. Her fingers tapped against the glass. Her knee brushed his under the table and didn’t move.

She smiled again, soft. “I think I like drunk girl talking.”

He reached for her plate again and nudged it closer with a smirk, a little shaky now.

“Drunk girl needs to finish her wings.”

She laughed, but it was breathier this time.

Caleb stared at her carefully.

What was even happening?

She finally started, actually eating paying her food more attention, licking her fingers clean between bites, and letting out a dramatic moan with every one.

“Shit, Caleb,” she groaned, mouth half-full, “this tastes exactly the same. How’d you do that?” She pointed an accusatory finger at him with her wing. “You knew you were gonna make these as soon as you came over, didn’t you? Brought all the right stuff, you sly dog.”

He shrugged, sipping his wine with the barest hint of a smirk. “Just knew what you’d need. That’s all.”

She looked at him from across the table like he’d said something far more intimate than he had. He didn’t meet her eyes.

After a few more bites, she got up, floated to his side, and stayed close, her bare feet soft against the tile. He tried to clean up, rinsing the dishes, but she swatted his shoulder with a towel.

“You cooked,” she pouted, “you’re not allowed to clean.”

He just chuckled and kept rinsing. She didn’t leave, arms circling his waist from behind like she couldn’t help it, her head pressing between his shoulder blades again like earlier, like always.

“I missed this,” she murmured, voice nearly lost beneath the tap water. “Having you to myself like this.”

He paused, just briefly. Then responded, just as quietly. “Yeah… I missed you too, pipsqueak.”

She clung tighter at that. “You’re the only one in the whole world who makes me feel this special.”

He exhaled through his nose, the warmth behind his ribs turning to something heavier.

And for a second, he hated how badly he wanted to turn around, pull her in, and never go back to Skyhaven. It scared the hell out of him—how easy it would be to stay.

“Thank you, Caleb.” She tiptoed up to kiss his cheek, lingering longer than she used to, then let her hand slide down his arm to grip his bicep. He held still.

“How intense has that fleet been running you?” she asked, tone softer now, teasing only on the edges. “You’re stronger now. I mean. Colonel. You look good lately. Even if I hardly get to see it.”

He rolled his eyes, rinsing the last dish. “You’re drunk.”

She scoffed, swaying a little against him. “I’m serious.”

He wiped his hands and gave her a side glance. “Tonight it’s not Colonel. It’s Chef.” He grinned. “Or just Caleb.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled through it. “You’re impossible, Ca-leb.” Then, after a beat: “Maybe the time between seeing you just makes it worse.”

He laughed under his breath, taking the towel to dry a glass. “You’re being silly. I forgot what a lightweight you were. Should’ve gone with sparkling cider.”

She turned him around by the shoulder so he faced her fully, arms folding as she stared up at him like she was trying to catch him in a lie.

“Yeah right! If it’s nothing,” she said, a little unsteady, “then what’s that look?”

He didn’t answer. His hands braced behind him on the edge of the sink, knuckles pale. She leaned in closer, brows pulling, trying to read his face like a secret.

“And you’re not drunk,” she said. “So…”

Still, he said nothing. She kept staring.

Then, finally, his voice low and close to breaking, he said, “I’m glad no one else saw you in this.”

She froze, color rushing to her cheeks. His gaze dipped immediately, like the sight of her flustered was too much to bear. His chest lifted once, sharply, and he shook his head, like he could push the thought away if he did it hard enough.

If she wasn’t drunk, I'd probably…

No. He couldn’t finish that thought.

She stepped closer, fingers brushing his. “Stay the night?” she whispered. “Don’t sleep on that couch. It’s awful. Just take the bed. Please. Help me get to sleep?”

He let out a breathy laugh, turning away so he could dry his hands one more time. He felt like he needed anything to keep them busy.

“Not too drunk to make bad excuses, huh? That must be in your DNA.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

He looked back at her with a tired kind of fondness. “Take your makeup off. Get in pajamas. Brush your teeth. I’ll meet you in there.”

“You better,” she muttered as she walked away, grabbing the hem of her dress, “that’s a lot of work.”

He watched her leave, committing it one more time to his memory, and waited until she closed the bathroom door before pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and groaning under his breath.

What the hell am I doing?

By the time Caleb finished rinsing the last dish and dimming the kitchen lights, she was already curled under the covers, her braid half unraveled, one arm tucked under her cheek.

He slipped into her room quietly, pausing in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should be there, even though she’d asked. He couldn't really believe she did.

“Caleb?” she mumbled, voice soft and sleepy.

“Yeah,” he answered gently.

She rolled halfway over, the blanket slipping from her shoulder. “Come spoon me. I’m cold. And you’re a natural heater.”

He chuckled under his breath, heart kicking up even as he kept his face neutral. He took off his shoes, peeled off his overshirt, and left it folded neatly on the edge of her desk chair next to the dress. He took a deep breath before slipping in behind her, careful with his hands, careful with the space.

It was different now. Everything was quiet and charged.

He fit himself around her like he always had, his arm wrapping carefully around her waist, hand resting just above her stomach.

“Ah,” she sighed, nestling back into him. “A perfect ending. Caleb’s not cramped on my couch, and I’m not cold.”

He laughed lightly, brushing a kiss against the top of her bare shoulder before resting his head near hers.

“I hope I made it up to you today,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer, but she squeezed his hand a little tighter. That was enough.

They lay in the hush for a while, her breath slowing as sleep took her over inch by inch.

He swore she'd fallen asleep when, somewhere in that drowsy space between dreaming and the real world, she whispered, “Will you ever kiss me?”

He stilled, pulse in his throat.

“Not when you’re drunk,” he said, quietly, steady. “But maybe… when you’re not anymore.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Can I have a coupon?” she murmured. “One free sober kiss?”

He smiled against the back of her neck, exhaled slowly, and whispered, “Redeemable anytime.”

Her breath hitched like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Couldn't.

Soon she was asleep for real, curled warm and safe in his arms, his hand still laced with hers, heartbeat loud in his ears.

He stared at the wall for a long time.

[thepixelelf]

and the universe said,

07 - "bro, chill"

genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)

When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.

series masterlist

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.

Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”

“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”

Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”

Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”

“Well then why didn’t you—”

“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.

“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”

Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”

At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.

"You didn't tell them?" Yejung asks, softly shocked. "Why?"

Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.

Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"

"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."

“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”

“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.

“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”

“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.

But you don't know it's them— him.

And he's not sure you want to know.

“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”

“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”

Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.

Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”

Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”

Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”

“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”

⭒

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.

“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.

Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”

“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”

“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”

You frown. “How?”

“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”

Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”

“He gave you the card.”

“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”

Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"

"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."

“Which he would do because…?”

You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”

He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”

“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”

Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”

“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.

“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”

You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”

“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”

The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.

“Expensive stuff like what?”

He shrugs again. “Like a car?”

“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.

“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”

You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”

“So was Huijun,” he counters.

“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”

Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”

“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”

At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”

Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”

“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”

“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.

He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”

“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”

Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”

“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”

Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”

“So you agree I’m a criminal.”

“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”

“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”

A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”

⭒

Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.

He looks down.

Oof. 682.

Well, it’s not his worst.

Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.

[vernon] where is this guy

[chan] hyung this is important!!

[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything

[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!

It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.

Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.

Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.

At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.

His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”

“Where are you?”

“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”

Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”

Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”

“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”

⭒

You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.

Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.

You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.

Although…

You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.

Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?

Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.

The rest of what?

Or… whom?

You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…

Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?

Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.

“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”

You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building. 

He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”

“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”

“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

You both see it at the same time.

His mark, five black lines, clear as day.

Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.

You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.

No fucking way. 

“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.

No fucking way. 

You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.

Then, “So it’s you.”

“Holy���!”

At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.

He doesn’t move. You don’t either.

For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.

You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.

“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.

He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”

“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”

His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”

Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”

He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.

Or something.

Your lips brush over his, and you feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”

In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.

It’s strange.

Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.

It’s… satisfactory?

But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?

You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…

Wait.

Soulmates?

“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.

The sound has you melting, unfortunately.

Not for long though.

He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.

“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”

Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.

Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”

You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”

One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.

Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.

Or at least, something close to it.

He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle. 

“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.

Well, that makes two of you.

Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”

He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.

You nod. “Jeonghan.”

At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.

Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.

“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”

Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”

Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”

“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”

“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”

You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.

You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”

Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.

“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”

You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”

The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.

You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”

“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”

“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Know what is a lot to take in?”

Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”

Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…

We’re your soulmates.

Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.

Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand. 

Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.

The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.

You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”

Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.

“Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”

“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.

Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.

You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”

Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch. 

You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!

[awearywritersworld]

"i'll always come when you call"

gojo satoru x reader summary: when you're gravely injured on a mission, your best friend finds you just in time w/c: 1.35k tags/warnings: friends to lovers, obviously reader is hurt but nothing is terribly graphic, though there are lots of mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, no use of y/n, lots of emotional distress for gojo, he punches a wall, ft. a very worried yuuji and gumi a/n: home boy is in pieces at the thought of losing us. i make myself emotional masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

it wasn't supposed to go like this. not hardly, not half.

a simple mission turned into an ambush. what was originally one mid-grade cursed spirit became several. you lost count somewhere around the fifth.

rain patters against your body, washing away the crimson that's seeping from numerous wounds. at first everything hurt, but now all you feel is a foreboding numbness spreading throughout your limbs.

you hardly remember slipping your phone from your pocket or dialing his number when you hear your best friend's voice ring out from the speaker. "hey, princess. how'd it go?"

you try to speak, but no sound comes out. eventually, you manage a choked cough and the faint sensation of liquid flowing from the corner of your mouth accompanies the effort.

you barely make out his worried tone calling your name before your phone clatters to the ground, screen going black as it lies in a puddle of pale red.

you fight to keep your eyes open, you really do, but you're incredibly drowsy and the coldness has begun to ebb away, replaced by a comforting warmness.

you always imagined the light that welcomes you into the afterlife would be a blinding white, but instead, it's a familiar shade of blue.

an unsettling feeling had made a home in the pit of gojo's stomach long before he received your call. he's pacing, his eyebrows furrowed with inexplicable worry when his ringtone fills the room.

relief floods through him once he sees your name on the screen, but it's short lived when your end of the line remains quiet. he hears you sputter and it isn't a second later that he teleports to the city where your assigned mission is.

his heart is hammering away, a dull thudding in his ears, as he follows the traces of cursed energy that grow stronger with each long stride. he covers ground impressively fast, though as soon as his eyes land on your body, it's as if everything shifts to slow motion.

it feels like he's fighting against an invisible force as he approaches the spot where you lay. he can hear someone howling your name and it's not until he feels the hoarseness in throat that he recognizes the voice as his own. his knees crash painfully into the pavement at your side.

the situation is worse than he could have imagined. it's looks like you, sure, but it can't be you. not when your eyes have just fluttered shut, no movement beneath your lids. not when your body is still, no steady rise and fall of your chest. and certainly not when it looks as if you're—

"wake up," he begs, shaking your shoulders. "please, wake up!"

not wasting another moment, he gathers your limp body in his arms, one arm behind curling around your shoulders, the other hooking behind your knees.

he teleports directly into the infirmary and shoko nearly scolds him before she takes in your dreadful state. the cigarette that was hanging between her lips falls to the floor. "get her on the bed."

she moves around the room in haste, pulling drawers and cabinets open wildly.

"she's going to be okay, right? tell me that she's going to be fine," he implores, panicking when the brunette fails to reassure him. "..shoko!"

"get out, satoru!" she barks. she can't concentrate, not while one of her oldest friends is hysterical with worry and the other is lying there half dead.

