#how to get away with murder headers

[cheralith]

— say all that you have to say.

oliver aiku — he says that the kiss that he gave you one evening "didn't mean anything", asking you to forget about it. but he has trouble believing his own words when you do act like it didn't happen, his heart heavy when you go back to treating him as just another friend. okay, so maybe it didn't mean anything to mean to him, but surely it had to mean something to you... right? (wc: 10.6k)

contains: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, jr manager!reader, misunderstandings, fluff, angst with comfort, aiku doesn't understand feelings, happy ending i prommy, not fully edited as of 03/23 a/n: trying out some new headers! are these ok? are the old ones better? lmk!!

“Coach is going to murder you.”

“I’ll let you give my eulogy then.”

Sendou snorts obnoxiously as Oliver buries his face in rough hands, groaning. The gigantic weight on his chest has yet to go away and unfortunately for U-20’s captain, he doubts it’s going to dissipate into thin air any time soon. Especially with how dense the tension in the room is now, everything in the world just seems to be against him right now.

His lips tingle a bit. Oliver puts a finger on the plushness of it, feeling another warmth rush to his cheeks when his mind flashes back to last night, the little incident involving their junior manager, who was also under the title of being their coach’s niece. If word got out about what happened between the two of you to him, Oliver was sure that he’ll lose his captain position that he’s worked towards in the blink of an eye…

… all because he couldn’t contain himself.

Alcohol is a funny thing. It’ll make you feel the high of a plethora of emotions in just a few hours the longer it stays in your system, restraints against the world’s expectations gradually disappearing and an arrogant confidence growing within oneself. Oliver likes to think of himself as a rather resilient person, one that knows his limits all too well, even when drunk. So what exactly took over him in that singular moment, he doesn’t know. 

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to believe that what he did was from his own accord. That his actions were based on something other than impulse.

And he wasn’t even that drunk! He would’ve totally passed a sobriety test at the time if it was handed to him. 

The more he tries to figure out a reason for his actions, the more Oliver comes to dead ends over and over again, and he thinks his headache is now caused by his overthinking rather than the remnants of his hangover.

Oliver leans back and throws an arm over his eyes, the bright lights making his eyes pulse. “Promise you won’t tell anyone else about this? I don’t want a shitstorm blowing up.”

Sendou slyly smiles, but hums regardless. “Yeah sure. Anything for my best bud.”

And in comes the rest of the U-20 team ready to change for practice, chattering about, seeping into the locker room one by one. Oliver hears them greeting their ace and captain, but he can’t be bothered to try and put in the effort to say a polite hello back given his current dilemma that he doesn’t know is going to get worse in a second,

Sendou, always having a slight knack for a kick of drama, juts his thumb at their disoriented captain. 

“Oliver kissed (Y/N) yesterday night after karaoke, by the way,” he says casually as he examines his fingernails. “When he was dropping her off.”

Oliver sits up and gawks at the striker, Sendou only throwing a casual smirk at him—consider this payback for when Oliver whipped his wet towel at his rear yesterday a little too harshly.

Chaos ensues, clearly. The atmosphere within the locker room levels up by threefold, with his teammates scattering around him, question after question being thrown his way faster than he can blink. Neru shakes him like a saltshaker, desperate to try and get an answer out of him. Kitzunezato scolds him heavily like a mother to a child, demanding what overtook him to do something so reckless. Darai, the most level-headed out of all of them, even goes to pinch his brow and ask why he’d do such a thing towards their junior manager.

And that’s the thing. Even if he wanted to answer, it’ll all just come out in jumbles and clusters that can’t fit properly together no matter how hard he’ll try to fit them together. He didn’t know yesterday, he didn’t know this morning, and he doesn’t know now. Frankly, Oliver thinks that he might not have an answer for a while and he’ll be leaving not only his team, but himself in the dark for sometime. Maybe he deserves it, to wallow in his own worries, especially after doing something like that. It might give him time to properly analyze a headspace he hasn’t visited in sometime.

He stands up abruptly, silencing them at last. Inhale, exhale… inhale exhale… just to properly gain his proper semblance back again. Oliver then says something that’ll help shut them up for good, at least for the time being. 

“I’ll say this once and I’ll say it once only,” he starts sternly as he looks at all of his teammates in the eyes to ensure his message gets across and to end the commotion. “Yes I kissed (Y/N), but we were drinking prior, neither of us were thinking properly. That’s what happens when you’re drunk—you get impulsive. Don’t think about it too hard. It didn’t mean anything. So let’s not dabble on this any longer and get to practice, yeah?”

He finishes his closing statement, shunning them and before they say anything, he claps his hands together to indicate everyone be quiet and prepare themselves for practice. Oliver’s austerity echoes through, seeing as how they all tighten their lips and start shuffling around the locker room. He sighs, shoulders dropping.

It didn’t mean anything…

The bitterness of the words sting his tongue, sourness spreading on his palette. When he swallows them, or at least attempts to, it almost… burns. Like the shots he consumed yesterday, they roughen his throat almost like a punishment, the words unwelcomed. An unease lingers about, clearly indicating that to him, something felt wrong about saying it. 

His head says he’s right—that it was just a casual kiss. He greeted a lot of people like that when he was leaving, a signature almost. So really, there shouldn’t be a difference when it comes to you. He was just simply saying goodbye in his own style.

His heart, however…

The elevator’s gateway to the hallway has a slight hitch to it, one that the tip of your shoe grazes against as you step, or at least attempt to, out of it. 

“Woah, watch your step,” Oliver warns when you yelp and begin falling forward, an arm catching your own to pull you back. “You’re only a couple feet away, don’t go dropping dead on me now.”

You laugh quietly, apologizing for your clumsiness. A warmth pulses through Oliver’s chest when he hears the whisper of a giggle, and it’s not because of all the booze he consumed earlier, either. “I’m sorry… I guess I’m just a little tired.”

Oliver quirks up a grin as he drags your arm over his shoulder to keep you steady. “Only a little? Says the one who kept yawning on the way here.”

“Not my fault,” you roll your eyes, a heavy fatigue in them that sags your eyelids slightly, “you guys were the ones that kept making a mess that I had to clean up constantly.”

“‘You guys’?” he feigns a hurt in his voice, a rawness starting to embed itself within it from the aftermaths of karaoke. “Don’t lump me in with those chumps. I at least helped you.”

You blow a stray piece of hair out of your face in annoyance, and when it does go out of the way like you desire, Oliver goes to tuck it behind your ear when you whine. “Whatever. You only did it ‘cause you’re the captain.”

He gives a boisterous laugh at that, one that may wake your neighbors up to your displeasure. 

“In what way does being captain have to do with me being a decent person?” he guffaws. “What if I just wanted to help you out?”

“If you’re trying to get something out of me by doing so, fat chance,” you huff, pout forming on your lips that glisten a little brightly at him. “I could’ve taken care of it myself.”

He sighs with a grin, understanding that there may not be a way out of this conversation that doesn’t gain a win in his favor. You were quite stubborn and adamant, after all, a trait that made you a rather good manager to a bunch of boys who were just starting to get their acts together, never swaying to their bribes or pleas. 

You start mumbling things to yourself suddenly, something about getting groceries and tomorrow’s breakfast plans, an incoherency running back and forth that Oliver listens somewhat intently to. He always liked it when you talked, since you often had to keep to yourself and just simply jot down notes in the shadow of your uncle—it gave him a sense of closeness to you to be able to have a conversation with you that didn’t involve the team. 

“We’re here,” he chimes, head fuzzing a little when he reads the letters of your apartment. He lets go of your arm, letting you balance yourself on the doorframe as you rummage about your bag and fetch your keys. He has to fight a chuckle when he sees your keychains—he’s never been too familiar with the specific names of Sanrio characters, but he can tell you’re quite the fan of this specific little one by the many decorations that hang from the chain. Cute, he thinks.

Oliver watches as you fumble around trying to fit the key into its designated hole, your drunkenness making you a little more prone to mismeasures. When you begin to grow frustrated, he gently cups your hand that clutches your key in his and slowly leads it into the keyhole in a steady motion. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, twisting your hand so the latch clicks as he notices how nicely your hand fits in his. A softness in his eyes seeps itself within when he stares at them connected. 

You thank him quietly, body moving forward to enter your apartment and away from the shelter that is Oliver Aiku. A chill runs through him when you move from him, your body warmth no longer radiating onto him.

“Well…” you clutch the side of your apartment door, staring up at him, eyes a little wondrous. “This is where I leave you.”

Oliver scratches the back of his neck, trying to ignore the heaviness in his feet that seem to want to stay where they are. “Yeah, haha. Should start heading back soon.”

Your gaze softens and Oliver can feel his breath hitching when he sees a fondness swimming in it. A fondness just for him.

“Thank you for making sure I got home safely. It means… a lot.”

He likes the way you fidget a little bit, shy and meaningful. A side of you revealed to him that he hopes you’ve never shown anyone else. 

“Of course, I’d hate for anything to happen to our precious manager.” he whispers, fingers twitching. “Also your uncle would have my head if something did, really.”

Shared laughter bounces between you both, a quiet understanding between you and him that your uncle was not a force to be reckoned with when it came to his niece.

You begin to close the door, indicating your leave was starting and that you wanted him to head home as soon as possible before the nightlife of the city really began to reach its heights. Oliver stills, something in his chest burning when he watches the door’s gap get smaller and smaller. 

All it takes is that doe-like gaze you give him for him to lose a sense of himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow th—!”

And Oliver, for whatever reason, dips his head towards you and gives the softest kiss he’s ever given to anyone to you. 

A silk-like movement flows between your lips, synchronization naturally flowing. The warmth from earlier blooms in his chest, vining it through his body. Nothing but affection ebbs and flows within your lips and his, no other hidden intent behind his kiss other than the passion he’s harbored for you for the past few months you’ve been a part of his life. 

You and him break away. Funny how a kiss lasting five seconds or so feels like it’s lasted a lifetime, because the clock has barely ticked. Even the incredulous stare you give each other lasts longer than your kiss. 

You slice through the silence first. 

“I–”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Oliver chokes out abruptly and turns on his heel towards the elevator, praying you don’t see the flush of red that he can feel rising at the tip of his ears.

He swallows thickly once he’s inside it, feeling your burning stare on his back when you gaze at him from the hallway. He doesn’t want to turn around, scared for what expression you may behold. Without looking, he presses the lobby button on the button-pad and seals his fate as the doors close.

… clearly wants to scream at him, wants him to face the music and grasp the reality of the situation.

But he can’t. Not when he has so much at stake.

Oliver gives a sigh audible only to him as he begins to exit the locker room, letting his thoughts from the locker room be left in the locker room and his execution plans for this practice taking over. 

That is until he sees you standing outside, next to the door. 

He jumps slightly, eyes widening when he sees how close your presence was to it. You hold two rolls of athletic tape in one hand, scissors in another. Your face lifts from the ground, flat lips you transform it into a smile that almost looks screwed on to reflect at him.

There was no way you had heard him, right? Not with such a thick wall separating the two of you.

He stutters, but you beat him to his own words.

“(Y/N)–”

“Hey there,” you greet a little too sweetly, “can you give this to Hayate, please? It’s for his shoulder.”

Oliver pauses, looking at the two items you hold out in front of him in your hands. He stares and blinks slowly at them, your words clearly delayed in his ears. He suddenly blinks hard and gains back his consciousness, and his vision focuses on the beige tape and scissors before him.

“Sorry, yeah,” he mutters and takes them from you, trying not to graze your palms in fear of your warmth scorching him. “Um… did you happen to–”

“Coach says you guys need to hurry up, by the way,” you cut him off again, smile still on your lips that when Oliver sneaks a glance at, feels that fizzy feeling on his own again. “He wants everyone to be out on the field in five.”

You give him a nod of acknowledgement, turn on your heel, and stalk off, leaving him alone in the corridor. 

It was barely there… and if he were to blink, Oliver was sure that he would’ve missed it. 

But it was there, the dejection on your face revealing itself when you took your mask off once he wasn’t in view.

Your figure just barely appears in his vision just as he turns his head, a sweat misting on his skin.

Just before you’re able to round the corner, Oliver grabs your shoulder and forces you to look at him.

“Hey,” he breathes, “can we talk?”

You give him that artificial smile again. Your eyes don’t move when you lift your lips almost forcibly and the emptiness within them remains. “Sure,” you reply simply.

Oliver scans his surroundings first, making sure there are no additional ears to hear this conversation; he doesn't want another storm swirling. Scornfully, he takes you to a more secluded corner, one that shadows itself with darkness to fully ensure no attention would be brought to you and him.

He only has five minutes until their break is done, so he supposes that he should just rip the band-aid off and get it over with. For the greater good. 

“About yesterday,” he starts, scratching the back of his heating neck. “Listen, I’m sorry. What I did… it was just something I did accidentally ‘cause I was drunk. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable in any way.”

Oliver looks up and flinches at the blankness spread across your face. As though you’re unconvinced by his words. As though his words sound meaningless like the kiss he insists is.

You say nothing, just blinking honey-slow. Oliver takes the chance to try and say something, to take a jab.

“It’s just—I often say goodbye like that to people, y’know? Well, maybe less on the lips and more on the cheek and forehead,” he mutters, throat constraining a bit at the unnecessary add-ons. “You can ask any of the guys, I’m sure Sendou is sick of my shit, haha…” 

He manages to get a monotone hum from you, a paced nod indicating his words were somewhat getting through to you. 

Oliver purses his lips, trying to search for something in your empty stare. Anything will work, really, just something that he can grasp to get a feel of your emotions so he can plan how to go about this. 

“I think that—”

“Is it true?” you cut him off, capturing his attention. Oliver raises his eyebrows and lets out a confused sound. “What you said in the locker room.”

Guilt seeps into him. So you did hear him, even through the concrete walls and iron door. He supposes such weighty words are bound to break through the barrier to get to you in some aspect or another. 

“W-what did I say? What’d you hear?” he asks. 

You challenge his gaze, something forcing him to look at you pulls him into you. 

“That it didn’t matter,” you state simply. “That it didn’t mean anything.”

Oliver feels a heaviness on your shoulders when you echo his words through your own voice that he can’t detect the emotion of. He opens his mouth, trying to choose his words carefully, but it takes him a few seconds to gather his act.

“I—” he pauses, jaw gritting. Oliver fights the urge to hang his head in shame, forcing himself to look at you. Your gaze is testing; you really are their coach’s niece, given how there’s a similar pressure radiating off of you that mirrors your uncle. It’s waiting patiently, though with a certain standard in mind.

Oliver swallows thickly before spitting out a half-baked answer, one that adds another weight to his shoulders. Whether he believes it or not… that didn’t matter. Because he ultimately says something that will better the trajectories of tomorrow, not something that will entertain his own wants. He can’t afford to do that right now… not with you, at least.

“Yes,” he says, the familiar bitterness from before scattering on his tongue again. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean anything else by it other than goodbye. I hope that I didn’t give off a wrong impression of some kind.”

You go still again, motionless. 

And then your face cracks a smile, the same uncharacteristically wide one that doesn’t seem to fit your face quite right. 

“Okay,” you state simply with an assured nod, sighing in what seems to be relief. “Just wanted to make sure so we don’t run into misunderstandings. Thanks for clearing it up, Captain.”

Oliver thins his lips at your response. You don’t seem to be too phased at his words—unlike the other girls that came before you whose faces would contort into irritation, sadness, or confusion. He was ready to tackle all of those emotions he’s grown familiar with, but the content shown on your face is unlike anything he has ever seen.

And he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“So,” he starts slowly, “what should we do now? Or, what do you want to do?”

Your head lilts to the side. “Well, you said to forget about it… so, let’s do just that. If that’s what you think is best.”

Your words feel strange when they register in his mind, but Oliver gives a quick nod. 

“Yeah. Let’s just… forget about the entire thing. For the better of us and the team. And also so your uncle doesn’t kill me.” Oliver attempts to crack a joke to ease the tension in the air, but he doesn’t think this is the time. Not when you look like that. 

A familiar laughter is nowhere to be heard, and your smile feels unsettling the more he looks at it. It doesn’t feel like it’s yours, but rather a stranger’s. But you keep it on your lips regardless, showing amiability of some kind. 

“Alright,” you nod. “Then let’s agree to never talk about this again? Go back to our normal life?”

You put your hand out for him. Oliver takes it, your palm so oddly cold it makes him shiver a bit. You and him shake on the agreement, hand in hand, eye to eye. 

The deal is settled. History has been erased.

There was no kiss between you and him. Nothing has happened. 

All is well…

… he thinks.

A week passes by. 

You and Oliver have gone back to the way things were before instantly, talking and chatting just as friends like you always have been. He still receives the warning glares from your uncle to not get too close to you, but he’s able to bypass them just as he had been doing since you first got here on behalf of your university.

He reflects on that day fondly. How awkward and quiet you were when you first introduced yourself, stating that you would be interning as a junior manager on behalf of your major for their season. How Oliver was the first person to make you feel truly comfortable without having to worry about your uncle’s wrath, how conversations began to flow within you and him more easily rather than just the typical morning greetings and after-practice wrap-ups. 

When he looks at you now, you’re akin to a flower. One that has bloomed in the right environment as time passes comfortingly. You’ve grown to be friends with everyone on the team, his teammates holding you to a high regard that mirrors Oliver’s own status. It took awhile, like everything does, but you’ve blossomed. You show more of your true nature nowadays as a result.

He thinks that the new hairstyle that you adorn today is quite cute, fitting for your face. He especially likes the little clips of your favorite Sanrio character that he can’t ever seem to remember the name of that clip back your hair a bit to fight against the warming weather. 

“—ku.”

He likes that lip color on you that kind of matches with your outfit right now, a little detail he’s noticed you do sometimes.

“Aiku.”

Oh, that bracelet is new. Looks expensive, too. He likes all those charms that hang off it, the metal clinking harmoniously to him—

“Aiku!” 

The snap of your fingers and your voice finally breaks him out of his trance of admiration. He spurs, blinking rapidly. The giggles of his teammates float about from where you all are on the field. 

“You good, man?” you ask. 

“Huh?” he questions for a bit, trying to remember his current predicament. Oh yes, that’s right. The after-practice wrap-up where you summarize all their coach’s analysis to them and discuss plans moving forward. “Right, yeah. Uh huh.”

You roll your eyes, sighing and going back to your tablet. “As I was saying, Captain,” you throw a narrow-eyed glance at him, a doubt in his beholding of his title visible, one that makes him chuckle. “Try to sharpen up your skills as best as possible. I think it’s advised for you guys to showcase the best of your capabilities rather than dwell on your weak points— especially with how close the Blue Lock v. U-20 Match is.”

With that, you dismiss them, his teammates giving a loud thank you to you. Oliver is last to follow, with you tagging along behind him just before he enters the locker room.

“Hold on, Captain,” you call for him, tugging on his sleeve. “We’re still on for Shibuya later, right?”

Oliver nods affirmingly at you. “Yep. Need to get some new cleats before the game.”

“Oh okay,” you throw him a thumbs up, “but uh. Sendou won’t be able to make it. Says he’s got some sort of dinner with his brother. You okay with it just being us two?”

Oliver’s eyes widen, purple and green revealing themselves in full in a state of mild surprise. Originally, you guys were supposed to go as a trio, with Sendou wanting some new earrings for his piercing and you wanting to look at a new brand’s collection. But with the former out of the question… Oliver realizes it’d just be you and him.

Something in him stirs.

“Yeah,” he says a little too simply, trying to fight a grin rising on his lips. “That’s all good by me.”

You pat his arm affirmingly when you nod. “Alright then. I’ll meet you outside the facility’s entrance. Rest up while you still can.” 

With that, you take your leave and throw him a friendly wave over your shoulder. Oliver watches as you exit the field a little too intently, your perfume lingering in the air. 

He had been with you alone on some occasions, since he was the captain and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be called in privately, but it was almost always soccer-related. And the few times it wasn’t, it was often with the team like karaoke or a group dinner. So, he supposes that this would be the first time ever that you and him have actually hung out as… friends?

Friends.

Right. Yes, that’s what you were to him. Just friends. You’re a friend, and this is a friend-oriented shopping hangout. 

Oliver trails back into the locker room, ignoring the tingling on his lips.

“Those are nice,” he says when he peeks over your shoulder, watching as you examine a pair of earrings. “Pretty.”

You give him a glance from the mirror, sighing when you put them down and return them into their little slot. “Nah, I don’t really suit chunky earrings. Would like to, though.”

Strange how you say that, considering Oliver thought they looked quite nice on you—just like how every single clothing item you’ve been trying on has been. 

“I think they look alright,” he remarks, plucking them out of the display stand and holding them to your face again. “Yeah, they look fine to me?”

“You don’t get it ‘cause you’re a guy,” you give a light titter, shaking your head. “Plus they’re a little out of my budget.” 

Oliver goes to glance at the price and doesn’t really think much of it. Maybe his perspective is a little skewed, considering that your salaries as an intern versus a professional soccer player were quite spaced out. 

“Hm,” he mumbles, “want me to buy them for you, then?”

You gawk, a choked sound coming out of your throat. “What?! No. I-I wouldn’t wear them anyways, I don’t think they’d look good. You’d just be wasting your money.”

“Well I think they look good, so I’m sure everyone else thinks they’ll do,” Oliver playfully cajoles to your dismay. “Maybe just step out of your comfort zone.”

“I know when to step out of it,” you groan as you stalk over to another area of jewelry. “I just don’t think those specifically will do me justice.”

Oliver hums quietly, still examining the earrings from his distance. A store assistant suddenly appears from behind, a smile on her face when she shares Oliver’s view of you. 

He jumps a little when she makes her presence known. “I think your boyfriend is right, ma’am. I think those earrings will look lovely on you, really,” she chimes. 

You pivot your attention to her and chuckle mirthlessly, not really convinced by her words that you’re sure she’s adding sugar to help you buy it. “Haha, thank you, but I’m okay… also,” you gesture to you and Oliver. “We’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

Oliver winces at the word. It takes a small jab at his chest. 

“Oh! My apologies,” the assistant excuses. “Sorry, you two just looked so lovely together—my mind just automatically assumed!”

You reassure her that there were no worries with another fleeting laugh, one that’s a little too dismissive of her assumption. “No worries.”

You excuse yourself and stalk off to another branch, Oliver watching you from his peripheral vision as you examine the bracelet section of the department store. He supposes that looking into the mirror at oneself for too long can disfigure a person’s self image—since he doesn’t seem convinced that you think you look bad in the earrings. When he can detect you’re out of view, he murmurs the same assistant over.

“Would you mind wrapping this up for me?” he asks quietly, sliding over the pair of earrings to her. “Preferably somewhere out of her view.” He goes to jut his thumb over his shoulder, indicating your presence from behind him. “I’d just like to get them for her as a gift.”

The store assistant draws her gaze over to you, ignorant to their interaction when you admire the articulation of a specific necklace in the display case. She nods affirmingly, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“You know, we have a special gift box for couples for jewelry, if you’re interested,” she inquires, making Oliver’s eyes widen. “It’s a white velvet box to help properly store the jewelry.”

“Oh, haha,” he laughs, attempting to remind her of your current status with each other. “We’re not—”

 “I know,” she affirms, winking at him, as if she knew something he didn’t. “I’m just saying.”

The assistant smiles ever so politely. Oliver pauses. He throws a look over his shoulder to see if you were still there, far enough away from him and sure enough, you’re bouncing about the display cases, admiring all the jewelry clearly out of your budget. 

He softens when he sees your eyes sparkle at a specific bracelet, wondrous and amazed. 

Oliver turns back to the assistant, who grins at him.

“Sure, why not?”

And just before he drops you off at your apartment when the day is done, he quietly slips the white velvet box into your bag without a word, hoping that you’ll take the chance and wear them on his behalf.

“Nice earrings, where’d you get them?” Oliver asks the following day when practice wraps up again. The same earrings he had seen yesterday were now adorned on your ears, glinting at him curiously when he pokes at them.

You turn away from him and focus on your tablet, a heat rising on your cheeks. “Found them in the garbage.”

He laughs aloud at your evident embarrassment of your acceptance of his gift. But that’s okay; he figures you’re still trying to get used to them, so he’ll let you take your time. Maybe you’ll eventually see what he sees.

“You still coming to karaoke?” he inquiries when he helps you clean up the team’s remnants of play on the field. He feels a little hesitant asking you such a thing, even though it was quite often the team went out for karaoke to ease up after practice. The lingering tension between you and him from the aftermath of last time has long dissipated, but there’s always that chance it may come back to haunt him. 

“Yeah but,” you groan when you throw some sweat-soaked towels in the bin, “I’m not staying long. I’ve got some homework to finish up on, so no drinking for me tonight.”

The words come faster out of his mouth before he can catch them—reflex taking over consciousness. 

“D’you want me to walk you home later then?”

Oliver flinches. You blink at him, eyes wide, like he has the audacity to say such a thing after the incident. 

But the way your eyes soften so gently at him makes him rethink his assumption and he feels a relief that flows in his chest when you give him a grateful smile. One that he’s quite accustomed to, one that you only give him.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Okay Sendou, your turn!” Neru exclaims and thrusts a microphone in the striker’s hands. 

The karaoke has long been forgotten, now replaced with just a casual truth or dare game since everyone’s voice has finally been roughened up a little too much after shouting and yelling during practice. Oliver has had to admit three truths and two dares so far, with his last dare being to prank call their coach from a payphone in a funny voice and ask him if his refrigerator was running and to go catch it. 

He’s sure that if their coach finds out it was him, he’ll get an ass-whooping later. But it’s okay. He got to see you laugh, so it was worth it.

“Alright, truth or dare, bud!” Neru announces from his own microphone, putting Sendou on the spot. 

“Uh,” he stammers, clearly aware of the heights he’ll have to go if he chooses either. “... dare.”

“Yikes! Wrong choice!” Neru chimes gleefully to Sendou’s horror. He attempts to take back and choose truth when he sees the wicked smile spreading across Neru’s face, but it’s too late. “For your dare, you must chew a piece of chewed-up gum stuck underneath the table!”

“That’s so fucking nasty, Neru?!” Sendou shrieks to everyone’s bemusement. “I might die from that!” 

“Ugh, you’re so boring, this is why no girls like you,” Neru retorts to Sendou’s displeasure. “Fine then, I’ll show mercy. Show us the last thing you saved to your phone from your camera roll.”

Sendou sighs in relief and pulls out his phone to his camera roll, only to gape in horror and flush with embarrassment. His reaction pulls excitement from everyone, Niou and Wakatsuki going to tackle him before he can hide it from view, Wakatsuki obtaining it and laughing hysterically as he shows off what’s on Sendou’s screen.

A rather raunchy picture of one of his favorite Hollywood actresses displayed on his phone, making some people whistle at Sendou’s pervertedness. You sigh upon seeing it, remembering that you were in a room filled with boys that were just crawling out of teenagerhood and that the female body to them was still just something taboo to them.

Sendou snatches his phone back, grumbling to himself. Neru then focuses his gaze onto you, eyes shining with anticipation to your apprehension. You squirm in your seat. 

“Manager,” Neru sings and motions to you. “Your turn! Truth or dare!”

All of the team focuses their attention to you, wondering if you’ll finally pick dare after so long of choosing truth, but as always, you go to choose the safety of truth.

“Boringgg,” Neru drags, but goes on to ask his question anyway. “Fine then. Who was your first kiss?”

Oliver can feel a few of his teammates sneak a glance at him, a clear elephant appearing in the room. But he fixes his stare into your figure, curious about your answer and not wanting to cause more drama. 

You laugh hastily, scratching your cheek. 

“Actually…” you begin shyly, “I haven’t actually had my first kiss yet. I haven’t gotten the chance yet.”

Silence fills the space. Most of your other truths have stirred reactions of all kinds so far, but everyone draws a blank at your answer. Neru flickers his gaze at Oliver and sees nothing but dread written across his captain's face.

Despite the fact that everyone knows it’s a lie, seeing as how Oliver had admitted to them a week prior that he did kiss you, everyone (but Oliver) nods and nervously tells you that you’ll have it one day, patting your back in reassurance. Maybe their captain was lying? Maybe he just simply kissed you on the forehead or on the cheek? Regardless of what they hypothesize, clearly it wasn’t any of their business to try and intrude on, and Neru moves onto his next victim.

Oliver, however, fixes where he is, too filled with trepidation to try and move. Yes, you and him agreed to talk about the matter ever again and to pretend it never happened, but Oliver didn’t think you would take it to such a height that you erased what was your first kiss from existence. Ultimately meaning… he gave you your first kiss, and he asked you directly to pretend like it never happened. He asked you to pretend your first kiss never happened, that it was an accident and that it didn’t matter. 

He’s been told that he’s an asshole from all the girls he’s collected over the years, but in the current heat of the moment, he truly feels like the title bestows him.

The clock moves fast in the moment he contemplates his thoughts, and he feels you tapping his shoulder suddenly. He looks up and sees the warmth of your gaze looking down at him, your coat all buttoned up and bag hooked on your arm.

“You ready to go? I gotta get home soon.”

“Oh,” Oliver steadies himself, not noticing the glances his teammates give him when he fixes himself up. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be there in a second, you can wait by the lobby, if you’d like.”

With a nod of your head, you say goodbye to everyone and whisk yourself out. When they can’t hear your footsteps anymore, everyone scrambles toward their captain. 

“You said you kissed her!” Sendou accuses.

“What, did you just kiss her somewhere else other than her lips or something?” Kitzunezato inquiries with a furrowed brow. “C’mon man, you can’t insinuate something like that so casually.”

“I’ll talk about it later,” Oliver mumbles as he zips up his coat. “Continue without me. I’m gonna walk her home.”

The questions in the air still linger behind him when he exits the room to meet you at the lobby, a casual smile on your face as if nothing happened, as if you weren’t noticing the tension he’s feeling.

Oliver cracks a sheepish grin back. At least, what he can hope for is a grin.

The walk back is quiet. You walk a little bit in front of him while he trails behind. Oliver wants to say something, but he feels as though he shouldn’t. But… something gnaws at him. Something that yearns for an answer, even though he knows he’ll lose sleep over whatever you give him. 

So he asks you, right before you enter your apartment. A ghost of last week’s past in the air, haunting him. 

“(Y/N),” he starts slowly, his eyes filled with self-contempt. “I was your first kiss, wasn’t I?”

Your grip around the doorknob tightens. He can see a slight tick in your jaw when his question comes out. A bitten lip is hidden from view, but you’re quick to replace it with that same uncanny smile he’s not familiar with seeing. 

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” you say simply when you turn to him. 

Oliver pauses, confused. “But last week, we—”

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet,” you repeat again, a strength to your words that silences him.

Oh.

He takes a step back. He sees what you’re doing. You and him agreed to pretend like the kiss never happened, and clearly here you were, upholding your side of the agreement. Who was he to try and break the contract you and he made?

A silence draws on his tongue, something otherworldly telling him not to say anything more to not worsen the situation. You allow him a brief moment of quiet to say something, and when he doesn’t, when he’s faltered to nothing, you take advantage of the moment. 

“Thanks for walking me home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Aiku,” you mumble quietly, shutting your door and leaving him dumbly standing in front of your door. 

Oliver stays there for a bit, wanting to knock on your door and ask you to tell him without a filter if he was your first, if he stole your first kiss and shoved it right back into your face. But he knows better.

So he turns and walks away, letting it be if that’s what you wanted. 

Apparently, you have a date today.

You didn’t actually say anything, but the rumor floats about after Hayate overheard you discussing some plans with someone on the phone, a giddy smile on your face.

“She literally said ‘I can’t wait to see you’! That’s totally telling she has a date with some guy,” Hayate exclaims.

Darai is unconvinced. “Or she could just be talking to a friend or family member. Let’s be realistic, with how busy she is as a student and a junior manager, I highly doubt she has the time to go around and date.”

Oliver is quiet in his little corner of the locker room, his ears listening despite not facing his team. He doesn’t want them to see the heaviness in his eyes when Hayate first told them about it. He doesn’t want to hear more, but… he can’t help but indulge, irritably curious to see who this person was if he did exist at all.

Neru agrees with him, his eyes dancing over to Oliver’s figure. “Yeah. Let’s not assume anything. It’s her business anyways.”

“But what if this guy takes her away from us?!” Hayate babbles, worry evident on his face. “We’re gonna lose our precious manager! Oliver, surely you’ve got a say in this!” 

A vexation takes over Oliver when Hayate brings up the possibility of you removing yourself from the team. His normally-balanced emotions suddenly unstable for a fleeting moment, making him shut his locker door a little too harshly than normal, making everyone in the locker room flinch at how the room shakes a bit from his strength.

He draws a shaky breath, regaining his balance again before he turns and faces them with his normally calm demeanor slapped onto his face. Don’t mind the small vein on his neck. 

“Neru is right,” he says simply. “Let’s not meddle our heads into our manager’s outside business unless it revolves around soccer.”

With that, he leaves the locker room first, before they can stir up anything that may irritate him any further. 

You leave an hour earlier than normal, wishing your uncle goodbye during one of their matches. Oliver, from the middle of the field, can just barely see your uncle wagging a finger at you and the words “be safe” being read from his lips. He watches as you quietly exit the field, not noticing how Niou had passed the ball to him.

“Aiku!” he shouts harshly. “The ball!” 

“Oh shit,” Oliver hisses, taking notice of the black and white blur at his feet and how close Darai was to taking it. “Whoops. Sorry!”

Curiosity kills the cat, they say. Then collar up Oliver right there and then if he is one, since his curiosity takes over him when he asks out of impulse why did you leave early to his coach when they wrap up practice.

“She’s got a date with my coworker’s son,” Hoichi grunts, a clear disapproval of the date on his face. He supposes that’s what’s bound to come to him seeing as how Hoichi himself has daughters, and this may be a routine he’s grown used to. “My cute baby niece… she’s too grown up!”

Hoichi goes to sob into a handkerchief to Oliver’s contempt and he leaves his coach to wallow in his sadness… before he gets more second-hand embarrassment. 

Oliver drags a hand down his face at the confirmation of the rumor. He keeps it to himself, however, when he tidies himself up in the locker room as everyone stirs about, knowing that something like this would surely ensue chaos amongst the men. But it’s a secret he’s burdened with keeping all to himself, the blatant fact that you may belong to someone else soon if this date went well. 

He bids everyone goodbye, head hung low when he pictures you all pretty and dolled up for someone he thinks doesn’t deserve it. Maybe you’ll be flaunting one of your signature hair clips, or perhaps the earrings he bought for you. It’s been two weeks since he bought them and you’ve been wearing them more often, after all. 

The walk back to his house begins in a quiet restaurant district of the city. He’s used to the hustle and bustle of lines outside some well-known restaurants, everyone donned in semi-formal wear with friends or partners in line. It’s not a place where a singular guy like him seems to blend in with.

He nearly rounds the corner from one restaurant in particular, but stops himself in his tracks when he registers what he sees. 

You sit alone at the table nearest to the window, a poorly-disguised disappointment spread across your face when the waiter comes over and gestures to a couple that’s waiting for a table amidst all the filled ones in the restaurant. Oliver watches as you apologize to him and gather your stuff, exiting the restaurant shortly after the waiter gives his condolences. 

You carry yourself out of the restaurant and Oliver’s breath hitches when he sees how you’ve gathered yourself up for tonight in full. You wear only a blouse and a skirt to match, heels that make you seem a little taller, to seem more confident, though now it’s nowhere to be found given your solemn features. The wind bites almost harshly, making you shiver from the chilled air. 

Oliver is quick to unzip his jacket and his feet carry him to you before he can process where he’s going… what he’s doing. He drapes the thick fabric over your shoulders, the sudden warmth from seemingly nowhere making you look up.

He sees a framing of tears in your eyes that you’re trying not to let fall, and you manage to catch them just in time when you widen your eyes at his sudden appearance. 

“Captain,” you greet softly with a fake smile, clearly taken aback. 

Your voice cracks along the way when you say it. Oliver’s eyes soften when he registers the grasp of the current situation, understanding why you clutch your stomach and why you look dejectedly defeated. 

“I’ll take you home,” he murmurs tenderly, an arm around you to shield you from the cold. “We can get something for you to eat along the way.”

Oliver hopes the sandwiches and ramen he got at the nearby convenience store will ease your growling stomach. He would have treated you for a better meal, one that isn’t loaded with insane amounts of sodium and preservatives, but it was clear to him that you just wanted to go home after a failed date. 

He watches quietly when you insert your keys into the keyhole of your apartment door, but raises his brows when you refuse to twist it to unlock the latch, going to lay your forehead against the coolness of the door instead. A stillness overtakes your body, seemingly paralyzing you to the spot. 

Oliver stays quiet, not wanting to interfere with… whatever it is you’re doing. He just watches from his position near the wall, not wanting to leave until you enter inside the safety of your apartment.

You close your eyes, letting out a stuttering breath to try and compose yourself. Don’t fall apart now, you tell yourself in your head, you’ve been doing so well so far. Just wait until he’s out of view… then drown yourself in your tears. 