"please, i can't—"

"now!"

he stares at you for a moment before turning on his heel and retreating to the hall. his fist meets the wall with such force, the drywall crumbles to the floor. gojo himself follows suit soon thereafter.

the commotion catches the attention of yuuji and megumi, who round the corner just seconds later.

"sensei—" yuuji begins to question, but the words die in his throat.

gojo's crouched down, his face buried in his hands. they're still covered in your blood. he wants to scream and yell and curse the world, but instead, he clenches his jaw so fiercely it's a wonder his teeth don't crack under the pressure.

the boys share a look, both startled by the present state of their usually frivolous teacher. neither of them need to ask who's behind that door, they know there's only one person who could elicit such a reaction from gojo.

megumi approaches him cautiously, swallowing his own concern, and places a hand on his shoulder. "she'll be okay."

the white haired man doesn't look up, just nods weakly in acknowledgement. megumi joins yuuji who is already sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, and the three of them wait together in silence.

gojo hardly moves until the infirmary door opens, which makes him rise so quickly it leaves him dizzy. shoko surveys the three of them before speaking.

"she's.. she's still unconscious, but you should be with her. she's been calling for you in her sleep—"

she scarcely finishes before gojo makes his way through the door. shoko stays in the hallway to update yuuji and megumi, giving the two of you a bit of privacy.

pulling up a chair beside you, he threads his fingers between yours, your skin still frightfully cool. though it's not until he hears you mumble his name that he truly falls apart.

his free hand flies to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sobs, his shoulders shaking. this all could have gone very differently and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. he should have gone with you, or at the very least, he should have gotten to you faster.

"'toru?" your raspy voice fills his ears.

when he looks up to find you peering at him through tired eyes, the tension that'd been weighing heavily in his chest dissipates and he exhales deeply. still, his voice trembles. "hey, sweetheart."

every part of you aches, but it's nothing compared to the guilt you feel upon seeing gojo like this— his eyes red and swollen, your blood painted across his hands and face.

you have a vague memory of everything that happened. you remember just barely exorcising the last cursed spirit. you remember being sure you weren't going to survive and using your last bit of strength to call him. "you found me."

he nods, his hand squeezing yours. "i thought i was too late.. i.. i thought i'd lost you."

his voice cracks and it nearly shatters your heart, tears welling up in your eyes. "i'm so sorry, 'toru. i'm sorry i wasn't strong enough, t-that you had to come save me."

you attempt to sit up, but he puts a hand to your shoulder and shakes his head. "don't you dare apologize. i'll always come when you call and i'll always be there when you need me. you have to know that."

the intensity of his gaze forces you to look away and the conviction in his voice makes you feel woozy. thinking about it, there really never had been an instance in which gojo wasn't there for you. he's the person you've sought out time and time again and he's never once let you down.

his hand finds your face and he cups your cheek gently, his thumb wiping a tear from beneath your eye.

"i love you," you blurt out.

you stare at each other with wide eyes and the seconds tick by markedly until he finally whispers, "say it again."

"i love you."

he had no idea how much he needed to hear those three words fall from your lips until he nearly lost the chance forever. truthfully, it makes him feel a bit foolish, but now was hardly the time to dwell on that.

he smiles for the first time in hours, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. "i love you, too."

and he always has— he knows that now.

"you should get some rest, angel," he suggests tenderly. "i'll be right here when you wake up."

[dilf-docs]

Untold Secrets, Uncharted Territories

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: the more time harry spends with you, the harder it is to understand where you stand now.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl, slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt, dbf!harry. additional tags for this ch.: fem. masturbation

word count: 2,195 words

side note: the movie almost releases in my country!! not that i alr watched thru a sketchy link bc ptwt is shite with spoilers.. i'll get my vengeance because f4 releases a day before in my country now lets see who gets the last laugh also pls don't worry abt the ciwyw draft!! it's longer and i just started uni again so it's coming on friday this is a real packed week y'all.. i hope u enjoy this surprise drop citizens ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ ) i love this fic :,)

part: prev | masterlist | next

The moon washes the empty place with a soft white glow. With the quiet hum of people who left.

You nurse a drink inside the warm light of your office, checking some papers. You flip through the pages and yawn. The amber liquid goes down your throat. Bitter. You've seen this client for the last week and still can't remember their face correctly. And their name. Was it Owen or Oliver?

There is a name and a face you can't forget.

Harry Castillo. Tall. Imposing. Brown Curls. Sometimes soft from the day. Silver streaks among the chocolate, ones he desperately tries to hide with a monthly visit to the salon. You prefer when he doesn't try that hard. Rough rebel stubble. Warm eyes. Crinkling at the corner when he laughs. Boy, does he laugh. Rattles your bones. Makes you smile, even if you deny it. Bite your lip to hide it until it tastes like blood. Strong cologne that makes you dizzy. He makes you dizzy.

You hate him. You hate how easily he's gotten under you skin. How you keep thinking about how close he was. How the lights made his skin golden. Softer. You could trace the lines of his face with your gaze. Or how he held you. Like he didn't want to let go. His hand on your back. Steady. His perfume on your dress, refusing to send it to the dryer until your assistant asked about it. The ache in your feet after an hour, yet never sitting down, all to have him with you. Close. Smiling. His eyes shining as he looked down. At you. Like you were someone who mattered. Someone to choose. Like there was no one else in the room but you.

Later that night, you layed in bed, shame settling deep in your stomach. In how you've held to these details. In the space you've given them space in your brain. You clutched your pillow, trying to drown out the screams into the silent echoes of the night. Of how much you wanted him to be there, with you. In how a small tenderness could disarm you and shatter you whole with so much ease.

You hated Harry Castillo. Maybe you didn't at all.

It's late. Your eyes feel heavy. The letters of the pages go blurry. Owen is boring. Oliver didn't take care of his marriage. You don't feel pity for a man like him, like many. Like your own father.

You feel fuzzy, warm. The bottle is at half. You weren't supposed to drink tonight. It's hot. You aren't opening windows, unbottoning your white blouse instead. You're alone, anyways. You nurse what's left of your drink, let it pool into your tired brain. Your thoughts go back to him. Harry. To his arms around you. That Rolex on his hand, the one that fell right above the curve of your ass. His fingers, resting in your hip, soothingly tracing over the silk of your dress. And the warmth of his palm; so big it too swallowed yours.

There's a tightness in between your legs that wasn't a week ago. Your thighs open themselves, and you feel the breeze against your middle. A damp patch soaks your underwear, glistening sex pulsating. Your teeth sink in your lip as you reach down to the opening of your pencil skirt, hand moving the lingerie to the side. You run a finger along your folds, a shiver running down your spine at the sensitivity. Harry. You whine, hand dissapearing completely between your thighs. With wet fingers, you spread your sticky lips apart. You feel the swollen flesh, throbbing. Clenching. Desperate. After taking a shaky breath, your fingers tentatively circle your entrance, applying a light pleasure with your fingertip, shuddering.

Fuck, look at that pretty pink pussy. So perfect, baby. You push the first finger inside your tight cunt, biting back a moan. That's it, baby. Touch yourself. In your office? Naughty girl. Your walls flutter, finger dissapearing inside. You slide a second finger, whimpering softly into the void. Lemme take a look at that cunt. It looks like it needs me. A sharp gasp escapes your lips; it sounds like his name.

Harry.

You pump in and out, following the pace you're used to. "Yes, I need you" you slur, the movements now sloppy against your dripping sex. Desperate. Sweat beads slide from your forehead. Your panties and blouse are sticky. So are your walls. Good girl. With your free hand, you find your sensitive nub and circle it. This time you moan louder, trembling fingers and hips rolling into your touch. Close, aren't we?

You start to rub faster, fingers pumping harder into your clit. The sound of your fingers in and out of your wet heat fills the room.

Come for me, doll. Show me.

With a cry, you muscles go taut, body tense as your back arches. It comes crashing down, vision spotty from the wine and your fucked drunk in pleasure state. Your cheeks go red as your walls clench and flutter around your digits as you ride out your orgasm.

It's time to go home. Joaquín is on time, like always. He doesn't ask, like always. You ride the elevator in silence, the red numbers blurry and the mellow music piercing your ears. You discard your clothes in the dark and throw yourself into bed. The shame settles once again, but when you go to sleep, it's the best sleep you've ever had in years.

When you see Harry Castillo again, he's wearing a red tie. A gift from your father.

You know because you bought it yourself, not knowing who it was for. You don't tell him either.

You blink once, twice. Head and heart pounding. You wince at the llght, at the smell of the bags he's carrying.

At his face, the exact same face you had come to hours ago.

"Brought you breakfast" and a bag from La Grande Boucherie.

"Why?"

"Because their Norwegian eggs with salmon are the best. I also added a capucchino. I know you're not into strong coffees but-"

"No, Harry" you cut. "Why are you here?"

In your doorstep, leaning against the doorframe with ease, as if he's been there since the beginning; like he owns the place.

"In your house, at eight sharp in the morning? Good question"

"Tell me you have the answer"

He smirks. "You can have it if you let me inside and have breakfast with me"

"You're persistent, Harry" while moving aside.

"Only when it matters" as he steps inside, and your treacherous heart does a little flip.

"It better be good"

"At least, I can speak for the salmon. I'll let you be a judge for the rest"

Harry raises the bag, the smell hitting you again. Be it the faltering in your posture or the nausea written all over your face that makes him chuckle.

"Fun night?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, heat flushing to your face.

"Don't be shy, Lady in Red. But I think the color suits you"

For a moment, you think he'll touch your face. Your skin tingles, still burning from the lingering sweat. From the shame. He must see the anticipation in your face. Harry gives you a small smiles, between sad and defeated.

"At least we match"

You grab a glass of water and clear your throat. "Just tell me why you're here"

He sighs, placing the bags on your kitchen island. He takes the cups out of the cupholder and then the food.

"I feel you're bribing me here"

His warm eyes meet yours, crows feet noticeable. "Which is why I bought the best from the menu"

You can't help but smile. "See? Bribe"

He sits down, motioning for you to join him. "I call it investment"

You take a sit, eyeing the food. You decide to test the waters of your queasy stomach trying the coffee first.

"If you wanted to do business, my office opens in an hour"

"I don't see you ready for that" he eyes you up and down. If your face grows hot, it must be the capuccino. "Besides, this more of a... favor"

"You need my help. Again"

Harry gives his muffin a bite, smirking. "Smart girl"

Your thighs immediatly clasp together, looking for some fricition. His low voice, rough from sleep still, despite his shower gel and perfectly ironed shirt. Even his hair, slightly damp, curls hanging over his face.

Good girl.

You take a long sip, not caring about the sting. God, you need help.

He takes a deep breath before speaking. "My brother is seeing this woman. Charlotte"

"Let me guess, another Paul situation?" you quirk an eyebrow, biting your muffin. "Will you tell me the truth this time?"

"Truth is, the truth is quite... pathetic" he smiles, sheepishly, before sipping his coffee.

You sigh. "Elaborate on this woman"

"It's not her. I'm- You see, the problem... The problem it's me"

You swallow. Then blink slowly. "Enough with the riddles. I'm too hungover for this"

Harry smiles. "I knew it"

"If you know me so well" you roll your eyes, "what am I thinking?"

"That you have no idea what I'm doing here. Causing problems in your pretty expensive loft"

"You're too much of a problem, so you need to be more specific"

He hides a grin behind the paper cup as he takes a sip. "You haven't kicked me out yet"

"I'm intrigued. My Wednesdays are usually boring"

"Well, I hope it entertains you to hear I'm a loser"

You hide a grin behind a bite of your muffin. "Maybe you do know me after all"

He winks. "It's part of my many talents"

"Not having a girlfriend, unfortunately, isn't"

His smile falters a bit, corners going down until his lips press into a thin line. He looks almost embarrassed, offering you a shy smile.

"You figured"

"It wasn't hard. Mommy and daddy giving you a hard time?"

He scoffs. "You're lucky to not have any siblings"

There was a time you wanted one. To share toys and play when the maids got bored. Then your mom left, and for a moment, you were relieved the pain was only yours. But then the pain became to much to bear alone, and you often wished you weren't the only one to carry the burden of loss.

"Maybe"

"I don't recommend. The black sheep of the family, youngest, comes home with a girl in hand and suddenly, they're on my back, asking as if it's the only thing that matters. When. Not the money I make, how I've kept the business flourishing, not the status, or the cars. No, it's all about the empty chair next to me. About this dinner coming up and how I haven't brought no one home in years. Questions with the sympathetic smile that reeks of pity. Saying they want the best and refusing to say what they wanna say: You'll end up alone"

You don't know why, but the silver thread of pain in his voice moves you. That Harry had chosen you of all people to tell this, makes your heart do a flip.

"I have asked myself about it, you know?" he traces the rim of the cup, avoiding your gaze. "When is it gonna be my turn"

Before you can second-think, you place your palm over his, soothing. You can feel him tense under your touch, relaxing afterwards.

"Love is overrated"

He chuckles, body shaking, but his hand stays still. "Of course you'd say that"

You don't remove yours either. "You knew"

"Told you, didn't I? That I know you too well"

"Don't let it get to your head" you smirk. "So, let's see. If you know me so well, will I agree to pretend again for you?"

"I don't know, I just hope you do"

Hope. Funny word. There was a time you did too, before you knew the cold and hurt to come. The kind that makes you believe. The one why fools head first. Why a few of your clients had withdrawn from the process, thought you'd never tell that outloud. Why the world still spinned, trying to hold into a reason.

It circles inside his eyes, and you have a hard time finding ways to say no. Because you want to believe too, that naive small kid inside you. The one that never healed. The one that pulls your heart strings and robs you of your frigid sense whenever Harry is around. Because you made your mind the first moment he entered your apartment, diving blind straight into danger; jumping into the water without knowing how to swim. But, you saw yourself in the ink of his sad eyes. Lonely.

"You owe me a lot, Harry Castillo"

Harry looks at you and smiles softly. You do too.

"I'd give you the world if I could, y/n"

Something in his tone settles in your chest, like a butterfly. Or a stone. You gulp, throat suddenly dry.

He squeezes your hand. "Just one more time and I'll let you go"

You don't know why but you hope he doesn't.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco @not-the-teen-witch (comment if u wanna be added!)

[scoobydoodean]

Hello<3

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol?

There is so much emphasis on making him out to be a violent mean drunk, but I mostly remember that he drinks and like passes out when he's grieving or stressed (iirc) (s6 PTSD, Soulless sam, when Cas dies, etc.)? It's weird to me because Dean isn't the only character to go through this. Bobby relies on drinking too. He's exactly as gruff as Dean can be. He also had an abusive father. Yet I don't usually see people judging Bobby for that (if they exist, I haven't seen them at least thank God).

I get frustrated when people say things like the MoC was a direct metaphor for alcoholism just because it made Dean sooo violent and angry, etc. And, it's like an unrealistic understanding of alcoholism irl and also of Dean himself and his actual actions and context. I just get weirdly defensive of him over it lol.

If you've already hashed this out I'm sry! At the end of the day, it's all just interpretation ig, but I wanted to know your take on it cause ik you'd look at dean with a good faith lens.

<3

One could say I have had thoughts on how fandom misconstrues Dean's relationship with alcohol. One could even say I have spawned extremely funny multi-day fandom-wide disk horses on this subject simply by giving my opinion on my own blog when an anon asked me to.

I'm tracking Dean's relationship with alcohol (and other substances bc I was too lazy to make two separate tags) through #dean and drugs during my rewatch if you care to peruse, but I think you and I are of a similar mind on this.

Prior to season 4, Dean has a very average relationship with alcohol. In season 4, Dean starts using alcohol as a coping tool to help him fall asleep because he's having nightmares about hell. By season 6, alcohol is also a coping tool for depression and stress. He drinks to deal with nightmares, he drinks to cope with hell trauma, he drinks after soulless Sam watches his sexual assault with a smile, he drinks after Cas swallows all the souls and Death blames Dean for everything, he drinks throughout season 7 to cope with Cas's death and Bobby's death. I'm up to 8.01 and have yet to see a single occasion where Dean drinking and Dean being violent co-occurred. What I do see is Dean drinking when he is sad, alone, or scared.

I'll continue tracking—I'll eventually get back into the MoC arc where Dean is drinking heavily again, and obviously Dean + drinking + anger + violence are all going to happen at the same time in MoC seasons. However, correlation does not equal causation, and while someone can choose to believe that Dean's drinking causes him to be angry, I think the literal answer in season 9/10 is that Dean's been cursed by the father of murder, and on a more metaphorical level, the Mark of Cain quite overtly represents Dean's resentment toward Sam which Carver spends his entire run laying out in great detail. This is why the whole Carver run culminates in Amara (a Dean parallel) being unleashed to take revenge on her brother, and why the MoC is a brother murderer curse to begin with. Alcohol is set dressing. It shows us—just as it did in the past—that Dean feels sad, alone, and scared (in this case, of what the MoC could lead him to do—which also isn't dissimilar from the original reason Dean started drinking—after hell to cope with the trauma of not just being tortured but torturing others—the fear that he'd been made into a monster).

Looking at the matter holistically, I don't personally see Dean as an angry drunk. I see him as a sad drunk. If anything, I think he hopes that alcohol will drown his anger and violent urges in the MoC arc, or at least slow him down, while also being the traditional tool he uses during boughts of depression (which he is very much experiencing during the MoC arc to the point of suicide). I also think outside the outlier of season 9/10, the narrative supports sad drunk Dean far better than angry drunk Dean.

[xechu]

[Devour] Chapter 2: Yearning

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, eventual smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.

Tags: mini series, angst, smut, Heian Era, true form Sukuna

Summary: Sukuna brings you back to a temple, where he resides. There you also meet Uraume. You begin to doubt if running away was the best idea, but then, Sukuna offers to be your ally. Unbeknownst to you, he has his own ulterior motives for helping you.

A/N: It's here! Not going to lie, I struggled a bit with this chapter. Since this is a mini series, I would say we're already about 35% through the story, things will progress quickly in the upcoming chapters. Based on my planning, I'm looking at about four more chapters. I don't have an exact release date for Chapter 3 like I did with this chapter, but I'll post an update when it's almost complete! If you would like to be added on the tag list for this series, please let me know/leave a comment here. Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned. x

Masterlist: < Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 >

Sukuna had always deemed love meaningless. It was a feeling that held people back, making them irrational and reckless. Over the years, he had witnessed the greatest kingdoms burn and the strongest men fall, all in the name of 'love.' But the tragedy lay in the fact that, after all was said and done, that love seldom lasted. At the end of the day, people were weak and fickle, rendering love volatile. He often wanted to ask those who sacrificed everything for love: Was it all worth it in the end?

In order to attain his height of power—to become the strongest—Sukuna had given up everything, including his humanity. He had mastered the art of detachment, for attachments only served to tie one down. Letting go of all things was the inevitable cost of power, but it was an easy and insignificant sacrifice for someone like him—who had nothing to lose in the first place.

Yet, despite the King of Curses' strong convictions, there remained one glaring contradiction in his life: you. No matter how hard he tried, he could not detach himself from you. Even after all these years, his burning desire for you was a flame he could not quell, and it only seemed to grow hungrier with time.

Throughout the years, Sukuna had conditioned himself into believing that you were always going to be an unattainable dream—a fantasy that was never meant to become reality. It was better that it remained this way. You deserved to live a peaceful life, and he could continue to live out his days as the King of Curses without restraint.

But what should he do—now that his dream had become reality?

For someone with a wretched life like his, he never believed in any gods. But for the first time in his life, the King of Curses acknowledged that this reunion must have been the universe's divine will—a preordained fate. It seemed that the two of you were destined to be together.

Yes, he thought to himself, since the universe has willed it, then you shall be his exception.

He vowed that as long as he kept you by his side, you would not be a source of his weakness.

At this realization, a dark possessiveness took over him.

This time he would stake his claim.

---

Though you were no longer the little girl Sukuna had once met, he couldn't help but notice how small you were under his hold. Some things didn't change; you were still his little flower.

“It’s me, flower,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice as if he were calling into your subconscious, imploring you to remember.

You trembled in his embrace; the adrenaline coursing through you made it difficult to think straight. His words did not register as you struggled to gather your chaotic thoughts, while your mind screamed at you to run.

You remind me of flowers. The voice suddenly echoed in your mind.

“R-Ryo?” you gasped, finally making the connection.

With shaking hands, you roamed his figure, seeking confirmation in the darkness. Your fingertips softly brushed over his features. Was this a dream? Had you already died? How was it that after all these years, he was finally here—especially in your most dire moment? The surrealness of this situation felt too good to be true.

“I-It really is you,” your voice quivered with emotion. “I-I can't believe it. All this time... I thought I would never see you again."

“I'm here now, flower,” he said, capturing your hand in his. “Come with me; it’s not safe.”

Before you could utter another word, he effortlessly scooped you up, and you instinctively held on to him, tightening your grip, afraid that if you let go he would slip away again.

Sukuna traversed the forest at an inhuman speed. He seemed to know the terrain well, navigating it with ease, but for you, all you saw was unending darkness; the gust of wind threading through your hair was the only sign that you were moving. Your heart raced as he cradled you against his strong body; you could feel the heat radiating from him, evoking a warm and familiar feeling within you—a feeling that you have yearned for so many years.

Moments later, you found yourself in a clearing. Under the clear night sky, vast greenery and towering mountains loomed around you. At the foot of one mountain, a grand tree stood beside an ancient temple. Sukuna gently set you on your feet, and now that you were out in the clearing, you could get a better look at him. Standing before you was no longer the little boy from your memories; he had transformed into a formidable man—perhaps the largest person you had ever seen. He wore an oversized kimono, his bare chest exposed, and his muscular build attested to the life he had lived throughout the years. Your gaze was then drawn to the unmistakable bloodstains on his clothing.

“Are you hurt?” your brows furrowed in concern as your hand ghosted over the stains.

“Nothing worth fretting over; they do not belong to me,” he said, a smile involuntarily curving his lips at the concern you displayed.

Sukuna lifted your chin to meet his gaze. In the moonlight, he could see you with much more clarity.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, a hint of longing evident in his eyes.

Heat rushed to your face at his touch, but you were grateful that the night concealed it.

“How did you know to find me?" you quietly asked.

“The forest and the mountain are my domain,” Sukuna replied, brushing his thumb over your lower lip, as if he was trying to engrave your features into his memory. “You were lucky I found you before something else did.”

Something in your gut told you it couldn't have been mere coincidence, but you decided to keep that thought to yourself. It wasn't the time nor the place for interrogations.

"I see," you smiled wearily. "Thank you... you saved me yet again."

Your words stirred a nostalgic memory within him.

As you continued to stand there in silence, the brave facade you had been putting up began to crumble. All the events that had led you to this moment settled within you, and the feelings you had long suppressed surged to the surface—grief, resentment, confusion, fear, relief, yearning—a tempest you could no longer keep at bay.