But your lips warble. Your chest hurts—you feel a pang every time you reflect back on your mountain of texts asking your date if he was still coming, the empty seat in front of you collecting dust for nearly an hour. You bite your lip harshly to try and distract yourself from the sadness that flows through your veins, but to no avail does it work, because you can just feel the river of quiet tears streaming down your cheeks. The plastic bag of food falls miserably on the floor.

Oliver lifts his head up when he hears a soft sniff. He thinks it’s just from the cold, but when he can see the glisten of tears from your closed eyes, he stiffens. 

“Hey,” he starts softly, a hand going to rub your back to attempt comfort. “You alr—”

“Three times…” you mumble. “Once is just by chance… the second time is maybe a coincidence… But three times? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s not sure if he should, really, considering he has absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, though context comes shortly after without him having to ask. 

“Being stood up three fucking times in a row… how embarrassing,” you lament, a few tears falling from your chin and onto the carpet. 

Oh. He sees the picture more clearly now. Oliver takes a step back to give you space. So this wasn’t your first date, but your third so far of the season. Or, at least an attempt at one. To be stood up and left in the dark three times is what no one wants, as he’s experienced it before and understands the looks of pity from strangers does no good in such a situation, like the one the waiter gave you before he asked you to leave. 

“Shit, is there something wrong with me that I don’t know about or—?!” you draw a breath, turning your somber visage to Oliver suddenly, as if he had the answer. 

He doesn’t. Or maybe he does; it’s just not the one you expect. Because although he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you specifically, he thinks there’s nothing wrong in general. Not with you. 

You’re nothing less of kind and understanding, always attentive to each of the players’ needs. Oliver thinks of you as headstrong, determined to always push people to the best of their capabilities without degrading their integrity. But at the same time, you’re easy to be with, for everyone could show their authentic self around you without much filter needed. 

He had always thought of you as beautiful as well, ever since the beginning from that day his coach introduced you. If anything, your beauty had bewitched him in the first place, and he’s sure it’s had the same effect on others—he even remembers Sendou’s cheeks being humiliatingly pink when you had talked to him for the first time. 

So he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with you. At least not from his angle.

“Not at all,” he whispers, trying to bring you a sense of peace. 

He expects your eyes to soften, your lips to curl—but they do neither. Instead, your gaze hardens at him unexpectedly, one that makes him swallow thickly. 

“Funny how the guy that told me to forget my first kiss is saying that,” you spit cruelly, reddened eyes boring into him. 

Oliver recoils and takes his hand away from you, giving you space. So he was a part of his too, huh? He supposes that he’s not one to try and say something as comforting as what he said when he was just like the others, if not… worse, considering he had kissed you in the flesh and abandoned you all in the same breath, leaving you in the dust. 

You lift your head off the door and face him, a tired look in your eyes.

“I know we said to never talk about it again,” you mutter, “but I think I deserve to know. Tell me, Aiku, was it something I did? Did I say something that made you kiss me? Did you want something? Shit, did my breath smell?”

The words he wants to say knot in his throat again. He opens his mouth, but closes it when he realizes he can’t conjure anything right now. So he just simply stares at you with a longing he hopes you can see.

Clearly not. You grow frustrated at his silence. “That’s not fair. I need an answer. I don’t care what it is, just tell me something at least,” you plead.

A silence whirs by. And again, Oliver cannot come up with a proper response that feels honest, that feels whole. You’d settle for a lie at best, but even that, he can’t come up with. 

Your eyes water when he just continues to stay quiet, lips sealed and locked from his opinion of you. His silence is more suffocating than whatever you want him to give, the worst of your thoughts embedding themselves even further in your mind. 

You give him your last breath. And if he doesn’t respond to this one, you’ll leave him be and enter into your apartment for the night. 

“Was it because it was me that you kissed?” you ask sternly, heart shattering by each second that goes by without another sound. “Did you regret kissing m—”

“No.”

Oliver says his first word to you, clear and true, finally finding something from the knot of words lumped from his throat. He lifts his shameful head up to look at you with an earnest he’s found in himself.

Regret isn’t what he felt in the aftermath… it was doubt. 

Doubt of his feelings for you. Doubt that he could live up to your standards. Doubt that he could treat you as well as you deserved. 

He told you to forget about the kiss because he doubted himself too heavily that he’d be able to be a person worth deserving of your time, because if he wasn’t, he didn’t want the remnants of his thoughts of a chance to exist in fear of looking like a fool. 

Oliver was doubtful of the meaning of the kiss between you and him, not finding a clear answer of why he did it and what it may have meant to you, so instead of trying to figure out a solution, he had chosen to ignore its existence for the better of himself, for his own protection, while completely ignoring your own thoughts in the process. A selfish act, he thinks bitterly.

You blink at him, confused as a few stray tears fall. 

“I don’t regret kissing you at all,” he mutters. “I just… I just wished it didn’t happen in the way that it did.”

You go still, trying to register the meaning of his words. Oliver’s melancholy is radiating all over him, something that is in similar style to yours.

“I wish I kissed you in a better setting. I wish I kissed somewhere more romantic, where I was sober,” Oliver states slowly, plucking out his feelings in a tender manner. “Where I could control myself. Where I could tell you my feelings straight up instead of throwing them in your face.”

When he looks back on the moment where he kissed you on impulse, his alcohol taking over his body and his restraint to fully show his honest feelings toward you, he may feel regretful that it wasn’t as grandeur as you deserved, but kissing you could never be regretted. Kissing you in the moment was a doubtful decision, sure, but Oliver doesn’t regret it for a bit. Not you. Never you.

Not when your lips felt so plush and so fit with his, not when you kissed him in equal fervor that mirrored his own feelings that he didn’t realize you did so until now, because no one would kiss him like that if they didn’t feel the same way.

“I didn’t hate the fact that it was you I kissed, but… more so I hated the way I kissed you during then,” his voice strains, the air in his lungs lessening. “And I wanted to forget about it because I was embarrassed that I did something so impulsive to you.” 

Him telling you to regret it was his version of drawing a blank slate. For him to rewrite something more meaningful with you, if you allowed it. If he knew earlier that it’d be your first kiss, he would’ve had the measures to at least stop himself and give you the experience of what would’ve been a much greater and beautiful moment. 

But no matter how much you and him try to bypass his kiss, try to say it was nothing, that it was meaningless—the more it becomes repressed, the more significance it picks up. And all Oliver can do now is just accept it and to simply go forward. 

So he takes a daring step forward, a distance closer to your radius. 

He steadies his breathing, fixating his vision on the fullness of your face. He wishes it was him that outfit was for, as he curses at the fact it was wasted on such a shitty day like today. He wishes that your face wasn’t stained with tears as it was right now, but instead, featuring a soft smile you’d often give him during fleeting moments between the two of you alone. 

But if you’ll allow him to, Oliver thinks he could still get that smile on your lips tonight. One that he’d be the sole cause of. 

His hands lift to rest on your cheeks, thumbs caressing over them to wipe some tears away. The soft lilt of your head lets him better see you from his angle above. 

He’s sober—you are too. There’s nothing but pure blood running through each of your veins, nothing to cause anything reckless other than his own self.

Oliver asks you quietly, devotedly, “Can I show you the way I’ve always wanted to kiss you?”

He stares into the glimmering pools of your eyes, searching for something to grasp and hold onto, to nurture and take care of. 

Another shuddered breath draws from your lips. You go still again for a moment… before you give him a nod and let him bring you to him.

He kisses you tenderly, his lips capturing your own in an essence he had been craving to emulate with you since the moment he laid eyes on you for the very first time. The warmth from then blooms itself within his chest, and he presses his lips more firmly against yours when you allow him to deepen the kiss after the first few soft, careful grazes.

The softness of your lips he had felt just a few weeks ago sends sparks on his, that familiar tingling feeling they had been yearning for finally feeling satisfaction. His arms go wrap around your waist and bring your bodies closer to each other as you steady your hands on his broad shoulders, distance unheard of between your heartbeats that mirror each other's rhythm. Your lips feel like cotton against his roughened ones, but you still invite him to savor you, to taste you in full awareness.

You’re first to break away to catch some air. Oliver allows you to, his forehead resting on yours as you try to compose yourself as he admires you from the closeness between you and him. You suddenly take the lead this time, hungry and craving for more from him, kissing him again in a manner so passionate, it lands you against the door. But you and him go unfazed from the impact, heads too filled with the yearning for each other to notice. 

Oliver separates slowly from you, lips swollen and wet from the fervor of the kiss. He breathes slowly, synchronizing with your own breaths as you gaze into each other fully. Your tears have stopped, he’s noticed, and on your lips is an ever-so-soft grin melded from the moment between you and him.

A hand goes to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, one that reveals one half of the pair of earrings he gifted you all those days ago, before it cradles your face again. 

“Something like that,” he whispers. “If that was okay.”

You give a soft sigh of contentment. “I think that was more than okay…”

He chuckles lowly, a weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Yeah?”

You lick your lips before you giggle soundly, nodding almost shyly as you feel the leftover sparks from the kiss on your lips.

“Yeah.”

Your hands intertwine with his, sharing a warmth between each other. Oliver brings one of your interconnected ones up and gently kisses your knuckles, a flutter in your chest arising when his eyes soften at you, full of love and devotion solely for you to consume. 

“Twelve more to go, Aiku!” Hoichi hollers. 

Guilt builds itself within you, especially as you trail Oliver’s lethargically-running figure from the stands as he continues running laps around the field. The rest of the team has been long gone, and it’s been two hours since practice has ended, but their captain remains on the field, his punishment for his earlier actions being to run fifty laps. 

What exactly did he do to deserve such a fate?

Ask your uncle permission to take you on a date.

You’ve never seen such a fire rage in your uncle’s eyes when Oliver had brought up the topic, one that even made you flinch at his fury. Men he barely knew were one thing… but Oliver? Someone he’s known for years and has brought up a reputation for being a playboy? Dating his precious niece? How dare he even bring up the topic! 

But you had explained to your uncle as best as possible that all you wanted to do was just go on a simple date with him, just to test out the waters. Nothing too crazy at first. He supposes that your reasoning made better sense, as it managed to relax some of his nerves, but the remnants of his wrath remained and your uncle will grant Oliver permission to do as he wishes under one condition. 

“You wanna earn my blessing?” your uncle had declared with folded arms. Oliver had nodded from his bowed position, only for him to freeze when he heard the singular condition that would grant him permission. “Run fifty laps around the field. Straight. No breaks.” 

“You don’t think you’re being too harsh…?” you question quietly to your uncle, whose hard stare remains on Oliver from above. “I think he’s done enough.”

“If he wants to show that he’s devoted to you like he said he did,” your uncle starts, “then let him work for you. Don’t let him or any man half-ass their way to you if they show they're not dedicated enough.”

You sigh miserably, supposing he’s right in some sense or another. But you just wish that his punishment was much less harsh than over-exhausting his captain.

But when you see Aiku throw a grin your way and a warbly thumbs up mid-run, making you laugh softly, you suppose that this is his way of showing he truly was ready for you, that he’ll earn his way towards you in every possible instance if it means he’ll get to have you as his.

a/n: so this was not supposed to actually be this long... i anticipated it to be somewhere along the lines of like... 4k at most? i apologize that this was extraordinarily lengthy 😭

i almost ended up cutting it into halves/thirds, but i figured i'd be too lazy to try and continue it so i just kept writing and writing. mind you i started this literally yesterday, adhd and hyperfocus is a funny thing. hopefully this turned some of u guys into aiku fans bc he got my ass unfortunately

but regardless, thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support creators you enjoy, and leaving one will always be noticed and appreciated (´• ◡ •`) ♡ !!!!

[kxsagi]

back again with another idea, don't judge me these men haunt my mind 24/7

bllk boys with a manager gf.

imagine them having a manager in blue lock right? then she yk does what managers do. help with their training, give them water, monitor their plays and even sometimes suggest new playstyle that could improve their game and such.

then, one of their teammates gets injured and yk what that means? gf touches the other member to apply bandage or apply dressing to their wounds. bf gets jealous and accidentally reveals their relationship to everyone.

that's all, have a great day.

“𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐠”

a/n:��thank you, have a great day as well!

blue lock manager! gf can be the same age as them to make things easier! (reader is too smart for this world and got a full-time job early lmao)

another a/n: i’m stuck between writing angst and writing crack headcanons idk (yes i chose a random header image this is my humor 💔)

ft. shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

shidou ryusei

you were just doing your job like the incredible and competent manager you were, wrapping a bandage around one of the players’ thighs after a nasty slide tackle. 

and that was the moment you felt it – a murderous aura radiating from somewhere behind you. 

you turned your head slightly… and there he was, standing at the edge of the field with his hands on his hips, watching you with the most “i am one intrusive thought away from prison” expression you’ve ever seen. 

you weren’t sure if he was jealous of the player or the fact that he wasn’t the one getting manhandled by you. 

but oho, shidou made sure everyone knew exactly what was going through his mind. 

“hey. you got a license for that, princess?” he called out, his voice loud enough for the entire field to hear. 

everyone kinda just… stared at him like “bro what???”

then he casually strolled over and plopped down beside you, practically shoving the injured player away with his knee. 

“i’m next. wrap me up, baby,” he grinned, completely ignoring the fact that he had zero injuries. 

“shidou, you’re not hurt,” you deadpanned. 

“my heart is. you’re out here playin’ nurse with other guys,” he smirked dramatically, holding his chest like he was about to faint. 

that was the moment you realized you were doomed. 

“wait… you’re dating him?” one of the players finally asked, pointing at shidou. 

“dating? nah,” shidou snickered, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning maniacally, “i’m her full-time problem. she’s just lucky i’m hot.”

itoshi rin

rin was trying so hard to play it cool. 

but the moment he saw you kneeling on the field, gently holding a player’s ankle to wrap it with bandages, he damn near dislocated his own neck from how fast he turned to glare at you. 

he clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath like, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

if this scene were in anime, his eyes would be glowing red and his entire body would be surrounded by that ominous black aura. 

he didn’t say anything at first, just stared, so hard that the player getting bandaged started getting visibly uncomfortable. 

when you finally finished and stood up, rin suddenly appeared behind you like a final boss. 

“you’re done, right?” he muttered, staring daggers at the poor, confused player. 

you were like, “uh… yeah?”

but before you could even blink, rin grabbed your wrist in front of everyone and dragged you off the field like a caveman escorting his woman back to the cave. 

“rin, what the hell are you –”

“you were touching him.”

“wha – he was injured???”

rin didn’t care. he just turned around and deadass blurted, “you’re my girlfriend. stop touching other guys.”

there was a brief silence. then someone from the bench went: 

“…wait. since WHEN?!” 

rin, realizing he just accidentally revealed your entire relationship, muttered, “shit,” under his breath and immediately walked off.

he avoided eye contact with everyone for the next three hours. 

but you could still see the tips of his ears turning red every time someone smirked at him. 

kaiser michael

it started with a minor ankle sprain from one of his teammates. 

nothing serious, you just crouched down, carefully assessing the injury with your delicate and professional manager hands. 

kaiser, who was initially ignoring the entire scene, suddenly felt his eye twitch when he saw you applying pressure to the player’s calf with your bare hands. 

and that was it. his brain glitched. 

he stormed over without hesitation, yanked your clipboard out of your hand, and slapped it against the injured player’s leg. 

“here. use this.”

you blinked in confusion.

“kaiser, what –”

“don’t you have gloves or something?” he snapped, his eye twitching again. 

you gave him a blank stare. “… for bandaging an ankle?”

“yes. gloves. anything that keeps you from touching him with your bare hands,” he muttered, scowling. 

the injured player blinked up at him like “bro you good???”

and then, because kaiser had no filter, he added, “she doesn’t touch anyone but me.”

the entire field went dead silent.

one of the benched players went, “uh, excuse me?”

but kaiser, completely unbothered, just smirked, leaned down, and kissed your forehead right in front of everyone before turning back to practice. 

“she’s my personal medic. keep your hands off.”

you, sitting there with wide eyes, realized there was no turning back. 

the next day, you were trending online as “kaiser’s girl” and he was so smug about it. 

itoshi sae

sae was already grumpy after a long practice, and the last thing he wanted to see was you touching some random dude’s calf while applying ice. 

you, being the sweet and professional manager you were, were focused on being helpful. 

sae, meanwhile, was staring at you with the most judgmental boyfriend glare of all time. 

and then the player winced and accidentally grabbed your wrist. 

sae was across the field in 0.3 seconds. 

“get your hands off her.”

the entire field turned toward him like 👁️👄👁️

the player immediately let go of you and started stammering, “s-sorry, i didn’t mean to –”

sae didn’t even look at him. he was laser-focused on you. 

“you. come here.”

you blinked in confusion. “huh?”

“now.”

you stood up and walked over to him, only for sae to grab your wrist again and deadass say, “she’s mine.”

the entire team went, “WHAT???”

and then sae, realizing he just exposed your secret relationship, simply muttered,

“oh.”

he quickly turned around and walked off without saying anything else. 

the next practice, everyone was making fun of him. 

shidou: “sooo… when’s the wedding, lover boy?”

rin: “pathetic.”

sae: “i hate all of you.”

nagi seishiro

nagi was napping on the bench until he heard your voice. 

he peeked one eye open, only to see you bandaging a player’s arm with your gentle, caring hands. 

he didn’t like it. not one bit.

without saying a word, he casually strolled over and collapsed on top of you like a human-sized koala. 

“nagi! what are you –”

“mmm. comfy,” he mumbled against your shoulder, making himself at home. 

you were literally pinned underneath his entire weight, trying to shove him off, but he only clung tighter, his limbs practically draping over you like a weighted blanket. 

the injured player blinked at the scene in confusion. “uh… is he okay?”

nagi, without lifting his head, muttered sleepily, “mine.” 

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “… what?”

“you’re mine,” he repeated, voice muffled against your skin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

the entire field went silent.

the player you were bandaging glanced between the two of you, brows furrowed. “wait. are you two… together?”

nagi didn’t even lift his head.

“mmm. yeah,” he mumbled. “she’s my girlfriend.”

you could feel your soul leave your body.

the team, now fully aware of your not-so-secret relationship, was staring at you in shock. 

meanwhile, nagi stayed exactly where he was, fully prepared to take a nap on top of you, completely unfazed by the fact that he just exposed the two of you to the entire team. 

later, when you asked him why he did that, he just shrugged lazily and went, “too much of a hassle to keep it a secret.”

isagi yoichi

isagi was in the middle of practice, minding his business, being the good, hard-working soccer boy he was, when he saw you crouched down on the field, tending to someone’s knee. 

at first, he didn’t think much of it, until he noticed just how close you were leaning toward the guy. 

and that’s when his brain started spiraling. 

“wait. why is she holding his leg like that? … wait. is she… she’s SMILING???”

isagi tried to focus on practice, but his passes were getting sloppy because he kept glancing over at you. 

then, as if to personally ruin isagi’s life, the injured player casually rested his hand on your thigh for balance while you were wrapping his knee. 

and that was it. isagi blacked out. 

before he even realized what he was doing, he was storming over like a man on a mission. 

he didn’t say a word. just gently grabbed your wrist and yanked you off the field. 

you blinked up at him, startled. “yoichi? what are you –”

“you’re my girlfriend.”

you: ???

the injured player: ???

the entire field: ???

isagi, suddenly realizing what he just blurted out in front of everyone, stared at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

“��i, uh, i mean –” he stammered, his face turning bright red. 

but it was too late. the damage was done. 

shidou (grinning like the menace he was): “ooohhh. so that’s why you’ve been smiling at your phone like a dumbass.”

kaiser: “figures. he plays like a lovesick golden retriever half the time.”

nagi (half-asleep): “mmm. knew it.”

isagi, face redder than a stop sign, sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

and now every single one of his teammates was planning to make fun of him for the next 10-15 business years. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[vagabond-umlaut]

what is the point of lukewarm love?

If I am not drowning in it, I have no desire for it.

Ⅰ. my beloved ghost and me

pairing: knight geto suguru x disgraced noble fem!reader tags: historical au; arranged marriage; slow burn; misunderstanding; arguments; kinda enemies to lovers; angst; drama; fluff; smut; hurt/comfort; eventual happy ending; MDNI; warning: ANGST, implied attempted sa (not to the mc), homicide, corruption; physical assault; abandonment issues; 1.7k wc notes: when i say this fic is the bane of my existence, i mean it in every sense of the term :) the chapter title is from here. the fic title and summary are from this post. the header is from pinterest. jjk isn't mine! please comment on the fic masterpost, or send me an ask, to be added to the taglist!! :))

Your husband is a callous man.

Disgustingly so.

But, of course, if you ever say the same to anyone else, they'll be certain to return you a scowl—not that they don't give you one now, but they'll make it much worse then—for how can you speak such ill of your husband: the oh-so-gallant, oh-so-chivalrous knight Sir Geto Suguru!?

Well, the thing is... first off, none of those outraged voices know the man as well as you do.

Secondly, and more importantly, none of them are you.

Born as the eldest daughter of one of the most prominent nobles in the Empire, you had always been told there was a golden future lying in wait for you. Elegant, graceful, refined—you grew up to be the epitome of each of these adjectives and so many more meaning the same. Something your parents and teachers adored you for, your peers resented you for, the general populace looked up to you for.

Long story short, your life was nothing less than wonderful.

But, as is the way with this world, good things seldom last long—yours too didn't.

The wandering hand of a noble.

The terrified screams of your maid.

The said noble's head rolling on the floor.

The pristine white of your gloves drenched in bright red, the same shade dripping from the sharp blade of a sword; that too, one which had always been an idle wall decoration...

Were the noble any lesser person, you know nothing would have happened. You did a right thing, after all, saving a poor helpless girl from the maws of a vile beast.

But no, he wasn't a lesser person.

He was the Emperor's little brother. Lecherous, yes, of course, no one could negate this; but he was His Majesty's youngest brother, eighth in line to the throne, which is why you weren't even taken to trial. The blood on your hands hadn't even dried before every title you owned were snatched away from you, and you were reduced from being one of the most highly regarded young ladies amongst the nobles to being a convicted criminal—

'Attempted theft of a royal jewel.'

'Harrassment of a member of the royal staff when they attempted to stop her.'

'Murder of a member of the Royal Family when they attempted to detain her.'

The story was changed, and with it thus twisted and distorted until not one letter of it was true, you were indeed nothing more than a convicted criminal—

A burden your parents waited not even a day before they decided to get rid of, before they decided to bedeck it in finery of the highest kind and send it to the slaughterhouse under the pretence of your hand being promised to Zenin Naoya.

You ran away.

Of course, you ran away.

Only to be spotted by one of your family's old servants, not even ten miles away...

What happened next is preserved very poorly in your memory—you remember reading in a book once, how one's mind tries to erase things too traumatic for them—but you do recollect the sheer panic and the utter desperation you felt as you were all but dragged back to the manor, you would swallow your tongue before calling it your home again. Oh, and, of course, the clinking of the thousand gold coins as your father awarded them to the man for his loyalty whilst your cheeks stung from the force of your mother's fury.

The Zenin heir cancelled the engagement within the next hour, claiming he had no desire to marry a disobedient wretch like you. When you scoffed and told your mother that neither did you have a wish to wed a cur like him, she slapped you again, drawing blood this time.

Your parents were prepared to disown you.

And you knew. And no matter how much it hurt, you were prepared to be disowned by them, prepared to leave and set out on a new path on your own—which is when your dearest husband entered the stage of your life, and without further ado, set it on fire—

Sir Geto Suguru, the paragon of virtue, so very darling to the Empire.

The envoy of death, so very terrifying to the enemies of the Empire.

The catalyst of your doom, so very dashing as he stood before your parents, the coal black of his hair and his eyes scintillant in the sun as he greeted them with a bow and a courteous smile—its keen shape perhaps not too unbecoming the sharpness of his mien, you thought absently, still blissfully ignorant to what lay in your future, as you stood behind your mother—  

It took Geto all but a moment to stand upright and ask your father for your hand in marriage.

It took your blood less than a moment to freeze in your arteries.

Were it before, you know your parents would've rejected such a proposal in a heartbeat; your world and the knight's were far too different, too far apart. But that day, utterly devastated, utterly helpless, you watched them both nearly sob in relief as your mother nodded and your father brought your intended into a hearty embrace.

The wedding took place a day later in an extremely private function.

Not even a month after which, Geto received his transfer orders to some remote town by the sea.

And giving you a set of barely-intelligible, insultingly-perfunctory reasons, more like 'excuses', as to why you couldn't accompany him; you're his wife, for goodness' sake; he dropped you off at your in-laws' in the countryside—people who hadn't even deigned to attend their only son's wedding—

You don't dislike them, though.

You dislike your husband.

The man who, by marrying you, has made himself an angel donning a mortal skin, a person too good for the likes of anyone and everyone; most certainly, much too good for you.

The man who, by leaving you barely thirty days into your conjugal life, has made you even viler in the eyes of others than you can ever imagine it to be possible, believe it should be possible.

The man who has visited his home, his wife, only a handful of times in the last one year, that too only for a handful of hours each time, never staying for more than one day and the next morning.

The man who doesn't care enough to reply to your letters, let alone send you any, only sending his father enough money to feed a village and a curt letter saying he's well on the third day of every month, the words devoid of even the smallest mention of the person he married and brought to his home—

If one says you hate Geto, you will simply nod in response and not breathe one word in disagreement, you think as you wrap the blanket tighter round your shivering form and stare at the waning crescent in the pitch-black sky.

It's lonely.

The moon is rather lonely, you reckon, a faint frown creeping onto your lips...

But definitely not as acutely, as painfully as you are—

After all, the moon hasn't been forsaken by its friends, parents and husband, has it?

The moon isn't forced to endure pitiful glances and scathing glares throughout the day, is it?

The moon need not spend night after night, either sleepless or seeing nightmares where it is abandoned in an entirely new way, tossed aside in an incomparably worse way by others—does it?

No.

You suppose not.

A pathetic little sigh escapes you as you force yourself to relax beneath the warm weight of the blanket, gaze soon drifting from the sky outside the window to your hands, to the pretty little diamond sitting on your left hand—only to stiffen when you hear a pair of feet pad into the kitchen—

"Do you have a fever?" A familiar voice rings out, so sleepy yet so worried, so kind—that too for you out of all the people the concern could be for—you can't help but become a touch misty-eyed.

It's your mother-in-law.

Sometimes, you think she's the only person you won't mind calling family.

The only person who, you don't think you're wrong when thinking, won't mind you calling them family.

Trying to hide a sniffle, you shake your head, lips shifting into a small smile on their own when you can finally discern her in the almost darkness, "Um, no. I'm totally fine, thank you."

"Alright," she doesn't press you any more, choosing to pour herself a glass of water instead. You look away from her, focus shuffling away to rest on the orange lights of the distant houses and huts against the blue backdrop of the night, when a quiet call of your name reaches you.

You turn back, only to find your mother-in-law wearing a knowing smile. She suddenly looks a lot older than you know she actually is—you wonder how your mother is faring—

Is she happy now that her shame of a daughter is away and no longer besmirching the spotless reputation of the family? Or, does she miss her first child, her 'sunshine', living so many miles away from her?

You know better than to ponder over such questions; yeah, you know you do.

"Yes, Mother?" you ask; the aftertaste of the last word not as sour as it used to be in the early days of your marriage, you register absently all the while wondering why her smile appears to grow when you call her thus, "Is—"

"I've raised Suguru to be brave and true-hearted," she says, and you cannot help the way your form grows rigid at the mere mention of his name—nor the burn settling behind your eyes nor how your throat clogs up, words dying far before they're fully formed when the remainder of the sentence clicks into place in your brain—"He will return to you, darling. I'm sure of it."

Hours from now, you will wonder why your mother-in-law is telling you all this.

You will wonder why she thinks your sleepless nights are because of her son, especially when you haven't breathed even a syllable of your distress to anyone; least of all, to her.

You will wonder why she sounds so sure while she's reassuring you of your husband's return.

Hours from now, you will tear your brain apart and put the pieces back together, in search for answers to these and so many more questions.

But now, in this moment, you don't think.

You screw your eyes shut and bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying your damnedest not to cry—until you decide you're much too wounded, too too weary to put up a good front—

And you cry, and you cry, and you cry.

general masterlist

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi!! Can I please request a Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!reader where she had been kidnapped by Hydra when she was a teenager after they assassinated her SHEILD agent parents, and she was held in the same place as Bucky ever since then and he took care of her as much as he could like she were his little sister. Now present day, as an adult, she escapes Hydra when SHEILD/Hydra falls? (Bucky def helped). He told her it’s very important that she finds Steve Rogers, that he’ll keep her safe (buck didn’t want to force her to be on the run with him). She has the power to turn invisible, teleport, and send (an invisible) blast through her hands that sends people flying. And that’s how she finds herself wandering outside the Avengers HQ (which they kinda go on the defense because they don’t know who she is). Poor woman is absolutely jumpy and terrified and sends all of them but Steve flying away from her and she turns invisible and just curls in the ground in fear 🥺 And Steve is the only one who can get through to her and calm her down and convinces her to come inside, a gentle arm around her? (He’d be so gentle!!) and she tells him what happened to her, where she came from and how bucky told her to find him

Anyway, she only feels comfortable and safe around him for the longest time, he’s there to help her through her nightmares, help train her, hold her close when she’s feeling scared. They both fall In love!!

Safe With Me » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Winter Soldier x Teen!Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Steve Rogers x Female Reader with the Avengers

Summary: Bucky helps you escape HYDRA and tells you to go find Steve so you’ll be safe.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst (not Bucky and Steve), language, HYDRA, murder, blood, kidnapping, crying, nightmares, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the beautifully descriptive request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

A/N #2: Italic text is flashbacks and nightmares. Y/M/N stands for your mom’s name and Y/D/N stands for your dad’s name.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” You announced when you got home from school, walking in the house.

You didn’t hear either one of them so you assumed they were still at SHIELD. You walked to the living room, only to find the dead and bloody bodies of parents. Your eyes widened and you opened your mouth to scream, but someone put a cloth over your mouth. You kicked and screamed, trying to get free of who was behind you. You soon grew weak and passed out from inhaling the fumes of chloroform.

You woke up a couple hours in an unfamiliar building and room. You squinted your eyes to adjust to the light in the room. You looked around the room to gather your surroundings. You quickly realized that you’re in some kind of lab. You went to stand up, but couldn’t. You looked down at your arms and legs to see them strapped down to a chair.

“Oh good! You’re awake!” A man’s voice said.

You looked up to see a man in a suit, a man in a lab coat, and a couple men in all black clothes.

“I’m Alexander Pierce.” He introduces himself.

“Why did you kill my parents?” You asked, completely bypassing his introduction.

“I wouldn’t think of it as killing. Think of it more as getting them out of the way.” Pierce says.

“Why though?” You asked, your voice cracking.

“That’s easy. Since they’re out of the way, we have easy access to what we want.” He says.

It didn’t take you long to realize that he was talking about you.

“You’re going to be our new experiment and assist the asset during missions.” He explains.

Pierce looks at the man in the lab coat, nodding at him. He nodded back. The man in the lab coat approached you with an IV with some kind of liquid in it. You began to panic and tried to get free of the restraints, but it was no use. You yelped when the needle pricked your skin, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Many months later, you started to develop powers. You weren’t sure what kind of powers they were trying to get you to develop. Whatever it was, hurt every time and you didn’t like it. You just wanted it to stop.

“How’s she doing?” Pierce asks Brock Rumlow.

“She’s getting nowhere.” Brock tells him.

You fearfully stood in front of an HYDRA agent. You were told to get your powers to work, but you’re not sure how to do that. Before you knew it, the agent charged at you. Your eyes widened and you covered your head with your arms. You somehow turned invisible when you did that, impressing everyone in the room. They gave you nods of approval. You uncovered your head and you reappeared.

“What the hell?” You mumbled to yourself.

Pierce approached you and put a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him.

“Good job, Y/L/N.” He compliments.

“Th-Thank you?” You say more like a question.

“That’s just a start. You’ll get use to it the more you develop your powers.” He says.

A few weeks later, you learned that you were also developing teleportation powers. Those powers weren’t too bad to learn. You were a quick learner with those.

“You know what to do.” Pierce says.

You took a deep breath before doing anything. You held your hands out in front of you and made a circle in front of you. A portal to another room appeared in front of you. You looked back at Pierce. He nodded for you to step in the other room through the portal and you did.

“You’re getting better and better, kid.” He says as you came back in the room you were originally in.

You thought the only powers you had were invisibility and teleportation powers, but that’s not it. You also have some kind of invisible power that comes out of your hands that comes out like a blast and sends people flying. You didn’t know what those powers were called. You just assumed they were similar to telekinesis powers or something like that.

“You’re impressing us more and more everyday, kid. You’re ready to start training with the asset.” Pierce says.

You were led to a room that looks like a gym, but it’s a room that’s used for training. The asset, as he said, was already in there. He’s tall, has long brown hair, blue eyes, and a metal arm.

“This is the Winter Soldier. Asset, this is our newest experiment.” Pierce introduces you two.

You shyly waved at the man. He nodded his head at you. Pierce walked out of the room, leaving the two of you alone in there. The Winter Soldier couldn’t help but notice how young you look which concerned him. A kid like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.

“How old are you, kid?” The Winter Soldier asks.

“15.” You tell him.

His eyebrows rose up when he heard your age. You’re too young to experiencing something like this. You don’t need to be here either.

“What’s your name, doll?” He asks.

“Y/N.” You tell him.

“I’m Bucky.” He kept his voice low so no one outside of the training room heard him. “I’ll protect in here.” He says softly.

You smiled and nodded.

Over time, you and Bucky developed a sibling relationship. You two learned more about each other. Bucky protects you the best he can. When you two go on missions together, he does most of the work while you are somewhere safe so you don’t get hurt.

YEARS LATER

You always go on missions with Bucky- the Winter Soldier, but this time you didn’t. You were sure why you couldn’t go on the mission with him. You asked them why you couldn’t go with him and they told you that you weren’t needed on this mission. Then they locked you in the cell they kept you in.

There wasn’t anything for you to do in a cell that had nothing but a bed in there. You laid on the bed and stared up at the ceiling as time passed. You jumped when you heard the sound of metal breaking. You scrambled to sit up. The door opened, revealing Bucky. You smiled and felt relieved when you seen him.

“We have to get out of here.” Bucky says.

Bucky grabbed your hand and led you out of the cell and out of the HYDRA base. You didn’t question him. You just followed him. When you two were outside of the base, Bucky put a backpack on your back.

“What’s in the backpack?” You asked.

“Clothes and snacks.” He says.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You are going to find a guy named Steve Rogers. He’ll help you and keep you safe.” He says.

“Who’s Steve Rogers?” You asked.

“My best friend and Captain America.” He tells you. “Now go.” He says.

“What about you? I can’t just leave you here.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“I’ll find somewhere to hide. Don’t worry about me, doll.” He says softly.

“But I want to stay with you.” You say, your bottom lip quivering and tears flowing down your cheeks.

“I know you do, but you can’t. You’ll be safer with Steve.” He says.

Bucky pulls you into a tight hug, a couple tears rolling down his cheeks. He kissed your forehead before looking in your eyes.

“I love you, doll.” Bucky whispers. “You will always be like a little sister to me.” He says softly.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You whispered back, your voice cracking. “You will always be my big brother.” You say softly.

You started running. You took a look back to see Bucky running in a different direction. You hated this. You didn’t want to leave the person closest to you. Bucky is like the older brother you never had.

After a few days of looking for Bucky’s friend, you managed to find him. You found him in a building called the Avengers Tower. You wandered around the building, trying to figure out how to get inside.

“There’s a woman outside of the building.” Jarvis informs the Avengers.

“Who is she?” Tony asks.

“I’m not sure, but she looks suspicious.” He says.

Everyone grabbed their weapons, getting prepared for you to come inside the tower. You managed to find the entrance and went inside of the building. You quickly found an elevator and got on it.

“She entered the building and is coming to this floor.” Jarvis informs everyone.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. You stepped off of it. You were met by the Avengers with their weapons pointed at you. Your eyes widened and you rose your hands in surrender, not trying to cause any trouble.

“Who are you?” Tony asks with his blaster aimed at you.

“I-I-I don’t want any trouble.” You stuttered, not answering his question.

“Why are you here?” Natasha asks.

“I’m looking for someone.” You answered.

“Who?” Thor asks.

You kept fumbling with your words. You knew who you were looking for, but you were so terrified that you forgot how to form any words. That’s when you heard the sound of a gun being cocked and Tony’s blaster. You held your hands out in front of you, forgetting that you had powers for a second. The next thing you knew, the Avengers got blasted by the invisible power that comes from your hands and sent flying all over the room, except Steve. Your eyes widened. You didn’t mean to do that. You didn’t know what to do, except run. Steve ran after you with his shield.

You found a hallway and hid down there. You leaned against the wall, sliding down it. You pulled your knees up to your chest and turned yourself invisible so no one could find you. You started crying out of fear. Steve followed the sound of your crying. It led him to the hallway you’re in, but he didn’t know where you are in the hallway, due to your invisibility powers.