“All these years, I’ve been searching for you,” your voice cracked, tears brimming in your eyes.

"I know," he replied, his tone low and hushed.

“Y-You did?"

Sukuna nodded.

"Then why, Ryo? Did you not want to see me?” Your chest tightened at his admission, and tears began to roll down your face.

“It was for the best.” Sukuna's jaw clenched. The sight of you crying evoked a sense of dread within him.

“The best for who?”

A brief silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words.

“That no longer matters, flower. We're here now, and I won't let you go again,” he said, gently wiping a stray tear from your face.

You knew he was hiding something from you, but that mattered little right now. Your body reacted before your mind, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

---

Wooden floors creaked beneath you as you crossed the threshold of the temple, and an inexplicable wave of energy washed over you. It was intense yet comforting, like the warmth of the sun—like him.

The temple was small and modest, but it felt peaceful and comfortable. It was also evident that the wooden interior had been well-maintained despite how ancient it was. The air was filled with the soothing scents of incense and cedarwood.

The earlier conversation with Sukuna loomed over you, leaving so many questions unanswered. While you could still sense a semblance of the little boy within him, he also felt unfamiliar and distant; after all, so much time had passed. You longed to know everything about him, to fill in the gaps, but perhaps that would have to wait.

As you took a closer look around the main hall, your eyes wandered to the beautifully crafted sliding doors at the back, which were fully open to reveal a serene garden that captivated you with its lush greenery and vibrant flowers.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed.

Sukuna looked at you under the soft glow of the candlelight illuminating the hall, and your heart began to race under his gaze amid the intimacy of the setting. He watched you intently as if he could hear the intense beating of your heart—

“Sukuna-sama, you’re back,” a gentle voice cut through the air.

You turned to find a young person standing there. Their gender was ambiguous, but their appearance reminded you of winter's first snowfall. They exuded a calm and serene presence.

“Uraume,” Sukuna acknowledged, gesturing toward you. “She is with me. Draw her a bath and prepare some fresh clothes. I’ll get a fire started.”

“Yes, Sukuna-sama,” Uraume replied, hastily leaving for the back of the temple.

You watched as Sukuna stripped off his kimono, revealing his muscular upper body adorned with tattoos.

“Ryo, where are you going?” you asked, trying to mask the fluster in your voice.

Sukuna turned back to look at you with a smile. “I’m going to hunt some game. We’ll fill our stomachs before going to bed.”

---

The warmth of the hot spring quickly melted away the stress of the day. You still could not wrap your head around the uncanny turn of events; it felt like a nightmare turned dream. Instead of being married to Lord Yamamoto, you were now reunited with the one person who had always occupied your thoughts. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you reached for a washcloth to gently remove your makeup. You knew that there would be other matters to address later, but for now, you wanted to savor this brief respite.

Sinking the lower half of your head into the water, you blew small bubbles, and images of Sukuna and the man he had become flashed in your mind, sending a warmth throughout your body.

Sukuna's renown had been spreading in recent years, and you were acutely aware of his reputation. Whispers surrounded him, calling him the King of Curses—the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the era. There was much debate over whether he was merely a man or a deity, while others believed him to be a demon in disguise. Your village, having a strong aversion to jujutsu sorcery, viewed it as more of a curse than a gift and seemed to believe he was nothing short of a demon.

Regardless, you had only ever known him as Ryo, so you never gave much thought to the rumors. Man, deity, or demon—whatever he was, you would have accepted him unconditionally. Despite the time apart, you still felt an inexplicable tether to him.

I won't let you go again.

Those words stirred an emotion within you when he had initially spoken them, but doubts and hesitation lingered in your mind. Had it not been for your current predicament, you would have been more inclined to stay with him.

You held your breath and submerged yourself entirely beneath the warm water, hoping to silence these chaotic thoughts—even if just for a moment.

---

Feeling refreshed as you stepped out of the temple in a new set of clothes, you noticed that a fire had already been started and that Uraume was preparing some vegetables.

“Uraume-san,” you smiled as you walked over, “is there anything I can help you with?”

“Y/N-san,” Uraume exclaimed, a gentle light in their eyes. “All the preparations are nearly complete. Why don’t you sit by the fire first? Sukuna-sama should be back soon.”

You hesitated and looked to see if there was still anything to help with, but noticing how there was not much else, you acquiesced and made your way to the fire. You watched in awe as Uraume skillfully finished the last touches of their work. Soon after, they settled down beside you. It was a comfortable silence between the two of you, accompanied by the crackling of the fire.

“Have you and Ryo always lived here?” you tried to make conversation.

Uraume nodded, their expression thoughtful. “We’ve lived here for quite some time. I owe him my life.”

You looked at Uraume, curiosity piqued.

“I was at death’s door when he found me as a child,” Uraume confessed softly. “He took me under his wing.”

“He’s always been kind.” You smiled contemplatively.

“Yes,” Uraume agreed. There was a brief pause. “He…has also mentioned you before.”

“He has?”

Uraume nodded. “He said there was once a girl he met who lived in a village not too far from here. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and she reminded him of flowers. When I saw you, I knew you were that girl.”

It warmed your heart to know that he had spoken about you, but it also felt bittersweet.

“Ah, he’s back,” Uraume remarked, glancing behind you.

Your eyes widened at the spectacular sight before you. Sukuna had a deer slung over his shoulder, effortlessly making his way toward the two of you; he trekked as if the deer weighed nothing.

Sukuna dropped the deer by the fire, and Uraume instinctively got up, ready to prepare the meat. You watched as Sukuna slashed the deer's throat, collecting the blood in a bowl. A wave of queasiness washed over you, and you looked away, unable to face the brutal sight. Sukuna settled down beside you while Uraume got to work, efficiently cutting up the rest of the deer.

“Drink every last drop,” he commanded, handing the bowl to you.

“I—I don't think I can,” you put your hand out in defense, the metallic stench making your stomach churn.

“You are malnourished,” he said, grabbing your wrist to examine its size. “Have you not been looking after yourself?”

“I have,” you insisted, attempting to wiggle your wrist free from his grasp. His touch felt searing against your skin.

“You will drink this, unless you would like me to feed you,” Sukuna insisted, handing you the bowl once more, the intensity in his eyes leaving no room for argument.

You took the bowl in both hands, trembling slightly. As you watched the thick red liquid swirl inside, you held your breath and brought it to your lips, tilting it ever so slightly and allowing the liquid to slip into your mouth and down your throat. Just as you were about to lower the bowl, Sukuna's hand clasped over yours, tilting the bowl upward to ensure you finished everything.

“That’s it, flower—every last drop,” he said, his voice low and steady. When he was satisfied that you had consumed all of it, he released his grip and took the bowl from your hands. You gagged at the aftertaste, coughing as a trickle of blood ran down your chin. Sukuna's eyes grew dark at the sight; he wiped the blood from your chin with his thumb, then licked it clean.

“Ryo—!” you gasped, teary-eyed. “N-no more of that, please.”

“That will depend on how well you eat,” a hint of playfulness threaded through his voice.

“Do you drink this too?” you asked, clearing your throat.

"Of course, the blood of a deer is a highly nutritious delicacy. Did you know in some places, it is a drink shared by a married couple on their wedding night?" Sukuna smirked.

You shudder at the thought. This blood drinking experience was something that you hoped would be your first and last. But the slight implication that Sukuna made at the end also made you a bit shy.

Uraume handed a plate of skewered meat to Sukuna, and you marveled at how quickly they had prepared it. You watched as Sukuna stabbed each skewer into the ground by the fire, your attention lingering on the flames that seemed to beckon you.

"I should have whisked you away from the village earlier, had I known you were not being fed properly." Sukuna intently watched you with one of his eyes, sensing your tension.

"Well, why didn't you?" you muttered. The words escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

You were sure he had his reasons for staying away, yet you couldn’t hide your disappointment in him for keeping his distance. So much precious time had been lost, and so many what-ifs lingered in your mind.

It was juvenile, but you often dreamt of how the two of you would grow up together—an inseparable duo, the best of friends. Then, when you came of age, he would have asked you to follow him, and you would have gladly followed him anywhere. The two of you would travel all over the land, experiencing the world side by side. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he would have asked you to marry him, and you would have said 'yes' without skipping a beat—

"Come now, don't sulk, flower," Sukuna said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "You're here now. We will make up for lost time."

"You speak as if I'm going to be staying here for good," you couldn't help but challenge him a little.

It might have been your imagination, but you thought his expression darkened for a split second.

"It sounds like you have somewhere to go then."

"I—well, I didn’t have too much time to think details. But I planned to make my way to a far out village, where no one will be able to find me."

"That would be difficult," Sukuna hummed.

"It’s worth a try… better than yielding to the fate I was subjugated to." You hugged your knees.

"Enlighten me, what was someone’s bride doing in the middle of the forest?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

There was a hesitation in telling him about your plight, but you knew it was also an unavoidable topic—after all, he had saved you, so an explanation was due at the very least.

“I ran away… from a marriage I wanted no part of.”

“How bold,” he chuckled. “It’s very like you.”

“It’s hardly a laughing matter, Ryo,” you huffed, anxiety evident in your voice.

“But you've successfully escaped. Should this not be a cause to celebrate?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“I don't know if I would consider it successful just yet," you narrowed your eyes. "I didn’t just run away from any man; I ran away from a lord. My village hoped to leverage my marriage with Lord Yamamoto for aid. There will be repercussions for my actions.”

Sukuna listened as he rotated the skewers.

"Hm, I suppose that is quite the predicament. Whatever shall you do then?" His question came out more like a taunt than a show of concern.

"Are you mocking my situation?" You frowned, your expression dropping as self-doubt crept in. You had to admit that you'd been reckless with your decision, and you didn't exactly have a reliable plan. You wouldn’t have even made it out of the forest had it not been for Sukuna.

“Of course not. Don't look so defeated," he softly tsked, smoothing the crease between your brows with his fingers.

You looked at him with a mixture of surprise and hesitation.

"Is there any reason for you to worry if I am going to be by your side?" he returned your gaze, a burning confidence in his eyes.

“It’s not so simple, Ryo. I don’t want you to be caught in my problems—”

“A mere lord and your measly village is not a problem,” Sukuna replied, passing a skewer to you.

You reluctantly accepted the skewer, your fingers momentarily brushing against his hand during the exchange. As divine as the meat smelled, you couldn't bring yourself to eat; your worries and anxiety loomed large over your head.

"It's not going to eat itself if you keep staring at it," Sukuna sighed, crossing his four arms and giving you a stern look.

Taking a tiny bite, your eyes momentarily lit up. It tasted even better than it smelled. Before you knew it, you had devoured the entire skewer, and Sukuna was already handing you another one. Perhaps you were hungrier than you had thought, but his pleased expression did not escape you—he cared, and that alone filled you with immense happiness.

"Do you not wish to stay here?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"It's not about what I want," you shook your head. "What if something happens to both of you because of me?"

"You needn't worry about us, Y/N-san; we are more than capable of dealing with Lord Yamamoto," Uraume smiled at you. Their gentle reassurance only seemed to amplify your guilt.

"We can't be sure of that—"

“Are you not aware of what they call me?”

You sighed, a sense of apprehension filling your chest. "I am..."

“Then if you know my reputation, you should understand that even if Lord Yamamoto and his entire arsenal, along with your village, were to descend upon us right now, they would not stand a chance.”