“Show yourself.” Steve says as he cautiously walks down the hallway.

You know you shouldn’t reveal yourself, but you did it anyway. You reappeared. Steve found you sitting on the floor against the wall with your knees pulled up to your chest.

“Why are you here?” Steve asks you.

“I’m- I’m looking for someone.” You tell him.

“Who are you looking for?” He asks.

“Steve Rogers.” You answered.

“That’s me.” He tells you. “Why are you looking for me?” He asks.

“I was told to.” You say.

“By who?” He asks.

“Your friend Bucky Barnes.” You tell him.

Steve’s eyes widened when you said Bucky’s name. He set his shield against the wall before crouching down in front of.

“Did Bucky send you here as himself or as the Winter Soldier?” Steve asks.

“Himself.” You answered. “He told me you two are best friends and you’re Captain America. He said you’ll help me and keep me safe.” You tell him.

“If you don’t mind me asking.” He begins as he sat down next to you. “How do you know Bucky?” He asks.

“Him and I met in HYDRA when I was 15. He’s like an older brother to me. HYDRA killed my parents who worked for SHIELD, kidnapped me, and experimented on me.” You explained.

“Who are your parents?” He asks.

“Y/M/N and Y/D/N.” You tell him.

The memory of seeing your parents dead bodies on the living room flashed in your mind. You couldn’t help but start crying again. Steve wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

“I knew your parents. I worked with them a lot. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to them.” Steve says.

You know you don’t Steve, but you quickly started trusting him.

“Bucky was right to tell you to come find me. I’ll help you and keep you safe.” He says.

“Really?” You asked, sniffling and looking up at him with teary eyes.

“Yes.” He confirms.

You smiled at him and hugged him. Steve hugged you back.

Over the next few weeks, you got settled in the Avengers Tower with Steve’s help. Steve stuck to his words. The Avengers aren’t too thrilled about the idea of you living there after you accidentally blasted them with your powers. You were standing next to the door of the lounge room when you heard Steve and the Avengers talking.

“Why is she still here?” Tony asks Steve.

“Bucky told her that I’ll keep her safe and that’s what I intend on doing for her.” Steve says.

“You know, he’s not much of a friend if he tried to kill you. Even ask Wilson and Romanoff. They were there.” He says.

“That was the Winter Soldier not Bucky. He was under HYDRA’s control.” He says, defending his best friend, even though he’s not there.

“Give the man a break.” Sam speaks up. “Bucky wants to make sure his little sister is safe so he sent her to his best friend.” He says.

“How do we know Barnes or HYDRA didn’t send her here to kill us?” Tony asks theoretically.

“Bucky wouldn’t do that.” Steve says.

“Besides, if she wanted to kill any of us, she would’ve done it anyway.” Clint chimes in.

“She may have a track record with HYDRA, but she doesn’t look like the kind of person who would kill anyone.” Wanda says.

Your eyes teared up. You couldn’t help but let that theory get to you. You finally walked in the lounge room, fiddling with the strings on your -Steve’s- sweatshirt.

“None of that is my intention.” You say.

Everyone went silent and turned their attention to you.

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Y/N.” Steve says softly.

“Yes I do.” You say.

You turned to Tony.

“What you think I’m going to do is not true. HYDRA didn’t send me here to kill you guys. I would never do anything like that. Bucky, who’s like a brother to me, sent me to find Steve so he can keep me safe. I wanted to go with Bucky, but he thought it would be better if I’m in Steve’s care.” You explained. “As for me blasting and sent you guys flying across the room with my powers, that was an accident. I didn’t mean to do that. That was out of fear and I apologize for that.” You apologized.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks by the time you were done talking. You left the lounge room and went back to your bedroom. Everyone in the room stayed silent and felt bad for you. Steve went to your room, only to find you crying softly. He sat down on your bed next to you and rubbed your back.

“I’m sorry if you heard any of that.” Steve says softly.

“I heard all of it. I understand why Tony said those things, but it hurt my feelings and to hear.” You say.

“Don’t listen to him.” He says.

You sniffled and sat up. Your face is wet with tears and your eyes are red from crying. Steve grabbed a tissue from the box on your nightstand and gently wiped your tears away. You couldn’t help but smile when he did that. Steve took a moment to admire your beauty.

“You’re very beautiful.” He murmurs softly.

You smiled and looked down, blushing uncontrollably. Steve gently lifted your head so you were looking in his blue eyes. He leaned in and kissed you softly and passionately. His lips felt soft against yours. There was so much love and passion in the kiss that it took your breath away. He pulled away and put his forehead against yours, looking deep in your eyes.

“That was my first kiss.” You admitted.

“I’m honored to be your first kiss.” Steve says with a smile.

Steve pecked your lips softly a few times before you two laid down on the bed. He covered you two up with a blanket and held you close to him. You laid your head on his chest, slowly falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

You weren’t sure how long you have been asleep. You’ve been tossing and turning in your sleep for the past few minutes. Your hands held onto the blanket tightly. You were also mumbling in your sleep.

“What about you? I can’t just leave you here.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“I’ll find somewhere to hide. Don’t worry about me.” Bucky says softly.

Steve turned on the bedside lamp and turned to face you.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” Steve gently shook you. “You’re having a nightmare.” He says softly.

You gasped loudly and scrambled to sit up, breathing heavily. You looked around the room to gather your surroundings. You then broke down in tears when you didn’t see Bucky. Steve wrapped his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re ok. You’re safe with me.” Steve whispers.

“I miss Bucky.” You say, your voice cracking.

“I do too.” He says softly.

Your crying died down after a few minutes and you fell back to sleep.

“Hey! You said you’d go it easy on me.” Steve playfully jokes.

“I told you I wouldn’t use my powers and do it your way. So technically I am going easy on you.” You giggled.

A couple weeks later, you and Tony managed to work out his differences with you. Steve has been helping you train. Actually, you two are playing around at the moment.

“You know, you can go a little harder on me. I can handle it. I am Captain America after all.” He says.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Stevie.” You say jokingly.

You did a move Steve taught you. Actually, Bucky taught you years ago. Steve is just helping you improve it. You kicked his feet out from underneath him and he fell onto the mat on the floor. You shocked yourself when you did that.

“Woah. That was cool.” You say, still shocked.

“So it’s cool that you knocked me to the ground?” He jokes.

“N-No! I was just- I never done that before. Actually, I’ve done it a couple times.” You babbled.

Steve reaches up and pulls you down to the floor with him. Actually, you landed on top of him.

“I’m not mad. I’m impressed, sweetheart.” He says.

You two stared in each other’s eyes. You and Steve got caught up in the moment and one thing led to another and Steve kissed you.

“I don’t think Bucky would approve of this if he found out.” You giggled softly.

“It’ll be our little secret.” Steve whispers and playfully winks.

Steve stood up and helped you up.

“Can I tell you something?” You asked nervously.

“You can tell me anything, Y/N.” He says.

“I’m in love with you.” You tell him. “I’m not just saying that cause we kissed a couple times. I feel a connection between us and-” Steve kissed you to get you to stop blabbing.

“I’m in love with you too, sweetheart.” He whispers and smiles at you.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answers, kissing you again. “I love you, darling.” He whispers.

“I love you too, Stevie.” You whispered back with a smile.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[seokgyuu]

Coming back home for the summer hasn’t been fun in ages. Thankfully, that is just about to change when you lay eyes on Matthew who, according to Taerae, isn’t into older girls. Never backing down from a challenge you decide to approach him anyways - making yourself younger than you actually are and calling Matthew “oppa” more times than probably necessary.

Pairing: Seok Matthew x Fem!Reader

Genre: Comedy, Smut

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Reader is actively lying to Matthew to get into his pants, loads and loads of usage of the word “oppa”, alcohol drinking (idk in what country this universe is, they call each other with honorifics but they kind of are in the states because i made the drinking age 21…. just don’t pay it any mind ok, it’s porn disguised as a funny story) , this work contains adult content! MDNI! Smut warnings under the cut!

Playlist: Hot in Herre - Nelly (you’ll get it), Yeah - Usher, Murder on the Dancefloor - Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Break Your Heart - Taio Cruz, Durch den Monsun - Tokio Hotel

A/N: thank you sm @xscoupsx for the perfect header & divider!!! absolute masterpiece i am still staring at it. finally got this worm out of my brain!!! take this with a grain of salt, it's all fun and giggles. Tags: @cheolism, @the-boy-meets-evil

When you get home that day it’s his number on your phone (that he saved as ‘matthew oppa’ of course) that pops up asking if you made it home safely. It’s Taerae’s number that pops up to let you know he’s blocking you. Giggling, you fall down onto your bed, your slippers hanging off your feet threatening to fall off any second, but instead of caring, you open up instagram. You find him quick and easy, Seok Matthew followed by Gyuvin and Taerae and Hanbin and basically everyone you know in this small town. How come you’ve never seen him before? 

Smut warnings: oppa kink, sexting, masturbation (f&m), unprotected sex (booo!), blowjob, cumming in mouth, lmk if i missed anything!

“Forget it. He’s not into older girls.”

Taerae is sipping on his milkshake watching you watch his former classmate and friend Matthew. You’re in the mall in Taerae’s hometown which also happens to be your hometown. You’ve left for college around a year and a half ago and coming back here never truly excites you anymore. Or at least it didn’t use to. Now, looking at the young man outside of Mikey’s Milkshakes handing out flyers with sweat dripping down his temples, you think that just about changed. 

“He doesn’t know that I’m older,” you shoot back, sucking on your own straw and enjoying the taste of peanut butter on your tongue.

“You look older, noona.”

A napkin hits Taerae’s forehead. It was you. You threw the napkin. He just chuckles and shakes his head

“No, you don’t get it. Matthew is… weird. Like he has this whole thing where he hates when people call him cute. He gets all upset and tells them he isn’t cute, he’s Woohyun oppa.”

While you do cringe, you also find it quite interesting. You’ve heard of this before - younger guys who didn’t like to be younger. He was Taerae’s age, so freshly 21 and attending the local college with Tae, which meant if anything he would have to go for girls 18 or 19 and, come on, they surely couldn’t please him like you! 

“How convenient,” you smile in a way that makes Taerae shiver in something close to fear, “I’ve always wanted to try calling a younger guy oppa.”

“You’re horrible,” Tae comments, shoving his milkshake away from him, “horrible and crazy. He is never going to fall for you being younger.”

“Really? Want to make this interesting then?” The evil grin on your face certainly means nothing but trouble. But it’s summer and this town is boring as hell with nothing ever happening. So, why not? Taerae shakes your hand, betting against you that you, in fact, will not succeed to bed Matthew. It’s not just pride that’s on the line but also free milkshakes for the rest of the summer. 

You somehow convince your friend Gyuvin to act like you’re his same age cousin from a different town. As it turns out he also knows Matthew. How does everyone know this guy but you? And why has no one ever mentioned to you how they have an extremely attractive friend who just so happens to have an oppa kink? 

It’s honestly a mystery to you how Taerae didn’t think you’d be able to pull off being a 04’ liner. You can pretend to be way younger than you are! You don’t look like you’re twenty-three! Matthew is eating out of your hand by lunch. He listens to you attentively and everytime you call him “oppa” he seems to melt into his chair. 

When you get home that day it’s his number on your phone (that he saved as ‘matthew oppa’ of course) that pops up asking if you made it home safely. It’s Taerae’s number that pops up to let you know he’s blocking you. Giggling, you fall down onto your bed, your slippers hanging off your feet threatening to fall off any second, but instead of caring, you open up instagram. You find him quick and easy, Seok Matthew followed by Gyuvin and Taerae and Hanbin and basically everyone you know in this small town. How come you’ve never seen him before? 

His profile isn’t private which means you didn’t have to follow him to stalk his 103 posts, but you still do. It saddens you that you can’t comment things like “you look so good, oppa” or “woah, that color looks so perfect on you, oppa”, but you digress. Sucking on a popsicle from the freezer, you scroll through his feed, seeing that he definitely hasn’t been this hot for a long time. There is a ringing in your ear and you try to lose it by scratching it. What the hell? Back to Matthew, please! Just last year he looked like a teenager freshly hitting puberty and now? He’s buff and handsome and just thinking about what might be under that shirt makes your thighs press together. Perhaps you have a serious problem because when you spot the highlight saying “gym” with the flexing arm emoji, you are already halfway down with your hand to touch yourself. 

His gym pics are a goldmine for your dirty fantasies and thoughts about the man you’re planning to seduce. There is one where he flexes his arm and grinning while winking into the mirror he’s taking the pic in. Then there is the one where he is sitting on the bench press, leaned forward with a half smirk, his tight tank top leaving nothing to the imagination. The shorts he’s wearing make you feel dizzy and as you imagine what his cock would look like and what he would feel like inside of you, you begin to circle your clit with your thumb, throwing your head back as you continue your fantasy. Matthew and you on that bench press, his strong arms holding you down as he fucks into you mercilessly. 

A ‘ping’ disrupts your session and you open your eyes, looking down to see he had texted you again. It’s almost comical - you thinking about him fucking you and touching yourself to that thought and him texting you a “it was so nice to meet you” message as if you weren’t thinking about him fucking your brains out. 

Sighing, you pull your hand out of your panties, wiping them off on your shorts and decide to text him back. 

matthew oppa: it was so nice to meet you

you: you too, oppa <3

matthew oppa: hehe

matthew oppa: so, what are your plans this week? 

you: hmm, not much… why?

matthew oppa: oh well, i was wondering if maybe you’d wanna go to a drive in with me?

you: ohh, like watching a movie in a car?

matthew oppa: yeah, exactly!

Now, this is where your current horniness decides to take over. Licking over your lips you sink deeper into your pillows, your slippers completely fallen off now, your legs spreading slightly as you stare at the screen, thinking about how you can make this guy jerk off to you right now without sounding too experienced. 

you: well… i would love to see you again, oppa, but…

matthew oppa: but…?

you: my friends… they told me some things about drive ins you know

matthew oppa: huh? what things?

you: uhm… like that when you go to a drive in with a boy… well you know 🙈

matthew oppa: oh

matthew oppa: y/n you don’t have to worry

matthew oppa: i won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, oppa promises 

you: that’s nice of you to say, oppa💕

you: but… what if i want something you’re not comfortable with? 

matthew oppa: what do you mean?

you: it’s embarrassing 🥺

matthew oppa: you don’t have to be embarrassed with oppa, yn 

you: ok if you say so…

you: it’s just that i know we only met today but

you: i just can’t stop thinking about you

matthew oppa: that’s cute 

matthew oppa: oppa can’t stop thinking about you too, if that makes you feel better baby

Baby. You bite down on your lip. As much as it makes you cringe it makes your pussy wet, the way he speaks and reacts, how he addresses himself as ‘oppa’. You wonder if maybe your need to get laid is taking over the intelligence you usually inhabit. 

you: really? 🥺

matthew oppa: yeah

you: are you also… thinking naughty thoughts, oppa?

matthew oppa: oh

matthew oppa: are you thinking naughty thoughts, baby?

you: idk… 🥺

matthew oppa: you can be honest with oppa, baby, i would never judge you

you: i am thinking naughty thoughts

matthew oppa: like what?

you: saw oppa’s instagram… your gym highlight

matthew oppa: you liked it?

you: a lot 🙈

matthew oppa: how much did you like it, baby?

you: so much that i got all wet… down there

You want to die and at the same time you don’t think you’ve been this wet (down there) in ages. Not the dude from the semester end party who had fucked you in the smallest bathroom known to mankind and most certainly not Jiwoong last summer. You wonder if anyone has ever made you this wet without even physically being present.

matthew oppa: fuck

matthew oppa: you got wet just from my pictures? you like oppa that much?

you: i do… it’s so embarrassing

you: stared at you the whole day today… now i want you to do bad things to me, oppa

matthew oppa: yeah? what do you want me to do?

you: wanna get on my knees for you and have oppa fuck my mouth 🙈

matthew oppa: shit… got my cock so hard from just reading that, baby. 

you: does oppa wanna fuck my mouth?

matthew oppa: fuck yeah. your mouth and your wet pussy baby

you: i’m so wet oppa, so wet for you 🥺

matthew oppa: can i call you?

He ends up calling you before you can respond his raspy voice on the other side of the line already telling you he’s getting off. What follows is just the two of you simultaneously masturbating while telling the other dirty things you wanna do to each other. He tells you how he wants to fuck you (his main fantasy seems to be you on all fours and him behind you drilling into you like a sledgehammer) and how you need him to fill you inexperienced pussy.

Obviously you don’t say that, you just hint at it. Matthew wants to be an oppa, he wants someone younger who looks up to him - especially in a sexual way. So, of course you’re gonna lie to him and tell him you’ve only had sex like twice and both times had been five minutes tops and you also had never had a guy make you cum or cum inside of you. All of these are lies. Your body count has gotten to a point of you not even remembering anymore and the amount of plan bs you had taken should probably be illegal. You’re not responsible when it comes to fucking and you are well aware. Matthew, though, doesn’t need to know this. 

When he cums with your name on his lips and you cum begging for him to fill you up, you call it a night. 

The drive in idea doesn’t come up again. You worry for a day that he might have lost interest. Then, you hear from Gyuvin that the drive in had to close because there was a fire and Matthew has just been swamped with work. You deem that as a good enough reason for him to leave you on read for approximately two seconds before it starts to piss you off. Thankfully, summers in your hometown promise extreme ragers every weekend to which you are sure Matthew will come too. At least you hope he does.

Out of all people, Jiwoong is the one to throw the first big rager of the summer and even knowing that Jiwoong could very easily blow your cover, you decide to go. With your sluttiest little dress and some skimpy underwear on, Taerae only sighs when you get into his car.

“You will give the man a damn heart attack,” he comments as he turns out of your parents driveway. You chuckle.

“Let’s hope that happens after I win that bet against you, Taetae.” 

“You truly are a horrible person. Lying to get into someone’s pants? Shouldn’t that be below you?” 

“Dramaqueen.” You roll your eyes and pull down the visor to open the small mirror and check your make-up. 

“I’m just saying,” Taerae continues as he stops at a traffic light, “watch out. If he finds out you’re lying chances are he’s gonna be mad.”

“Come on. I’ve lived in this town my whole fucking life. If anything it’s kind of his fault for not knowing me.”

It is odd. How he has apparently been in Taerae’s class all this time and neither of you knew each other. But then again, how were you supposed to know everyone? You don’t see Taerae looking at you with the biggest side eye. And even if you had, you probably wouldn’t have cared. 

Jiwoongs house is huge. His parents are both lawyers or whatever and you remember vividly how one of Jiwoong’s friends wanted to hit on you, some small unremarkable guy you had already forgotten the name of, and how Jiwoong saved you from him, getting your pussy as a thank you. In his parent’s room. You wonder if they ever found out.

There is already loud music playing when you get to the house, Tae parking his car in the last available spot on the street. Getting out, you try your best not to flash the people walking past you and Tae chuckles when you land on your heels a little shaky. You decide to ignore him and just start walking towards the door, him right behind you. Right at the entrance you already spot Gyuvin with Ricky and Gunwook and you raise your brows when you spot a red cup on the latter’s hand.

“It’s coke, noona, I swear!” He says the second you reach him, showing off the contents of his cup by tilting it slightly. Clicking your tongue you nod in approval, moving on to the other two. 

“Technically,” Gyuvin says, his own cup suspiciously close to his chest and far away from your glaring eyes, “you are the same age as us tonight, so…,” he seriously tries to talk him out of this. You put your hands on your hips and look at him, Ricky, his cup, Ricky’s cup. The two share a gaze before sighing and finally handing the cups to you. You smile triumphantly.

“Very good. Thank you, boys.” 

“Aaaand these are for me, thank you very much,” a voice startles you, taking the two cups from your hands. Your look to your right and see Taerae grinning widely.

“What? If they are underage, so are you, bestie.” 

Waving with his occupied hands, Tae goes inside humming along to the music. You groan and roll your eyes, knowing full well you did this to yourself but also hating Taerae because this was obviously all his fault.

“Now, now. We can all have a wonderful time without alcohol!” Gunwook smiles widely and if he wasn’t so adorable you might have punched him in the stomach. Instead, you just sigh once more and walk into the house, leaving the three boys behind.

Inside, there is a big crowd of people gathered in the spacey living room and your eyes are already scanning your surroundings for Matthew. While you really want him to fuck you (like so much you literally thought about not wearing any panties just for him. Then you put on your dress and realized there was no way in hell), you also need to stay in character. You are innocent, shy, a young girl who needs her oppa to show her the ropes. Perhaps, you are even a little insecure because he left you on read for two days, who knows?

It doesn’t take long to spot him. And when you do, you are suddenly thankful Tae took the cups away from you because you for sure would have dropped them. It’s almost comical that Nelly’s “Hot in Herre”starts playing right this second. 

Matthew has his hair styled up, a few strands falling into his forehead, his face so perfectly on display you want to place kisses all over it. And as if that wasn’t enough, there is a white sleeveless shirt on his muscular body that lets everyone know he is buff and proud of it. 

Fuck. You need him. Like, right now. 

No one has ever looked that fucking delicious, you decide. He is the yummiest person on this planet and you’re gonna have him. 

For a few moments, you only watch him. Watch how he talks to someone you don’t know, how he nips at his cup, how he laughs at a joke. It’s a miracle you haven’t started drooling. People keep on walking around you and only when one nearly runs you over, you decide to move closer to Matthew. So far, he hasn’t seen you. 

Biting down on your lip, you wonder how you could best catch his attention without going right over to him. The solution presents itself in the form of Hanbin standing leaned against the wall with a cup in one and his phone in the other hand. 

Showtime. You grin to yourself. Then, you get into character. 

“Hanbin oppa!” You squeal, loud enough for Matthew and the girl he is talking to hear. And when Matthew sees you, sees the way you beam at Hanbin, he feels a sting in his pride. His eyes burn into you, making you feel hot all over. 

Hanbin, on the other hand, is more than confused. Mainly because you’re older than him and just called him oppa. 

“Uh, what?” 

“Play along, or you’re dead,” you say with the same enthusiastic beam as before, your voice lowered for only Hanbin to hear. He clears his throat and nods. He knows not to mess with you and your antics.

“S-sure, uhm, whats up?” 

“Trying to make Matthew think I wanna fuck you instead of him,” you laugh loudly, as if he had said something funny, your left hand slightly hitting his shoulder, while the other twirls a strand of hair around your finger. Hanbin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Right, Tae mentioned you were doing that.” He shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and watches you with his brows still raised. 

“Don’t judge me, Sung Hanbin. I remember very well how you tried to get with Katie last summer and literally told her your dad invented fucking Microsoft.”

“Is it my fault she didn’t know Bill Gates?” Hanbin defends himself right away and you chuckle. 

“No. Is it my fault Matthew’s into younger girls?”

Hanbin stays silent for a beat, the song now changing to Usher’s “Yeah” and you wonder what decade you’re in.

“Fair point. But then again I’m just confused becau-,”

“Y/N!”

An arm is wrapped around your waist the next second, an arm you’ve been fantasizing over for days now. 

“Oppa, hi,” your eyes are basically hearts staring up at him. Hanbin thinks he’s very likely stuck in a simulation.

“Hyung,” Matthew smiles at Hanbin, but even someone blind could have figured out it wasn’t an actual smile, “I think Hao hyung is looking for you. Better go check on him, yeah?” 

Hao hyung  definitely isn’t looking for him. Hao hyung is upstairs with a cute boy and a cute girl and Hanbin is well aware. Taking this as his leave, he nods at both of you and leaves you to your idiotic game. 

“Hey,” Matthew now looks at you, eyes softening only slightly. 

“Hi,” you repeat yourself, biting down on your lip.

“I was hoping to see you here.” 

He moves closer to you, your back hitting the wall and his other hand tugging a loose hair behind your ear. 

“Did you? I thought maybe you weren’t interested anymore after we, you know….” You truly deserve an Oscar for the performance you’re giving. Matthew licks over his lips.

“After you came so good for me on the phone, you mean?” His eyes bore into yours and your panties are seemingly swimming away. 

“I- I, yes, after that.”

“Of course oppa is still interested, baby. Oppa just had a lot of work, oppa is sorry.”

He leans closer to you, both hands now on your waist and you can feel the growing tension.

“Oppa..,” you whimper when he is right there, so close to kiss you. 

“Oppa has been thinking about you and your tight pussy all week, will you let Oppa fuck her?”

You moan when his hands creep around and squeeze your ass. 

“W-We didn’t even r-really talk!” You cry after, but Matthew just chuckles, his lips hovering over your own. 

“We can still talk after, doll. Now I desperately need to sink my cock into you, ‘am already so fucking hard.” 

And then he kisses you. Kisses you hard and so full of lust and desperation your knees give in. He pulls you closer against him and you can feel he didn’t lie. He is hard. You decide not to give it too much thought as of why. 

Instead, you part from him, breathlessly and grab his hand to take him to the one room you know for sure won’t be occupied. 

Matthew’s hands are all over you. Groping your boobs one second, then they are back on your ass, all while Murder On the Dancefloor blasts through the house. Desperation radiates off of him and you bathe in it. Bathe in the way he drags your dress up and touches every second of skin he frees. His lips chase yours in haste and you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him push you towards the large bed in the center of the room. 

“Shit, you’re so hot,” he whispers against your lips and you suck his tongue into your mouth as a response. You know he’s already hard. Can feel it when you press your hand against his crotch. He moans and kisses you harder, tongue continuously slapping against yours like he needs to prove a point. 

Your back hits the bed seconds later, his thigh pressed between yours against your clothed cunt that’s already throbbing with want. 

“Want you so bad, oppa,” you cry out, hands fumbling with that god forsaken muscle shirt that has got your pussy wet the second you spotted him in it. He rips off his body the next second and you sigh in absolute bliss. Immediately, you move to touch his toned torso, his defined abs, his perfect shoulders. Fuck, he is incredibly hot. 

“Yeah? Want oppa to fuck you, hm?” His voice is deep and raspy against your ear and you nod rapidly, moving your hips against his thigh. Matthew chuckles, hands back to squeeze your tits, causing you to arch your back against him. His touch feels intoxicating, already got you addicted. It’s the way he is still oh so desperate for you. His kisses are sloppy and his cock is hard against you, his hips moving for any kind of friction. A part of you wants to take your sweet time with him, put him in your mouth, have him come undone on your tongue. Work him so long until he can fuck you for real. But there is a party downstairs and people will eventually notice you’re gone. 

“Put it in me, oppa, please, please, please.” 

He groans at your begging, his head nodding as if in trance, quickly ridding you of your panties and himself of his pants. You watch with a heaving chest how he doesn’t even fully shove his jeans and briefs down his legs, how they pool there at his ankles as he gets on his knees and flips you over. You gasp in surprise, another enormous wave of lust overcoming you when he pulls you up, your ass in the air, the perfect position for him to fuck you like he wanted to. 

Matthew is surprised he isn’t foaming at the mouth with you in front of him like this. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy, his cock hard against his stomach. Grabbing his cock, he jerks himself off a few times before guiding himself to your entrance - only to stop just before he breaches you.

“Shit, I don’t have a condom,” he curses. You look back at him.

“Just pull out, Matthew, please.” 

In your impatience you forgot to call him “oppa”. For a second you’re worried but he is too distracted by you wanting him to fuck you raw he doesn’t even notice the missing honorific. 

Without any more hesitation, he finally sinks into you, his thick head stretching you out just the way you hoped it would. Your fingers grab the bedsheets, eyes falling shut as you get used to the way he feels, inch by inch. And, shit, does he feel good. 

Matthew is scared he’ll come right away when he bottoms out. His cock has never felt more comfortable inside anyone before. Almost as if he was made to fuck you and only you. Thankfully, he doesn’t immediately shoot his load and instead begins to move. And really, he tried to start slow and steady, he really did. But he’s just a horny dude, in the end. His thrusts are rapid and hard and you feel like you’re high. Your thoughts are empty, there is only him and the way he fucks you like an animal. All you feel is your rising orgasm, your pussy squeezing him over and over, your moans getting louder and louder. Matthew isn’t quiet either - both of you seem like you’re harmonising as he fucks you from behind with gluttal moans escaping him every few seconds. His eyes are rolled back and his hands are around your waist, holding you so hard you’re sure there will be marks later on. You are more than ready to welcome them. 

“You- You take oppa’s cock so fucking well, fuck,” Matthew is so close to finishing, you can feel it. 

“Oppa fucks me so good! Don’t stop!” You push your hips against him and he gifts you another one of his melodic moans that have you gushing over his cock. He curses under his breath. 

“Yeah, I can feel how much you like oppa fucking you, such a naughty girl, aren’t you?” His nails dig into your skin and you cry out, his dirty words doing exactly what they are supposed to: bring you close to the edge.

“Ngh- Oppa! Gonna c-cum!” Your mouth hangs open, drool landing on Jiwoong’s parent’s bed. Matthew’s head is spinning and he does his best to keep fucking you exactly like this. He wants you to cum before he does, wants you to cum on his cock, wants to feel you squeeze and clench around him. Wants your release to be the finishing touches for his. 

And when he leans slightly forward, his arm creeping around you to press his thumb to your clit, you can feel the knot tighten and finally explode. 

You’re cumming hard around his cock, vibrating around him with nothing but utter pleasure. You keep calling for him, tell him to keep going, to fuck you through your orgasm and he manages to pull out of you just when you deem yourself satisfied. Quickly, he jerks himself off, ready to finish on your ass, when suddenly you are right there, your mouth around his tip, catching his spurts of cum that shoot out the second he feels your lips around him.

“O-oh, f-fuck! Yeah, t-take all of oppas cum! Fuuuuck!” He pushes you further down his cock, nose in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, more and more strings of his cum gushing down your throat. You swallow every last bit, even lick him clean when he pulls you back, his eyes meeting yours. 

“That was insane,” he says, helping you sit up fully. You grin and pull him down into a kiss he is more than happy to return. 

With your clothes back where they belong, the two of you walk out of Jiwoong’s parents room only to run into… Jiwoong. A mad Jiwoong. Who has a girl with him. A girl who looks more spooked than she should considering she came up here with Jiwoong for probably the same reason as you and Matthew did.

“Oh, hey!” You chirp and Jiwoong looks from you to Matthew and back. 

“”Oh, hey”? Are you fucking with me?” 

“Pretty sure I was just fucking with him, oppa,” you counter, thumb pointing over your shoulder and at Matthew who awkwardly lifts his hand in a wave. Jiwoong groans. 

“Would you give us a second?” He says to the girl and the girl rolls her eyes but finally nods, making her way down the hallway and back downstairs, where Taio Cruz’s Break You Heart is most definitely making the people lose their shit on the dancefloor.

“Yo, hyung, sorry, I know this is your parents room and all, but-,”

Jiwoong raises his hand and Matthew stops speaking. 

“Frankly, I don’t give a fuck, thank you very much. I am more interested in what the fuck this is.” 

He points between you and Matthew and the two of you share a look.

“What- what do you mean?” You ask, continuing to play innocent. 

Jiwoong blinks.

“Are you- are you for real?” 

With being so focused on not understanding what the fuck Jiwoong is on about, you fail to see Matthew using his hands to gesture to Jiwoong to stop talking!

“Jiwoong oppa, what is your problem?” You ask, crossing your arms. 

“My- what my problem is? Jesus, Y/N, just last summer you turned Matty down and instead went to fuck me and now this?”

“What are you talking about, what Matty, wha-,” 

Matty. Matt…y… Matt….hew. Oh.

You remember. Remember the friend that had hit on you, the small unremarkable guy that you couldn’t even remember the name of when you tried. You hadn’t been mean to him, just politely said no and while he did take it as an answer, he still tried to make conversation. Matty. 

Slowly, you turn to Matthew, your mouth hanging slightly open. He is red as a beet and one of his hands is rubbing his neck awkwardly. 

“You- you are Matty?” You ask. After another beat of silence (not really silence considering there was still a party going on) he nods.

“Yes, that would be me.”

You are dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. In shock. Your arm flies to Jiwoong’s shoulder to hold yourself steady.

“But you are- you are so-,”

“You told me you saw the gym pics, didn’t you?”

Oh yeah, you did. 

“You know I am not younger than you?”

“Younger than him, wha-,” Jiwoong chimes in, but neither you nor Matthew pay him any mind.

“Yup.” He pops the “p” at the end and you feel like you’re about to faint.

“So… everyone knows…. you know?” 

“Yup,” he repeats.

They are playing fucking Tokio Hotel downstairs now. 

“Right. Right, sure. That- uh, my bad.” You stand up straight again, letting your hands run over your dress. 

“Noona-,” Matthew starts, but you hold up your hand. 

“Let’s not. I need to let this sink in.”

You walk down the stairs and of course Taerae is leaning against the frame of the big arch, grinning from ear to ear. There is no way of knowing how he even fucking knows what just happened, but he does. When you finally get your hands on your first drink of the night, you are sure the bet was all part of the plan you were so kindly left out of. 

Later, when you spot Matthew with Hanbin and Gyuvin and your eyes meet, you tip your cup at him. Well played.

“If it makes you feel better, he probably would have had you call him oppa during sex anyways,” Ricky says from next to you and you close your eyes. 

This is going to be a long summer. 

[chevroletdean]

IDLE INTERRUPTED

CHAPTER 1: NOSTALGIC HARMONY

SUMMARY: After his father passed, your childhood friend Tom decides to sell the Hanniger Mines. As a lawyer you agree to help him with the paperwork, only to get wrapped up in the dark past of your hometown.

SHIP: Tom Hanniger x Fem!Reader GENRE: Heavy Angst, Dark Fic MINORS DON'T INTERACT, this chapter is more on the fluffy side tho TO NOTE/WARNINGS: These include spoilers for the fic!!! Spoilers for the My Bloody Valentine 3D movie, dark and gritty themes, trauma, loss of a loved one, character death, blood, gore, murder, manipulation, BPD, drugging, dubious consent, kissing/making out, sex, nudity, violence, vomitting, plot twists, this is a scary one so MINORS TURN AWAY, 18+ CONTENT WORD COUNT: 4.6k A/N: The first of two chapters for another one of my @jacklesversebingo squares. I really went out of my comfort zone with this genre and I hope it makes sense OTL We'll start slow with this one! A prologue, if you will. I'm curious to hear your predictions. ❤️ PROMPT: Character A has to pick up Character B from the police station CREDIT & LINKS: header edited by me using gifs by vampirecoreleone & nyxvuxoa ─〃★ divider by cafekitsune ─〃★ series masterlist ─〃★ jacklesversebingo 2024 masterlist

▶️PLAYLIST ⏭️NEXT CHAPTER

“L/N’s Law Agency, how can I help you?”

“Y/N? It’s me, Tom,” the voice is familiar, gruffier than what you remember it to be, but you immediately recognize it and that name.

You freeze. The silence only lasts for a second, but it’s heavy.

The man on the other line, mistaking your silence for you pulling a blank, clears his throat, “Uh, Tom Hanni—”

“Tom, Jesus, it’s been a while,” you cut in.

You went to high school together.

Not only that, you were friends back then. Not the closest, but you got along with him well. Better than most of the other students did.

Tom Hanniger was more of a quiet kid and others would always eye him with either pity or suspicion. But you have yet to meet an outgoing extrovert with not only one, but two hefty near death experiences under his belt.

“Of course I remember you, just… sorry, I haven’t heard from you in…,” you trail off.

“…Ten years,” Tom finishes your sentence and the number hangs heavy over your head.

Ten years. Man, has it really been that long? It feels like ages ago and yesterday all the same.

“Sure has been a while, but it’s good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“No complaints,” you hum. “Is that why you called?”

Now, it’s his turn to pause. There’s a pit opening up in your stomach. You have this gut-feeling that something’s up. He didn’t call to catch up with an old friend, he reached out to a lawyer, after all.

“What, are you in trouble?,” you chuckle lightly.

“No, nothing like that,” he replies, his words accompanied by an awkward snicker. “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard. My dad passed away.”

“Oh,” you lamely respond, though the news do make you frown, and immediately cringe at your loss for words. “My condolences.”

“Thanks,” Tom mutters, his voice tight, then hesitates. “I was wondering, if— well, I’m thinking about selling the mines. And, I don’t know, maybe you could help me with all the paperwork, you know? You don’t have to, I know this is a strange request. I just thought since you’re familiar with the gist and all… Sorry, this is probably dumb, isn’t it?”

You listen patiently to his rambling, your own heart feeling heavier with each word.

Of course you are familiar with the gist. More than you’re comfortable with, honestly. With the Hanniger Mine and what that cursed place means for Harmony, with Tom and even with his dad. And, of course, with the workload of a heritage.

This day had to come eventually, though you’re surprised it’s this soon. Then again, no time can heal Tom’s and your wounds. To the small town of Harmony, that coal mine is vital. To the two of you, it’s a forsaken hellhole.

You completely understand Tom’s decision to sell it and it makes sense that he would ask you for legal advice, too. Even if he’s right: In a way, he’s asking for a lot, given that you’ve abandoned Harmony for good.