Sukuna seemed adamant about helping, but that only served to heighten your uneasiness. It wasn't that you doubted his capabilities; but you also understood that your actions would have dire consequences. A runaway bride of Lord Yamamoto wasn't a matter that would be overlooked so easily. Surely, the four men who had escorted you had reported back to their lord that you had escaped. Even if Sukuna could easily deal with them, he would be branded a criminal—forever having to be on the run. He had endured enough hardships in his life, and it felt like you were only adding to his strife. You didn't deserve this kindness from him; his life was fine before you came along.

"This will be your home. You will be safe as long as you stay by my side. So stay here, Y/N.” An unexpected possessiveness laced Sukuna's voice.

You looked up at Sukuna in surprise; you had never heard him call your name before. His eyes silently pleaded with you to stay—shattering your resolve.

"Tell me you need my help, flower," Sukuna urged, looking into your eyes with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

A lingering silence filled the air, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Help me, Ryo…" you finally said.

---

You hadn't felt so full in a long time. Sukuna had ensured you ate your share of food before retiring to bed. Following behind him, you were led to your sleeping accommodations, and to your surprise, he took you into his chamber, which overlooked a small private garden and hot spring.

The temple was modest in size, containing only two bedrooms. It didn’t feel right to intrude on Uraume's private quarters, especially since it was Sukuna's decision to keep you, but he also couldn’t deny he had other intentions.

Before crawling into bed, you turned to meet Sukuna's gaze.

“Ryo… I don’t know how I could ever repay you. If there's anything I can do for you, you must tell me," you said earnestly.

“Hmm,” he paused, feigning contemplation.

You looked at him eagerly, trying to anticipate what he could ask for.

"Anything?" he drawled, rubbing his chin.

You nodded.

“Alright," he smirked, "swear yourself to me.”

Your eyes widened. You weren’t exactly sure what that entailed, but you trusted him implicitly. He most likely needed an extra hand with taking care of the temple and doing some extra work around here.

“A-are you sure that’s all you want? That hardly seems adequate, I am troubling you after all.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves.

"You undermine yourself, flower."

“Oh, well, I do have many skills I could offer, and I promise to be useful around here. I’m quite knowledgeable about plants, herbs, and flowers. I may not be as good a cook as Uraume, but—”

"Staying by my side is enough," he interjected.

There was a sincerity in his voice that was new to you, making your heart do flips inside your chest.

"Ryo..." you spoke quietly, clasping your hands tightly. "I might misunderstand if you're so kind to me."

Oh, what a delight you were. Sukuna felt an intense urge to smother you.

“Well, what if I wanted more than just your domestic skills?” he asked lowly, taking a lock of your hair into his hands.

Your heart raced, and suddenly the room felt hot as you understood his implications.

“Is that… what you truly desire?"

"And if it is?"

There was a brief pause.

Just this morning, you were still in utter despair, wholly expecting to be wedded to a monster. But now, in this moment, it was not Lord Yamamoto before you, but rather the man of your dreams—the only man you had wished to marry. He had long claimed your mind and heart; what more was your body?

"Then take me," your voice was barely above a whisper.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened, but why did he feel so disappointed by your response? It almost rolled off your tongue too easily.

"You would just give yourself to any man, so long as they ask?"

"N-no, you misunderstand!"

Sukuna remained silent, the look in his eyes demanding you to elaborate.

"If that were true, I wouldn’t have ran away from Lord Yamamoto. You're not just any man to me, Ryo. I—" love you. The heat crept up to your ears.

Your timid confession sent a chilling thrill through his body, awakening a primal hunger within him, he could no longer resist.

“Do you truly wish to be mine?” he asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. You felt dizzy under his touch and gaze.

"Yes..."

"Look at me and say it." He hissed.

"I'm yours, Ryo. I want to be yours." You met his eyes and gently took his hand, placing it over your heart, hoping he could feel how violently it was beating against your chest.

“You didn’t need to ask me to swear myself to you; I would have gladly followed you anywhere. I've felt that way ever since we were children.”

Sukuna was rarely caught off guard. The first time he recalled was when you approached him as a child, and the second was this very moment. You had just confessed your feelings for him and expressed a desire to stay with him of your own volition. Nobody else had ever been able to elicit these feelings from him, and the dominion you unknowingly held over him was both terrifying and thrilling.

"Then I will take you, flower—your heart, body, and soul."

Without sparing another moment, he wrapped his hand behind your head and crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. The world around you fell silent.

For once, it felt as if the universe had smiled upon his wretched life.

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

I do not own any of the pictures or photos used in this banner. Right-hand art is done by © sin_zany on Instagram.

Taglist: @paradisestarfishh @ssetsuka

[animasolaoriginal]

INFATUATED ♦️ TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER ONE ♦️ SERIES MASTERLIST ♦️ AO3

He's given her a special task and agreed to help her through it, in his own way, of course.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dom/sub dynamic. Free use/power play. Assisted/guided masturbation. Sex toys. Voyeurism? Shady nightclub business. Implied violence. Fluff. Anal sex. (For even more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 8.7k

TWENTY-FOUR 🟥 TWENTY-FIVE🟥

He can't believe he let her talk him into this, wrapping him around the same finger that's supposed to sink into her cunt. And to tell her that he cares, that he's asking her to pleasure herself to make it easier for her? The worst thing about it: he may have even meant it, wholeheartedly. What has he become?

At the same time, he doesn't even care that much anymore. Seeing her smile, how her eyes lit up when he agreed to help her, knowing she prefers him doing all the work on her, no matter what, it warms his heart and thickens his cock, and in the end, that's what matters the most.

He told her to go to her room while he gets dressed and ready to leave, and he can still see how she practically skipped away, despite the soreness lingering in her body, her bruises and welts shining on her pale skin. What a strange girl. When he eventually joins her in her room, she's kneeling on the same spot he's met her these last three days, waiting for him, but instead of pleading with him, asking for a touch or a word, hoping he'd end her punishment, she smiles up at him, eagerly awaiting him.

His hand finds her cheek when he passes her, giving a gentle caress. “Come with me,” he tells her, walking towards her closet, hearing the hectic shuffle when she follows him immediately. He steps towards the cupboard holding the box of toys, while she steps behind him, her body heat seeping even through the stiff fabric of his dress pants.

For a moment he debates not going to the club and checking in, instead staying with her, indulging her and himself, continuing their leisurely day of cuddles and rough sex. But business is business, and she also has to learn to stay without him for a while without falling apart about it every time. Sure, it is cruel to do so right after her punishment of isolating her, but he doesn't really have a choice. And she'll be fine.

“Before we start,” he says while rummaging through the box, picking out which dildos he can 'torment' her with. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her tilting her head curiously, her hands clasps before her stomach. He pauses his search for the right sex toys and slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out the collar he took off her by the pool.

She stiffens slightly, craning her neck in anticipation. He watches her when he raises a hand and pushes her hair away, teasing a fingernail along her pulse and the crooked line of bruises. She doesn't even flinch anymore.

“Hold your hair up,” he says softly, and she does, wrapping her tresses around her shaking fingers.

He leans down slightly, gently placing the thick leather band around her exposed neck before snapping the lock shut, his hands remaining around her throat for a moment.

“Remember, this is a sign of my possession. You are mine, darling, only mine. But it's also a sign of our bond,” he adds, watching her closely, one hand moving up to touch her hands, releasing her hair, while the other curls around her neck, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “You belong to me, baby girl, you are my property, and I will take good care of my property, okay? I'll come back to you,” he whispers, leaning closer to press his forehead against hers.

She bites her lip, nodding hesitantly, her eyes wide, pupils blown, his words definitely getting to her. His smile is answered by a deep blush crashing into her cheeks. Tilting his head, he brushes his lips against hers, staring her down, feeling her twitch against him, eager to kiss him back properly, but he pulls away before she can. His hand leaves her throat. A tiny sigh escapes her.

“But now back to business, hm?” he says with a chuckle, giving her a wink before turning back to the box of toys.

Eventually he picks three items: one large silicone dildo that's approximately the size and shape of his cock, a smaller one, ribbed with ball-shaped protrusions, that holds a powerful vibrator inside that's similar to the one she had up her butt before, and a long, medium-sized dildo that's very floppy and soft, ideal to be stuffed into an inexperienced throat. Giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow, he walks back into the room and places his collection onto the colorful duvet of her bed, motioning her to take a seat beside the objects.

She does, looking up at him like a deer in headlights, her thighs pressed together, her hands clasped on her lap. Before he engages her, he takes a glance at his watch, cursing the fact he only has half an hour to help her, before he slips out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt.

“Alright, tell me again what I'm asking of you,” he says, leaning against the edge of her desk.

She clears her throat. “I... uh... you want me to... to touch myself,” she croaks out, her voice still raw from his latest throat-fucking. Just the sound of that makes his cock twitch against the tight seam of his pants.

“Good, and you asked me to help you?” He tilts his head, watching her squirm on the edge of the bed. She nods. “How?”

“T-tell me what to do?” she whispers, chewing on her bottom lip.

He's tempted to reach out and stop her, but remains passively watching her. “Because you don't know how to pleasure yourself?”

“B-be-because I... I need your guidance,” she mutters, frowning.

He feels a smirk growing on his lips. “That you do, huh?” he muses, inhaling deeply as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Okay then, spread your legs,” he tells her.

Her breath hitches audibly, but she slowly follows through, unclasping her hands and pulling her thighs apart.

“Sit back on the bed, really spread those legs. Maybe sit cross-legged, if that helps,” he instructs patiently, his eyes raking over her body, noticing a deep blush creeping up her neck, almost matching the newest and deepest of her bruises.

She does as he said, shifting and squirming, crossing her legs in a way that opens her up beautifully, allowing him a proper look at her glistening cunt. Her gaze is uncertain when she meets his.

“Good girl,” he praises, smiling softly. “Now put your hand between your legs, just curl it around your sex.”

She's blushing more and more, and he wonders how she finds this easier than doing it herself without him watching her every move. He's never met a girl who's so ashamed of the idea of self-pleasure as she is. Shouldn't she be more humiliated by doing these things under his guidance and leering gaze? But then, she really does seem to need it, and in a way, that's been their dynamic from the very start, him showing her the ropes.

It is quite marvelous how easy it was for her to submit to him, to let herself fall into his hands, allowing him to do all these things to her that other girls would fight him for (had fought him for). She really is unique, his special little girl. And if she asks him to help her, who is he to deny her? It does mirror their unusual relationship, he may have abducted her, but she's asked him to take her virginity. She may not have imagined it all to unfold like it did, but he had delivered, and no matter what he expected from her, she had endured it all.

Eager to please, determined to make him happy.

And he wanted to give back, give her the chance to make herself happy too, but apparently he's corrupted her too much for her to be able to enjoy a bit of alone-time. Her dependency on him really is a blessing and a curse. He wishes he'd have more time, corrupt her to the point where she wants to be a horny mess, eager to use her own fingers whenever he'd deny her his... But not now, that'll have to wait.

Licking his lips, trying to force his erection down, he watches her place her hand on her mound, a hesitant gesture, her eyes flicking to him with a frown adorning her cute face.

“Now rub it,” he says, his voice a little rough around the edges. “Up and down, apply gentle pressure, until you feel your clit pulsing against your palm.”

Her breath is shaking when she starts moving her hand, her eyes trailing from his face down his body, and he wonders if she can make out how hard his cock is for her, if she can sense it, smell it? He surely can smell her arousal, that sweet scent assaulting his nostrils even though there's still several feet between them. How he wishes to bury his face between her soft folds, inhale her properly, lick up that beautiful nectar.

A groan escapes him before he covers it by clearing his throat. She stops, staring up at him as if he just told her she's made a mistake. “Keep going,” he says hoarsely. “Pretend I'm not even here...”

She frowns, pursing her lips, and he knows what she wants to say without having to hear it. That's the point. She needs him here. Needs his commands, needs him to tell her what to do.

“Or don't,” he adds with a smirk, finally pushing off the desk to crouch down in front of her, right by the bed, his eyes in line with her hand covering her crotch. “Keep rubbing.”

She watches him, chewing on her lip, her breaths becoming slightly more labored, her palm moving over her slick skin, her wrist jerking a bit quicker.

“Sounds good,” he whispers, folding his arms on the edge of the bed, leaning onto them. Her blush is adorable, spreading all over her body, making her ears burn bright red. “You're doing good, baby girl.”

“M-may I –” she starts, and he interrupts her with a hum.

“You can talk freely.”

“C-can you...”

He shakes his head, resting his chin on his arms. “I won't touch you, darling. This is all you. I'm just here to help. Yeah, keep doing that, a bit faster, more pressure, hmm, listen to those wet sounds. You're wet, baby, it's working, huh?”

She gasps quietly, her thighs twitching slightly. “N-no, it's... it's you... your voice... and... and how... close you are...”

He chuckles, smiling up at her. “Okay, close your eyes now,” he says. “Listen carefully.” He watches her, waits for her to do what he told her. When she does, he continues, talking her through it. “Curl your fingers, dip them between your folds, keep rubbing, yeah, index and middle finger is fine, quicker, come on. Good! Now imagine those are my fingers, imagine me sitting behind you, my arms around you, guiding you...”

Her reaction is immediate, her hand shaking as she rubs her fingers through her labia, her breaths labored, body shivering, eyelids fluttering. Little mewls climbing out of her sore throat.

“I'm always with you, baby girl,” he whispers, slowly standing up, watching her like a hawk, taking in every little motion. She's close, he can tell. A whimper slips past her lips, and another. “Press the heel of your hand to your clit,” he instructs her, carefully leaning over her. “Keep rubbing with your fingers, dip a little lower, yes, good, well done, look how wet you are. Come on, plunge them in, put those fingers into your cunt. Press them in!”

She wails softly when she does, the little squelching sound making his cock twitch. He watches her shudder, but he knows it's not the same sensation as if he would make her come with his fingers.

“Pump your fingers, darling,” he keeps going, standing over her, looking down, impressed how she squeezes her eyes shut, her free hand curled into the duvet, her knuckles blanching as she does so. “In and out, quicker, yeah, like that, ignore the noises. It's okay. It's normal, completely natural, oh how I love those noises,” he adds with a little groan, one of his hands palming at his erection. “Fuck...”

It's when her eyes snap open that he changes direction. It's an instinct, a reflex to pounce her, his hand on her throat, pushing her onto her back, his free hand fumbling for the largest dildo. She cries out, her legs falling open, her eyes wide and shocked. He leans over her, his face hovering close to hers, his breaths as labored as hers.

“Keep rubbing, pump those fingers,” he growls, and she whines when she does, squirming beneath him, her hips stuttering, thighs twitching against his.

He lets go of her throat, leans back on his knees and grabs her legs (the dildo falling to the side), before he pushes them up and into her chest, opening her up more. Her hand slips, but she quickly adjusts it to the new position, looking up at him in a mixture of fear and arousal, lips parted, these big eyes boring into his very soul, the squelching noises growing louder when she keeps doing what he told her.

He watches her, so tempted to free his cock and fuck her himself, but she has to learn, this is for her, not for him, his urges need to wait. Letting go of her legs (so proud that she keeps them up herself, her free hand curling around her thigh, while the other keeps pumping into her wet hole), he fumbles for the toy, holding her wide gaze, inhaling those little mewls, and when his fingers close around the soft silicone, he grabs her wrist and pries her hand away from her core, then smacks the dildo into her palm.

“Push it in, take it slow, you are wet enough, it'll just slip in,” he tells her quietly, fighting the urge to guide her hand.

She whines as she has to face the new task, but apparently she's needy enough to follow through, and he watches with growing admiration as she grips the base of the toy and plunges it between her swollen labia, the squelching even louder when the toy sinks into her and stretches her muscles.

“Slow and steady, no need to push too deep, just find the right angle,” he talks her through it, slowly leaning back on his knees, but before he can slip off the bed again, her free hand finds his arm, a low wail escaping her as she looks at him with big pleading eyes.

He shakes his head, pushing her hand away, nudging it to hold onto the toy as well. She complies gingerly, but quickly notices it's much easier to guide the toy with both hands.

“You don't need me,” he whispers, climbing off the bed, watching her. “Keep going, in and out, yes, you're doing so well, baby, I'm proud of you...”

A sniffle slips past her trembling lips, her face beet-red, exertion plastered all over her body, arms shaking, thighs twitching, hips stuttering. He remains standing at the edge of her bed, looking down, his shadow falling over her as she pumps the toy into her cunt, deeper and deeper, her wetness creating these intoxicating noises that gnaw at his resolve. Clenching his jaw, he tries to even his breaths.

“You can do it, darling,” he rasps, his voice raw. “Come for me, pretty girl, come on. Close your eyes, listen to me, remember what it's like when I fuck you. This is good, doesn't it feel good? I can't wait to fuck you too, sink my cock all the way into that sweet tight cunt... all the way to the very end...”

She cries out shrilly when she follows his words, intentionally or not shoving the large dildo as far as it will reach, which is surprisingly far (she's that wet, huh?), before she clamps her hands onto her mound and rolls onto her side, her thighs pressing together with a force he hasn't expected. Her whole body stills for a moment, her mouth agape but no sound comes out, before she starts tilting her hips into her hands, gasping and moaning, cute little mewls falling from her throat as she rocks back and forth, the bed squeaking quietly beneath her.

He watches her, his cock agonizingly hard, his hands clenched into fists, his heart hammering in his chest. What a display. Eventually she relaxes again, panting heavily, her body unfurling slowly. Rolling onto her back, she opens her legs, then her eyes, and when she meets his dark gaze, she removes her hands from her crotch and lets the dildo slip out past her fingers, a soft gasp escaping her when it leaves her fully.

“Fuck, darling, that was amazing,” he praises, taking an unsteady step back until he's leaning against her desk.

He was so close to shooting his load into his pants like a fucking teenager, just from watching her. The power this girl has over him. Insane. But luckily he still had enough willpower to stop himself, resulting in a case of vicious blue balls that he has to take care of before he goes into work. For a second he thinks of letting others take care of that, but then he looks at the pliant girl on the bed, still breathing hard, her skin slick with sweat, a beautiful blush on her cheeks.

No. He won't let anybody else touch him. Just as her body is his to touch, his is completely hers too. He wants her hands on him, her mouth, her lips, her holes open to him and his pleasure. He won't need anybody else for that anymore. He found the perfect little creature.

Inhaling deeply, he pushes off the desk, quickly palming at his bulge to adjust himself, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hand finding her hip, her skin warm under his palm. “You did wonderful, baby girl,” he whispers, giving her a soft smile. “All by yourself.”

She sits up slightly, shaking her head. “No, I couldn't have done it without you...” she murmurs, squirming to get closer to him. He stops her gently.

“The next time you push that dildo into your sweet cunt, you'll remember my words, you'll close your eyes and you'll imagine me here, watching you, fighting the urge to fuck you senseless...” He sighs, pulling his hand away from her to push it through his hair. “You can do it, you don't need me here. Fuck that pretty hole for me, okay, darling?”

“Why can't you stay?” she whimpers softly, big pleading eyes staring at him.

“I have to go to work, baby. I'll fuck you when I come back, okay? I promise. I'll add some more bruises, eh?” He gives her a wink, while she bites her bottom lip.

“Okay,” she says softly, curling back up, snuggling into the soft duvet.

“And if you're really bored, you can train your other holes too, yeah? Experiment a little? There's lube in the box too, but you may not need it,” he adds, before picking up the long soft dildo. “This one is perfect for throat training, but be careful not to choke yourself, okay?”

A deep frown settles on her pretty face.

“Fine, guess we do that another time,” he sighs, standing up, slowly unrolling his sleeves as he battles the urge to do the opposite, really wanting to see those tears when he'd shove that toy down her throat. If only he had more time! “But tonight, darling, right now, you will keep playing with your cunt. I will watch you,” he adds, tilting his head towards the camera on the ceiling. “So you're not alone. I will see your every move, and if I'm not satisfied with what I'm seeing, I'll have to punish you, you know that, right?”

She squirms on the bed, nodding feverishly.

“So it's up to you, have some fun by yourself, keep that hole drippy and stretched for me, or suffer the consequences. I'll have enough time to think up a fitting punishment, don't worry. I am a very creative man.”

He watches her as he grabs his suit jacket and slips his arm into one sleeve. She's chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes taking him in at the same time as her hand moves back between her legs, a gingerly rub to her slick mound. He rolls his shoulders before buttoning his jacket, a smile growing on his lips.

“Good girl! You do know what's best for you,” he says with a slight chuckle. “Have fun, okay? I'll be back soon.”

On his way to the door, he checks if she still has enough water. He even sees the sandwich he made her this morning.

“Remember to take breaks too,” he tells her, hand on the door handle. She tilts her head up to look at him, her fingers continuing to slip between her labia, her eyes glazing over. “Stay hydrated, eat something. As much as I love fucking your unconscious body, I'd really like to have you alert when I come back later, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls softly, her voice vibrating with the effort of her flicking wrist.

“That's my girl.”

After speeding through the city, parking the car in a hurry, he enters the club with his head spinning and his cock throbbing. Rushing past the bouncer, he slips into his office, his phone in his hand, open on the surveillance app. He has no idea how he made it through traffic without an accident, with his mind as occupied as it is. He should have fucked her before coming here, now he can't wait to get back and unload deep inside of her. Instead he has to deal with numbers and logistics and the occasional trouble-maker.

Sighing deeply, he drags his eyes away from the video feed, despite the welcome sight on the display. His girl on her back, feet pressed into the bed, hips jerking up and down as she fucks herself on the dildo. For the third time by now, if he recalls correctly. He witnessed her second orgasm somewhere downtown, evoking the wrath of several other drivers as he missed the green light, twice, mesmerized by what he was seeing.

He can't believe how quickly she changed from being downright appalled by the idea of touching herself, to not being able to stop. His patience had been a good choice, a tactic he hasn't used much before, never seeing the need to ease any of his girls into anything. They either took it how it came or suffered through it, there was no in-between. His beautiful little girl however was worth it. He must be getting old and soft, he'd never imagined himself to be a teacher, an instructor, to help anyone through anything, not to this extent anyway.

He hates incompetent people, he always expects perfection, in the office or during sex. He used to be quick to punish, impatient and with a quick temper, too wound up to deal with little hiccups. How this girl made him change his way in such an absolute way, he has no idea. But it's too late to fight it. He now has to learn to live with it.

Opening his laptop, then leaning over to grab a bunch of mail from the edge of his desk, he steals another glance at his phone, watching her curl in on herself. Apparently that's her preferred position when she comes. He makes a mental note to show her other ways, when he notices her rolling onto her stomach, ass in the air, thighs twitching, her hands clamped between her legs before she pushes the duvet into a ball and starts humping it.

He laughs softly. Maybe she'll be fine. He may have opened the box of Pandora, unleashing her full potential, turning her into a horny mess. She'll find even more ways to relieve that tension, she just has to stay needy enough. He can't wait to watch her discover herself more and more. It really makes him proud to see this transition. His perfect girl...