Still, you find yourself sighing softly into the phone. “It’s not dumb at all, Tom,” you reassure him, and you mean it. “How about we meet up and talk about the details?”

And that’s how, just two days later, you find yourself back in Harmony.

Instead of nostalgia, however, it’s unease that settles within every fiber of your being.

Even though you grew up here, spent your entire childhood here, you feel out of place. You remember every street, but you wish you could forget about all of them. You immediately notice the smallest of changes as you turn the corner, but you can’t say you’re sad about a couple shops no longer being there.

Ultimately, you find yourself seated at your old usual table of your former go-to coffee shop, the one closest to the door, right next to the window. Even the damn coffee tastes exactly the same, but you feel like this is no longer your home.

It stopped being that ten years ago. Nothing ties you to this place anymore.

Tom Hanniger’s phone call certainly came as a surprise, considering you are no longer in contact with anyone from here.

Aside from your parents, that is, although you can count the amounts of visits you paid them over the past decade on one hand. You’d always say you were busy with your studies and, after getting your degree, with work. And that was only a partial lie — becoming and being a lawyer wasn’t for the faint of heart.

You left your hometown behind as soon as possible. Ever since that tragic night on February 14th, when Harry Warden slaughtered 22 people, you knew you’d graduate and then avoid that small town.

Only five survivors were left behind on that fateful night: Tom, his then girlfriend Sarah, Sarah’s now husband Axel, Irene, and you. Your boyfriend Jim, on the other hand, was among the victims. You never quite recovered from losing him.

Especially since your last conversation with him was a fight.

You caught him making out with Irene. Jim claimed it was just for a silly party game, just a harmless round of truth or dare, but you were screaming at him, insulting him, for cheating on you. On fucking Valentine’s Day, no less.

Not that you were wrong, but you wish you could’ve parted on better terms. Resolve the issue somehow, just talk one more time. That bridge was burnt by Death, though. By Harry Warden and his killing spree, to be exact.

Ironically enough, you might not be alive today were it not for that stupid fight. You left the party right after and just in time to not get caught in the crossfire of the miner’s pickaxe.

Lucky you, huh?

Except you’ve pretty much lost everything. Your sanity as well as your boyfriend. As for your group of friends, well— Of course they were a mess after what happened. The months after that massacre leading up to your graduation were the worst of your life.

From what you gathered, Sarah and Axel are now married and parents at that, and they, as well as Irene, still live here. You can’t wrap your head around why, but to each their own. Everyone deals with trauma differently, after all.

Tom’s approach at least seems to be similar to yours, him turning his back on Harmony only disrupted by his ties to the family business.

The Hanniger Mines are the heart and core of Harmony, even under the heavy association with more than two dozens of corpses. The five victims after an accident first, then the 22 high school students that died exactly one year later.

All of them murdered by Harry Warden. Both instances witnessed first-hand by Tom Hanniger.

Still, the mines are the main source of income for the area, and a lot of people’s jobs depend on its future. All of which is for Tom to decide. You don’t envy him for one second.

“Y/N.”

Speaking of the devil, his familiar voice appears behind you.

You turn your head towards him and he doesn’t look a year older than when you’ve last seen him. His warm smile is the first thing you can confidently say you missed about Harmony. He looks a bit nervous, but you immediately find comfort in the sight of his sandy hair and those green eyes, genuine as always.

You rise from your seat, pulling him into a tight hug right away. In a way, you feel like he’s the only one that gets you, and that maybe you’re the only one that gets him. Like you two are the only people understanding the madness of this town, the weight of it.

Accomplices, if you will.

“It’s so good to see you,” you greet him and gesture for him to sit down with you.

“You too,” he nods and scratches the back of his head. “Although I wish the circumstances were different. I’m sorry to drag you back to this place.”

Your eyes soften, and though you bite your lower lip, you shake your head. It’s not his fault. Plus, you agreed to help him out because you know he’d do the same for you.

“I’m happy to help,” you reassure him, instinctively reaching over the table to place your hand over his. Your fingers gently squeeze his hand and you can tell the gesture takes away some of the tension from his shoulders.

A waitress steps into the picture, placing a menu on your table. It’s pink, little red hearts dotted all over. Valentine’s Special written across the top in bold, scarlet letters.

Oh. Shit, that’s right. It’s February, just a couple days short of Valentine’s Day. The timing couldn’t be more awful. You’d rather not be reminded of this holiday, an anniversary with nothing but despair attached to it.

You withdraw your hand as you glance away from the menu towards Tom, who honestly looks like he’s seen a ghost, face pale and eyes dulled as he stares holes into the laminated sheet of paper. You can immediately tell he’s thinking the same thing.

“Anything from the limited menu for you two lovebirds?,” the waitress patters, unimpressed and clearly just following protocol. “I can recommend the Sweet ‘n—”

“Just some coffee, please. Black,” Tom interrupts her swiftly, his voice ice-cold and rough. His movement is a little too sharp as he pushes the menu away.

The waitress nods, takes her leave, and remains completely oblivious to the shift in atmosphere she’s caused.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Tom huffs and before his voice cracks, he clears his throat, uncomfortably shifting in his seat. “Did you look at the files I sent you?”

The two of you discuss the paperwork over your cups of coffee.

The air between you remains tense, though you know there’s nobody to blame. Except the large elephant in the room, shaped like a bloody heart and a Valentine’s card. Neither of you have it in you to address it.

Whispers throughout the café make it difficult enough to think straight.

“Isn’t that Tom Hanniger?”

“His dad died, he probably came for the funeral.”

“Haven’t you heard the rumors? He inherited the mines.”

Perhaps you chose the wrong location to go over the details with Tom.

You forgot how damn nosy Harmony’s citizens are. But it’s not just that — the town is fuller than usual. You know Harmony to be a mostly peaceful town, bordering on downright boring sometimes. It’s small, cozy, the kinds of neighbourhoods where everyone knows everything.

But you’ve already noticed as you drove here — the streets are infected with a craze. At first you thought it’s maybe spring-break, but now you understand.

Sick and twisted as it may be, tourists are drawn to a mass murderer’s hot-spot around this time of the year. Like moths to the flame. Or rather: The way a pile of shit attracts flies.

You’d rather not think about just how tasteless it is. These people don’t know any better. They think they’re chasing after a sensation, not after a tragedy.

Tom feels the same way. You know without him saying it. You can see it in the way his eyes harden, in the clench of his jaw, the grinding of his teeth. He slams his coffee cup down, hard enough to make it clatter harshly.

“Let’s go outside,” he mutters, hurriedly fishing some money from his wallet. It’s more than enough to cover both your drinks. Way too much, even, but you suppose the waitress deserves a nice tip during these busy days.

Without waiting for your answer, Tom pushes towards the door, expecting you to follow him. You do, without hesitation.

The cold air immediately makes you shiver, but it’s not as harsh of a slap as the Valentine’s Day themed interior of the café. Or the pitiful stares and whispers of the other patrons there.

You pull your cardigan around yourself more tightly, as though it could shield you from not just the cold, but also this anxious feeling. Technically, it’s still winter, and you can only blame yourself for getting too accustomed to the mild Februaries in Florida.

It doesn’t help that it’s late noon, either, the sun hanging low and about to set.

Tom, ever the gentleman, shrugs off his jacket — he, for one, came prepared with a tee and a hoodie underneath his jacket, at least — and drapes it around your shoulders. The warmth enveloping you like a comforting hug. Honestly, you could tear up.

“You didn’t have to,” you stutter awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, one arm still around your shoulder. “Let’s just go.”

You let him guide you away from the coffee shop, each step further down the street making you feel better. The more distance you create between yourself and that place, the easier it is to breathe.

It seems to be the same for Tom, who, upon stopping next to his car, lets out a heavy sigh.

“Sorry, I couldn’t stand that place for another minute,” he mumbles apologetically.

“Me neither,” you agree, earning yourself a look of surprise. “It feels weird to be back.”

His eyes flicker down on you, your timid form and the way you subtly glance around, ready to duck away from any unwelcome reminders of your past.

“I’m so sorry,” he speaks, suddenly, his voice mellow and his eyes soft. “I shouldn’t have dragged you back into all of this.”

Your eyes, on the other hand, widen as you blink at him. You immediately shake your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you insist, forcing a smile onto your lips. “Actually, I’m glad you called.”

His inhale is sharp, though subtle. Once again, he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere except at you.

“Let me make it up to you,” he chuckles shyly. “Where’re you staying, at your parents’? Want me to drive you back to their place?”

“God, no. Nothing against them, of course, but I didn’t plan on staying for long, so I checked in at a motel,” you clarify quickly.

As much as you love your parents, you don’t think you can take a longer visit. You plan on stopping by their place before you leave, of course, but you’ve already compiled a mental list of excuses that justify you leaving this town as soon as possible.

At that, Tom huffs out a short laugh: “Great minds think alike, huh?”

You’re surprised to learn that despite his option to stay at his family’s luxurious house, Tom not only settled for a motel, but the very same one you picked, too. Turns out your rooms are almost next to each other too, just one other squeezed in between — Your’s 102, his 104.

Quite the coincidence.

At least the two of you stick together, even through this. It makes you feel a lot better, so of course you hope to be able to return the favor for him.

“Well, in that case,” you trail off with a chuckle and a shrug. “How about we ditch this neighborhood and continue our work there?”

Tom snorts softly, nods, then opens the door of his car for you. You slide into the passenger seat while he rounds the car and hops in as well. Driving off, you catch up a little — no conversation about this town, the mines not even brought up once. Just what he’s been up to, your days at college.

It’s a conversation filled with laughter. It feels right. At least in comparison to the rest of what’s surrounding you. The outside world, however, doesn’t matter — not when you’re together in this little bubble, your shared comfort zone.

Even when you’re back at the motel, sitting at the coffee table in Tom’s room, it’s good to know that you’re in this together.

The heater’s busted, just like the one in your room, but it’s nothing that a cup of tea and Tom’s jacket can’t fix.

He hands you a steamy cup, sliding it across the table. Each sip makes you forget more and more about the lack of warmth.

Tom’s eyes are glued to you, drinking in the way you nurse your tea.

“You like it?”

You answer with a pleased hum against the rim of your cup, nodding.

“It tastes really sweet,” you observe, licking your lips, “What secret ingredient did you put in there?”

Tom nervously rubs at the nape of his neck in that awkward, but somewhat endearing way of his. “Just honey, might’ve added too much, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nice.” Shaking your head, you chuckle.

You go over the numbers together, weighing Tom’s options.

Obviously many investors are interested in the mines, though some offers are downright ridiculous. As you expected, some people jumped the chance to buy cheap, reasoning that the horrible incidents have stained the location’s reputation.

Not that they’re wrong, but it’s still tasteless.

“Are you not gonna ask?,” Tom sighs eventually.

You furrow your brows together and throw him a look of confusion. “Ask what?”

“Why I’m thinking of selling,” Tom shrugs, casting his eyes down to avoid your gaze. “Everyone wants to know. They all think I’m crazy. That it’ll harm the community.”

For a solid second you remain silent.

Of course the town hates uncertainty, and to some it might look like Tom is choosing the easy way out. Like he’s abandoning responsibility. You, on the other hand, think it’s unfair it’s been bestowed upon him from begin with.

“You already went through enough trouble with that place,” you mumble. “I get you, trust me. I wouldn’t wanna keep that thing either. You’re right to get rid of it.”

There’s a tremble in your voice, but it’s not out of uncertainty. In fact, you’ve never been more sure about anything in your life. It’s your very determination, your deeply rooted hatred for these tunnels that makes you so agitated.

You want Tom to sell. You need him to sell. More so than he does, maybe.

You want this thing dealt with and gone. If you could, you’d destroy it completely. It would be better to set it all to ashes, honestly. Of course, that’s no option. Selling it, potentially letting someone turn it into something else, is the closest you can get to burying what haunts you.

It’s the closest you can get to closure.

“You’re the first, and probably the only person to think that way,” Tom huffs out weakly, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. As bitter as his smile may be, you feel the gratitude behind it.

All you can offer is an understanding nod, and another couple of hours going through the details with him. It’s sometime later when a yawn subconsciously escapes you, triggering Tom to close the folder in front of you.

“Let’s call it a day,” he concludes without giving you room for arguments.

Not that you’re keen on more work. You’re still tired after a long drive here, barely able to focus on another page.

Thus, you give in with a nod and gather your stuff. You finish the last bit of your tea, despite the liquid having long cooled down. It’s still sweet, more so at the bottom of the cup. Mumbling a brief “Thank you”, you set the cup aside.

Tom grabs it swiftly, his fingers brushing against yours — and the touch lingers, grounding you. His hand, calloused, but warm, envelopes yours entirely. Swallowing it up. Shielding it from the outside. From your fears.

“I’m the one who has to thank you, you know?”

Whichever makes your heart skip a beat, his soft, sincere tone, or the depth behind his words, is hard to tell. Both make your skin prickle with warmth. A tingly sensation runs from your knuckles, which he runs his thumb over, to your middle.

The heat spreads all the way to your face. The air thickens around you, like a haze filling your senses. If you didn’t know it any better, you’d say the room is spinning, everything blurry, except for him.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt this connected to someone.

“For doing my job?,” you quip, lighthearted and meekly. Your own voice sounds distant in your ears, similar to the way a drunk would tipsily bubble up nonsense.

“For supporting me,” Tom clarifies, the gentle curl of his lips drawing your eyes to them like a magnet.

“That’s what friends are for,” you mutter under your breath. A voice in the back of your head tells you there’s more to it. Before you can shove it away, the firm squeeze of Tom’s hand amplifies that thought.

His other hand finds home in the soft flesh of your reddened cheek. Cupping your face, he drags his thumb over your bottom lip.

Your breath stutters, hitches. Tom catches it with his fingertips, catches you. Draws you in, until you’re so close you can get drunk from the proximity.

Your eyes almost go drooping, flickering back and forth between the golden specks in his green eyes to the freckles dusting his cupid’s bow.

God, he’s handsome. Not that you didn’t already know. You’ve been well aware for over ten years.

Even though you only had eyes for Jim during your highschool days, Tom always had this endearing air around him, sweet and charming. Slightly awkward, maybe, but in a cute way. In a dreamy way.

“Is that what this is?,” Tom hums, his breath tickling your mouth, “Is that what we are? Friends?”

Actually, you have no idea what this is. What you guys are. What he is to you. Maybe a guiding light in the endless, dark twists and turns of Harmony. The only damn thing that makes sense to you in all this rotten mess.

You don’t give an answer. At least not a verbal one, for what it’s worth.

Instead, you close the gap between you, closing your eyes and locking lips with him.

What starts off as a chaste, testing dance turns deeper the second you melt into his touch. Tom’s hand, previously having cradled your jawline, splays over the nape of your neck with more assertiveness than you anticipate.

As your lips part in a surprised gasp, he presses closer, muffling your strangled whimper.

His tongue keeps licking, tasting, exploring. Taking. It’s too much. Too overwhelming.

Suddenly you feel light-headed, drunk. Unable to match his pace, you softly whine his name, to which he abruptly freezes.

“Shit,” he exhales shakily and breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against yours, “Sorry— I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

You don’t know either. Maybe that silly, much despised hype around Valentine’s Day got to you after all. Yeah, that must be it, right?

Your fingers twitch, still grasped by his. A pang of something unidentifiable stirs in your guts; part of you feels… disappointed. Guilty? You didn’t mean to ruin the moment, you didn’t mean for this to end.

Craving more, you lazily brush your lips against his, as if to reassure him. Regret doesn’t cross your mind once, heat of the moment or not.

“Don’t apologize,” you whisper. Shy as you may be, and flustered all the more, your breathless words are accompanied by a cheeky grin.

There’s a shift in Tom’s eyes, so brief you think your own are deceiving you. He hesitates, but ultimately settles on leaning back. Just slightly, to place his lips to your forehead for a second. You desperately want to sink into his arms, tuck yourself into his chest, and disappear there.

“You should get some rest,” he whispers, weaving his soothing breath into your hairline.

Though your heart is beating up to your throat, you nod. It’s been a long day, for both of you, and sleep sounds wonderfully enticing.

Reluctantly detangling yourself from Tom, you rise to your feet and gather your things.

Upon heading to the door, you realize just how beat you are. Actually, your head feels way heavier than it should. Standing up makes you dizzy. Downright nauseous. You shrug it off, turning to Tom one last time.

Though the words remain unspoken, the question hangs heavy in the air: Is everything good between us? Will you be okay?

“Get some rest, I’ll be heading out,” Tom nods, though his voice sounds… askew. It’s not his tone, but rather that you feel like you’re underwater, any noise reaching your ear in oddly distorted fashion. “I should talk to Ben, about the mines, you know?”

Ben. You think for a moment, then remember that he’s a miner, and a close friend to the Hanniger family.

Of course, Tom should talk to the ones whose jobs will be affected, even if it’ll be a hard conversation. You’d offer to come along and support him, but you’re in no condition to go anywhere except your bed.

“You know where to find me,” you smile, bidding your goodbyes and making your way to your own room, just two doors over.

As you pass the spare one, you stop briefly. Soft giggling, then the unmistakable echo of a moan, all barely muffled by the thin walls, makes you cringe.

“Damn Valentine’s Day craze,” you sigh to yourself and slip into your own room.

The muffled moaning turns into obscene screaming and the repeated squeaking of a cheap motel bed. In your annoyance, you kick against the wall, but of course that doesn’t bother the lovebirds next door.

For just a split second your mind wanders to a scandalous possibility. You mull over the kiss you just shared, the fire of Tom’s lips still burning against your skin — What if you didn’t stop? Would you have gone that far?

A loud, lewd sob from next door makes you snap out of it. Flinching, you push the embarrassing thought aside. Tom’s not like that, and neither are you. You still consider him a friend, though you don’t mind that intimate moment.

It’s just a lot recently. For both of you. Things like that happen when you crave comfort, that’s all.

Giving up with a groan and a roll of your eyes, your body slumps onto your bed. You don’t even bother getting changed, nor do you notice that you’re still wearing Tom’s jacket. All you kick off are your shoes, which you haphazardly drop to the floor.

Where your spine feels like pudding, enough for you to collapse, the couple continues its passionate lovemaking. If you can even call it that. You’re pretty sure you can hear the degrading dirty talk in between the slam of their headboard against the wall.

As if your head doesn’t hurt enough already. Grumbling tiredly, you shield your ears with the pillows and blankets, building yourself a cocoon that’ll hopefully drown out any noises.

Surprisingly, it does.

Your eyelids, heavier than they ever felt in your whole life, flutter closed and you drift off into a dreamless slumber within mere minutes.

PREVIEW:

Your trembling fingers struggle to fish for your phone. You dig in your pockets, before you realize— not your pockets. Tom’s. You’re still wearing his jacket.

Fear strikes you once more as you scramble to your feet and run to Room 104. Tom’s room. You knock, repeatedly, panicked. You sob, calling out his name, again and again, but there’s nobody answering.

You don’t have it in you to break down the door, neither physically — given how weak and shaky you feel — nor emotionally. Just thinking about what gruesome sight might await you in there nearly makes you vomit again.

Instead, you run back to your own room and grab your phone. You dial Axel’s number, knowing he’s Harmony’s sheriff. All those years of keeping the numbers of your old highschool friends… you never knew it would come in handy. You wish it didn’t have to.

Tom Hanniger Taglist:

@0ccvltism

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[sharp-silver4795]

The Creepypasta’s Worst Injuries

I get some inspo from “HC Prompt” posts and that’s what I got going on rn!

⚠️DISCLAIMERS⚠️

BLOOD: Mentions of injuries (ofc), graphic details in some of them, and just blood. Weapons will be mentioned, including guns.

INJURY: the situation is explained and can be a lil uncomfortable- but idk. Severe injury or explicit imagery.

SOURCE: Some of these are product of self harm, betrayal, attempted murder, abuse, general assault, or common causes of death.

ALL SENSITIVE TOPICS WILL BE MARKED AHEAD OF IT!!!

Mild Mention > Detailed > Extreme Details > Sensitive Content

Proxy Behavior miscellaneous

Details of how the injury happened. Jumping, defenselessness, detail of scars and the origin of them. Extreme detail of how the injuries occurred, attempted murder, Marble Hornets Spoilers, ig? Car accidents/injuries

Wilson, Zechariah, Neon Spike, and Rogue will not be included. They’re too sheltered smh 🤦

Kat Hunter: he once got shot 7 times by a few police officers. The other proxies came to his rescue.

Kate the Chaser: once got cornered by Bloody Angel and Scarecrow. She ended up bloodied due to being scratched, hacked at, stabbed, and all sorts of things. The most prominent ones were on her face and thigh. Bloody Angel had kept grabbing her legs to keep her from getting away. Bloody Angel has claws. Scarecrow has gloves very similar to that of Rouge and clawed down Kate’s face. Kate’s face was exposed in the first place because she got hot and couldn’t breathe, so she was jumped basically.

Brian/Hoodie: Fell from a two story building… duh

Tim/Masky: got into a tussle with Alex…

Ticci Toby: Car accident. Even though he didn’t feel the physical pain.

Depression

graphic/horrific death, freak accidents, Self harm, attempted suicide, Religious stuff/demons, mourning

Nathan the Nobody: Masky rocked his shit.

BEN Drowned: accidentally electrocuted himself and couldn’t stop glitching and getting bent and twisted

Eyeless Jack: he dies by biting his own tail and literally exploding his organs-

Clockwork: she got skewered, but somehow survived.

Jeff, Jane, and Nina the Killer: burned alive ofc

Puppeteer: Liu wears a rosary to remember his mother…

Liu Woods: when he was alive, he used scissors to cut at his shoulders and chest. He cut at his arms, legs, and abdomen as well. He nearly bled out in his bathroom.

Zero: she stabbed herself with glass shards cuz she had a mental breakdown

Kagekao: purposely ran into oncoming traffic.

This is what happens when you mess with kids

severe injury/free amputation

Jason the Toymaker: kid ripped out a ton of his hair and made his head bleed

Laughing Jack: got his arms cut off somehow- they grew back tho

Laughing Jill: a parent hit her upside the head and her own chainsaw went through her chest and abdomen

Clumsy Bitches

Mutilation, stupidity , how the fuck did they survive this shit? segments of body being removed and explicit injury mention(?), Experiments, self inflicted injury

Ani the Wight: existing in summer heat

Chess Master: boinked his head, tripped, and landed on the grass… off of a 10m tall tree

Candy Pop: fell off a building. He’s clumsy.

Bloody Painter: he jumped off a building and landed safely, then stepped on a bear trap. How does that even happen?!

Bloody Angel: her whole thing is that she got mutelated into a monseter by a crazy circus… do the math.

X-Virus: while working on a project and it exploded in his face. So, he now has giant burn scars on his face, neck, and chest.

Judge Angels: Rouge kicked her ass and she has claw-like gloves. She ended up with scars on her face for a long while.

Scarecrow: Hoodie once cut her in half with a tree branch.

Doll Maker: Stabbed himself in the eye

Divider Creds: Sister Lucifer; adorneswithlight

Header Creds: ME!!!

[lillaydee]

Shhh!!! Part 18

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove @jessthebaker @bunniboo0015 @demonsasss

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 17

“You were not supposed to receive that NDA, Joel. I was going to take care of it…” Angela tried, placing her hand on the younger man’s shoulder, the man actively avoiding Joel’s eyes, trying to get him out of her office.

Tommy took a step back, blocking the door.

“Aunt Angie? You realize this was the guy who assaulted Lily? You know him? He’s your nephew?” Tommy snarled, looking at Angela in disbelief.

“It’s a misunderstanding guys, it wasn’t supposed to escalate…” Angela finally answered, after a very long, tense, silence.

“What are you talking about? What was supposed to happen?” Tommy asked, seeing his brother unable to speak from his rage. Tess was staying close, worried the man might hulk out. Neither she nor Tommy had ever seen him this angry.

It turned out, Angela had called her financially strapped nephew, Eddie, after seeing the four of you at dinner that night. He was nearby, and Angela offered him free use of one of her low limit credit cards in exchange for doing that. He was only supposed to harass you and Joel verbally, basically annoy you, or maybe make Joel angry and show his ‘true colours’, make you think twice about spending time with him. But the guy got too excited, went too far, and got physical with you instead. When things went wrong, she made sure to use her resources to delete every single footage from the internet, steering Joel and Tommy away from probing into the matter further, seemingly succeeding before Tommy let slip that Sarah might have a copy. It was the reason she was so hellbent on getting her hands on Sarah’s phone. She even installed a malware on the new phone she got for Sarah to replace her broken one, intent on getting access to Sarah’s cloud. That went to pot, Tommy was too suspicious.

“All that because you didn’t want Lily to spend time with Joel?” Tommy asked, shaking his head.

“There’s something about her, guys… I just don’t trust her. I don’t believe she’s good for Joel!”

“You were all buddy-buddy with her lately, but she’s not good for Joel?” Tommy’s voice was rising higher and higher every time he spoke. “What’s that got to do with the NDA? Did you sign it?” he asked Joel, who simply shook his head, eyes still on Angela, looking as if he was plotting her murder and body disposal all at the same time. “So you forged his signature? You know that’s a crime, right? What did Lily say when you gave her the NDA? You told us you hadn’t seen her!”

Angela kept quiet.

Tess opened the door to the office. “Excuse me, what’s your name?” Tess peeked outside, asking the young man who gave Joel the NDA.

“Andrew, miss.”

“Will you come in here?”

Andrew walked in, looking bewildered.

“Who served this to Miss Stevens?” Joel asked, picking up the NDA.

“I did, Mr Miller. Ms Maddison asked me to deliver it and wait for her to sign it.”

If looks could kill, Andrew would be dead several times over, given how Angela was glaring at him.

“You saw her? Where?” Joel perked up a little.

“The hospital. She was taking care of her uncles. They were injured in the accident.”

Joel’s blood ran cold. “What accident? Her uncles were in an accident? Are they okay?”

“They had casts on their legs, if I recall correctly.”

“You knew this? And you didn’t tell me?” Joel asked Angela, who remained quiet.

Tess looked at Eddie who was still standing sheepishly at the corner of the room, his way out still blocked by Tommy. Her eyes were drawn to the cast on his wrist.  

“What happened to your wrist?”

The man hid his hand in his jacket.

“Angela?”

Angela looked at her feet, her hands fiddling with each other.

“I’m calling the cops, they’ll figure this out,” Tommy said, pulling his phone out.

“No! Wait! I’ll tell you,” Angela pleaded. She took a deep breath and leaned on her table, head hung down.

“I needed a way to stall Lily so she wouldn’t go to Texas, so, I asked Eddie to delay her uncles so that she would stay with them here.”

The three looked confused.

“Joel you were moving at warp speed with her, it’s not good. I’m only trying to protect you, Joel. I keep telling you that, but you wouldn’t listen to me,” she looked at Joel. “He was supposed to instigate a small accident, a fender bender with the uncles, so Lily would get worried and want to stay and help them out, so she wouldn’t be in Texas with you.”

The three still looked confused.

“But… uh… he overdid it, and her uncles ended up badly injured. They’re fine, by the way, broken leg, fractured ribs, but…that was not part of the plan.”

“What the fuck, Angela. You could have killed people! You asked your nephew to do this to stop Lily from going to Texas? What else have you done?” Tommy asked disbelievingly, unaware how loaded that question was.

She looked to be contemplating for a while, but ultimately decided she had nothing more to lose. She knew they would find out anyway, now that they knew about her nephew, there was no hiding this.

She recalled that day in your truck. You had left your phone unlocked on the counter when you went to the bathroom. Her idiot nephew had texted her that the accident went a bit too far than planned, that he was sure the uncles were badly injured. She panicked, worried that the uncles would be able to identify Eddie and her involvement in this whole thing would come out in the open. But she saw the perfect opportunity then, one that she didn’t think she could pull off.

She had had the NDA drafted out since she saw you that birthday dinner night. She left when Tommy asked her to but stayed across the street, hoping to find out more. She saw Tommy and Maria leave with the girls, her heart breaking at the thought that you and Joel were completely alone in the house, that everyone was so supportive of this union that they left the house to give the two of you some privacy. Her jealousy reared it’s ugly head when she recalled how dismissive Sarah and Ellie were of her, so quick to question her presence, when she was the one who had been there all long for Joel. Yet, here you were, very much welcomed after a few months.

Tears began filling her eyes when she saw you come out to accept a delivery, wearing Joel’s flannel. She watched as Joel passionately kissed you in his doorway, lifting you up into his arms and kicking the door shut behind him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening behind that door. She drafted that NDA as soon as she got home. She knew she was going to use it against you. But she didn’t know how to get it to you without making you suspicious of her intents.

And now, luck was on her side.

So she picked up your phone and quickly changed the Millers’ phone numbers to the slew of disposable numbers she had on hand, the ones she used to tip off the paparazzi and such. She then deleted all texts from the Millers, blocked all their original numbers from your phone, calling Eddie, telling him to take Bill and Frank’s phones. He didn’t need to, evidently, the phones destroyed in the crash. She blocked Joel’s email address from your phone too, for good measure. She later logged into Joel’s email to block your email. She was doing whatever she could to make sure you and Joel couldn’t contact each other. She didn’t even know if it would work, but lucky for her, it did. You signed the NDA without protest, according to Andrew.

Tommy closed his eyes.

“So she didn’t ghost me?” Joel asked, looking hopeful.

“No. But she signed the NDA Joel. She wouldn’t have if she was really in love with you. I tried to warn you about her…” Angela tried.

“Wait… wait, wait, wait…” Tess said, taking her phone out. She googled something, finding it, and looked at the NDA again.

“This was signed on the day this article came out,” she told Joel, showing him the article ‘announcing their engagement’. She turned to look at Angela once more, “You arranged this, didn’t you?” When she couldn’t answer, Tess pressed, “Angela, you told me she was a gold digger, that she was after Joel’s money, that she was sleeping around on Joel. I believed you! And now I find out you did all this too? Why would you go through all this trouble to separate them? Because Joel didn’t want to renew? You know he had talked about that way before he met Lily?”

“That’s why you treated Lily like that?” Joel asked Tess. Tess looked regretful,

“She’s been our friend forever, Joel! I’ve known this woman over 20 years! I didn’t see a reason not to believe her! I’m sorry! I thought I was protecting you!”

“Why?” Joel finally managed to grit out to Angela, his chest heaving, his eyes lasered in on hers.

Her expression turned sour. Her eyes were filling with tears.

“Joel…” she whispered.

“WHY!!!???” he screamed, his face red, his neck taut.

Angela jerked, shutting her eyes for a while. When they opened, there was only anger in them.

She remembered the young man she met over 20 years ago, extremely good looking, polite, a great father to Sarah, a gentleman to everyone he came across. He was a great friend, a great man overall. She fell for him, hard. But the man was grieving. He made it very clear he was not looking for anyone to replace Laura. His focus was and would always be on Sarah, he didn’t have time for a relationship.

She remembered thinking he would get over his grief soon. And when he does, she would be there for him. She suggested a friends with benefits situation, telling him that she didn’t have time for relationships either. Just sex, no romance, none of that bullshit, she had told him. So they did, in the privacy of his shipping container makeshift office onsite. She swallowed her pride every time he refused to kiss her, every time he refused foreplay with her, every time he refused a date with her, every time he refused the suggestion of a hotel room, her office, his truck, her car, her home, much less his home with her. She swallowed it all, hoping that he would open his eyes and finally see her.

But he never did.

When she saw what she thought was clearly a double date at the sushi place that night, she got desperate. She eventually made nice with you, hoping to find things about you she could use to separate you and Joel. But when you excitedly told her Joel had asked you to move in with him, after only two months of dating, she snapped.

“Twenty years we’ve been friends, Joel. Twenty years. When we met, you were a lowly single father who barely made ends meet. Look at you now. Look at how successful you are now. I did this. I got you here. And after everything, you scream at me? Because of that lowly barista?”

The last smidgen of patience left Joel’s body. Tommy grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving towards the woman.

“Why?” he repeated.

“I waited for you, Joel. You made it clear, you were not ready for a relationship. So I waited. And waited. And then I waited some more. And then Bam! You’re ready! And instead of coming back to me, the woman who have stood by you all these years, who wanted you over 20 years ago, back when you had nothing, the one who helped you get everything you have now, you went to her! Why have you never asked me out to dinner Joel? Why have I never been invited to your house outside of work?”

“Do you think it was easy for me to watch you kiss her on the lips when I never got that? I watched you invite her to share your bed, practically live at your house, which I helped you choose, when all I ever got was an hour every now and then at your dingy office? Why do I get treated like some glorified sex toy and she gets to be loved by you? Why should I watch you move her in after two months together when I have been waiting in the wings for twenty years only to be pushed aside, Joel? Why her? What does she have that I don’t?”

She sobbed.

“The heart wants what it wants, Angela. And my heart wants her. Not you.”

Angela nodded weakly. “I know. I see that now. Even after everything, you still pine for her. Even when she left you without so much of an explanation,” she whispered, shaking her head, finally accepting defeat, watching helplessly as Tommy called for security.

Angela was gone by the time security called the cops, Eddie in their custody. She rushed home, packed up her bags and booked it out of LA. Eddie may have been an idiot, but she knew he would sing as soon as he was in custody. She knew, she just knew her life as she knew it was over. There was no way Joel and Tommy, even Tess, would keep quiet about this. Even if they did, Eddie would blab so fast if it meant he would get leniency for the hit and run. She was at least guilty for conspiring to cause harm, twice over. And even if she got off lightly on those charges, the fact that she forged Joel’s signature on a legal document was not something that would go forgotten and unpunishable by law. At the very least, she would lose this job. Her reputation would go to pot. She would lose every single thing she held dear.

Damn you, she thought, this was all your fault. Why’d you have to be so perfect for Joel? She did research on you. Cleo’s ‘exposure’ merely confirmed what she already knew - that you were a nice person who didn’t let money get to your head. She couldn’t even find it in her to hate you when she was pretending to be nice to you. Even when she was actively trying to sabotage you, she liked you. In a different world, she would be more than happy to be your friend.

She was so deep in thought, she didn’t realize she had run a red light. The sounds of screeching tires snapped her out of her stupor, and the last thing she saw was the shining logo of a huge pickup truck coming fast from her left.

“Hi Baby,” Tommy greeted Maria with a kiss, closing the door behind her. Maria walked into the living room, where the expectant faces of Joel, Sarah, Ellie and Tess greeted her.

“Sorry guys, not good news,” she said, giving the girls and Tess a hug, and a kiss for Joel.

“That’s not possible,” Tommy said, “Everyone leaves a trail these days.”

“Not her,” Maria said. “She was in LA until about two weeks after she was supposed to go to Austin, and then she just… disappeared. Two months - she didn’t use her card, didn’t withdraw any money, didn’t purchase anything, didn’t fly anywhere, didn’t rent a car, didn’t check into a hotel… she’s just… gone.”

“How the hell is that possible?”

Maria shrugged. “Frank didn’t make any purchase either, it’s just weird.”

“Are they…?” Sarah asked, not daring to finish the sentence.

“No obituaries.”

Joel, Sarah and Ellie heaved a sigh of relief.

“Are you sure you don’t know Bill’s last name? His condo and car are in Lily’s name.” Maria looked at the three expectantly, kicking herself for never asking either.

“No, I sorta forgot they were not really related, I assumed it’s Stevens too, and I just knew Jenny as Jenny, didn’t think of a last name,” Ellie said, banging her head on Sarah’s shoulder.

“Same.”

“Her LA bank account is active, Dave has been depositing his payments to her. But no withdrawal. Her phone number is disconnected. Tracking one Lily Stevens among thousands is not easy. It would help if we knew where Jenny lives,” she looked at Joel.

Joel rubbed his face, “The woman is a comedian. New York today, Tibet the next, she told me she was in the South Pole once. I never thought I needed to ask. She was coming here for Christmas,” he said, lips wobbling, thinking about Christmas without you. He even ordered a stocking for you, far too excited to have you and your family with him and his family during the holidays.

“I’m gonna go to the truck tomorrow, talk to Dave myself. See if I can get him to talk,” Maria said.

“I’ll go with you,” Tess offered, eager to help.

Joel was quiet. As he had been since you stopped communicating. God, he missed you so much. He knew you wouldn’t just leave for no reason. Even before he knew the truth, he couldn’t find it in him to hate you for leaving. He knew you, he may have only known you for a short time, but he knew you. He just did. Even the girls couldn’t be angry at you.

When he finally told Sarah the truth about Laura, Sarah was angry for him, but not for herself. She was angry for Joel. She had zero memory of her. To her, Joel was both Mom and Dad, so to know someone, even her own birth mother had hurt him as such, it hurt her. But with you, Sarah cried with him, trying everything she could do to help him find you. Not for one second was she angry at you, even as she was hugging her crying Dad. They just knew you wouldn’t have left for no reason. They knew you didn’t have a bad bone in your body.