A knock on the door snaps his attention back to the present. “Yeah?” he calls back. The door opens, letting in the low thumping of the bass before it becomes that muffled drone again. One of his right hand men has entered, the man as tall and wide as the door he's squeezed himself through. “Problems?” he greets him, placing one of the envelops on his phone to hide the screen. No one's going to look at his girl while she's fucking herself so adorably on her colorful duvet, the fairy lights gleaming above her. He sighs and turns his attention to the man on the other side of his desk.

His employee starts his report, not telling him anything new. The usual stress of running a nightclub that doesn't look too tightly at restrictions. It's Friday, so half the city may try to get in. He thinks back to that night exactly one week ago, when this sweet innocent girl has danced herself into his heart, no, his pants first. Sweet nineteen, looking quite a bit younger in the right angle, usually beneath him. They would have never met if he'd do it like the other clubs and only allowed in anyone above twenty-one. Now that he has her, he may consider changing it up again...

He listens to the tellings of the other man, leaning on his palm perched on his elbow, trying his best to not look too bored. His ears ring, however, when his opposite mentions the name of the other establishment he'd rather spent his time in. He frowns. “I thought I made myself clear that we only open on Saturdays and Sundays...”

“We had a reservation and a very generous donation,” his right hand man explains, shifting on his feet. “I thought you knew about it?”

“I certainly didn't,” he says darkly, turning his head to the screen of his laptop, bringing up the internal system before scrolling through the lines of data. “Who's opened today? Ah, of course. The bastard. And where's that generous donation, huh? Greedy, arrogant, and stupid...” He sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. “Well, fine, keep it open until ten, then send the girls home, no matter what the client says. He has to come to me if he has a problem with that.”

The other man nods, turning to leave. He holds up his hand, then stands and shrugs out of his suit jacket. “One more thing: go fetch one of the boys and bring in our culprit. I'd like a word...” he says as he starts rolling up his sleeves. Really bad day to wear white.

When he eventually returns to the penthouse, it's later than he has intended. Sore and angrier than he should be, he kicks off his shoes and undresses on his way to his bedroom, leaving pieces of clothing on chairs and couches and other furniture, not caring to leave a mess. He's barely had time to check the video feed, having to deal with so many layers of incompetence that he can't believe there isn't more blood on the front of his dress shirt.

People just never learn. Being too arrogant (or stupid) to think he wouldn't notice, wouldn't know what's going on. To go behind his back, to use the assets he built up and gathered, to steal from him? The insolence! The audacity! He really thought he's picked the right people, that he could trust them. Maybe it was because he's been quite preoccupied the last week, indulging in too much pleasure to realize the wrong-goings right under his nose. He'll have to make a proper sweep through his staff very soon, or the shit will really hit the fan.

He's almost in the shower, stripped to only his underwear, when he decides against cleaning up first. He can't wait any longer. The last he's seen of her was when she has taken a well-deserved break, curling up at the foot of the bed next to an empty water bottle. He hasn't checked since.

Walking back through the apartment, he unlocks the door to her room and enters quietly. She's not on the bed, nor in front of the windows where he's found her before. Looking around, he can't find her in the closet either. Rubbing his eyes, he then notices the closed bathroom door. With a sigh, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, waiting.

He barely registers when the door opens with a soft click and her naked feet tap over the floor. “You're back!” he hears her soft voice, and it's enough to send a jolt of energy back through his worn-out body.

Turning his head, he can barely straighten up before she flings her arms around his neck and basically throws herself into his arms. One side of him wants to discipline her, order her to kneel, assume the role he wants her to play, but the bigger part just hugs her back, holding her against him, feeling her excited little huffs of breaths against his neck. Inhaling her sweet scent, he nuzzles his face into her hair.

“Did you shower?” he asks quietly.

“No,” she whispers, stiffening slightly. “Did you want me to?”

“No, this is better, you smell amazing,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the soft spot behind her ear, inhaling deeply. She basically reeks of sex and sweat, but it's the best smell he could have asked for after he'd feared to never lose the stench of blood in his nose.

“I... I didn't know when you'd be back... I... I wanted to make myself more... presentable...” she stammers adorably, squirming a little against him.

“It's fine, baby,” he sighs. “This is perfect, you are perfect...”

He lifts her without effort, turning them before he gently puts her down on the bed, where she scoots back to make room for him, her legs spread enough to allow him a glance at her reddened cunt. She must have really worked it.

“How do you feel?” he asks as he pushes his underwear down, then crawls onto the bed to her, nestling right between her legs.

“A bit sore,” she whispers, her arms wide open before she wraps them around his shoulders. “I... I really tried my best...”

“I saw,” he muses, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment, just enjoying the soft flutter of her body beneath him, the mattress dipping when he puts his entire weight on her. She inhales deeply, but accepts her fate without fussing. “You did amazing, darling,” he adds. “Quite the show you gave me.”

“I... I'm glad,” she mumbles, sounding rather shy and embarrassed, her small hands mindlessly rubbing at his wide back. “Thank you for giving me a push...”

A chuckle rumbles through him. To think the same girl would cry and squirm whenever he gave her a real push. What a transformation. He shifts on top of her, slightly rolling off her before gathering her in his arms and pulling her back against him. Her cheek presses to his collarbone, her warm breath ghosting his skin as she melts into him.

“Have you tried the other toys too?” he asks quietly.

She hesitates, her breath hitching. “No, I... I put them back... I'm sorry...”

“I'll help you train with them, don't worry, but not tonight,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Tonight I just wanna sink into you and stay like that until I feel better...”

“Did something happen?” she asks, her hands rubbing against his chest.

He pauses. There's been a shift, he notices. She's never been confident (or comfortable?) enough to really talk to him this casually, asking him about his day, speaking freely (despite the rule he gave her, but he's looking past that tonight). He took her away to mold her to his ideals, his body, his cock, using her like she's supposed to be used, and yet it feels like she's become more, not just a set of holes, but a beautiful girl with an innocent mind and a true heart, things he somehow wasn't able to corrupt.

And the worst part: he likes it. It feels nice to have someone care about him, wondering how he feels, apart from her initial infatuation or the fear/respect she has for him, different to her role as his submissive. It's a strange sensation, a warmth settling in his guts that has nothing to do with arousal or lust or the need to dominate. A different primal feeling he's never cared much about.

Comfort. The ability to let go in someone's arms. To let go in general.

He exhales loudly against her, still fighting the sensation, fighting the change. It's been one fucking week. He's always found release in sex and violence, and yet here he is, coming home with cracked knuckles and blood on his shirt, and the first thing he does, is cuddle the girl he's abducted and made his – and her indulging him like a lover would. It's twisted in a weird, unfamiliar way.

Her fingertips graze his throat, bringing him back to the present. Shaking his head to clear it off those new impressions, he then tilts it, looking at her. Her gaze is soft, sweet, worried. He shifts, brings his hand to her chin, giving it a gentle rub. She smiles shyly, her fingers brushing against his wrist, her eyes flicking down to his lips, his throat, his hand.

A quiet gasp escapes her. “Are you okay?” she whispers, looking back at him.

He frowns before following her gaze, then lets out a groan when he feels her gingerly touching the broken skin on his knuckles. There's still dried blood caked between his fingers. He really should have washed up first.

“It's fine,” he says, pulling his hand from her grip to curl it around the back of her neck instead. “Don't worry about it.”

Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn't say anything else. He stares at her, his fingers digging into her hair, while he tries to focus back on his initial plan. What he was looking forward to ever since he left her, ever since watching her do her best to fulfill the task he's given her. All those other distractions slowly leave his mind as he remembers her riding that dildo under his guidance, slowly breaking away the walls of her aversion.

His cock gives an angry twitch against her stomach, his blood pumping harder. But then he hesitates, or rather, does nothing, doesn't follow the urge to roll her onto her stomach, straddle her hips and bury himself deep in either of her holes, rutting into her to release all that tension still nestling at the edge of his nerves. Instead he holds her, watches her, takes her in, breathes her in, fills himself with just her, this sweet innocent girl – who is probably waiting for him to fulfill his promise of fucking her.

He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead to hers, grounding himself. Luckily it doesn't take long to fill his mind with his usual darkness. She may have changed him, but she will never be able to rid him of all the depravities occupying his black soul. That would be a tremendous clean-up job. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes, meets her slightly confused gaze, then gives her a smirk.

A second later he's climbed off her and off the bed, walking into the bathroom to wash his hands, rubbing the last traces of the night off him. Time to leave new ones. She's still lying on the bed, on that colorful, bunched up duvet she's humped earlier, when he strides into her closet and goes straight to the box of toys, pulling out the ribbed vibrator and a full bottle of lube.

Returning to the room, he tilts his head. “Get up and follow me,” he tells her curtly, then leaves her bedroom, not even waiting for her to move.

She'll come. And she does, the little taps of her feet echoing through the apartment. He waits next to the door of his bedroom, holding it open for her. She slips past him, ducking her head, before he closes it behind her.

“On the bed, on your hands and knees, ass up, face down,” he instructs sternly, watching her curiously as she flinches slightly before following his orders.

He can hear her rapid breaths as she assumes position, her head turned to the side, eyes finding his as she pushes her ass up, knuckles blanching when she claws at the sheets.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, slowly walking around the bed, inspecting her.

What a sight. She's still wet, despite exhausting herself this much, for this long. He can't tell how often she's made herself come, rubbing and riding that dildo, unfortunately he had to stop watching her for the majority of the night, busy tending to other kinds of relief. But it doesn't matter. It was a good exercise for her, too bad it won't benefit her too much.

Climbing onto the bed, putting the items to the side for now, he rubs his hand over the bruises on her ass and thighs, the soft wince she issues making his cock pulse. His fingers slide around her curves, dipping between her ass cheeks, teasing at her puckered hole before swiftly slipping between her puffy labia and into her wet heat, making her flinch. His other hand lifts and slams down on her soft ass, his fingers curling into her as her walls clench around him, her surprised shriek music in his ears.

He grabs her hip, pulls her back as she squirms away a little. “Stay right here,” he growls quietly, pumping his fingers deeper into her cunt. She answers with a muffled mewl. He shifts on his knees, positioning himself behind her, his cock weeping to sink into her warmth, so hard already it's bouncing angrily against his lower stomach. He keeps his fingers in her cunt, slowing his pushes, while his other hand fumbles for the lube.

She lets out a soft whine when he abandons her cunt, giving her clit a little rub before moving his fingers higher. She shudders deeply when he pokes at her other hole, her body fighting to remain in the position he wanted her in. Is it cruel to make her play with her cunt all night only to neglect it in the end? Definitely. Does he care? Not at all. At least he brought lube this time, she should be thankful how considerate he is with her today.

She keeps flinching when he teases a fingertip into her tight ass, when he pops the bottle open and squirts a good amount of cold lube onto his fingers, when it slips into her, when he pushes one digit deeper to stretch her, adds another to reach further, pumps slowly to smear it all over her tense muscles. Her mewls sound agonized, her shoulders shaking, her back arching, her knees wobbling. He drops the lube bottle and puts a large hand on the dip of her lower back, pressing her down, holding her down. He feels her stiffening.

“Relax, you've done this before,” he tells her, scooting closer until his cock presses between her soft labia, teasing her.

Pulling his fingers from her ass, he grabs his shaft and swipes his cockhead through her wet folds, giving them gentle slaps that make her flinch. Her breaths sound rougher already, probably anticipating the worst, definitely fighting the urge to protest, to ask him –

“Why?” The softly whispered word makes him pause. So much for fighting the urge. He tilts his head, noticing her twisting her torso just enough to look back at him. “I... I've prepared for you... I did everything you asked...”