But even after finding the truth, finding you was proving to be quite the challenge. Maria pulled all the tricks she had up her sleeves, but it was as if you had anticipated she would look for you, so you took steps to avoid her and her ways. But Maria was a determined woman. She had yet to fail in her endeavours. And by God, she was going to find you.

She and Tess went to the truck early the next morning, promising Joel they would bring a cup home for him, not that he was looking forward to it. He had long known it wasn’t the coffee he was addicted to. The cheap swill he got at the sites would taste like the most expensive coffee in the world if you had poured it for him. He just wanted you.

“Dave,” Maria called, the man smiling at her despite himself. “Can we have two cappuccinos please? And one americano, with…”

“Six shots of espressos to go… yeah, I’ll be right with you,” Dave answered, waving Maria’s card away. “Zach, do you mind getting some pastries from Betty? I’m kinda hungry,” he said.

Zach finished wiping the counter and jumped out of the truck, greeting Maria with a smile and a hug. He shook Tess’s hand, introducing himself.

Later, the four were sitting down, Maria filling Dave in on the news about Angela. The men looked uncomfortable, shaking their heads, shocked that someone would go that far to separate two people in love.

“Can’t believe she would do that to Lil, and Bill and Frank too… wow… I mean, they are the nicest people I know, and for her to hate Lil that much… phew…” Zach said, shaking his head.

“So, we know you promised Lily you wouldn’t tell her anything about her whereabouts, but could you please tell her what we just told you? We need her to know the truth,” Tess coaxed.

“No can do,” Dave said, looking apologetic. “She wouldn’t give me her contact info. Something about being traceable. I guess she was right,” he said, smiling at Maria.

Maria looked at Zach, who raised both his hands in surrender, “Hey, you know I would do anything for Lil, but like Dave, I have no idea how to contact her,” he said.

Tess was about to say something else, but Maria simply said she understood, picking up her coffee, thanking Dave and Zach for their kindness. She asked Zach if he was working for Dave now?

“Nah, it’s my off day, just hanging out here for the day.”

“How’s your job going by the way?” Maria asked.

“Great, couldn’t be happier,” Zach said, looking content.

“You manage an apartment building, right? Tess here is looking. Any vacancies?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s the kind of place a TV star lives in,” Zach said, smiling.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to keep her options open. You have a card?” Maria pushed.

“Yeah, here,” Zach handed the card over, hugging Maria goodbye.

Maria practically pulled Tess away from the truck. “What are you doing? I promised Penny I would look for a house! I can’t live in an apartment. We have dogs!”

Maria shushed her, dialling someone on her phone. “Chris? Need you to repeat the search, this time, look for anything under the name Zachary Wellison.”

“Here’s your coffee, thank you for coming!” you handed the coffee to the nice older lady who had now become your regular. You turned around to see Benny, your other regular smiling at you, asking for his usual.

“Come on, Lil, you said you’ll think about it,” he cooed. He’d been trying to fix you up for a while, first it was himself, then his brother Will, then his buddy Santi, and now, it’s Frankie, both of whom lived at the other end of the country.

“No, thank you! I told you, I’m not ready!”

“Come on, Lil, just one date, you’ll love him, I promise. He’s perfect,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Okay, he has PTSD. And maybe some other issues but… he looks like that contractor guy you were dating. Although… now that I think about it… that might not be the best idea, huh?” he said, cringing a little. You passed him his coffee and shooed him off, taking the rag to rinse, as the bell on the door chimed.  

“Can I have the largest mocha you have and ten minutes to talk please?” a customer asked. You turned around, your service smile at the ready, only to come face to face with Tess.

You felt you head go cold. You retreated, “I’m not supposed to speak to you,” you whispered, turning around to go into the kitchen. She caught up with you, gently taking your hand.

“Lily, please, ten minutes. He’s not here. You had the wrong info. I swear. Please, ten minutes, I’m begging you.”

“Go, Beanie, I have the till,” your Mom coaxed, pushing you gently towards Tess.

You sat across from her, your Mom placing a cup of latte in front of you and a mocha for Tess. You didn’t speak, just waiting for her to say her piece.

“First of all Lily, I want to apologize for the way I treated you back at Joel’s. I listened to the wrong person. I thought I could trust her, I’ve known her for 20 years, I never thought she would lie to me. Angela told me you were after Joel’s money, that you were sleeping around and Joel was too blind to see it. I believed her. I’m sorry. I admit I was rude to you on purpose. I wanted you to know I didn’t like you. I went o stay at his place instead of a hotel just because I wanted you to be insecure. I pushed the girls into spending time with me instead of you, I guilted them when they said you had plans, they didn’t do anything wrong. That thing with his flannel, the phone, I did it all because I wanted you to feel unwelcomed. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t respond, you simply looked at her, your face expressionless.

“See, I feel responsible for Joel, for his late wife breaking his heart.”

You frowned.

“I was Eddie’s fiancée. Laura was my best friend. I introduced Joel to her.”

Oh…

She took a sip from her drink, looking at you, as if trying to gauge your reaction.

“I was… not myself when I was with Eddie. He wanted me to be a housewife. Raise his children, cook his food, clean his house… I never wanted that. He kept comparing me to Laura. She was perfect, as far as he was concerned. I should have seen the affair coming, but I didn’t, I was too wrapped up in my own stuff, my own worries. If I had, I would have warned Joel.”

The doorbell chimed, a woman walked in, smiling at Tess. She joined the two of you after ordering a cup of coffee for herself.

“Lily, this is Penny, my fiancée.”

Huh? Oh.

Oh…

“Joel and I, we were never an item. Just old friends. I was with Eddie because I was hiding who I really was. But when he wanted me to be the little woman, I just thought… this was not the life I signed up for. This was not worth me hiding who I really am. So I left him. And Eddie, he just went straight for Laura. I read the letter she left him. She was just waiting for me and Eddie to split. And he took advantage of her obsession with him and just took her right from under Joel. Joel got his heart broken because I left Eddie. That’s why I am so protective of him, and any relationship he has. Even if the accident hadn’t happened, she was going to leave him for Eddie. I feel guilty, responsible, in fact, for his heart breaking. For Sarah not having a mother. Believe me, if not for Angela, I would not have treated you like that.”

“Angela did this?”

She nodded. She told you everything Angela did, the when, the how, the why. “The NDA was not legitimate in the first place. Angela forged Joel’s signature. It’s null and void. Joel didn’t know any of it, had nothing to do with it. He didn’t do anything wrong. He never gave up hope, Lily. He kept looking for you, waiting for you. Maria never gave up either. The girls, they scour LA at every chance they had, in case they would run into you. They were glued to their phones when they’re home, looking for any signs of you. They all love you, Lily, and if not for Angela, you and Joel would be so happy right now.”

Tess saw the anger in your eyes, quickly adding, “Angela, she received her karma. She tried to run, after her nephew was brought in for questioning. Her car got T-boned just as she was leaving LA. She’s paralyzed from the neck down. She’ll be living the rest of her days in a nursing facility. Joel and Tommy are footing the bills, a kindness for all the years they had been friends, despite everything.” She smiled when she saw your anger soften.

“He’s so in love with you, Lily, believe me, he is. The man hasn’t enjoyed a cup of coffee since you ‘ghosted’ him. Please give him a chance.”

You were pottering about in your cottage, distracting yourself. They found you. You shouldn’t have used Zach’s name to make the bookings. You thought you were so clever, driving the 18 hours with your injured Uncles in the back of the spacious MPV all the way to your Mom’s ranch in Jackson rather than flying. You actually thought you did it, months passed and no one came-a-lookin’. And then, Tess was here. Damn Maria and her powers of investigation.

You hadn’t even used your cards or withdrew any cash, your Mom agreeing to foot the bills for a few months until you were convinced you were old news in their minds. She was just happy you and your Uncle Bill were finally here. She had spent years coaxing the two of you to move back in with her.

Well, she said move back in, by that she meant move into the cottages at the other ends of her vast property. She lived in the main house, overseeing the workings of your late grandparents’ properties and ranches. Lola, the lady who used to take care of Claire and Cleo’s family moved with her, married Carl the manager and now helped run the ranch. She opened a café, Lil’ Beans, named after you, out of boredom about a year after moving here. You managed it for her, your way of helping out, since you didn’t know which end of a horse was which.

Your Uncles were far too happy to be here. Once healed, they got right into country living, your Uncle Bill building and fixing everything he could get his hands on, Frank painting everything he saw. They were planning to move permanently once the situation ‘died down’, according to your Uncle Bill.

And you… you were just… living. You heart stopped every time someone came in to order an americano, worried that it would be followed by ‘six shots of espressos’. But as much as you were dreading those words, every day that you flipped the close sign at the end of the day, you were disappointed not to have heard them.

Listening to Tess today, you felt stupid. Stupid to not see Angela and her manipulation. She had been so nice to you. You wanted to kick yourself at how easily she managed this. You fucking left her in your truck with your unlocked phone for five minutes, and she turned your life upside down.

Your mind kept thinking about what would have happened if you just flew to Austin as soon as your Uncles were discharged. Dave was there, so was Zach, they could have helped, but you were too hasty, too clouded, too hurt by the NDA that you rushed straight into running, only to find out it was all a lie, that you could have had good night sleeps all this while in Joel’s arms.

God, you missed him.

And now that you knew the truth, what now? Do you go running back to LA? You couldn’t really see it anymore. You loved it here. It’s quiet, calm, relaxing. You loved your new, more relaxed routine with the café. You had staff to open early for you, roast the beans for you. You got to take long walks here, the air was fresh and clean here, you could hear your own thoughts here.

As much as you miss him, the girls and the life you had with them, you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to that city, the traffic, the smog, the noise.

The celebrities.

No… you couldn’t. That was not the life for you.

And would you go back to him, in the light of all this revelation?

There was a knock on the door. And then another. And then another.

Who was it? Your people didn’t knock multiple times. They knocked once as a warning and walked in. You went to the front door and opened it, your breathing caught in your throat when you saw who it was.

God he looked good.

And all the negative thoughts about going back to LA seemed to park themselves at the back of your head.

It was as if your body was pulled to him against your will. You didn’t want to go to him, trying hard to stay your resolve. No more. Life with a celebrity… there was too much drama. That life was not for you. Look what had happened in your life since he came into it. You got pulled out of a truck, fell on your ass and pulled in every direction, all of it caught on camera, filmed, for the whole world to see. Your personal life became public knowledge. Your Uncles almost died. And though everything else was not his fault, you couldn’t risk feeling like that ever again, feeling the way you felt when pictures of him and Tess holding hands flooded your screen every time you browse the internet. When Cleo pulled him into a kiss in front of the world. What if another Cleo came into the picture? No… you couldn’t possibly.

But he was here, in your doorway, looking tired and miserable, woe begone as a sad young boy whose favourite toy was taken from him. You leaned your head on the inside of the door frame, not wanting to invite him in, pulling your sweater close to your body to avoid the chill outside from getting to you. He placed his gloved hand on the wall outside your door, resting his head on the other side of the door frame, his other hand in his pocket.

Your eyes found each other.

He leaned in, as close as he could without touching you, nose just above the top of your head, inhaling deeply, eyes filling with tears as he took in the scent he had missed oh so much, taking more and more deep, stuttered breaths as he did, whispering how much he missed you. That he didn’t know Angela was doing what she did, that he would have done anything to turn back time, take it all back, that he would do anything to have you back in his life, even if it meant he would only be a friend. Please baby. I miss you so much. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Please. Please. Please.

Against your wishes, your eyes closed, taking in the familiar scent of his old leather jacket, the way his breathing sounded, his musk, the phantom feel of his scruff against your skin. His whispers were so familiar, taking you back to the times the two of you would lie in bed wrapped up in each other, the times he would say something naughty into your ears while having meals with the girls, the times when you woke up to him pressed up against your back, saying good morning in his crackly baritone.

Fuck, you missed him.

You pulled back from him, looking him in the eyes that were full of tears, hope and yearning, the serious look he saw in yours beginning to fill his own with dread.

“I just have one question for you, Joel Miller.”

His eyes turned quizzical, a small, final, glimmer of hope still in them.

You took a deep breath, and with a slight stutter in your breath, you asked him.

“Little hug? Or big hug?”

Epilogue

[orangez3st]

How Do You Explain Unsolved Murders by Plasma Bolt?!

Clone Commando Sev × GN!Reader 

Season: Autumn - Clone × Reader Prompt-a-thon ✧ @cloneficgiftexchange

✧ Prompt: Monster!Clone

✧ Summary: You always get away from the mysterious deaths of the people who bully you, only because of this dead dude from another galaxy who names himself Sev acting as your avenging angel, if that even exists.

✧ Tags & Warnings: set on our planet earth in the year of our lord, bullying and the classic neglect of some people with position, curse words, mentioned suicide attempt, implied attempt of rape, Sev murders people and is enjoying it.

✧ Word Count: 5.3k

✧ A/N: Heyo and welcome to my first ghost!clone AU 👻 and yeah uh that basically means this is a Sev Dies AU. This may not be my best writing for now, but I really do hope you guys enjoy it still 🫶🏼 thanks for being here, and have a good one!

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Sev (in-header image)

divider by me -> Delta Squad helmet PNG's by @/stars-n-spice

“You want me to drive you back?”

“No that's fine, I got it,” you refuse to the detective as he walks you along one of the corridors of the police station. You shrug. “I'll just Uber myself out of here.”

He studies you for a moment, a little hesitant at your decision. You kinda don't remember his name—maybe it's Jarrick or something, a thirty something year old man of lanky build with a faint cigarette smell coming from his jacket and a solid, grounding tone of voice.

“Okay,” he says, “Let me fetch your things back from evidence.”

“Okay.”

The detective leaves you in the middle of a bustling office workroom that smells heavily like coffee, exhaustion, and neverending paperwork. Around you are officers and detectives alike shuffling through case files, pens scribbling down details, and parental figures breaking down crying upon learning their loved ones are either incarcerated and charged or murdered.

You're having one of those.

Not willing to stand around and disrupt people's pace working their way through crimes, you shuffle your feet towards an empty couch near the door and sit down, the leaves of some real and typical strangely well-cared office plant brushing against your arm. You sigh deeply, planning. Maybe not going home yet. Some burritos to reward yourself after going through a hassle of a criminal investigation that you certainly didn't do, but always finding yourself in it.

“Hey.” The detective walks toward you in long strides, your backpack in one hand and your phone still inside the evidence zip bag. “Here's your stuff, all cleared. If you could sign this one first, here…”

You nod sort of exhaustedly, going through the supposedly last errand quickly and not really bothering to read the last half of the clearance document. He presents you the bag, unzipped, the content free for you to take.

“Thank you,” he says, slipping the clipboard underneath his arm and fishing a business card out of his pocket. With a tight smile, perhaps out of sympathy, he offers it to you. “If something else turns up, or if you need any help at all, you can call me. Okay?”

Det. William Jarrick

Oh, that's indeed his name after all. You take a few seconds to absorb the police logo, your city and state, and his official phone number. He's new, you heard, taking over the case—the previous one apparently is in jail for DUI.

“Understood,” you say, carefully pocketing the card. Jarrick opens the door for you, and you don't look back to the office. “See ya, Detective.”

He waves you goodbye. “Don’t get yourself into trouble again, kiddo.”

With a deep breath, you happily march out of the police station, willing to put it all behind you. There's nothing more stressful than a busy police station, even though you did absolutely nothing wrong. It's the walls, painted muted dark blue, and just… crowded spaces and coffee machine underneath a low lighting of the cabinet and paperwork scattered all over those desks.

The day is particularly chilly today. It's fall. Northern hemisphere autumn is never boring, you always like the cool air and warm color palette slapped across any surface either man-made or natural—trees, shop decorations, unraked leaves, shawls and jackets, thematic discount labels, video thumbnails.

“How's the new guy?”

If you hadn't known Sev and his tendency to quite literally pop up next to you with his oh-so-intimidating phone-scammer deep voice for the last six months, you'd jump and shriek at his sudden presence.

“He's okay,” you sigh, lowering your voice under your breath and digging for your handsfree in your bag. “Less annoying, more understanding. He's younger. Younger than the old frog who can't tell the difference between talking in a closed space and standing by a running jet engine.”

He snorts. “Where'd he go?”

You stick the device in your ear, running on a pretense that you're on a call whereas you're actually talking to a ghost that no one else can see but you.

“Jail, can you believe it? DUI.” You stretch your arms with a weary yawn before walking off the threshold and the entire vicinity, your pack now secured behind you on your back. “Wait, you've got DUI in your homeworld, right?”

He shrugs. “DUI, public indecency, vandalism, auto theft. You name it, Buggy.”

Buggy. Only Sev calls you that because you refused to tell you his name during your first run-ins with each other. You were too busy screaming and muttering incoherent prayers to the top manager of your belief system, or whatever gods above.

Sev follows you along the pavement, sparse of people, his translucent bluish white form floating above the ground, although he’s practically marching. There isn't any hesitation in his steps as he bears a soldier's stance. Intimidating. How could he not, with all that bulky armor set on him? He dwarfs you easily, and he finds it hilarious that he knows you're feeling kind of safe that he's unable to tackle you. Not that he'd want to. Not without reason, anyway.

“So where are we headed?” he asks from behind you.

“Stress-eating,” you say, laughing awkwardly to yourself. To calm your post-police interview jitters, more like. “I was in that stuffy room for like, two hours.”

“One and a half,” Sev corrects.

“Right.”

“You ain't scared that they'd find you suspicious ‘cause you're walking instead of taking a cab like what you told the new case detective?”

“So you were listening all along,” you muse, ducking into your usual small dine-in burrito place. You exclaim your usuals to the cashier and slide into one of the shabby booths. “To answer your question, it's not their business.”

“Could be,” Sev says, his ghostly (heh) form already slipping into the seat opposite you. His pack is already disengaged. “If there's another murder.”

“You wouldn't.”

“What?”

“Doing another murder.”

“Don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sev,” you groan, “I don't want you to—” you cut yourself off, remembering you're practically in public space. You sigh. “Don't slot anyone again.”

Sev smirks behind his helmet. It's a vocabulary he taught you. “They're bullying the kriff out of you.”

“Ever, Sev.”

“Can’t stand aside and let you be trampled like that. Like you're a useless piece of shit. You're bright. And you're still a person, Buggy.”

“You’re putting dead bodies in my name and making me the prime suspect every time!” you whisper-shout.

“Person of interest,” he corrects you.

You slowly close your eyes.

Sev looks at you. His sniper rifle is leaning casually against the back of his seat. “Can't do much while being a ghost of a soldier with unfinished business, doncha think?”

Before you can retort, your order is slid to the table in front of you, all warm and spicy and invoking the monsters in the depths of your belly. Spicy chicken burrito, ranch and extra pico de gallo, crisps, and cookies ‘n cream milkshake.

“Rough day?” the server, Caleb, asks you.

You blink. “Huh?”

He taps his ear, referring to your handsfree and how you've been talking excessively. “Another murder that frames you or is that your Slovakian ex girlfriend?”

You let out a dry laugh, your fingers toying with the still-warm crisps. “I don't have a Slovakian ex girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

You kick at his feet. Lucky bastard swerves away cackling. “Shut up, Caleb!”

“Yeah yeah anyway,” he chuckles, his gaze clearly holding some genuine sympathy at you, “Hope you get through it and catch the guy. Mustn't be easy for you.”

“Heard that before,” you mutter, glancing down at your lap before smiling at him anyway. “Thanks, Caleb.”

Caleb offers you a smile and a shoulder pat before sauntering someplace else.

Sev scoffs at your meal as you start to dig in. “Scorch would huff that down.”

You slurp on your shake. “Y'all can handle spice?”

“Loved it, even,” he says fondly, which is a strange sight to you still even though you've known each other for roughly six months. “He handled it better than I do.”

It's sensible to talk about people in past tense when you don't know if they're still alive or not. For Sev, he's lost them anyway. He died. In his past life, in some place called Kashyyyk.

Or in another universe or something, because there were no known previous civilizations on Earth rocking the apparatus that he carries with him.

And he just happened to… land into your life as a ghost tied to you. Wherever you go, he follows. It had been hard to live with that, especially when you couldn't handle his dark gloomy jokes some time in the beginning of your acquaintanceship. Friendship. It's easier now. You're considering him a friend. You're stuck with each other, after all.

“Do you think you really have unfinished business?” you suddenly ask.

Sev blinks hard underneath his helmet to digest your question and, ah, it's poking his private compartment again. Why he's here, how he came here—does it matter? He's stuck as a ghost without so much as a memory about the manuals if they even gave him one somewhere in the limbo.

You continue studying him, placing down your ronto roll ripoff and absentmindedly poking at your crisps. “Like a mission? To complete?”

“Does it matter?” It's not usual for him to defy a question from someone other than a clone.

“It might,” you shrug, mid-chew. Sev is used to it. “We should… find out why you're sent here, right?”

“I lived in a different galaxy than yours, Buggy. Why I'm here is up to whoever's in charge of both yours and mine.”

You scrutinize him. Like, actually putting him under an interrogative pressure. You seem not to care about other people in the tiny diner looking. “You don't wanna find out why? Ever?”

There's something else he hides. Something about ‘unfinished business’? It does feel like that. He's a soldier. A hunter. An accomplisher. Those traits drive him to his goals with utter ambition and, sometimes, sadistic hunger. Hunger to get the job done. Hunger to anticipate what comes next after that job is done. He chases after these things. It satisfies him—the success, the crudeness, the raw elements he gets himself high on.

Then he died and he met you. Poor, unsuspecting and unlikely scrawny kid who's doing whatever they can to sustain their ranks in school. Apparently being too ambitious achieving a goal is a crime because it invites envy and jealousy of others. Now that, he can't comprehend. You're only doing your job, you want the best for yourself.

But your classmates attack you. Calling you names, banging at the locker next to yours just to startle the shit out of you, the cold shoulders, the belittling stares. Your teachers don't feel like intervening. You're used to it, but you're tired. Your utter surrender attracted him somehow, that when you actually really attempted to test how good your belt is using the railings on the second floor of your mother's house, the downstairs phone rang.

It was the news of the sudden death of a student in your school. Bertrand Wilson. He was the one who banged the locker every damn day. “We thought you should know,” your principal had said, before ending the line.

Three days later, Jackie Lombardini. She called you names. Next week; Kellan Peterson. He pushed you into a lake once. That Friday, Melinda Brewster—dunked your head in the toilet. The same day, Lucas Martinez—emptying your locker and setting the contents on fire in the dumpster. The next day; Naomi and Hans Grant, twins. They literally continuously threatened to kill you just because you caught them in the act in the lab after hours.

Everything was a mystery. No one knows what hit them. Cameras never caught the perp; no vehicles, no mysterious figure walking by. No blood. Just bodies dropping to the ground with a scorching hole in the middle of their forehead, smoke rising above it. Everything connects to one thing; you. Motive? Vengeance.

But that's the problem. The police can't place you in any of the crime scenes. It's a variety of places you'd never have the intention to go to—bars, shabby diners, rooftops, dingy hotel rooms, biker lot, or hell, their own house. Your alibis checked out—always. It's fortunate that the local police are immune to local media pressure—they stay on the lane. You're always cleared. You always walk away fine, undamaged, and perhaps, albeit a little guiltily…

Satisfied.

They deserve it.

Sev literally grinned down at you—behind his bucket, of course—when he first manifested in front of you. After every phone call, because the killings are always consistent. After hours. Evening. PM. You stopped testing the belt. You chilled out in your room and you were screaming to death while Sev came forward for the first time and asked you things.

“How do you do?”

“Did you like it?”

“What do you think?”

“I wish I could give them the old shank in the kidney like I did to those ugly lizards, but my Deece is all I've got. And I'm an excellent shot.”

“Taken care of.”

“Don’t have to worry about them anymore, Buggy.”

“I've got you, don't worry. I've got ‘em, too. Went out with a pew.”

It takes some time for you to adjust. Sometimes you're wondering if you still have the right to be called ‘victim’. They bullied you, after all. They bullied you first. They started it.

They deserve it. Sev finishes them. Lessons exhibited to everyone in your school. The aftermath? No friends at all, having absolutely nobody to talk to, and a new sick urban legend circulating around mentioning your name seeking refuge to the devil. What bullshit. Except if they want to call a living dead bloodthirsty psycho sniper from another galaxy the devil. Picking victims and taking them out in your name. It's fitting and eerily beautiful at the same time. At least that's what Sev thinks about.

Sev sighs. “Don't need to find out why,” he says gruffly.

You stare at him. “Um… why?”

He tilts his helmet back at you. “I know why I'm here.”

It's to hunt them down. Those who hurt you. He can feel it in his incorporeal body. Every time he lays on his belly on the next building over with a nice vantage point, every time pulls that trigger, every time he watches the body drop. He's never hesitant with his shots, he's always confident. All that, put into a shaker and poured into a fine, cold cocktail glass for him to enjoy.

You play with your straw as you lower your voice, “It's to kill them, isn't it?”

“I got off on it,” Sev admits shamelessly—but not, at all, in a sexual sense. “And it feels like the right thing to do.”

The corner of your lips twitch. Maybe you're just as sick as him, handling that much pressure and suddenly that pressure is ripped away from you without resolve nor closure. “So,” you muse, “Acting as my guardian angel who brutally kills people?”

“Don't see me doing anything else, do you?”

You look down somewhat guiltily. “I never saw you.”

Sev tears his focus away from you and stares into the plain fucking wall. He won't let himself be seen as soft, at least not now, although it's too late. Something is provoking the guess what I actually fucking care bone inside him. You're being vulnerable, so he can't be, too. At least one of you has to look alive.

“It’s for the best,” he says eventually, “You wouldn't like it—”

“Well, look who it is! My sweet darling baby!”

You’ve never turned around so fast. After one and a half hour being interviewed by a detective who's genuinely trying to help your tired hardass, that voice turns this day boring to plain shitty—a familiar assface with a Canadian accent bursting through the door with his sickening grin and, can you fucking believe it, blond pompadour hair.

“Who the kriff is this?” Sev asks aloud, his hand steadying on his rifle.

“Raph?” you gape, ignoring him, “The hell you doing here?”

Sev watches this Raph dude interrupting his intense conversation and sauntering toward your table with a happy skip in his step with a smile that even Scorch would've slapped away. “Flew over for you.”

You shake your head and let out a dry laugh “Don’t be an asshole, Raphael. Seriously, what are you doing here?”

Raph looks at you offended. “Me? The asshole?” he snorts. He makes a shoo gesture at you and forcefully wedges himself into the booth before smiling his smackable smile again at you. Sev actually considers to punch him across the face—doesn’t matter if his fist and knuckle blade goes through. “Don't be silly, baby darling. You broke us up first.”

You stare at him, scooting to the other side until your back meets the wall. “Because reasons.”

“Aw, you couldn't handle me,” he teases.

“Understatement,” you mutter under your breath, throwing a glance at Sev with a sigh. “Raph, we already broke up. There's absolutely no reason for you to fly over and— and babying me!”

“Right, right, but I can look after you while still being friends, can't I?”

“I don't have friends,” you state firmly. Sev gives you a thumbs-up. You bite your lip to stifle a smile.

“Well, but I want to.” This chakaar actually… seems genuine. Sev relaxes. A bit. The boy sighs in resignation seeing your unconvinced expression. “Okay, you want honesty? I'm in town ‘cause my dad's having a board meeting with your city council. Told him I'm gonna drive around town and, well.” He gestures to you with a flashy smile. “See how you're holding up.”

Sev watches your expression carefully with his arms crossing his chest. It's been a hard month with all the murders around you, and he's not feeling sorry for even one. They deserve it. He can't explain it in words, but his intuition has helped him survive many times by identifying two-faced sha’buire before.

“Yeah, I don't know,” you shrug mindlessly, “This mysterious sniper guy is gonna get the second wave of FBI hounding on my back and that'll be bad for me.”

Raph seems taken aback. “Whoa. Second wave?”

“Yeah. They sent profilers, but they found nothing on the crime scenes—all six of them. Pulled out and been working on it remotely ever since so far. Or at least that's what I hear from the detectives.”

“Right, right,” Raph nods thoughtfully, seemingly taking it all in seriousness. “Want me to hire PI for you?”

You scoff. “Raph. The victim's parents literally unionized to hire a band of private investigators to look into me.”

“Are you serious? You don't seem scared.”

“I've got nothing to hide.”

Sev catches one look too long in the far corner of the diner. He perks up, and that slight gesture from him renders your attention at Raph crumbling for a moment. “One in that corner,” he informs you. Your head swivels following his direction.

“What?” Raph asks.

You roll your eyes. “Speak of the devil. One that's hoping I'm gonna buy that… I don't know, librarian persona.”

“Oh yeah,” Raph muses, nodding as if awed he's got to see a real PI for once. “Doesn't that bother you? I can make a call to ask one of my dad's counselor team—”

“Raph, stop,” you shake your head, “I appreciate it, but I don't need your help.”

“Time to go, Buggy.” Sev stands up. Awkward situation that normally could escalate into a varping shootout like this is something he always runs away from first thing, even in the Before where Fixer usually shouted after him, and he intends to drill this when to walk away lesson into you. He grabs his rifle readily, appearing as the cold and deadly sniper he is as if ready to put a nonchalant bolt through Raph's head right there and then. “I'm saving your shebs from this dumbass.”

You release a loud sigh as you begin to wrap the burrito with its own tin foil and shove the last of your crisps into your mouth quite unceremoniously that makes Raph blink in absolutely not amusement. Maybe disgust. Good. You've got enough eyes on you, you certainly don't need your ex boyfriend to poke around, too.

“Want me to drive you?” Raph tries again.

You stall by slurping your milkshake clean, noisily. “I got it, Raph.” You plot your escape, rather quickly, to the front door where Sev is already waiting for you, rifle raised as if Raph could see him then the kid should be scared.

Raph follows you outside, his steps are more hasty rather than concerned. You groan your frustrations, turning to give him a piece of your mind until he cuts you off.

“Hey, hey. Please. I really am concerned. What if they’ve been targeting you?”

“Targeting me?” “I've been bullied for most of high school for having top marks, Raph! If they were targeting me, why would they kill people around me who've been causing me pain and made me nearly hang myself in my own house?!”

“Maybe jealousy?” Of course he doesn't care about your suicide bit. “They're trying to intimidate you by killing people around you.”

You watch in silence as Sev comes up next to Raph, out on the sidewalk and under the autumn late afternoon sun. The commando you've known as a friend seizes your ex—panting and practically begging you to understand and to be on his page—up close and personal with a predator's prowess. His grip on his rifle may seem relaxed, but you know the finger on the trigger guard is itchy to press.

Sev looks at you. “Want me to shut his hole?”

“No!”

Raph looks at you in disbelief, unaware of your slip-up. “Are you serious?”

“Yes I'm serious!” You gain your focus back but already forget what he brought up. Sev nods grimly and steps back.

“Copy that.”

“Look, I care about you, okay?” Raph says, “Watching the news and your name popped up on screen, it's only just last week that it's now up by seven victims. Seven. I was always wondering if you're okay ‘cause these are people you know, people you went to class with, but what if they get to you finally—”

“Raph.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, and then level your gaze with him, giving in with what you hope is genuine plea. “I don't need your help.”

You turn around again, but Raph grabs your arm. “I get that,” he says, sighing. “Let me drive you home? Then I won't bother you again.”

“Promise?”

“You won't see my face again and you won't even know I'm leaving town.”

And that's how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Raph's car.

It smells rental and you try to focus on it instead of your ex’s presence just a mere feet away. Raph wasn't good to you—his dad being a member of Canadian parliament, all he cares about is himself. You were just an object of his love bombing for five months and you're still trying to pretend to ignore that at least a quarter of your belongings were his gifts to you.

So. Him being concerned about his ex partner who becomes a person of interest in their bullies’ strange murders? Even stranger.

Raph insists on a scenic route. Says he hadn't been here long before moving back to Canada—all those five months here were spent wooing you and bombing the lovesick person out of you, both with love and his pompous bullshit.

And now you’re letting him initiate conversations with you again. You let him steer the topic, because you're too tired to think of one, much less speaking about one to your ex. Sev is watching you and the interaction from the backseat, his quietness isn't unusual.

He can sense something's wrong. He’s certain you’ve noticed too, but what could you do in a moving vehicle, if not launching yourself out the door out of paranoia without injuring yourself? Call it his intuition. Out of his brothers, his intuition never went wrong. It’s his patience and attentiveness when he's locking in. 

So when the chakaar pulls up in the seediest corner of a gas station after fueling up, all this poorly executed bullshit ends now.

The temperature surrounding his incorporeal body freefalls. Always, every time, when his trigger discipline can no longer be contained. It makes his head feel hot and crowded with utter focus, his attention fully locking into his new goal—his target.

The search for vantage point? He lets his body do it. Methodical, careful, as if someone ran the program inside his head to do just so, because he's used to moving so discreetly without risking being seen. Even a ghost now—he can't erase that away. He can't be careless, still. It's who he is. Remove that, and he'll be just a shell of RC-1207 who loses his kick.

He's found a tree, but he doesn't climb, so he covers himself behind the gigantic trunk. He wants to see the bolt penetration. He wants to watch his target's head loll sideways as it claims their life that's been spent on stooping so low belittling other human beings. He wants the thrill. He wants to smell burnt tibanna. He wants to smell the death.

Sev raises his rifle and aims. It's already dark outside, and he's surprised why you didn't choose to go on a screaming match with your ex already to demand to be taken home. Raph drives around, errands here and errands there, even taking his time on grocery shopping and delivering packages. He's already been waiting for the cover of darkness so he could lock the doors and turn off the lights in his car…

And pounce on you.

Once the moving shadows inside the car begin to show signs of resistance and oppression, he wastes no time.

He pulls the trigger.

The boom resonating out of his sniper attachment is followed by the sound of glass breaking. The bolt went through the car's rear window, the seat, and…

The head loll. And not a second later, the entire body, dead, flopping heavily onto you. Dead.

You scream.

You've obviously thought of being present in a crime scene. But you’ve never found yourself in it since it's probably for the best and yet; here you are.

It's just like what they say and what they show to you in pictures. No blood. Scorched bullet hole. Smell of foreign gas flooding your nostrils. Dead body. It's also what they don't show you that's overwhelming your senses. You think dead bodies are cold, but you have no idea they'd still be warm. Or maybe, deep down you knew but it's all happening so fast. Freshly dead bodies are still so warm that it makes you want to believe Raph is possibly still alive.

You push his body away from you. Raph’s dead weight slams against his side of the door with a loud thunk.

“Buggy! Hey!”

Sev is on the other side of your window, wishing on everything he could've done including rapping his knuckle plate against the window and hauling you out of there as fast as he could to get you to safety.

“Let's go. We should go.”

And then the fog clears. It's like you're waking up from a nightmare.

“Sev,” you breathe, finding consolation in the presence of his illuminating bluish white form before unlocking the door manually with shaky fingers. Sev arms go through your body in an attempt to catch you as you stumble out. You hit the asphalt and grass followed by Sev's frustrated grunt.

“Buggy,” he calls you, even crouching to meet your level, “Get up. You okay?”

Your sight blurs—it’s your tears pooling in your eyes, and you don't even realize you've been crying. Sev’s translucent rifle, the one he just shot Raph with, lays on the ground next to him. You're expecting to be eye to eye with Sev’s gruesomely painted helmet but the face behind it greets you instead, and it does seem like your questions about the color of his eyes and what kind of scars marring his face would remain unanswered. The frown between his eyebrows and concern reflecting in his gaze bring you into a shared space of vulnerability.

Your breath hitches.

“Sev…”

“You’re alright,” he soothes, voice softer than you've ever heard of him. Sev raises his hand to your head to push some of your hair away but pauses midair, again forgetting his current state. Glancing away in embarrassment, he turns back to you with sudden encouragement. “Come on. We gotta get moving.”

“My bag,” you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper as you try your best to get up even on your jelly-like limbs.

Sev nudges his head. “Go. We'll get out of here.”

You get on your feet with hardship and turn, and you're looking at the nightmare again.

Raph had suddenly become violent when you rejected his advances and landed a solid smack to your cheek. Not three seconds later, he flopped dead against you by Sev’s protective headshot.

“He—” you swallow thickly, “He tried to rape me—”

“What matters now is that you're safe, ad'ika,” Sev affirms behind you, his voice filtering through his helmet again. “He won't bother you anymore, that's what I know.”

It burns. The pain in your cheek has numbed but it still burns. You touch the reddened spot with the tip of your fingers and immediately cringe away—it’ll always be a reminder of a tragedy.

And your mistake.

You're here when he's murdered. You're present at the crime scene, your DNA is all over the place. Within a second, you feel like the best you could do right now is crying again and screaming as loud as you can.

“Buggy,” Sev urges you again.

“I'll never be safe, will I?” Your voice strains as you turn around, your tears hot in your eyes. “As long as this town hates me, I'll never be safe, and you'll never stop.”

“If that's what it takes.”

You know you're supposed to be taken aback by his words—Sev’s sole intention and belief that he should protect you, a vulnerable soul, at all costs. His calling, he called it. But you're not. Your shock has escaped you and you are so used to letting yourself be ushered under Sev’s protective wings that you no longer question his merciless actions. It scares you, your sanity—it scares the little sympathy that's just magically… still there.

After all seven, eight murders.

Have you always been this heartless? Ever since they turn to be so condescending and kick you into the ground that you've had a fair share of the vile earth yourself, and make you swallow what they've spat on?

Maybe they deserve this, after all.

You sniffle, harshly wiping the tears off your sad fucking face. Grabbing your bag to find your phone, there's only one fight left for you.

“Raph’s dad’s lawyers are going to kill me,” you mumble as you tap the three numbers for emergency services. “They're gonna make sure I'll be behind bars for this one. They're powerful people.”

Sev huffs almost boredly. “Then good thing there's a security camera right across from where you are.”

It's a good position, and it's on. It surely caught what had transpired beyond the windshield of the rental car, and all the windows aren't tinted.

“They won't touch you.” Sev raises his rifle again. “I’ll make sure of that.”

You release a breath of laughter—either for him always having your back or the fucking coping mechanism, you're letting the universe do whatever it wants with you, as long as they decree Sev to always protect you against the most vile evil that the world throws at you, at least.

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings @emmaw18 @leiopython-rat

Delta Squad Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart @alor-ika

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 7

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Chapter summary: Past. Logan has a nightmare. Present. You have a nightmare.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

EXTRA WARNING!!!!: Pretty graphic. Again, I cant and wont tag everything but I dont wanna throw you off.

2.3 words

Before

“Logan?”

Your voice broke through the noise, the sound of machine guns and children screaming and a bomb dropped in the distance but he heard you. Everything was disjointed, every war, just or unjust, melded into others. Nazi’s shot by WWI German troops, a confederate soldier beheading an English man, Indigenous tribes fighting alongside terrorists, a confusing group to say the least. Still, he heard you.

“Logan!”

You, standing in the middle of it all in a modest pink dress. You, pristine as if you were teaching a class but surrounded by blood and bodies and murdered innocents. You, who when he blinked, was covered in blood but not from bullets or beyonets or gunned up airplanes, but slashed up like Freddy Kruger was hopping his way into his dream. You were holding your stomach, scrambling to keep your guts inside yourself. He was trying to reach you, but hands pulled him back. He couldn’t see faces, but Logan knew they were the hands of all those he’d killed. In front of him, separating Logan from you now, were other. Scott, Charles, Jean, everyone who’d told him to stay away from you.

They aren’t helping you, they aren’t even trying. Instead, they just admonish Logan.

“See what you've done?” Jean asks, and Logan tries to push through.

“She’s bleeding! She needs help!” He screams and screams, watching as you fall to your knees, blood beginning to spill out your mouth. “I need to help her!”

Charles now, voice calm. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“No! I didn’t hurt her! I’d never hurt her! Please, Dolly! Dolly I’m coming!”

Scott, for some reason without his glasses. “We knew this would happen, we knew you couldn’t be trusted, Logan.”

“I wouldn’t hurt her! PLEASE! Just- Let me- DOLLY!!!”

You’ve collapsed, convulsing on the ground as you shout his name over and over again. Logan screams for you, using all his strength to try and get away, to help you, get you out of the war zone and to help, but the weight of the hands around him are too much. They pull and grasp and voices moan in agony behind him.

They pull him away from you.

“LOGAN! WAKE UP!”

Then his eyes are open, claws out and he’s scanning his dark bedroom for the danger, the danger he knows has to be there because why else would he be so fucking scared? But then he turns and he sees you, standing in the corner with your arms crossed over yourself and and he thinks back to the scene in his head where you were dying and Logan almost runs to you- but when he moves, he sees you flinch.

There is a long, long moment where the only thing breaking the silence were your ragged breaths and the pounding of blood in his ears, eyes inter looked in mutual fear. Logan looked at you like you were a spooked deer, even though it was him that felt an unyielding terror inside. You stood in PJ’s, and as his eyes adjusted he took in the new side of you, clothing revealing more than skin you didn’t show. You slept in a dress. Not pants and a top, not a dress meaning lingerie or something cute. Logan thinks for a moment of those outfits worn on the Amazonian Islands in the 70’s Wonder Woman show, how it was just lingerie. No, nothing like that. You just wore a dress, something akin to what he’d seen women wear more than 100 years ago, something a grandma would wear now, a skirt that went to the mid-shin.

Even in the privacy of your own bedroom, you weren’t free from the rhetoric. He bet you wore cotton panties.

You were the first to speak, voice soft and careful as if you weren’t the one shaking. “Are you… okay?”

You, sweet beautiful you, were concerned about him. He’d had a nightmare, because of course he had, of course he could never be free from all the before… but he was okay. 

“Yeah, I uh…” Logan ran a finger over his face, shaking off the tremors. “Nightmare.”

A little nod from your head, then your voice, barely audible. “I get them too.”

Of course you did. Of course a sweet wonderful little doll like you was plagued like this. 

Logan relaxes, shoulders slumping and he slides his legs over the side of the bed before burying his face in his hands. “I’ll kill him, you know.” He mumbles. “Just tell me anything, anything about him and I can track him down. Anything about you.”

The name you used wasn’t a real name. You’d chosen from some woman in the bible you admired, a jewish woman who used her beauty to seduce an enemy and slayed him. Judith was the subject of two Artemisia Gentileschi paintings, hence his familiarity. Logan wasn’t an art guy, but being the history teacher he’d had to brush up on his renaissance art. Your last name was fake too, something you and Charles drummed up and probably had some other religious significance, although he wasn’t religious enough to know. Maybe he’d ask Kurt. 

It’d all been faked and slapped on some ID’s no one would ever be able to tell weren’t real. Your new identity was sealed. Even if you left the school, you could go on. Charles had even faked an education degree and high school diploma when you promised to not use it to do anything you weren’t qualified for. Charles didn’t want you to be trapped at the school, and since the school had been your only option at the time, you’d been given a freedom to leave. This was more than your husband had ever done, keeping you trapped and helpless, not even knowing how to drive. 

All he needed was your real name, and he could track your husband down and bring his head on a platter like John the Baptist. Was that a Gentileschi painting, or was that Caravagio?

“I know.” Your voice breaks him out of his thoughts like you had done with his nightmare. “Which is why I won’t tell you.”

When Logan looks up, he sees you still standing so far away from him, and chuckles dryly. “You scared of me now, doll face?”

You shake your head no, but it’s not as confident as he’d have liked.

“I’m in my pajamas. You’re shirtless in shorts. There’s a bed.”

His eyebrows rose at that. “You think I’d do something to you?”

This time, when you shake your head, it’s much firmer. “No. Absolutely not. It’s just… I was always taught to never be in a man’s bedroom… or I might bring something on myself, or it would lead me to sin, or, or there’s something about the appearance of sin… I dunno, it’s just considered improper.”

He let the words settle into his skin. Sometimes, loving you was like the women he’d loved, bedded, courted so long ago. Such a different time, a different world. Yet you were still so different. Back then, women were just waiting for someone to untether them, give them an out, run away. They craved that freedom, the liberty sex brings. Logan didn’t know what you craved. There was nothing inside you that said you wanted to scream, to be unhinged, to let go. You weren’t a bubble waiting to pop, you were simply happy to be as you were, dresses and all.

“I understand, Dolly. Thank you for uh, for waking me. But you should really just let me be, next time.” Flashes of Rogue all bloodied in his arms flattered across Logan’s memory. Kayla, scratched up before his bones became the weapon they are now.  “I might accidentally hurt you.”

Something he doesn’t recognize flashes on your face before you give a little nod. “Are you alright? I can go make you some tea?”

Part of Logan wanted to say yes, because he loved when you made him tea, but you looked tired. “No, thank you doll. I’m alright. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Thanks kinda my thing, isn’t it?” You smile just a little, making a bit of a face as you walk sideways towards the door. “Little homeschooled teen marriage weirdo?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed at your weird behavior, not turning your back to him, but he decided he didn’t need to question your every move.

“You’re not a weirdo. You’re one of the coolest people I know.”

You laugh at that, eyes bright as always, and slide out the door.

After

You scream. And scream. And scream, over and over again. There’s blood everywhere. Logan tore everyone you loved apart; your students, your fellow teachers, Scott, Jean, Kurt, Emma, Charles. Every single one was hacked to pieces. Logan pinned you to the ground, pounding into your cunt as if you were just a lifeless doll. You didn’t fight. You didn’t scream. Were you screaming before? You can’t remember now.

Lifeless you lay, head lulled to the side as Logan fucked you. There was blood coming out of your cunt, but you didn’t know how you knew that. Spread and prone and stretched you took what Logan gave you, his soft words grunting in your ear.

“Isn’t this better, doll? Not fighting? See, I can make it good for you. I can make you wet. You’re so wet for me, my little submissive dolly.” It wasn’t blood between your legs anymore, it was cum as an uncomfortable orgasm swelled through your body. Still, ever so still, you never moved. Remy lay next to you, unrecognizable outside of intuition as he’s just a pile of slashed flesh now.

“My perfect, lifeless doll.” You’re pliant in his hands.

Suddenly Scott is in front of you, a bodiless head , eyes gouged out of his face, nothing but bloody pits. Still he speaks.

“You did this.”

No. No you’d never-

“You’re dangerous. Violence follows you. You’re a grenade.”

It wasn’t you! It was Logan!

“It hasn’t always been Logan. But it’s always been you. You are the common denominator.”

You blink and it’s no longer the friends and family and children of your new life. It’s your mom and dad, siblings, in laws, everyone who meant something to you before. 

It’s your husband between your legs now, and you think there is nothing possible worse than this, nothing could be worse than him being back. Everything you went through, it’s never going to end. You’re dying. Maybe you’re dead because you’re watching from above now, your body on the ground and cold.

Your husband strokes your lifeless, compliant form. “The perfect wife.”

You’re back in your body, your mother lying next to you now. “Why couldn’t you just be good?”

You wake up to Remy shaking you.

His voice is an immediate calm, a recognition that he isn’t dead, he’s not a mass of gore on the floor while you’re being raped, killed for something you’ve done that you didn’t even know what. He’s alive.

“Remy!” You grab his shirt, pulling him to you and you don’t care that he’s a man half on your bed. He’s alive. Remy has often woken you from nightmares, his room right next to yours. Remy was closer, but Logan could hear you from further. Still, Remy was a light sleeper, so he usually got to you before Logan was aware.

Once you let go, Remy took several steps back, right up against the wall. This was something Remy did to prevent further anxiety. You trusted Remy fully, you never got an inkling that he wanted to fuck you or was playing the long game, just that he wanted to help you.

“They are getting worse again, pistache. It’s more often than when you first came here.”

You pull your blanket close to your chest even though you were fully covered. Remy slept in boxers, but he wore a robe around himself, something he bought after the first time he helped you through a nightmare. He came in in just his underwear and you were only three days into joining the school. Needless to say, seeing a man almost naked had scared the ever living hell out of you, so Remy bought a robe to cover up without having to waste time dressing. He was thoughtful like that. 

“I know, I know. I just… stress… I got the prom coming up, been a lot.”

Remy frowned, “Planning a high school dance shouldn’t trigger nightmares. Is this because of what happened at the ball?”

You wince. That memory was a lot, something that you didn’t like to think about. You doubted Scott did either, and if his jaw was ever the same. 

You took to long to answer, looking down at your blanket, so Remy continued. “I know that you and Logan have had… a falling out.” Your heart clenches at the words, heat flushing over your skin. Your blanket hid what you had been under loose clothing; a bump. You tuck your knees up so the blanket downs fall over your stomach. “I think he can fix it. You and him… well, I thought you’d get along before you ever met him. I brought your down stairs that first day because I’d seen him walking in, sent him to the store with you, sent him to have lunch… I think you two suit each other.” Remy gives you a smile. “You soften him. He protects you. It’s good for you both. Whatever it is, I think you can fix it. That’s all I’ll say.”

Remy stayed true to his word, not continuing about it… but you couldn’t help thinking how horrified he’d be if he found out what Logan did to you. He’s still gone, coming back any day now. Remy thought you softened him, and you suppose you did. For a while. 

You let Remy get you a snack, a little sweet treat to get the sick taste out of your mouth and cheer you up. He was kind, attentive, but the memory of him as nothing but a pile of slosh haunted you. Logan was dangerous. You were already worried about Scott prying where he didn’t need to, worrying about him getting himself killed, but now you think about Remy. What will he do when he learned Logan raped a baby into you?

Logan returns to his dolly next chapter! Next chapter we have 2 dances. Past, a ball Dolly put on because of the pride and prejuduce unit for her lit class, and presant she put on a sort of prom for the teenagers.

That chapter is where we get another HUGE chunk of dolly's past! the final bombwill be nearer to the end. I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts on what you think dollys secrets are!!! There was a hint this chapter!

Ideas for a poll is always welcome! as are songs for the playlist

I need to make a better cover pic now that ive gotten a feel for the series and its themes

If you've read Rooms on Fire or The Wrong Way, you know I tend to write a similar type for these dark series. Dolly, Little one and Madonna are all girly, quieter, feminine, submissive types. I hope that those whove read it all, because i know some people have read most things i put out, don find dolly boring. I think all three are unique in their own ways, and Dolly has her own things too, even if she's quiet and nervous

I love all yall and am so thankful for the support ive gotten here!!!!!

please remember, comments keep me writing. It doesnt have to be a compiment, just something that shows engagment like "remy is a good friend"

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia @new-genesis1000 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi

Snippet -Gojo grinned. "Nanami? Working. Someone’s gotta fund couples’ therapy." He leaned back, laugh-rich. "Kidding! He’s suspended like me—so these days he reads about pregnancy, cooks nutritionally balanced meals, day trades and lets our wife cheat in video games. Very sexy, very domestic." WormTakeTheWeel: GOJO, BLINK TWICE IF NANAMI HAS A GUN. As if summoned by his sins, you appeared in the doorway. Gojo lit up like a kid handed a lifetime supply of sweets. "Wifey! Hi!" Unaware of what he was sharing in the stream, heavily pregnant in Nanami’s sweater, you balanced a tray of snacks. “Here,” you murmured—strawberry slices, chocolate-covered crackers, strawberry Pocky milk. The kind of effortless care that came from loving someone past the point of sanity. Gojo melted, feeding you a grape. You hummed, patted his head like a misbehaving puppy, and waddled out. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he crooned. The chat imploded. MechamarusLeftKnee: WAIT, THAT’S HER?? SHE'S SO CUTE??? SuguruForgotCondoms: HOW DID U TWO LAND HER? SHE’S LIKE ‘RICH’ RICH. NonConsensualForeheadStitches: BRO, SAY SORRY AGAIN, WTF? DO NOT FUMBLE A BADDIE, BRO!

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Chapter Summary: Gojo Satoru has two settings: ‘Unhinged God’ and ‘Emotionally Constipated Golden Retriever.’ Nanami Kento is a spreadsheet with a pulse. Their wife? A heavily pregnant, introverted CEO who’s one Sims murder spree away from filing divorce papers in triplicate. Featuring: Parisian apologies, cursed twins rewriting reality, and a group chat that’s 47% memes, 53% war crimes. Love is stored in the passive-aggressive barista. Some smut. A/N: Sorry for the delay, besties—I was spiritually kidnapped by capitalism and the brainrot gods, but this chapter wouldn’t exist without WhatDidIJustRead on AO3/ @blackrimmedrose on Tumblr (who slid into my DMs like a reverse curse technique to beta this mess). I was out here lost in the void, vibing with my last two brain cells, when she showed up like an exorcist asking, "Hey, wanna be normal?" And I said, "Absolutely not." She beta-read, supporting my Sukuna x Nanami delusions, and told me to go full K-Drama Kaisen (which, btw, may or may not foreshadow a tragic villain(not human or living thing) in the story ahead. Who's to say? 👀). For this chapter: read the usernames (yes, they mean something, no, I won’t elaborate), tell me your favorite scene (because I know it’s long but I believe in your attention span—barely), and get ready because we’re in the endgame. Three more chapters and then we either crash and burn in angst or soft-launch a happy ending. Choose wisely. Also, special-grade Nanamin incoming (read that in Yuki’s voice), and CHRO should be read as another reader. Can you guess their backstory? I can bet, it's more unhinged than you think. Also I was kinda thinking what if in this fic the husbands look like the header. This chp is only happening the way it is bcs I may or may not be ovulating rn :P Had to break this chapter in two posts bcs Tumblr won't let me post it. Link to the next part at the bottom.

Previous Chapter 19 (alt ending 2.10) - The Anatomical Weight of Neglect in Infinite Drops - Part 4 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 20 (alt ending 2.11) - The Fault Lines: The Honored One’s Guide to Fumbling the Bag (And Other Love Languages) - Part 1

Discovery #1: Gojo Has Been Emotionally Waterboarding Himself for Fun—and Maya Is Into It (Professionally)

Maya swirled the questionable contents of her chipped coffee mug—definitely not coffee—and leveled Gojo with a look that could curdle milk. "You know what's hilarious? I actually thought you'd take this therapy seriously. My mistake."

Gojo, sprawled across the couch like a discarded prom dress, grinned. "Maya, darling, when have I ever taken anything seriously?"

"Point taken." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the predatory interest of a scientist observing a particularly fascinating train wreck. "Now explain why you spent last night watching old home videos of your wife and pausing on frames where she looked happiest."

Gojo blinked. "Is that... not normal?"

Maya's smile was razor-thin. "Oh, sweet winter child. That's not nostalgia—that's psychological self-flagellation. You're emotionally waterboarding yourself. For fun." She took a sip of her mystery drink, which smelled like industrial solvent. "Were you trying to break yourself like a CIA intern?"

Gojo adjusted his sunglasses. "Not intentionally."

Maya's clipboard hit the floor with a clatter. "YOU ZOOMED IN ON HER HANDS AND STARED AT THEM FOR TWO HOURS, GOJO."

"They are so small. I was appreciating them!"

"YOU'RE SIX-FOOT-THREE. EVERYONE'S HANDS LOOK SMALLER COMPARED TO YOU. EVEN KASHIMO'S. AND I CHECKED."

Gojo's brows furrowed. "Wait, why were you—"

"FOCUS." Maya's cheeks flushed—vodka or Kashimo-related trauma, unclear. "Then you fell asleep listening to an AI voice read her old emails."

Gojo perked up. "Wait, you can do that?"

Maya exhaled through her nose. "Do you understand how normal people process guilt?"

Gojo beamed. "Not even a little."

Maya lit a cigarette directly under the NO SMOKING sign.

Discovery #2: Nanami Has Been Micromanaging the Apocalypse—Maya Approves (Almost)

"I want it on record that I don’t want to be here," Nanami said, posture stiffer than a starched collar.

You rolled your eyes while Gojo was busy sniffing your new shampoo.

“Freud would eat you alive.” She leveled Nanami with a smirk. 

Nanami adjusted his cuffs (and your ovaries did the thing). "Freud was a hack."

"So are most of my methods," Maya said cheerfully. "Now explain why you’ve been running a full intelligence operation on your wife."

Nanami didn’t blink. "It’s meal planning."

Maya slid a photo across the table. "You sent me a risk assessment on her caffeine intake."

"She exceeds the safe limit."

"You hired a private nutritionist. He’s disguised as a barista."

Nanami’s expression didn’t flicker. "Efficiency."

Maya’s eye twitched. "You tagged him 'P.N.' in her contacts like a Cold War spy. The man was in her Uber eats app."

Nanami sipped his tea. "It was a suggestion, not a command."

Maya stared.

Nanami stared back, deadpan.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Maya looked impressed. "And the sleep journal?"

"Observational research."

"You logged her REM cycles and fetal heartbeat counts without telling her."

Nanami’s lips thinned. "She was fidgeting in her sleep."

"You are insufferable." Maya cackled like a woman who’d just lost a bet. "You’re also scarily good at this. Ever consider corporate espionage?"

Nanami blinked. "I’m not sure you should be suggesting that."

Maya shrugged. "Neither does my license but here we are."

Nanami’s eye twitched as Maya continued, "Nanami. You’ve been tracking how many times she turns over in bed."

"Sleep quality is important."

"YOU GAVE HER A WEARABLE MONITOR WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE."

You and Gojo turned very, very slowly to look at him.

Nanami didn’t meet your eyes. "I didn’t want to wake her."

"THAT’S NOT THE PROBLEM."

Nanami narrowed his eyes, the human equivalent of a spreadsheet glaring back. "Would you rather I didn’t care?"

Maya massaged her temples. "No. But I’d like you to behave like a human man and not a passive-aggressive government drone."

You bit your cheek to keep from laughing. Gojo was already on the floor, wheezing.

Discovery #3: Wife Is Weaponizing Spite Like a Professional—Maya Finds It Charming

Maya turned to you with the weariness of someone who’d seen too much and drunk too much about it. "Now you."

You blinked. "What?"

Maya grinned, all teeth. "Explain the sabotage."

You sipped your water. "Is that bad?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Maya crooned, "it’s art. You’ve been unplugging Nanami’s alarm by exactly three minutes every night."

You shrugged. "Interesting."

"And Gojo’s autocorrect? Changing ‘baby’ to ‘bankruptcy’? Inspiring."

Gojo gasped from the couch. "Wait, is that why my texts sound financially threatening?"

Maya cackled. "And The Sims?" Her eyes sparkled with something unhinged. "You made their Sims, made them cheat on you, then made them suffer."

"That’s just called gaming."

"YOU LOCKED GOJO’S SIM IN A BASEMENT AND MADE NANAMI’S SIM WATCH THROUGH A WINDOW."

You smiled. "Sounds like a Tuesday."

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW UNHINGED THAT IS?"

"Maya," you said patiently, "have you ever played The Sims?"

"THAT’S NOT THE POINT."

"Then what is?"

Maya sighed. "You’re deliberately making yourself angrier instead of addressing your pain."

You shrugged. "It works."

"No, it’s therapy-adjacent." Maya winked. "Illegal in couples therapy, but therapy-adjacent." She narrowed her eyes at Nanami's PPT. "Wait. Why do you own ten pairs of noise-canceling headphones?"

You hesitated.

Maya pounced.

"YOU STOCKPILE THEM BECAUSE YOU THINK PEOPLE WILL LEAVE, AND YOU NEED TO DROWN OUT THE SILENCE."

You stiffened.

Maya leaned in, voice softening. "That’s not a normal purchase pattern, sweetheart."

---

The Verdict

Maya slumped at her desk like a woman who’d seen the abyss and found it lacking. "After careful consideration," she announced, "I’ve reached a conclusion."

Nanami rolled his eyes. "Which is?"

"That the three of you should never have been left unsupervised."

Gojo beamed. "Thanks!"

Maya turned to you. "And you—do you ever process emotions like a normal person, or is it all silent suffering and revenge Sims scenarios?"

You sipped your water. "That feels like a loaded question."

"YOU MADE A POWERPOINT TITLED ‘THINGS I WILL BRING UP IN A FIGHT IN FIVE YEARS.’"

Nanami side-eyed you, hard.

You coughed. "I have hobbies."

"NO, YOU HAVE A VENDETTA."

Gojo clapped.

Maya threw a pen at him. "AND YOU—" She whirled on Nanami. "Mr. ‘I Will Prove I Love Her Through Spreadsheets and Covert Ops.’"

Nanami frowned. "That’s reductive."

"No, it’s accurate. You’re micromanaging her entire existence instead of facing your guilt. How many meals have you prepped this week?"

"Forty-one."

Gojo blinked. "Bro."

"She’s pregnant," Nanami said flatly.

"SHE’S NOT SEVEN PEOPLE, NANAMI."

"SHE’S CARRYING TWINS, MAYA."

Gojo whistled. "Ouch."

"Satoru, shut the fuck up."

Maya took a deep breath. "New plan. We’re fixing this."

Solution 1: Gojo—Sit in the Void Like the Man You Are

Maya gestured with her cigarette. "Your diagnosis is ‘terminal avoidance with god-tier deflection.’"

Gojo grinned. "Sounds serious."

"You’ll survive." She snuffed the cigarette out on her desk. "You’re going to sit with your feelings. No jokes. No memes. Write them down."

Gojo blinked. "I don’t like that."

"I don’t care."

"But it’s bad in there, Maya."

"Then fix it. You’re the strongest, right? Fight your demons."

"Maya, be fr, my demons do MMA."

"Or I’ll have Kashimo babysit you."

Gojo paled. "No, no, not the gremlin."

"Then behave."

Solution 2:  NANAMI—Stop Being a Passive-Aggressive NSA Agent

"Nanami," Maya said, flipping a page, "controlling her life isn’t an apology."

Nanami frowned. "Your suggestion?"

"Cold turkey. No trackers. No secret baristas."

"Impossible."

Maya shrugged. "Then prepare to be waterboarded by me. Emotionally ofcourse. Or worse—Kashimo."

Nanami sighed. "Fine. What else?"

"Tell her one genuine thing you love about her. Every day."

Nanami stared. "That’s manipulative."

"You’re manipulative. This is called emotional availability."

Gojo snorted. "Nanami, buddy, you’re fucked."

"Satoru, I will kill you."

Solution 3: YOU—YES, YOU—Quit Playing The Sims In Real Life

Maya leaned in. "You. You’re the worst."

You raised a brow.

"You avoid intimacy like it owes you money. You set people up to fail so you can say ‘I knew it.’"

You scowled. "I don’t do that."

"No? You casually bring up old betrayals at dinner?"

"Maybe."

"You pick fights right before things get vulnerable?"

"Potentially."

"YOU PRETEND TO BE FINE THE SECOND SOMEONE TRIES TO APOLOGIZE?"

You smiled. "That one’s a cultural reset."

Maya sighed. "You self-sabotage like a trained assassin. You’ve convinced yourself you don’t want to be loved."

You blinked. "Thank you. It works."

Maya smirked. "Until it doesn’t. You’re going to stop. No more preemptive strikes. No more exit strategies. Let these disasters love you."

Nanami and Gojo nodded in unison. "Agreed."

Maya groaned. "You all deserve each other." She waved a hand. "Now get out. I have a date with poor judgment and worse liquor."

---

Mr. Gojo “My Wife & My Husband” Satoru

After discreetly evacuating the women flirting with your husbands—and Megumi had handled your mother and Nanami’s Tokyo-sized crater—the internet’s first lesson about Gojo Satoru was clear: Never let him near social media.

The second? His wife was far too good for him.

Gojo wasn’t a streamer. He wasn’t even a social media guy, unless you counted hacking Jujutsu High’s alumni page to memeify Geto’s Oily Hair Era (RIP) with a pixelated shrine emoji.

But after the incident—after he and Nanami stormed a corporate office like rom-com leads gone feral (hospitalizing security, yeeting a man into a cactus, and letting Nanami fold a salaryman like a lawn chair)—the world had questions:

Why attack a gaming office?

Why panic like a golden retriever at the vet?

WHO IS THIS WOMAN???

It was his wife. The mortal who’d reduced the Honored One to a knees-bent, apology-babbling mess. The one whose existence made Gojo Satoru—arrogant, untouchable, walking calamity—drop like a marionette with cut strings the moment she turned her back.

He wasn’t famous, not in the way of streamers, influencers or athletes.

He was known, but in the way natural disasters were known—whispered about in legal documents, feared by politicians, mentioned only in hushed tones.

A quiet, bureaucratic, private nightmare.

But the corporate world had cameras, and those cameras had gone viral.

So now, here he was—perched in front of your gaming setup, Nanami’s reading glasses upside-down on his nose (purely for spite), streaming PUBG to 3,000 baffled strangers who had not signed up for this level of intimacy.

The stream title, “🔥LIVE NOW: DILF Gaming 🚀 PUBG Duos w/ Nanamin! (HELP WIFE STILL MAD AT ME!)🔥”—was a war crime. It lured normies, lost souls, chaos enthusiasts, and three vengeful ex-sorcerers—including Utahime, halfway through a wine bottle and seething.

PandaIsMyTherapist: IS THIS A CRYPTID???

NanamisTieStrap: WHERE’S THE BLONDE DILF??

CurseTheseNuts: Sir, this is a Wendy’s.

SixEyesNoBrain: Wife’s a QUEEN dump his ass. 💅

Gojo was a man of many talents: strongest sorcerer, Six Eyes wielder, government-toppler before breakfast.

And yet—

67 minutes into this dumpster fire, the chat raged with “Who’s Nanamin??” and “Is your wife single??”

And more.

RatioKingKenthoe: Bro, who even are u?

IWasNanamisTrueAwakening: IS THIS THE GUY FROM THE VIRAL OFFICE VIDEO???

"Okay, okay, listen," Gojo drawled, tilting his headset. "I know what you’re thinking—Gojo, why are you like this?—and the answer is: Love." His in-game avatar promptly ate a sniper round. "See that? Forty-seventh death today. This is love, okay?!"

NanamisSecondBiggestRegret: How’s your wife?

Gojo exhaled, smile bittersweet. "Radiant. Brilliant. Currently incubating two gremlins who already hate me. Also? Merciless. Actively Googling how to jail husbands internationally."

He popped a grape into his mouth and chewed.

TojisLeftSandals: So she still hasn’t forgiven you for the whole… office rampage thing?

"Uh, no?" His laugh frayed at the edges. "Formal apologies to: the eighteen guys Nanami hospitalized, the dude I yeeted into a cactus, and the intern who saw Nanami fold a man like origami. Special shoutout to the guy I threw into a marble wall and the soul who watched me kick down a boardroom door like a divorced dad on Christmas. In my defense? Panic. As for Nanami?" He shrugged. "Zero defense. He was just pissed."

LegallyNotaKaori: THIS IS WHY MEN SHOULD BE LOCKED UP.

TojisUnwashedBoobies: Apologize properly????

"Fine—shoutout to Kenjiro Tsuda from Voice-whatever-department! Sorry about the cactus! And, uh… sorry Nanami turned Dave into abstract art!"

InumakisVoiceCrackASMR: His name was Dan.

Gojo waved a hand. "WHATEVER. Therapy’s expensive, folks! Donate to the Wife Forgive Me fund! But not really because I’m VERY rich."

SukunasToenailClippings: Is your wife single now?

Gojo clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “MODS. BANISH THIS HERETIC.”

SixEyesNoBrain: Why’d you even attack her company??

“Because she left.” His face went eerily still; then he groaned, slumping over the desk. “She just… vanished. And I know my wife. If she’s avoiding us, she’s drafting divorce papers in three languages.”

GetosMissingPantaloons: So are you guys still living together?

Gojo stretched, smug. “Technically. She’s on maternity leave, so we’ve… reintegrated ourselves into her life like stray cats she can’t evict. She’s mildly tolerating it.”

MahitosLeftTesticularTorsion: WHERE’S THE BLONDE ONE?

Gojo grinned. "Nanami? Working. Someone’s gotta fund couples’ therapy." He leaned back, laugh-rich. "Kidding! He’s suspended like me—so these days he reads about pregnancy, cooks nutritionally balanced meals, day trades and lets our wife cheat in video games. Very sexy, very domestic."

WormTakeTheWeel: GOJO, BLINK TWICE IF NANAMI HAS A GUN.

As if summoned by his sins, you appeared in the doorway.

Gojo lit up like a kid handed a lifetime supply of sweets. "Wifey! Hi!"

Unaware of what he was sharing in the stream, heavily pregnant in Nanami’s sweater, you balanced a tray of snacks. “Here,” you murmured—strawberry slices, chocolate-covered crackers, strawberry Pocky milk. The kind of effortless care that came from loving someone past the point of sanity.

Gojo melted, feeding you a grape. You hummed, patted his head like a misbehaving puppy, and waddled out.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he crooned.

The chat imploded.

MechamarusLeftKnee: WAIT, THAT’S HER?? SHE'S SO CUTE???

SuguruForgotCondoms: HOW DID U TWO LAND HER? SHE’S LIKE ‘RICH’ RICH.

NonConsensualForeheadStitches: BRO, SAY SORRY AGAIN, WTF? DO NOT FUMBLE A BADDIE, BRO!

SwallowedByKenjaku: THE WAY SHE JUST… BROUGHT SNACKS. I’M WEAK.

MommyYukis_YearOldMilk: SAY SORRY AGAIN OR I SWEAR—

MonkeyWithDaddyIssues: TELL HER YOU LOVE HER RIGHT NOW.

JogosFinalFumes: GOJO, APOLOGIZE ON YOUR KNEES OR I WILL.

JunpeisType_YourMom: THIS IS ENOUGH TO MAKE A GROWN HUMAN WEEP.

LawAndOrderTheseTittiesHiromi: I’d let her step on me.

“Aww, look at her. So into me.” He turned to the camera, eyes starry. “Bringing me snacks. I love her so much. She’s sweet even when plotting my demise. Nanami, though?” He snorted. “I brought him coffee this morning, and he said, ‘I don’t accept offerings from traitors.’”

MeiMeisCrows: Why’s she still letting you live there if she’s so mad?

His grin faltered. For a heartbeat, vulnerability flickered.

“…Because she still loves us.” His voice softened, raw. “She’s just… hurt.”

TojisChildSupportNotice: Do you think she will ever forgive you two?

Gojo hesitated. The silence stretched.

“…I hope."

Then, his fingers drummed on the desk. “Anyway, therapy’s great. Nanami takes notes. I make jokes. Wifey fantasizes about our double homicide.”

His hands flew across the controller—reckless, frantic. He kept dying for it.

“I CAN DO THIS.” Gojo gritted his teeth, strangling the controller like it owed him rent. “I AM THE HONORED ONE. I DO NOT LOSE.”

You’d seen this before. The thing about Satoru? He mastered anything he focused on.

This could not stand.

Meanwhile, across the penthouse building in Megumi’s penthouse, Haibara grinned at his screen. "Ohhh, this is too good."

In your penthouse suite, just in a different room, you logged into your gaming account and cracked your knuckles. “Let’s wreck him.”

Haibara whooped. "Operation: Divorce Speedrun is a go!"

Back on stream, Gojo’s character respawned. “Alright, this time, I’m gonna—”

An enemy player materialized and obliterated him.

Gojo blinked. “…Huh.”

Then it happened again.

And again.

“I AM LOSING MY MIND,” Gojo howled as his pixelated corpse hit dirt. “WHO ARE THESE DEMONS?”

“The second he figures out the mechanics, it’s over,” you muttered to Haibara on discord. “If we don’t stop him, he’ll come back tomorrow on ultra-hard mode. I refuse to live in a world where Gojo beats me at my own stuff.”

Haibara cackled. "Damn, you’re a great wife."

"I know."

Gojo had no idea.

[TittyFucker69 set fire to HeadshotHubby’s hideout and stole their resources.]

[HaibaraWasHere sniped HeadshotHubby from a cliff.]

“WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?!” Gojo wailed. “I’M JUST TRYING TO LIVE. THEY WON'T EVEN LET ME GET A GUN.”

TakahashiTheRaccoon: THEY GOT HIS ASS. 😂😂😂

Then he squinted at his killer’s username: TittyFucker69.

"... Wifey."

GojosRestrainingOrder: LMFAOOOO HIS WIFE’S DOING THIS?

JogosFinalSmokeInhaler: Bro’s getting cyberbullied by his own wife.

And then—

A notification appeared.

[QuietlyCalculating has entered the server.]

You froze.

From the trees—a shadow moved. Silent. Precise.

[QuietlyCalculating has sniped HaibaraWasHere.]

[QuietlyCalculating has dropped rare loot near HeadshotHubby.]

"No." You narrowed your eyes. "It can’t be."

Gojo’s voice crackled through the chat: "OH MY GOD, WHO IS HELPING ME?!"

And then—

Nanami’s voice, dry as aged whiskey, filtered through the mic, no video. “You’re embarrassing us, Satoru.”

“Nanamin!!!!”

HeavenlyRestrictedManMilkers: WHY IS HIS TEAMMATE HOT??

SingleAndReadyToJujutsu: WAIT, HE’S GOT THE SEXY ACCOUNTANT VOICE.

Menace_Flakes: No, because WHO tf is playing against them? Why are they so good??

GetosWorstNightmare: His name is Nanamin?? How does a man named Nanamin sound this fine?

Then the kill feed lit up.

[TittyFucker69 killed HeadshotHubby.]

Gojo’s screen went black.

"NOOOOOOO."

Nanami sighed. “You should’ve used cover.”

Gojo, mumbling passive-aggressively, started a new game.

The Discord VC hummed with quiet menace as Haibara, you, and now Megumi coordinated your next assault through stream snippets.

"Place your bets," Haibara's grin was audible. "How many more humiliations before he rage quits?"

"He's Gojo," you muttered, lining up your shot. "He doesn't quit. He stays suffering."

Megumi adjusted his scope with deadly precision. "Then we'll make it memorable."

[TittyFucker69 threw a Molotov cocktail at HeadshotHubby.]

[Player_Unknown shot HeadshotHubby in the kneecaps.]

[EldritchHorror69 ran HeadshotHubby over with a jeep.]