“You did, and wonderfully so,” he replies calmly. “But you said you're sore, didn't you? And I really don't want to hurt your beautiful little cunt. Don't worry, your other hole will do just fine,” he adds, watching her react to his words with a frown and a scowl and then... surprised pain.

Her lips part when he presses the tip of his cock against her sphincter, prodding, pushing, until her muscles give way and allow him entrance, making him slip deeper. A groan escapes him when a whimper slips from her throat. She shudders, burying her face in the covers, her hands clawing helplessly at the sheets.

He inhales deeply, savoring the fight, the resistance, the tightness of her ass. He could have prepared her better, but he also really had to finally sink into her depths, feel her warmth, her choking grasp, the gentle massage when she starts clenching around him. His hands find her hips, digging into the old bruises, pulling her back against him until he bottoms out. He stays like that for a moment, allowing her to adjust, but mostly relishing in the deep connection.

He's had her ass just last night, but it's different feeling her squirming against him, her muscles protesting, fruitlessly trying to push him out, the little noises she makes that she thinks he can't hear. He takes it all in, calming his heartbeat (and the urge to simply use her in the most feral way), before he rubs his hands up her spine, curling them around her shoulders, letting his body follow until he's leaning over her, pressing her deeper into the bed, flattening the arch of her back.

She gasps, turning her head, and he can see tears glistening in her eyes. His lips find her cheek, the salty taste making his cock twitch deep inside her. “You feel so good, darling,” he rasps into her ear, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “So tight for me, so warm, a perfect fit, wouldn't you say?”

All she can issue is a strangled whimper.

“Is it that bad?” he coos, almost mockingly, giving her a little roll of his hips, moving within her.

“H-hurts,” she manages to croak out, more tears falling from her lashes.

“Aww, baby, it'll feel better soon,” he whispers, playfully nibbling on her earlobe, filling his nostrils with that sweet scent, that mixture of fear and pain and innocence with a hint of arousal. She lets out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to bury her face back into the sheets, but he grabs her chin and holds her there, his lips ghosting her wet cheek. “Remember that you're doing this for me. You are mine to use however I want. Isn't that so?”

She blinks her eyes open, her breath hitching. “Y-yes, s-sir,” she stammers.

He gives her a hard peck to her cheek (in tandem to another snap of his hips), coaxing another whine out of her. More tears stream down her flushed face, and he watches them roll, gathering on her chin before falling and vanishing into the soft fabric beneath her. He can't help it, he has to extend his tongue and lick up a stripe of that salty taste. She shivers, her lips parting.

If she could, she'd turn her head and meet his lips, share the taste, but she can't move, stuck in her position under him, so he indulges her and kisses the corner of her mouth, his tongue licking into the little gap she's left for him. She closes her eyes, and he could swear she manages to relax, her body no longer as tense, and it's enough for him to keep going.

Slowly he leans up on his arms, shifting back onto his knees, his hands curled around her waist, assuming their known position, the bruises still shining under the pads of his fingers. He gives them a squeeze, making her wince.

“Put your arms behind your back,” he tells her quietly, and she doesn't even hesitate, quickly folding her arms, holding onto her own wrists. “Good girl,” he praises, his hands finding purpose around her forearms now, using her as leverage as he starts drawing his hips back, slowly, oh so slowly, the drag along her tight muscles such an exquisite feeling. He pulls back, back, back, almost slipping out of her lubed ass, but stops when his crown catches on her rim, and then...

“Ah!” they both make, she in pain and he in ecstasy, hers a cry, his a sigh, when he slams his hips back, thrusting deep again. He repeats the motion a few times, a slow pull out, a harsh snap in, out, in, out, in, until it becomes an in and out, in and out, a rapid back and forth, a feral rutting against her cushioned rear, their bodies bouncing on the bed, springs squeaking, the girl moaning and mewling, his low grunts and groans mixing with it all.

His hands bruise around her folded arms, holding on, rhythmically pulling her into him to meet his thrusts, his thighs burning under the strain. This is the workout he needed, the perfect finish to a day spent mostly in restrained pleasure. It has been nice to give her a break, to give back, but he'll make it a rule to never end the day without him fully indulging in his own desires. It's his right after all, her purpose.

It may be the position, the way her ass clenches around him, the steady slip and slide of his cock, the friction this delicious grind despite the lube he's blessed her with today (she really had it worse before), or the fact he's been hard for too long to bear, but in the end it doesn't take him long to feel his balls drawing up, the telling twitch of his cock to know that he's close. He leans up a bit, grabbing her waist, pulling her hips up, before he wraps his arms around her stomach and curls himself around her, giving her that last deep push, bottoming out until his tight balls press against her weeping cunt, empty and neglected while he pumps his spend right into the depths of her rear.

His drawn-out groan echoes through the room as he holds her, his cock spasming inside her, her body still except for the gentle clench of her muscles as if she's trying to milk him dry. He leans over and presses his lips to her shoulder. A few more spews and he eases his grip on her, gently rolling onto his side and pulling her with him, his arms snaking around her torso, careful not to squish her sensitive breasts. He remains buried inside her, savoring the warmth.

For a moment he just lies there with the pliant girl in his arms, feeling her soft breaths, her heart beating rapidly against his forearm. He nuzzles her neck, feeling the cold leather against his lips as he brushes them against her collar. Mine, he thinks. “Mine,” he whispers, moving one hand to grab her chin and turn her head to him. Her eyes are hooded, glazed over, a defeated look on her flushed face. “What are you?”

Her lips part, eyes unmoving, a soft breath ghosting his jaw. “Yours, sir,” she whispers barely audible, her voice a little flat.

He hums, leaning over to capture those quivering lips for a soft kiss, gentle until she eventually kisses him back, her tongue poking at his. A slow, sensual dance of gliding lips and wrestling tongues ensues, his hand holding her head, guiding her, the heat of the moment causing his cock to stir all over again. He gives her rear a gentle nudge, reminding her of their connection, making her whine into his mouth.

“Do you think it's unfair that you didn't come?” he asks quietly against her lips. She blinks, finally focusing on him. A frown appears on her face. “You didn't, do you realize? I didn't even touch you... This was all for me. Pleasure that you gave me, how you're supposed to. And you did so well, baby girl,” he adds, pressing his lips to hers once more. “Made me feel so good.”

She just looks at him, her eyebrows twitching as if she's processing his words. “Thank you,” she then whispers, making him arch an eyebrow. “For giving me the chance to come... before this...”

A scoff escapes him. He hadn't even planned it like that. Glad it worked out like that for her. Not that he'd ever admit to that. Instead of saying anything, he leans in and kisses her again, gently cradling her in his arms with his hips giving her the occasional snap. It's when he stops moving altogether, just enjoying the feeling of being buried inside her, that she starts squirming, not to get away, but closer to him, her rear nudging into his pelvis, as she rocks steadily on the bed.

He loosens his arms around her, watching in growing fascination how she curls her body, bending her legs, pushing and pulling until she is actually fucking herself on his cock. What a sight. He's too surprised to stop or correct her. Who is he to deny her? So he just lounges on his side, one arm propped up under his head, the other hand resting on her hip, following the tilt of it as she moves back and forth, his cock sliding in and out, her hole stretched and lubricated enough to allow for smooth motions. It's mesmerizing to watch, he's so proud.

Her breaths quicken under the exertion, and it's when she lets out a quiet whine that he eventually stops her after all, his hand pulling her back against his body before slipping down between her legs. She shivers, snuggling into him. He slips his other arm under her neck, draping it over her chest, holding her tightly as he starts rubbing the pads of his fingers around her clit. Little gasps fall from her parted lips, her hands clawing at his forearm, her legs twitching under his ministrations.

That little nub of hers is throbbing, hard, still so sensitive from hours of constant stimulation. What's one more orgasm, hm? He keeps drawing tight circles around it, a rough pressure, and she mewls and moans, writhing in his arms, her muscles tensing around his cock, her head turned away so he can't see her flushed face.

“Look at me,” he growls quietly, and she does, immediately, so obedient, her eyes hooded and wet, lips quivering. He leans in and kisses her cheek before nibbling on her jaw, mirroring her rapid breaths until she stiffens in his hold, mouth agape, eyelids fluttering, her legs curling up and squeezing around his hand when she comes with an almost silent little squeak.

He eases her through it, the tight rubbing becoming a soft gliding, gathering her wetness on his palm before he just rests his hand between her legs, curled around her soft mound, so warm and enticing. Closing his eyes, he holds onto her, and she nestles against his hard body. Her warm breath fans over his face before he feels her lips on his jaw, followed by a gentle “Thank you, sir”. He smiles, giving her a deep hum, too tired to do anything else.

With his hand between her thighs and his cock still buried in her ass, he feels exhaustion washing over him. He should really give her tight muscles and his cock a break, wash up, get under the covers, maybe?, but he also couldn't care less. She's warm and pliant, their connection too precious to disturb. It doesn't matter.

He's missed having her in his bed. This is her place, beside him, around him, his place to be inside her, holding her. It's been one week since he took her away on a whim, it feels like so much longer. As if he finally found what he had been looking for, without knowing he had been looking in the first place.

It's comfort. It's home. It's her.

TWENTY-FOUR 🟥 TWENTY-FIVE🟥

End notes: This marks the end of Part 1 of Season Three. I've hinted at some things you can expect in the second part in this chapter, if you're curious what's to come next.

Just FYI, I am not done writing the second part yet, so I do not have a specific date for you to watch out for. Just stay tuned, it'll come, I promise!

Until then, thank you for reading and following me on this journey of turning a porn-story into something more? We'll see how it'll turn out in the end.

Thanks again, see you soon!

By the way, if you like moodboards to your stories, I have a few Pinterest boards you can check out.

TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

CHAPTER / / / ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[p4trickbateman]

Intro

- i'm not new to tcc, i've been in the tcc for some years, i'm just newer to tumblr.

my name will be kept private, if ya wanna know my name just dm me and ask!

my age will also be kept private but if ya wanna know just ask me and i'll tell ya. i am a minor tho, so, adults who interact, keep that in mind.

if you are going to message/dm me, just remember that i do often get offended by a lot of things

my favorite bands/artists: black corner den, kmfdm, nin, cannibal corpse, nirvana, burzum, morbid angel, mayhem, conan, pentagram, rebzzyx, crystal castles, lana del rey, acid bath, and probably a few more, i'm just too lazy to name them all.

my favorite movies/shows: zero day, zero hour, duck! the carbine massacre, black christmas, the shining, halloween 1-3, phantasm, terrifier 1-3, the poughkeepsie tapes, carrie, christiane f., pearl, x, you, psycho, american psycho, dance moms, south park and norbit

my favorite perps are: richard kuklinski, eric and dylan, ted bundy, jeffrey dahmer, leonard lake and charles ng, timothy mcveigh, jodi arias, james & lindsay & randall and elliot roger

literally anybody is welcome, i don't have a dni, just don't be a dick to me and don't intentionally be a creep!

i'll never intentionally ignore messages, if i'm not responding that means i'm offline and busy! i always will eventually respond, just be patient. but you can spam me all you want, i love coming back to see that i got spammed!

also, if you want some of my other socials, dm me and lmk! i'm mostly only active here tho, i'm barely ever using anything else.

and i have adhd + depression + anger issues

also will be having my own tags for certain ppl!

#danny = asks from danny!

#leah = asks or posts from leah!

#my love <3 = asks from cal! (we arent even back together but im giving him his tag back😓)