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! KENTO, HELP!" Gojo's voice cracked mid-scream.

CorporateSorcererOfMyPanties: LMAOOOOO IS HIS WIFE SICKING HER DEV TEAM ON HIM?!!

SugurusLeftEarring: HE JUST CALLED HIS TEAMMATE KENTO??? IS THIS ILLEGAL??

Gojo spun wildly in-game, spraying bullets at phantom enemies. "SHOW YOURSELVES, COWARDS!"

Your smirk was weaponized. "With pleasure."

[TittyFucker69 knocked HeadshotHubby out with a frying pan.]

"I AM GOING TO SCREAM."

Nanami's sigh crackled through comms. "Stay down. I'll revive you."

"Took you long enough," Gojo pouted.

Nanami ignored him, focus unbroken.

The chat collectively short-circuited.

SixEyesNoThoughts: NOT THE DEEP-VOICED TEAMMATE SAVING HIM.

InfinityAndBeyondDumb: omg he’s so patient; he’s gotta be his husband and used to it.

NanamisTrauma2TheElectricBoogaloo: Is this real life???

CertifiedFeralBitchSukuna: HIS VOICE IS SO FINE, HELP. (NO HOMO THO.)

"Kento," Gojo whined as Nanami healed him, "I'm being cyberbullied by our wife."

"You deserve it," Nanami deadpanned.

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE."

"I am. That's why I'm ensuring you suffer productively."

SealedLikeaTupperware: lmfao, look at his Face. You cryin Gojo? 😏

SukunasTaxReturns: Sucks to suck. 🤡

Haibara's cackle echoed through Discord. "Alright Fushiguro. Wanna deliver the coup de grâce?"

Megumi exhaled through his nose. "Fine."

[Player_Unknown headshotted HeadshotHubby.]

[Player_Unknown killed QuietlyCalculating.]

NanaminHater69: NOT NANAMI BEING OBLITERATED. 😭

HeianEraFuckboy: WAIT, WHO TF IS THIS NEW ASSASSIN??

Megumi’s low voice came through on the live stream: “You both should quit now.”

MeiMeisCrowFood: Megumi?? AS IN FUSHIGURO??

YutasSimpArmy: Isn’t that the CEO guy??? WTF IS GOING ON?

TodousType_Dead: His wife is playing against him. His teammate is a DILF. His enemy is a CEO?? Is he living in an Indian daily soap???

Gojo slumped back, controller dangling. "This is my 13th reason."

Nanami typed a private message: [You're on your own.] Then vanished from the server.

As if scripted by cosmic comedy:

A new donation popped up in Gojo’s chat.

[BodySnatcherSupreme_MilfSuguruWhoDLC donated $5]: GG loser. Get better. Your wife outclasses you.

MegumisAbandonmentArc: Peak content.

SukunasIRSProblems: PLS MAKE THIS A REGULAR SERIES.

DeadbeatWithBenefits: NO BC WTF DID I JUST WITNESS?

SukunasToeJamCollector: ARE THEY IN A POLYCULE OR A TERRORIST ORGANIZATION? I CAN’T TELL.

Final death count: 72. The internet had crowned its newest disaster polycule.

The next morning, your PR team ambushed you via Slack. "We weren't supposed to do this but—just look."

The screen displayed Gojo's smirking face: "Nanami's the responsible one, our wife's scary, and I'm the hot one. That's balance."

“They love you guys,” the PR rep emphasized, scrolling through comments. “Your marriage is trending. People are calling your relationship ‘the most insane but oddly wholesome thing they’ve ever seen.’ ‘Protect this weird fam,’ ‘Wholesome insanity.’ Japan wants… merch.”

"...I'm defecting to Antarctica."

"Too late." The junior rep winced. “Marketing made hoodies. ‘DILF Grade’ with Mr. Gojo’s face.”

Gojo’s voice carried from the hall, “make mine a crop top!”

---

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅 Horny, Helpless, & Heavily Pregnant

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Postmortem Baddie: How’s it going?

Perpetually Horny: Terrible. He made me sit through a movie marathon.

Postmortem Baddie: What’s the issue?

Perpetually Horny: All three Shrek movies.

Postmortem Baddie: Ah.

Perpetually Horny: He acted out the dialogue. Every single line. He knows them all by heart.

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: Hahaha

Postmortem Baddie: I… I’m sorry.

Perpetually Horny: At one point, he turned to me and whispered, "You know… I’m like Shrek."

Postmortem Baddie: And you said?

Perpetually Horny: "Because you’re big and scary?"

Postmortem Baddie: 😭😭😭

Perpetually Horny: No. "Because I have layers."

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: In my professional opinion, both your husbands combined bring the IQ of an onion to your marriage.

Perpetually Horny: I know. 😔

---

Nanami noticed it first.

A flicker at the edge of his vision—a hairline fracture in the air. The world stuttered, reality peeling back like burnt film.

One moment: morning light gilded your cheek as you sat across from him, fingers curled around a mug with Gojo’s face. The next—

Your hometown café. Coffee-stained walls. Burnt espresso and cloying vanilla.

This wasn’t real.

But there you were—older, weary, pregnant—standing where you’d stood years ago, demanding to pay for your first date. Your hand pressed to your temple, veins stark as the twins’ cursed energy warped the air like a heat mirage.

Nanami tried to speak.

Does it hurt?

Do you remember?

Can you hear me?

His throat sealed. Iron bands cinched his ribs. The twins’ power folded time into origami cranes with razor wings, slicing the present into shards of memory.

A memory rewritten with teeth.

A memory repainted with present horrors.

Rewritten. Repainted.

This—this was a cruelty he hadn't expected.

A nightmare stitched from his deepest dread: losing you.

Your eyes met his—wide, disoriented—then dropped to your stomach, where the twins kicked not against flesh but the fabric of the moment itself.

You laughed, frayed. “Well… this is new.”

He reached for a napkin, pulled his ever-present pen, and wrote with clinical precision:

I’d choose you every time.

Your finger traced the words. Another laugh, brittle. “You’re such a dork.”

He wrote faster, ink bleeding:

I know.

The world ripped.

Now he was in Shoko’s infirmary, the day of the lynch mob. Gojo crashed through the ceiling, grinning through a bloody nose.

“My babies are menaces. I love them.”

Shoko didn’t glance up. “Get out of my morgue.”

Walls twisted.

Colors leached. Machines gurgled like dying throats.

You gripped a cracked glass, trembling. “It’s getting worse.”

Nanami lunged—

Night. Kitchen. Empty air.

Gojo dangled upside-down off the couch. “Welcome back! I just won—”

“Where is she?” Nanami’s voice flayed.

“Bathroom. Threatened to drown me.”

The door stood ajar.

Black static curled through the crack—the twins’ energy, hungry, wrong.

You sat on the tub’s edge, cursed energy coiling like serpents of smoke and grief.

Nanami knelt. A glass pressed into your grip.

You drank. Shuddered.

“…Still choosing me?”

“Every time.”

Outside, unnoticed, Haibara slipped a plastic bag on the doorstep. Inside—iced tea. The kind you’d mentioned once, casually, about your grandmother making it for you when you were sick.

He didn’t knock. He knew Nanami would find it.

But Haibara didn’t care about anything else, only that you must have been craving something from childhood, something that wasn’t tainted, something yours.

Awakening: 4:03 AM

Nanami woke choking.

Cold sweat. Racing heart. Empty bed.

He fumbled for his phone—

[Haibara, 2:14 AM]: Left iced tea on the step. Her grandma’s recipe.

His pulse hammered. She’s gone. She’s gone.

Gojo answered on the second ring, his voice sleep-heavy. "What? Nanamin, it’s... Jesus, it’s 4 AM."

Nanami could practically see him—half-asleep, limbs tangled in the blankets, face buried in the crook of your neck.

"Is she with you?"

“Of course she’s here; where else would she be?"

Nanami heard the shift of blankets and Gojo’s low curse.

And then—your voice. Faint. Sleep-muddled. "...What’s wrong?"

Gojo's voice softened as he nuzzled you closer, rubbing your now-taut stomach. "Nanamin's being dramatic, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

You sighed, melting back against Gojo’s chest.

Nanami said nothing.

Gojo was already passed out again, arms loosely coiled around you, utterly unaware of the weight pressing on Nanami’s chest.

He hung up and stared at the ceiling, shadows dancing along the intricate plaster.

By 4:30 AM, Nanami was at the gym.

It was empty.

Or—almost.

Haibara Yu and Megumi Fushiguro were already there in the predawn gloom, the only other souls insane enough to be lifting weights at the ass-crack of dawn.

The gym at 4:30 AM was a cathedral of shadows, iron, and sweat.

Nanami’s shirt clung to the ridges of his abdomen, damp with the kind of sweat that came from running from something, not toward it. Special Grade wasn’t just a title—it was the way his muscles coiled like live wires, the way his gaze could strip a curse to its marrow.

Tonight, though, his discipline frayed at the edges.

Haibara, swayed from the pull-up bar like a panther testing a rotten branch, all coiled menace. The nursery rhyme curled off his lips wrong—London Bridge is falling down. Falling down. Falling down—each note flatter than a surgeon’s blade. Former MI6, current serial killer headache moved with the lazy definiteness of a man who’d gut you mid-laugh.

He dropped soundlessly, boots whispering against concrete. Every motion carried that same contradiction—the indolent roll of shoulders, fingers flexing like he missed the weight of a garrote. Discipline had long curdled into pandemonium here: the clatter of Megumi’s water bottle “accidentally” kicked across the gym punctuated his sets, a metronome to his amusement, because that’s what Haibara came to the gym with Megumi for was-amusement, mockery. Nanami counted three fractures in the plastic. Haibara counted the seconds until Nanami’s patience snapped.

When he grinned, it wasn’t an expression. It was a trapdoor.

His gaze scraped over Nanami, amber eyes dissecting tendon from bone with the clinical interest of a taxidermist. “Look what the guilt dragged in.”

Megumi, CEO of too many corporations at this point and the spitting image of Zenin Toji with a cursed technique—if his father had traded high-profile assassinations for boardrooms—hoisted 700 kg with brutal clarity, probably less than his usual. The bar groaned under the weight, his shadow pooling at his feet like ink stirred to life. No suit here: just a sweat-soaked tank top, corded muscle, and the kind of focus that could split atoms.

Nanami didn’t need a cursed technique to read him. Every lift was a silent snarl, the clang of iron a substitute for the crack of bone. Megumi’s eyes stayed locked mid-air, as if envisioning a skull beneath the barbell.

Not friends. Never friends. Just two predators sharing a cage at dawn.

He didn’t acknowledge Nanami.

Nanami ignored them.

He needed the burn of iron, the scream of muscle—anything to drown out the static in his skull.

He plugged in his headphones, trying to drown it out.

It didn’t work.

Not today.

How had Gojo felt when he wasn't with him and you?

Nanami tried not to think about it—the sleepless nights resulting in dark circles under Gojo’s eyes, the empty space where he should have been, the 3 AM texts, the subtle, desperate offerings left outside the penthouse door like Gojo was some stray cat who didn’t know what else to do but leave gifts and his hope.

Nanami had hated it.

The pettiness. The possessiveness. The weakness of it.

Now, he missed it.

He even missed the insufferable smirk he’d wanted to punch every day.

Nanami exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the barbell.

Pathetic.

He was losing it.

And worse? He was scared.

Not of Haibara’s cursed technique—though even now, Nanami couldn't pin it down beyond the fact that it was wrong, like a joke that lingered too long after the punchline.

Not of Megumi’s shikigami—deadly, obedient, and always watching.

But of the twins.

What if they had time-affecting abilities?

What if they inherited Gojo's Infinite Void?

What if they inherited Nanami’s own Domain—Fractured Eternity?

Or—what if they were worse?

That was the part Nanami couldn't stomach.

Not because of the obvious horrors—time manipulation, reality-bending infants, diapers vanishing from existence—but because he was ill-equipped.

He was Special Grade, yes. But what did Special Grade matter when your own children could, theoretically, rewrite the laws of causality during breakfast?

Gojo, for all his recklessness, could handle it. He had infinite void; he could probably stabilize it. He could make it fun, like a game.

Nanami?

Nanami followed rules. Nanami needed rules.

What did rules mean to toddlers who could rewrite them with a giggle?

The thought settled in his stomach like lead.

Gojo would be better at this.

Gojo, who could handle nonsense, who saw power like a second language. Who, even at his most irresponsible, was still more capable of raising gods than Nanami ever would be.

The thought tasted like betrayal.

Haibara slid onto the bench beside him, grinning like a shark.

“You look like shit.”

Nanami didn't flinch.

Across the room, Megumi froze mid-lift, eyes flickering toward them.

Nanami finally met Haibara’s gaze. “What do you want?”

Haibara tilted his head, wolfish. “Just wondering—when she finally leaves you, think she’ll let me babysit?”

Nanami’s fist clenched.

Megumi’s shadow curled under his feet like it was alive.

Haibara laughed as he stood, unbothered. “Relax. I’m joking.”

He wasn’t.

“You’re tense,” Haibara said, rolling his shoulders to hide the fact that he was observing Nanami like a guinea pig, his grin sharp like a switchblade. “Worried she’ll realize she married the wrong disaster?”

Nanami’s grip tightened on the barbell. 685 kg. He lifted it like a sacrament.

“Or is it the twins?” Haibara’s voice dropped, velvet and venomous. “Heard they’ve been rewriting reality. Cute trick. Must keep you up at night.”

730 kg. The plates rattled.

Megumi’s shadow twitched.

“Imagine,” Haibara continued, “explosive diarrhea turns into a time loop. Or naptime… poof. Voided.” He leaned in, breath grazing Nanami’s ear. “You’re not built for chaos, Kento. You’re built to break under it.”

Nanami slammed the bar down. The crash echoed like a gunshot.

Megumi paused, knuckles whitening around his own bar.

“Fuck off.” Nanami’s voice was calm. Too calm.

Haibara laughed—a sound that belonged in a back alley, not a gym.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

Haibara was a ghost. A paradox. A cursed technique even Nanami couldn’t parse—wrongness wrapped in a razor grin.

Nanami put in his headphones again and tuned out anything more that came out of Haibara’s mouth.

His mind circled back to the drain:

The twins.

Gojo’s children. His children.

What if they unraveled the world before they could crawl? What if their laughter cracked the sky?

Special Grade meant nothing here.

He’d built his life on order. On ratios. On the clean slice of his blade through flesh and bone.

But this?

Chaos with their eyes. Chaos with Gojo’s smile.

He’d seen Gojo cradle your belly last week, grinning as the twins warped gravity into a kaleidoscope. “Cool, right?”

Nanami had almost vomited in the ensuite.

Haibara laughed again at something Megumi said. Nanami didn’t care.

He missed you.

He missed Gojo.

He missed Takahashi.

And worse, he was terrified.

So he headed straight home; he didn’t care about rules right now, or he’d end up with matching hair as Gojo by breakfast.

On his way, he thought about how he became a special grade sorcerer—something he honestly never even dreamed off.

He had been in his early twenties at the time—

The sky had been the color of a rotting bruise that day—the day he was supposed to save some children and get them to safety instead of staying to save one singular person.

The special-grade curse hadn't even been human-shaped.

Nanami had exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on his sword. His uniform had been torn—jacket missing, sleeves rolled up, dress shirt stained with things he hadn't been thinking about right then.

The thing in front of him had pulsed.

It hadn't been a curse, not entirely. Something older. Something hungrier. He had been able to feel it under his skin, the same way a man could feel a spider crawling across his bare chest in the dark.

Nanami had seen plenty of horrors since becoming a sorcerer, but this—

This had been wrong.

The battlefield had been quiet. Too quiet.

Nanami had rolled his shoulders, his body aching with exhaustion, his cursed energy flickering like a dying ember. His technique could only do so much when the thing in front of him had refused to obey the laws of physics, of logic, of anything.

It should have been Gojo there.

Gojo should have handled it.

He had been the strongest, hadn't he?

And Gojo had been there—unconscious in the rubble.

Nanami had swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth.

He remembered the children's screams from earlier that day—innocents he'd walked past without hesitation because thirty meters ahead, Gojo had been bleeding out.

Japan's shield.

The man who carried the weight of their entire world.

The choice had calcified in his bones before he'd even registered making it: let the weak die to save the essential.

Gojo hadn't been weak.

He hadn't been fragile.

But even he—especially he—had had limits.

And when this thing had tried to devour him, Nanami had made a decision.

A stupid one. A reckless one.

But Gojo had been a light, hadn't he? The kind that burned too bright, too hot—always throwing himself into danger because he had known he would survive.

But sometimes, light had needed something to block the worst of the storm.

And Nanami had always been the type to stand in the way.

Blood had dripped down his forearm, pooling at his wrist before hitting the ground in soft, rhythmic splatters. His vision had blurred for a moment, the exhaustion creeping up his spine, curling around his throat like a noose.

He had been about to die.

The realization had settled in his bones like a quiet, unshakable truth. He had had nothing left.

No more clean cuts. No more weak points to exploit. No more cursed energy worth a damn.

But this thing couldn’t come out of this alive.

It had been a thought that hadn't felt like his own.

Nanami had inhaled.

If the children died, Japan would mourn.

If Gojo died, Japan would burn.

If I die here, Gojo will live.

That had been enough.

Nanami had never been sentimental, had never cared for heroics.

But if his death had meant the strongest would keep breathing, if it had meant the world wouldn't have to watch its brightest flame flicker out—

Then let him be the last person he protected.

The thing had moved.

Nanami had barely registered it before it had been on him, tendrils of something wrong wrapping around his limbs, his throat, squeezing like a vice.

Black spots had danced at the edges of his vision. His fingers had twitched.

Not yet.

Not when Gojo had still been lying unconscious in the rubble, too far to stop what had been coming.

Not when Nanami had been the only thing standing between the strongest and death.

The thing had let out a deep, wet shudder—like it had known he had been breaking, like it could taste the moment he would shatter.

Nanami had closed his eyes.

And then—

Something had cracked.

Not the thing.

Him.

The thing had been a tangle of twisting, sinewy limbs and jagged mouths, a writhing mass of hungry, shifting flesh. It had breathed, and the sound alone had made Nanami's skin crawl—wet, sucking, starved.

Not a curse borne of petty hate or resentment. No.

This had been something else.

A curse born from repetition.

From the same unbreakable cycle of exhaustion, of waking up to the same crushing reality every single day. A curse born of salarymen who had died faceless and forgotten, whose existence had been ground down into the pavement, leaving behind nothing but resentment towards time itself.

It had been a curse that had not just killed.

It had devoured.

And Gojo had nearly been its next meal.

Nanami's fingers had curled tighter around the hilt of his dull blade, steady despite the deep ache in his bones.

The thing had not spoken. It had not needed to.

Because it had understood him.

It had seen him—for what he had been.

A man who had once walked away.

A man who had once believed he could be free.

And a man who had returned, not because of duty, not because of honor—

But because he had had nothing else.

Nanami had inhaled.

He had had one strike left in him.

And it wouldn't be enough.

The thing had lurched, shadows stretching and curling around him, reality bending at the edges of his vision—

Nanami had moved on instinct. One last clean cut.

And then—

The fracture.

It hadn't been physical. Not like a broken bone, not like a severed limb.

It had been deeper.

A fundamental split—an unraveling, the careful stitching of his sanity giving way beneath the weight of inevitability.

And in that moment—

Nanami had stopped resisting it.

Cursed energy had erupted from his body, not in a surge, not in a flood—

But in segments.

Golden lines had cracked through the air like fault lines in glass, slicing through the battlefield, the air, even time itself.

Nanami had exhaled.

And the world had fractured.

It had been small at first, a fracture so delicate he had almost not noticed. But then it had spread—like glass spiderwebbing under a hammer, like bones snapping beneath unbearable weight.

Something in him—something fundamental—had broken.

And for the first time in his life, Nanami had stopped thinking.

It hadn't been a surge, hadn't been a flood.

It had been a detonation.

The curse had screamed.

Nanami had stood in the center of a domain that had not felt like a domain at all.

The world around him had been broken apart, shattered into an infinite gridwork of golden lines, each pulsing with controlled energy.

The battlefield had no longer been whole.

It had been segmented.

Divided.

And Nanami had been the only one who could navigate it.

The curse had tried to move—

It had tried to retreat.

It couldn't.

Time had stopped in certain places, its limbs frozen mid-lunge.

Nanami had stepped forward, and time had snapped back—only for the creature's own weight to work against it, limbs twisting in on themselves, bones shattering from the sheer imbalance of movement.

The curse had screamed in sheer agony.

Nanami had not blinked.

It had tried again—its shadow stretching out, seeking purchase.

Nanami had raised a hand—the one not holding his trusted blade.

The segment of reality where the curse's attack had existed simply had ceased to function.

Its own energy had been turned inward, redirected to itself, and the resulting collapse had crushed its ribcage before it could even react.

This had not been a battlefield.

This had been a machine, and Nanami had been the only constant inside it.

No chaos could exist there.

Only order.

His order.

He had moved, and the fractures had shifted with him, the golden lines bending to his will.

A blade of raw cursed energy had manifested in his hand—not just one. Multiple.

Nanami had raised them, eyes dull, distant.

And had brought them down.

Each strike had erased a portion of the curse's body, carving through flesh, bone, existence itself.

It hadn't been screaming anymore.

Because it had been divided too many times to remember what pain was.

Nanami had exhaled.

And then—

He had collapsed equilibrium entirely.

A single point of space where every force, every movement, every reaction had been allowed to break free at once.

The resulting detonation had rippled through the segmented air, shattering the remaining pieces of the curse into something smaller than dust.

Silence.

Nanami had stood alone.

And in that moment—

He had no longer been the same.

Like he had finally let go.

The thing had tried to retreat.

Nanami hadn't let it.

The next second he had stood over the corpse.

It had taken three slashes.

Only three.

The domain had faded.

The fractures in the air had smoothed out.

Nanami had blinked slowly, his vision adjusting to the return of reality.

His breath had been steady.

His hands had no longer ached—everything had healed.

The weight that had always been on his shoulders—the unbearable burden of duty, of expectation—

It had been gone.

Not lifted.

Just gone.

Nanami had exhaled.

And for the first time in his life, he had not felt tired.

He had not felt righteous.

He had not felt kind.

He had simply felt efficient.

A sound had caught his attention—something shifting in the rubble.

Nanami had turned.

Gojo had been awake.

He had been watching him.

Nanami had met his gaze, something unreadable passing between them.

And then—

Then Satoru had smiled.

It hadn't been cocky. Hadn't been smug.

It had been something else entirely.

Something that had felt like acknowledgment.

It hadn't been relief.

It hadn't been gratitude.

It had been recognition that he didn't have to be alone anymore.

Satoru had seen it.

The change.

Nanami hadn't looked away—held his gaze, unflinching.

His breath had been slow. Controlled. His hands had no longer ached. His cursed energy—

It had felt different. His hands were finally free of their constant ache. His cursed energy... it had transformed entirely.

Nanami had sighed, bracing himself, but the weight hadn't come back.

And today—now he was opening the door to his home.

The thought sometimes came unbidden—would he have ever met you if he hadn't ascended to Special Grade that day?

Well—what was there to wonder—he wouldn’t have, and Gojo would have either died or returned with you—his wife—from abroad, happy in your own world.

And Nanami would have died a thankless death, watching you both from a far. Never in. 

The penthouse smelled of caramelized sugar and recklessness.

Gojo Satoru currently stood shirtless at the stove, pancake batter dripping down his abs. “Nanamin! Perfect timing—I’m inventing the Unlimited Syrup Technique.”

Nanami offered his usual faint smile before continuing down the hall.

He found you in bed, curled under the duvet. Your belly rose and fell with the rhythm of life he couldn’t control.

He slid in behind you, his broad chest molding to your back. His hand settled over the swell.

The twins kicked.

Once.

Nanami’s breathing relaxed.

Then another.

Small. Insistent. Alive.

You stirred, sleep-soft. “Hey, stinky.”

His quiet laughter shook through both of you.

Haibara was right.

He would break.

But not today.

Today, he’d hold the line.

For you.

For them.

For the man humming off-key in the kitchen, syrup in his hair and limitless infinity in his veins.

Special Grade wasn’t a title.

It was a life sentence. You lived with it until you died because of it.

The only thing it really did was that it made one harder to kill.

Maybe he didn’t have the answers. Maybe he never would.

But this—this was more than he deserved.

Later, he gave you the iced tea Haibara had sent and asked for the recipe. From then on, he made it for you every day, even though Haibara had messed up the recipe, and it would never taste the same. But you still wanted it.

People often thought he regretted that day when those kids died because he never really talked about it.

But the truth was—

Nanami didn’t feel a thing that day.

No remorse, no regret.

Because it was better to save the one who would save the world than to die saving insignificant creatures.

And it worked out for him. Had he not saved Gojo that day, he wouldn’t be here—married to you, both with his and Gojo’s twins kicking against his palm as you lay against him. Nanami would make that choice every time. The children's ghosts could haunt him. The guilt could fester. But Gojo's mischievous giggling in the kitchen and your sleepy smile against his chest—these were the only absolution he needed.

That was efficient, wasn’t it?

Take a small loss to save the long-term investment.

---

Nanami was mindlessly staring at your company’s stocks when the next TikTok came.

"If your man doesn’t put together the nursery without being asked, he doesn’t deserve the baby."

Nanami’s eye twitched.

Then:

"Kento."

Nanami’s head snapped up. You were standing in the doorway.

"Did you finish the nursery?"

Nanami’s jaw flexed. "No."

"Interesting."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

Later that night, he stayed up until 3 AM assembling a crib while you fought your own demons.

Group Chat: Wife Support Network 💅 Horny, Helpless, & Heavily Pregnant

(Inc: You, Shoko, Maya, CHRO)

Perpetually Horny: Shoko. He’s building a crib. 🔨👶

Postmortem Baddie: Aww. 💖

Perpetually Horny: SHIRTLESS.

Postmortem Baddie: Oh. 👀😳

Perpetually Horny: He’s using a screwdriver. The muscles in his back are moving. Like I’m watching the Discovery Channel. 📺🍑

Postmortem Baddie: So…? 😏

Perpetually Horny: So I almost threw myself at him. [Send help.] 🥺🙏

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: Bitch. I’m too drunk. But if you let him hit. I’ll hit you. 🔪

Perpetually Horny: Is that who I think it is???? 👀

HR Baddie: Sucks to be you, loser. 🤣

                  Attachment: Blurry photo of a dark-haired man untying her heel strap.

Postmortem Baddie: Holy Shit!!!!

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: Respectfully, let's ignore him. Tell me what else did the idiots do. I need entertainment; Kashimo’s sleeping.

Perpetually Horny: He took me to a farmers’ market.

Postmortem Baddie: Nanami core.

Perpetually Horny: I pointed at some melons 🍈 and said, “Wow, those are big.”

                                Then, this man, without blinking, said, "I’ve seen bigger."

HR Baddie: What the fuk does that even mean?

Perpetually Horny: I’m scared. What has he seen.

Cuntyest Bitch Alive: You need to find out.

Perpetually Horny: No thanks.

Later in the night, there were other struggles going on.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀 Anonymous

(Inc: Nanami, Gojo)

Father Time: She’s nesting.

Daddy: Did you see her reorganize the closet? At 3:40 AM?

Father Time: Yes. She put labels on the baby bottles.

Daddy: Yeah. She also labeled the spice rack.

Father Time: Do you think she’ll label us next?

Daddy: "Idiot 1" and "Idiot 2."

Father Time: Accurate.

---

A/N: OMG who do you think dark haired manz isss????? Three more chapters and then we either crash and burn in angst or soft-launch a happy ending. Choose wisely. (Comments fuel my Sukuna/Nanami agenda. Choose wisely.)

Next chapter 20 (alt ending 2.11) - The Fault Lines: The Honored One’s Guide to Fumbling the Bag (And Other Love Languages) - Part 2 - (Tumblr/Ao3)

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @whos-ruru @helo1281917

[moth-mortuary]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕝 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕤 𝔹𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕞

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Relationships: The Winter Soldier/Reader, The Winter Soldier & Reader Part: 3/? Language: English

✪ Masterlist ✪

«With some conditions.» The colonel laughs once more, thick smoke twisting around your head. God, you miss smoking. The distinctive feeling of puffing away your worries one after the other in each rasped breath.

You had stopped like you had started every damned thing in your life. On a random Tuesday, on impulse, not because you had seen your mother wither away, hair falling off her head and skin stretching thin over her bones, but simply because. You had been smoking when the doctor had told you she would not make the night, you had held her hand with nicotine-stained fingers when she had closed her eyes one final time, not peacefully but not screaming either. Only tired, on a Friday night.

After, when the funeral had passed and your childhood home had been sold, you had kept your little bad habit. Sat on the curb you had scraped your knees over countless times, over and over again, when laughing and running after your only good friend. Smoking your sorrows away. No remorse at all. You had buried your head under the sand of blatant ignorance, yet another ticket for yet another country burning a hole in your pocket far deeper than any ember falling the tobacco pillar could have ever scorched. You had clung to it as if you hadn’t known better, never changing, never evolving, always cowering away from new perspectives.

Then, a year or so later, you had stopped, and a day hadn’t passed since without you missing the feeling of thick clouds of poison stuffing your mouth like wadding. But you had stopped.

You miss it now, nerves fried and head full of thoughts too thick to be chased away in a puff of air instead of a puff of smoke. «Miss, you truly don’t get to have a saying—» «No, I’m sure I don’t, but I need to at least know what I’m working with. How long do I have? What is he being accused of? At least tell me what my role should be in all this. I get you need a report on him, but on what? Be specific.» Specific is not the right word; lengthy might be.

The dude is accused of virtually everything under the sun. Mass murder, Terrorism, Property damage, Conspiracy, Mutilation, Kidnapping, Blackmail, Treason, Mass destruction, Vigilantism —you have no idea what that means—, Torture, Abuse, Aiding and abetting, Grand theft auto, Assault, Breaking and entering, and Stalking.

It’s almost comical that you share with the Winter Soldier, —as the header of the folder supplies your memory— a voice in his long list of crimes. Your property damage had been a petty revenge poorly executed while blacked out drunk, a puke-stained splotch on your record from that stupid, stupid, night you had decided that keying and slashing the tires of your ex’s car had been a fitting revenge for deciding to have a bit on the side.

Your head throbs the same way it had done the morning after, when policemen had shown up at your place and you had had to witness a grainy video from his Ringcam of you stumbling over your own feet, a pink butterfly knife you had bought on Amazon a couple of mistakes ago in one hand and a bottle of cheap alcohol in the other. At least this is not as humiliating as that.

«Okay, so you want me to do what? Confirming all this? That he is a dangerous individual?» You still cannot see his point, but something in you tells you the colonel had not lied; you are no psychologist, and that was clearly a job for a psychologist; you were there only because no one else wanted to. You had been the only option available. «Yes and no, you see the thing is that he wasn’t really of sound mind during all this.» Yeah, you doubt he was. Your knowledge of the whole Winter Soldier case is still awfully scarce, but you knew he had been under some sort of brainwashing, an asset from a terrorist group that had made of him an unthinking and uncaring weapon.

Is this why the colonel was so set on treating him like an object, an unfeeling machine only capable of destruction? It kind of makes sense now, you still highly disapprove of the base idea, but you can see it better now. The list is massive after all.

«So you want me to make a philosophical evaluation on his implication on the matter? The root of evil and all of that? You want me to say he is still responsible for what he did.»

There is no true satisfaction in the grin the colonel sports; it’s jarring, something not clicking into place, but his next words completely obscure anything you could think of it. «Good girl, I see you understand.» 

So patronising, so utterly patronising and slimy.

The man stands up, moving rigidly to the door. «Since we have understood each other so well, I’ll leave you to it.» What? No! You still don’t know how much time you have, when and if you can speak to him, or if a lawyer would have been involved. «Wait!—» «You have two weeks, the hearing is on Monday, you’ll need to read your evaluation to the jury, but every written material needs to be done in a week, evidences, and anything falling under that spectrum, need to be viewed by the court beforehand. You will be given a room here in the compound, but you can leave anytime you want. The file room containing the Winter Soldier reports is at the end of this corridor. You can speak to him whenever you need to. He doesn’t sleep, and if he’s sleeping and you need to talk to him, wake him… use as much of his time as you need.»

Oh no, no, no, no. A week is too little! You are no magician able to pull out of the hat a perfectly structured, perfectly formulated rabbit shaped thesis, you had hoped for three months, two if they had been stingy, but a week? A week is nothing but an anticipated sentence of doom. You are still panicking when the colonel stops in his tracks and lingers.  «Pieces of your evaluation might be read out of context. Keep that in mind.»

Does he want you to be cruel? Direct in every page you write? Does he want you to destroy a poor, used, and discarded man mercilessly, so much so that even a single word read out loud would have spoken against him?

The thought makes you shudder, the file in your hand rattles, the long list looks at you with the same intensity blue eyes had done back in the converging room.

You cannot do this.

«I need my phone. For— for research, and my pc.»

The colonel nods.

«They both will be brought to you, but they cannot enter the containment room. If you need to register anything a voice recorder will be given to you. . It’s clear why it’s better to stay there, the cab ride back to your B&B is not quick, and although the driver tries to bill you for a longer detour you are sure you did not take, you still know it took you more than forty minutes to reach your temporary home. You are too devoid of energy to argue, you still do, as stubborn as ever and too broke to pay a hundred dollars for a 45-minute drive. You end up paying the right price; you’ll have to flag down another cab once you’re ready to head back to the compound, but you are not too stressed about it.

Unsure of what you will need, you take your whole selection of manuals with you. Still willing to make at least a good job, thesis or not. Your unpacked trolley and your phone charger lazily dangling from a too far up outlet planted in the middle of the wall. The room they gave you is not only small but cramped and dark too. You had not expected a suite, but that looks more like the old-fashioned version of the soldier's own room. No white walls —Thankfully, you would have gotten crazy in a day instead of slowly falling into depression lulled by the cement tones— with a bed, a sink, a nook for a toilet and a shower and a desk. Damn, that is depressing. It’s clear someone in here doesn’t want you to be comfortable, probably looking forward to the moment you will throw in the towel and call it quits. You don’t care, your old apartment in London had been shared with two Egyptian brothers and an overly enthusiastic, freshly moved, Balkan girl with a strong Serbian accent and a very poor English vocabulary. You know how to make due.

Your computer is already stationed on your desk, you hastily dump your case over the worryingly thin mattress, a back pain waiting to happen, it’s already 1 pm, your stomach is rumbling and you desperately want to put something under your teeth, the very sad, very impersonal cafeteria in the building you had passed on your way back from your apartment calling you like a sirene. You need energy, you need to eat and then start to grind.

You are barely one step out of your room when your body collides with someone. A youthful and only half stern voice erupts from their chest, «Careful.» The man you had bumped into is clad in a military uniform, not the colonel's one, but a very simple, very average-grade uniform, and he’s carrying a tray of food. You offer him a half-formed apology, the gears in your brain spinning on the thought: that cannot be your lunch. You had been told you were not a captive, and the slob on tray in his hands screams prison food. You don’t even have the time to fully formulate any of the numerous questions festering in your brain when the military man resumes his previous trajectory and, surpassing you, keeps walking down the corridor. Oh. That is the Winter Soldier’s meal. Your stomach does something ugly, it squeezes its own base at the very bottom of your tummy and churning painfully shoots you a dreadful feeling up your spine to the pit of your throat, your blinding hunger withers and dies, and something horribly akin to a retch almost triggers your gag reflex.

That was unpleasant.

It happens again, when in front of the cafeteria lady, you pay with a crumpled 5-dollar bill, the very appetising food looking back at you from the bowl it rests, not a tray, not a lump of unshaped food. Dignity. Your lunch has dignity.

You wish you could finish it, but you simply cannot. The next five hours pass in a pile of old files you spend your afternoon sifting through; they are either terribly lacking in details or missing pages altogether, going back as far as the late 1950s. You knew the man was old, but god, he was ancient. You don’t know him, you don't. You should not be the one doing this; you have the distinctive feeling you are doing Satan’s work in looking for a reason to condemn him, but you push the thought down. You are not, you are only trying to get an objective point of entry.

You are not looking for a fault, you are simply trying to understand what you should feel. You can build your thesis after that, you first need to understand what you think of him. He’s dangerous, ruthless, piles of files tell you that but even you, after barely five hours of reading the reports, are growing desensitised. No unnecessary violence, no cruelty, only mechanical volition. No. You scratch the last word scribbled on your tired notebook, the cardboard cover bent out of shape and fraying. Volition is not the right word, he had not had any. Your phone dings, a notification illuminates your face, but it’s only a spam text that had managed to get past the very lazy barrier your provider put up. No reply yet.

You had tried something dumb, hell, the whole ordeal should be called that, but after finally getting your hands back on your phone, you had looked for Steve Rogers’ phone number. Unsurprisingly, you had found nothing. But during your fruitless attempts you had found out Steve Rogers was still marked as a rogue agent alongside some names you had no idea who they belonged to. Some had led to no one at all, until Sam Willson’s one had finally popped up.

Some pretty spectacular, low-quality videos later, you had decided that writing a mail to Sam Wilson —or “The Falcon”— had been your best shot at getting The Winter Soldier’s situation to Steve Rogers.

You are still waiting for a reply. The cracked screen protection of your phone blinks back at you the very European setting of 19:34, your stomach protests for the almost skipped lunch, and your brain does that thing where, for a second, it feels way bigger than your cranium. You crave a cigarette. Or a lobotomy. Either should do the trick. You shake your salad in its container, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the file room. Something plain, something not too difficult to push down. The “main” file is an account of the most recent evaluations the Soldier must have gone through; one report is from a psychiatrist but their evaluation is cut short, suddenly. Another is older, this time from a behaviouralist, but on the top page, a red writing you don’t recognise the penmanship of, states “unusable, out of date” in scribbled letters. It’s from three months ago. The other files are just plain medical mumbo-jumbo; you don’t even begin trying to dissect those, way too out of your field to understand anything of those entries at all.

You have the almost sure idea that he has been kept in that box for a little more than three months, a horrifying knowledge that almost makes you choke on an olive. Three months roaming a two-by-two box with his hands confined in metallic shackles. That has to be a violation of some convention.

You feel so bad for him. You cannot help it. Your phone gives no sign of activity, you refresh your mail page but nothing changes. The medical files are all too difficult for you to understand but some things you can still take as for set. Some more futile details if you wish. For example, he’s 6'0” sharp (183 cm Google supplies you for your own peace of mind), he’s 260 lbs (and you truly hope they are including the metal arm, otherwise the man would simply be an absolute weapon of packed muscles.) and has had two sessions of… chelation therapy? You don’t really know what that means, but you’ll Google it later. You turn yet another page, reading the two remaining voices under “medical procedures under governmental care”, only to jot down on your notebook the word “Hemodialysis” already knowing what “stomach pumping” meant, having received one after a very nasty food poisoning that had not let you live up to your childhood nickname. What truly puts you on edge, though, is the next page’s content. A photo. When you had entered the room that morning you had been scared. You had looked at your feet with insistence, almost stubbornly refusing to look up at him. So much so that if someone had put a gun to your nape and asked you to describe the Winter Soldier, you wouldn’t have known how to save your life. You can’t truly recall any details to memory, you can only make a half-decent job recollecting his general shapes and colours, but even your stubborn ignorance could not have prevented you from noticing immediately just how much wrong the difference had been.

The man hauntingly looking up to you from the flipped page is a broken one, true, but at least healthy-looking. It suddenly clicks into place just how much skinnier the man in the cell had looked, something you had not noticed immediately due to your damned stubborness. Unlike the man in the photo, the one you had met had looked carved out of his own flesh and bones, completely hollowed out.

You shakily unclip the portrait from the dossier, twisting it in your fingers. In the back, a date. Three months ago. The photo had been taken only three months ago. Another horrible growl in the depths of your stomach rumbles.

Criminal or not, you need to pull him out of here.

Almost on cue, your phone chimes.

>> ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4

Ao3 Link Wattpad Link

[pricetagofficial]

Day 19: Gift Exchange

Pairing: Harvey Dent x Reader

Warnings: A little bit of language, fluff and Harvey is a lovesick fool.

A/N: Welcome to day 19! We are less than a week from Christmas! Do you guys have any plans for the holiday? Or if you don't celebrate Christmas, is there a holiday you do celebrate or just a winter tradition? Header by me, divider by @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Harvey was never a crowd person. Even before he began his life of crime, Harvey did not enjoy crowd. Now was he a good public speaker, and had a way with words that had people worshiping him? Yes, but that didn't mean he enjoyed doing it.

Becoming a feared crime boss in Gotham helped dissuade any potential invites as well.

You were a different case, however.

Crowds were never a problem, and you socialized like your life depended on it. As if you didn't get a certain amount of interaction, you would shrivel up like a plant in the summer heat.

Maybe that was why he fell in love with you. For everything he wasn't, you were. Where he lacked, you shined like a diamond.

So when you came up to him with pouty eyes, asking if he would go to a Christmas party with you, Harvey couldn't say no even if he wanted to.

That was where he was now. Tucked in a corner, as a Christmas party in the Iceberg Lounge.

It was a place he wasn't going to be judged, and neither were you for bring an ugly fucker like him along. Cobblepott had a short list of people he did not want to cross, and Harvey was relatively high on it.

He was pretty sure he was ranked higher than the Batman, but that's because Batman didn't murder.

Now the one who ran around with a red helmet from time to time? He scared the Penguin. But no one scared him more than Nightwing. No one quite knew why he ranked that high, and Cobblepott refused to elaborate.

Harvey's eyes watched as you mingled. and laughed. You were truly a sight to behold, in a stylish black and white dress that matched his trademark suit.

A gift rested in his pocket, a simple one. You enjoyed Harvey's gifts, but he also respected the fact you had a simple taste compared to other women.

Tossing back the last of his whiskey, Harvey made his way over to you and tapped your shoulder.

Immediately the women you were with began to giggle the second he came into view, Harvey had no idea why. He wasn't someone who would try to understand the female psyche unless it came to you.

Turning to look at him, your smile grew brighter at the sight of him.

"Hey Harvey," you smiled. "Is everything okay?"

The way you tilted your head at him made his heart swell. How could you be so adorable?

"I um--" he coughed. "I just wanted to see if you would go on a walk with me?"

Harvey's heart almost stopped seeing you nod excitedly at him. How could he love someone as much as he did you?

Linking his arm with yours, Harvey smiled as he led you away to a private corner.

"I have a gift for you,"

Looking up at him, you were a little surprised. "But it's not even Christmas yet?"

Harvey rubbed the back of his neck. "I know, but I saw this the other day and really wanted you to have it before." Pulling the little box out of his pocket, Harvey took your hands and placed it in them.

"It'll make sense once you open it."

Giving Harvey a small smile, you handed him your drink before you began to open the gift letting out a gasp when you saw what it was.

Inside the box was an elegant jewlery set, earring and a necklace both with an elegant and intricate design of a snowflake. You could see why Harvey would want you to have it now, for the winter season.

"Oh baby, it's beautiful." you cooed. Looking at him once again, you held it up. "Help my put it on?"

And Harvey did just that.

And he definitely couldn't hide his grin when you eventually made it back to your group of friends as they fawned over your gift.

[radioisntdead]

[my phone isn't letting me make gif headers so this is my stand in.]

Vox has a type and it's red flags.

Song used

Warnings: I can confidently that I do not like how this came out but I don't really have time to rewrite it so uhhh, enjoy, no one is sane, OOC

Vox had a blind date, arranged for him by the one and only Velvette, sick and tired over him yearning over Alastor.

The date started off so well

According to her, you seemed like his type so she set the two of you up.

Begin my night not expecting the fright of my life

He didn't really expect anything from it but he liked you more than he thought he would, you were charming, wearing a silky red outfit, with a voice as sweet as honey.

She was perfect from what I could tell

How could I not see the danger right in front of me?

The conversation flowed nicely, the two of you had so much in common!

"My favourite food is fish"

"Baby, that's my favourite too"

Favorite foods, you both worked in tech, although you worked in a different variant then he did.

"I love cartoon dogs"

"Baby, I love Scooby-Doo!"

He got to show you his phone wallpaper, which was his beloved pet, Vark.

You loved him, and that was great in Vox's book.

Everything started going downhill when he asked a seemingly innocent question

"Hey, girl, what's your favourite film?"

He was expecting something like Sci-fi, or some type of animation, you seem like the type to like studio Ghibli movies so maybe?

She said, "The best movie of all, a masterpiece of art called"

You clasped your hands together and held them close to your face, before destroying any previous impressions he had of you.

"Human Centipede, Human Centipede,"

I think that I'm gonna get murdered tonight

Vox's eyes darted around the restaurant, he could get out of this right? He couldn't do anything to you since you were one of Velvette's friends but he wasn't going to stay and get murdered.

Human Centipede, not ironically.

He watched as you rambled about your favorite parts of the movie, or movies, as you were talking about all of them.

She said, "The costume design was a highlight"

He hadn't watched the entire movie series but he was vaguely aware that it was a gross horror film.

"I like it for the plot," you said twirling your hair between your fingers.

"Tell me what the plot's about."

"German doctor sews three people ass to mouth!" "........cool......"

Human Centipede, please, God, save me

How did Velvette think this was his type??? Did she think he wanted a massive red flag???

I think that's a red flag, I don't want to get stabbed,

Iconically your appetizers were served, overly fancy looking plates with tiny portions that would leave the two of you hungry, with little plastic knifes in them.

Fitting.

She said, "Human Centipede is a tour de force."

You continued rambling about the movie as you twirled your glass of wine in your hand.

I think, "Holy shit, I'm gonna be the main course"

Vox kept a strained smile on his face as he nodded along to what you were saying.

You sure were passionate about.... This.

She said, "I admire the narrative of character growth,''

Vox's digital eyes looked around, trying to figure out a way to finish the date early, blinking aggressively.

I try to get the waiter's attention by blinkin' in Morse code

You tilted your head, "Why are you blinking so much?"

He laughed nervously "I've got something in my eye," yes, he totally got something in his TV eye, that's something that could happen, you wouldn't know if he was telling the truth or not, you didn't have a tv head.

"Here, let me get it out," you reached your hand out just barely brushing your finger tips against his TV head before he moved away, his chair tilting.

"No, thank you, I don't wanna die,"

"Pardon?"

Thankfully you were interrupted before you could ask him to elaborate.

"Bonjour, sir was blinking at me," the fish-like waiter asked blankly before giving you a side eye.

"Is this because your date is a freak?"

Vox looked at the waiter then back at you blinking at him rather innocently.

"No."

"Very good then, bon appétit." The waiter walked away leaving Vox to his fate.

Vox stared at the waiter's disappearing form before he felt you gently grabbing his hand.

"Stop hiding behind your silly made-up red flag," you said staring him down, it wasn't a silly made up red flag.

"To not take a chance on the best relationship you never had."

Vox nodded,

"Maybe you're right, and I'm looking for excuses," he interlaced his hands with yours

"My heart's got bruises, but I'm ready to choose this love."

The two of you had one hand interlinked with the others the entire dinner, the two of you shared a dessert, having lovely non human centipede related conversation.

The moment you stepped out onto the streets, he twirled you around pulling you into his arms.

"You could be my world, the love of my life," he said, to any normal person this would be moving way too fast, but you were no normal person, you matched his delulu.

"One day, we'll get married and be husband and wife!"

Vox could already imagine you in wedding garments, walking down the aisle.

"With a tasteful ceremony and the wedding of our dreams,"

Again this was moving far too fast but you didn't seem to mind.

"Only if the wedding is themed," "Tell me what the theme's gonna be,"

Vox gestured for you to get into the car before him when the chauffeur opened the car's door.

The poor sinner had to overhear you talking about how you wanted a human centipede themed wedding, or at least something related to the franchise.

Human Centipede, Human Centipede

"That way, we could save on the catering bill," Vox agreeing with you was not a good sign for anything working under the Vee's.

Human Centipede, only one mouth to feed

If you are the best man, you know the deal pucker up

The two of you had very different priorities, that had a very, very small section to overlap.

"I can finally open myself up to love,"

"I can finally sew a mouth to a butt!"

This was not going to end well for alot of people, but it might for you two!

Human Centipede, Human Centipede

Good evenin' folks!! I do hope you enjoyed!! I positively HATE THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE.

I haven't seen it but I have seen movie recaps and reviews of it and just, no.

Why.

Just why.

A certain scene involving a car haunts me, screw you 15 year old me why did you have a movie recap channel phase????

I miss being 15, like I was a baby and just having fun drawing :[

Also having red flags on loop DOES NOT VIBE WELLLLLLLLLLLL

Anyways as always thank you for tunin' on in and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night, and Happy Valentine's Day!!

Psst!! Join our discord where the human centipede is BANNED.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi, doll, I was wondering if I could request a Steve Rogers x Reader in which the reader is the daughter of some-one Bucky killed and he say 'sorry' to her on Raynor's orders. It's awkward because Steve wants Bucky away from her. And Bucky ends up saying 'sorry' to her at one point.

I hope this makes sense. I just had this idea in my head.

Making Amends » Steve Rogers/Captain America and Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to make amends with you for what he did as the Winter Soldier, but Steve wants Bucky to stay away from you and he ends up apologizing to you at some point.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, language, mentions of HYDRA, mentions of murder, nightmares, flashbacks, slapping (once), crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers 🩵

A/N #2: Italic text is nightmares and flashbacks.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

“I made amends with almost everyone.” Bucky tells Dr. Raynor.

“Everyone, including Y/N?” Dr. Raynor says.

Bucky cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He looked down at his lap, fiddling with his gloved fingers.

“I’m taking that as a no.” She says, writing it down in her notebook.

Bucky rolled his eyes when she started writing in her notebook.

“Does Steve know?” She asks.

“Does my best friend know that I killed his girlfriend’s parents when I was under HYDRA’s control? Yes, he does know.” He says.

The horrible memories of what he did to your parents constantly flashes through his mind. The horrific scream he heard when you saw him and the blood of your dead parents.

You opened the door to your house, only to find it kicked in. You cautiously walked in the house.

“Mom? Dad?” You say.

You found boot prints leading to the dining room. You followed each one, finding a man with a metal arm, wearing tactical gear, and had guns and knives. Your eyes widened when you saw your parents laying on the floor… dead in the pool of their own blood. You screamed, startling the man. He spun around, only to see a horrified teenage girl with tears streaming down your face. You quickly recognized him as the Winter Soldier, due to the red star on the shoulder of his metal arm. Usually, he kills any witnesses during missions, but this time, he didn’t. He bolted out of the house, leaving you alone with your dead parents on the dining room floor.

“James?” Dr. Raynor snapped her fingers, pulling Bucky from that horrific memory. “You still here?” She asks.

“Y-Yes.” Bucky says, clearing his throat again.

“You were thinking about Y/N’s parents again, weren’t you?” She says.

Bucky nodded.

“Make amends with her.” She says.

“How? She won’t even talk to me, let alone look at me.” He says.

“Try everything you can think of.” She says.

Bucky sighs and nods again. He wishes that he can just walk up to you and apologize for what he did, but it’s harder than it looks.

Bucky walks in the Avengers compound with his hands in his jacket pockets. He seen Steve. He’s just hoping you’re there too.

“Hey Steve. Is Y/N here?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, but you know she hates you.” Steve says.

“I know.” He sighs. “I want to talk to her.” He says.

You walked in the room, freezing when you seen Bucky talking to Steve. He seen you and Steve turned around.

“Y/N, I-” You walked past him before he could say anything else.

Bucky followed you and so did Steve.

“Y/N, I want to apologize.” He says.

Bucky put his hand on your shoulder to get you to stop walking. You stopped in your tracks and turned around, smacking him across his face.

“I don’t want to hear a god damn word from you! What you did is unforgivable. Just because you’re best friends with my boyfriend, doesn’t mean you and I are friends.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

Bucky didn’t dare to say anything. He just nodded and watched you leave the compound.

“I was doing what Dr. Raynor told me to do.” Bucky says.

“I understand that, but I think it’s best that you stay away from Y/N.” Steve says.

“Ok.” He whispers.

Bucky doesn’t want to upset you anymore than you already are so he’ll keep his distance for now. He just needs to think of a way to talk to you so he can apologize.

He waited a couple days before apologizing to you again. He went to yours and Steve’s apartment, hoping that you’re home. He knocked on the door and patiently waited for you to open it. Instead of you opening the door, Steve did.

“Is Y/N home?” Bucky asks.

“Not yet.” Steve answers. “I told you to stay away from her.” He says.

“I know, but she’s the last person I need to make amends with.” He says.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Buck. She hates you enough as it is and she doesn’t want to hear anything you have to say.” He says.

Bucky looks down and sighs sadly. He just left instead of fighting his best friend about apologizing to you. He so desperately wants to make amends with you. That’s all he wants to do. He hates that he put you through this. Bucky heard the elevator ding. He looked up to see you getting off of it. He opened his mouth to say something to you, but you held your hand up before he could say anything to you.

“What part of me hating you and not wanting to talking to you, do you not understand?” You say.

“I’m just doing what Dr. Raynor told me to do. I made amends with everyone else. I need to make amends with you.” Bucky says.

“I don’t give a fuck about what she told you to do! I can’t make amends with someone who killed my parents!” You say.

You walked past him, going straight for yours and Steve’s apartment. You opened the door and slammed it behind you. You leaned against the door and started crying. Steve wrapped his arms around you before your legs gave out under you. Now, Bucky has to tell Dr. Raynor tomorrow during his therapy session that he’s made no progress on making amends with you. He laid awake most of the night and stared up at the ceiling, thinking about what he did to your parents. Meanwhile, you were tossing and turning from a recurring nightmare you’ve been having for years.

“Sweetheart.” Steve whispers, gently shaking you. “You’re having that nightmare again.” He says.

You woke up and quickly sat up, tears streaming down your face and your breathing uneven. Steve wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap.

“I know Bucky is your best friend, but I hate him.” You say.

Steve rubbed your back and listened to what you were saying.

The following day, Bucky went to his therapy session with no progress on making amends with you.

“Did you make amends with Y/N?” Dr. Raynor asks.

“No.” Bucky answers. “I tried, but Steve told me to stay away from her.” He says.

“Ok.” She closed her notebook. “Text Steve and tell him to bring Y/N here.” She says.

Bucky took his phone out of his pocket and texted Steve. Steve texted back, telling him he’s on his way with you.

“Who texted you?” You asked curiously.

“Bucky.” He says.

“What does he want?” You mumbled.

“He said Dr. Raynor wants to talk to you.” He says.

“Why? I don’t need therapy.” You say.

“No one is saying you do, honey. Let’s go to see what she has to say.” He says.

“Fine.” You mumbled.

After a while, you and Steve got to Dr. Raynor’s office. You should’ve known what you were walking into when you seen Bucky.

“No.” You said.

“Just sit down and listen to him.” Dr. Raynor says.

You stared at Bucky silently, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Fine.” You mumbled.

“I’ll be in the waiting room.” Steve says, pecking your lips softly.

You sat down on the couch next to Bucky and waited for him to say what he needs to say.

“I am so sorry about what I did as the Winter Soldier. I was given a mission and I did it. You weren’t supposed to be there.” Bucky begins.

“Except I was there. Do you want to know how horrifying it is to come home from school to find your parents dead in the dining room and the person who killed them? That day has been haunting me for years.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“It’s been haunting me too.” He admits. “If I would’ve known they had a kid, I wouldn’t have gone through with the mission.” He says.

“You didn’t see the pictures on the walls?” You asked sarcastically.

Bucky shook his head no.

“Thanks to you, I had no one. You took my parents from me. I was lonely for years until I met Steve. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you and I don’t think I can see us being friends.” You say with tears rolling down your cheeks.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say next in his apology. He hit a roadblock.

“Can I go now?” You asked Dr. Raynor.

“Yes.” She replies. “So can you, James.” She says.

You stormed out of the room with tears on your face.

“I want to go home.” You say, walking past Steve.

Steve stood up and looked at Bucky as he walked out of Dr. Raynor’s office.

“What did you say to her?” Steve asks.

“All I did was apologize.” Bucky says.

“Whatever you said made her even more upset than she already is.” He says.

You were quiet for the rest of the day. That night, you were staring at the wall in the dark. There was something about Bucky’s apology that you were curious about. You assumed your dad had some kind of involvement with HYDRA, but what did your mom do? She had nothing to do with HYDRA. She was just a woman who was married, had a daughter, and a job. You wanted more answers so you grabbed your phone and texted Bucky.

You: Are you awake?

Bucky: I am now. What’s up?

You: Can you come over please? I want to talk to you. It’s important

Bucky: I’m on my way

You shut your phone off and quietly slipped out from Steve’s hold on you without waking him up. You went to the kitchen and made coffee while you waited for Bucky. It didn’t take long for him to get to yours and Steve’s apartment since he lives a few minutes away. Bucky texted you that he’s there so he didn’t accidentally wake Steve up by knocking on the door or ringing the doorbell.

“Come in.” You stepped aside after opening the door. “I made coffee. Do you want some.” You asked.

“Yes please.” Bucky smiles.

Bucky went to the living room and sat down on the couch while you went to the kitchen to get you and him coffee. You came back with two cups and gave him one.

“You said you wanted to talk about something important?” Bucky says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“It’s about the day you- the Winter Soldier killed my parents.” You say.

Bucky froze in his seat.

“I knew my dad had some kind of involvement with HYDRA, but I don’t know what it was. I was hoping you would know.” You say.

“He was a scientist for HYDRA who worked on the Super Soldier serum. He had files of the serum HYDRA wanted back so I was sent to kill- take care of him and get the files back.” He explains.

“What was my mom’s involvement?” You asked.

“She had no involvement with HYDRA.” He says.

“Then why did you kill her?” You asked, your eyes tearing up.

“I was told to kill any witnesses.” He says.

“Why not me?” You asked in a shaky voice. “I was a witness.” You say.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Besides, you were just a kid.” He says, his voice cracking.

Bucky heard your breathing become uneven and seen your bottom lip quivering. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks.

“You know…” You sniffled. “After hearing what you just said, I feel a weight lifted off my chest. I finally got the answers I wanted.” You say.

You were full blown crying now. Bucky wasn’t sure if he should hug you or not.

“I am so sorry for what I did as the Winter Soldier. You didn’t deserve any of that. If I could go back in time and change it, I would.” Bucky says, tearing a rolling down his cheeks.

You put yours and his coffee cups on the coffee table before hugging him. Bucky was caught by surprise, but he hugged you back.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes again.

“I know you are.” You whispered.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness.” He says.

“You don’t have to do that. I forgive you.” You say softly.

Bucky was taken back. He looked at you with a confused look on your face.

“You forgive me?” He asks, making sure he heard you right.

“Yes.” You replied. “After hearing your explanation, I now understand that you weren’t under your own control.” You say.

“But I still did it.” He says.

“It wasn’t you. It was HYDRA.” You say.

You hugged him again. Bucky felt a new warmth in his heart.

“I’m willing to give friendship a chance if you are.” You say.

“I’d like that, doll.” Bucky whispers and smiles.

You smiled and kissed his cheek. You two ended up dozing off a moment later.

A few hours later, Steve woke up to feel your side of the bed cold. He lifted his head and frown when you weren’t in bed. He rubbed his eyes and stretched before getting out of bed. He seen two coffee cups on the coffee table and then seen you and Bucky fast asleep on the couch, your legs across Bucky’s lap and a throw blanket draped over the two of you.

“Sweetheart. Bucky.” Steve whispers, gently shaking the two of you awake.

You and Bucky stirred in your sleep before waking up.

“Good morning, Stevie.” You smiled, standing up to give him a morning kiss.

“Good morning, honey.” He kisses you back. “When did you get here?” He asks Bucky.

“Around 1:45am.” Bucky answers, rubbing his eyes. “Y/N texted me to come over and talk.” He says.

“I got the answers I’ve been wanting for years. I accepted Bucky’s apology and forgave him. Him and I are friends now.” You tell Steve with a smile.

Steve rose his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t think you would forgive Bucky for what he did.

“Really?” Steve asks, looking from you to Bucky.

“Yep!” Bucky smiles.

“Well, I’m happy you got the answers you wanted, sweetheart and I’m happy that my two favorite people are friends now.” He says with a smile.

You tugged on Bucky’s vibranium arm to get him to stand up. He stood up and you gave him a hug. Steve smiles at the two of you, happy that his best friend and his girlfriend are finally getting along.

“Do you like pancakes?” You asked, looking up at Bucky.

“I fucking love pancakes.” Bucky says with a smile.

“I love pancakes too.” Steve says, pulling you against him, making you giggle.

“That’s what we’re having for breakfast.” You say.

“Yes!” They say excitedly.

Overall, you’re happy that you finally got the answers you’ve been wanting for years. Bucky was more than willing to provide those answers.

🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[airbendertendou]

WANNA SEE YOU SHINE! ♥︎ suzaki ryo

synopsis : purge au , ryo isn't quite how you remember him to be. but, he's always kind to you. this was highly inspired by @seijorhi 's tokyo revengers piece!

content warning : a purge au so this is a darker one , murder , gore , gross comments , unwanted gestures / comments , reader is in horrible company , Peach is a made-up character , inevitable death [not related to the reader] , kinda yandere-ish ,

song inspo ; stargirl interlude by the weeknd ft lana del rey

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked. Keep reading

Sweat drips down your forehead as you reshelve the food you’d been asked to. Taking a deep breath, you peek at the clock — only three more hours until closing. You closed early today, of course. 

When the clock struck seven today, the world would no longer be safe.

The door opens with a ding, causing you to stop what you were doing and welcome the customer in. It was a group, all casually chatting while looking for snacks. You stand straight and prepare to greet them — your voice catches in your throat. Something about the last person seems so familiar ; so welcoming to you.

A girl with orange hair spots you and turns your way. “You work here, right?” You nod, peeling your eyes away from the red coat and shoulder length hair. She grins, “great! Can you guide me to the chocolate aisle?”

At her words, the rest of the group turns to face you. You lead the way, showing her your preferred sweets and answering questions with a practiced smile. The group disperses, leaving to do their own thing. That comforting, familiar face is standing in front of you now, waiting for your attention to be solely on him.

“Suzaki,” you say. “Suzaki Ryo. You’re back.”

His dull, unchanging face contorts into a soft smile at your words. Eyes travel down your tired, overworked form — you adjust and clear your throat in embarrassment. His smile falls, “are you alright, [name]?”

Words leave your mind at the sound of his voice. It’d been so long — so many years had passed since you last heard his voice. He calls your name once more, eyes drooping into a worried gaze. You shift on your feet, “um, I’m okay. Everyone’s preparing for tonight, you know?”

“Tonight?” Ryo tilts his head before nodding slowly. “The Purge they call it, right?” You nod, fingers intertwining and locking your mind onto something else. He smiles at your habit, remembering the times before when you’d act that way, too. “You’ll be safe tonight, won’t you?”

“I’ll be with Peach,” you admit. Your nose crinkles in distaste before you smooth your face out, plastering on your customer service smile instead. “I think we’re staying with Amagi this year. You still talk, right? You’ll be there?”

Ryo’s eyes narrow at the names. Peach — your old friend who would always take advantage of you. Amagi — his old friend who used him tirelessly. They were quite the match ; Suzaki’s beyond surprised it took them this long to get together. “Sure,” he hides his thoughts with a smile, “I’ll be there.”

Your conversation is interrupted by his group as they push their way between you. One guy with blue highlights shoves you to the side thoughtlessly — you don’t see the glare Ryo sends his way. Clearing your throat again, you lead them to the register to check them out. 

Ryo lingers outside as his friends leave, his eyes watching as you get back to work quickly. Calloused, blistered hands scrub at the counter endlessly before you’re quickly sweeping the floor. You go to clean the window when you meet his gaze — Ryo only waves before turning to leave.

Poor thing, he thinks to himself. You’re working yourself to the bone just to survive. Not anymore, he reassures himself. You won’t have to tire yourself out anymore. I’ll take care of you.

——♥︎——

Shoveling pieces of clothing into your overnight bag, you think back to earlier, when Ryo walked into the convenience store. Seeing him again was strange ; exciting and overwhelming at the same time. Last you heard, Ryo and his dad moved overseas for better opportunities. 

That wasn’t true. His father worked himself to death, so Ryo ran. It was no coincidence he popped back up on Purge day. 

You knew Amagi and Peach would have all anyone would need in their mansion. However, the thought of using their things and therefore owing them— it made you nauseous. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepare yourself. You’d be surrounded by rich, entitled assholes for twelve ongoing hours while trusting their security system would keep you safe. At one point, they would irritate you so bad that you’d want to take your chance with the streets. 

Suzaki will be there, you remind yourself. If Suzaki is there, I won’t be alone.

——♥︎——

The Amagi mansion greets you, hiding in the woods just out of reach of the street. Cars are empty from the road, hidden in garages and who knows where else for the upcoming night. It’s almost seven, so you need to rush ; need to hurry inside before the door is locked for good. Peach’s laughter echoes onto the street — you grimace and force yourself to step inside. 

“COMMENCING THE SIREN, ANY AND ALL CRIME, INCLUDING MURDER, WILL BE LEGAL FOR TWELVE CONTINUOUS HOURS.”

Sirens hit the empty street, the world pausing as people prepare for the worst. You swallow, ignoring the champagne that was offered to you. Even with laws intact, you’d refuse any drink coming from this group. 

“How dull,” a voice interrupts the silence. Amagi leans forward on his lavish sofa, watching the wall of monitors he had installed. “No one’s screaming yet. Did they not hear the announcement?”

Another reason you didn’t want to stay here — the Purge was used for their own amusement. While the group you were in would never dare to participate — they wouldn’t survive — watching others slaughter each other was their monthly entertainment. 

Peach sighs, “the hour just started, honey. It might take a while.” She rubs his shoulder, leaning her lips close to her ear to whisper to him. You can see her tongue peak out and lap against his ear — you hold back the urge to gag and look away in disgust.

Ryo is absent from the house — he’s not coming, you discover. He hadn’t shown up at all ; no one mentioned him coming by. It makes you uncomfortable ; makes your throat itch at the thought of them possibly leaving him on the streets to die.

You glance at Amagi’s sleazy grin as Peach rubs the inside of his thigh. “I saw Suzaki today. Did you know he was back?”

“That loser really came back?” Amagi all but shoves Peach away, murky eyes staring into yours. A snarl curls his lips as they tremble — with laughter or anger, you don’t know. “Pathetic. Thought he’d die off by now.”

You always wondered what happened between them. Up until high school, Ryo would follow Amagi endlessly. And then, one day, he was gone. Amagi would only spit out how much he hated the boy ; how he wished a miserable and lifeless future for his former friend. He never told Peach — even with the endless nights between them both.

Back then, Ryo came to say goodbye to you. He looked exhausted, bags puffed under his eyes and his nails chewed down to the cuticle. A gash was wrapped around his wrist — you cleaned it as his puppy eyes stared at you.

“You’re leaving.”

“I need to,” Ryo says. His voice is soft ; throaty as if he’d been screaming for hours. He closes his hand into a fist, flexing and moving his fingers to see how injured his wrist was. His gaze meets yours, “I’ll be back.”

One of Peach’s friends offers you a drink, bringing you back to reality again. You take it, just so they would stop shoving it your way. You wouldn’t take even a tiny sip, instead pouring small amounts into someone else’s glass.  

Amagi’s gaze is still on you — you can feel his eyes burning into your skin as Peach tries to distract him. You watch a monitor mindlessly, sweeping across the silent and desolate street. Sighing, you tuck your chin into the palm of your hand.

You’d love to do anything else ; to be anywhere else. 

“You look tense, [name].” Amagi speaks up. His tone is intense, cruel intentions crawling from darkened eyes. He grins, ignoring the kisses that Peach settles on his neck. “Want someone to help you relax? You can have more than one, if you want.”

At his words, his friends cheer joyfully. One starts thrusting into the air, hooting with laughter. Another winks your way as she lowers her shirt to further show her cleavage. Your arm is tugged harshly to the right, your back hitting the couch as the back of your shirt is grabbed. Peach watches on boredly — your friend wouldn’t dare speak up against her fiance.  

It wouldn’t matter if you said no. Especially not tonight, but not any other night, either. 

Movement on a top monitor catches your attention. A figure is stumbling, almost to a crawl as they enter the street. You squint, moving from the unwanted touches and closer to the screen. Your mouth falls into a gasp, “Ryo?”

The red jacket on his shoulders is bright in the streetlights, beckoning any attacker to come closer. He leaves a trail of darkened splotches behind on the concrete, a puddle forming where he collapses. Amagi sits up at the name, inching closer to the screen. Pressing a button or two, he maximizes the video Ryo stars in. A malicious, evil grin spreads onto his face.

“Finally,” Amagi laughs, “he’ll die like the dog he is. In the streets, covered in his own shit.”

You gulp at his words. Amagi wasn’t going to offer refuge ; he wasn’t going to allow Ryo into his home and keep him safe. Your gaze bounces to Peach — she’s dropped to her knees in front of him, begging for his attention. He just watches the screen giddily. 

The people around you wouldn’t help, either. They wouldn’t dare to go against Amagi’s orders — not for a flea like Suzaki Ryo. Not for his childhood friend that left. Someone is still vying for your affections, the type Amagi offered for you, as they rub themselves on you. 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on the screen where Ryo lays on the street. The room goes silent, your ears ringing as you watch him writhe in pain. Everything vanishes — you could do something. You could save him. He promised to come back, and he did. 

Sound comes back in a rush, laughter and moans heating up the room around you. 

Quickly, you stand and leave the couch — you leave the room and hear no complaints for your actions. Your shoes are taken off and placed to the side — your footsteps would be silent, and no one would be able to find you now. Hastened steps patter their way to the front door ; up from the safe room in the basement, past Amagi’s self portrait, to the right of the kitchen. Shaky hands unlock the front door as fast as they can.

Cold air whips into your face. You breathe in the freshness of it ; you bask in the sound of crickets and the absence of sound. You look around warily — there’s no one around except a whimpering, wounded Suzaki Ryo.  

“Come on,” you call to him quietly. You sling his arm around your shoulder and assist him to hobble into the house. Right on the threshold, you can see Amagi snarling as he rushes the door to close and lock. To no avail — you pull Ryo in with you just in time. You set him against a wall, right under the window. “Made it.”

“What the fuck,” Peach hisses. She stands in front of her friends — the richer ones, the ones she deemed valuable — shielding them from the man you brought in. “Do you realize what you just did? Why did you bring in a flea?”

“It’s Suzaki,” you breathe, “we know him.”

Amagi stands over his former friend, staring down at him emotionlessly. His face is devoid of anything — even the usual hatred he doesn’t hide. He tilts his head, “what a pity. Would’ve been nice to watch someone slit his throat.”

They all leave without another word, sending glares your way. The basement’s safe room is locked ; they make it known that you’ve been locked out and uninvited. 

Suzaki wheezes out from the floor, “sorry. Didn’t mean to mess things up for you.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” You crouch to help him stand, guiding to one of the bathrooms in the house. Settling him on the closed toilet lid carefully, you take in a breath. “Let’s get you cleaned up and brand new, hm?”

Delicately, you take Ryo’s shirt off ; pull his tanktop up and over his head, careful to not disturb the gash across his torso. He stares at you, eyes sparkling and wide as you grab peroxide and antibacterial gel.

“It’s not too deep,” you speak up. You can hear the group below, their insults and joy vibrating against the walls. “No stitches needed. Good thing — I can’t sew.”

A smile lifts up the right side of Ryo’s mouth. You clean his wound gently, a soaked cotton ball swiping any germ or blobs of blood away. As you apply the gel, your tongue pokes out slightly. Ryo watches you fondly, “this reminds me of when we were in school.”

You smirk, “what, when I’d save your ass a trip to the hospital?”

He laughs — you try not to watch his chest as he does. Grabbing gauze, you wrap it around his torso a few times ; not too tight, but not too loose. Ryo’s eyes stay on you as you move. “You would always take care of me. Even when your friends were worse than mine.”

“We’d look out for each other.” You correct him. You shuffle his tank top back down his body, sitting in silence as you avoid his gaze. “That’s what people like us do.”

Ryo slumps in his seat, his voice growing quiet. “People like us?”

You smile, but it isn’t warm or happy. It’s accepting — sad and empty. “People who have to work to survive.”

A rattle shakes the house — you and Ryo simply stare at each other before you make a move. Peach is coming up the stairs as you exit the bathroom, your face mirroring the confusion on hers. Another rattle — the front door is shaking.

“Yoo-hoo!” A voice sings teasingly. Ryo makes his way to you, his jacket slung precariously over his shoulders as he holds his torso with his right arm. Amagi is spitting orders in the basement — he sounds terrified. “We know you’re in there. Come out and play.”

Silence. And then, a bang against the front door as a new voice calls out. “Come outside, rich bitch!”

Tensely, you reach behind you and grab Suzaki’s hand. Stomping is heard on the stairs as Amagi guides his friends to the front door. His eyes are on fire as you pass by him, red-tinted and furious. He glares at the man behind you, “this better not have anything to do with you.”

You let out a breath as you push Ryo to the safe room, eyes dancing from screen to screen. A face pops out of nowhere — one covered in a Ghostface mask. You jump, bumping into Ryo as you do. You look at him from over your shoulder, “they didn’t attack you, did they?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t attacked by anyone. I was… trying to get between an unfair fight.”

You smile despite the situation. “Playing the hero as always.”

“People need to be protected,” he replies simply. Ryo walks over to the wall of monitors, clicking and scrolling expertly. Though, growing up with Amagi probably taught him everything he needed to know. More people are found around the Amagi mansion, waiting for a door to unlock. Ryo’s voice carries into the air, “people like you.”

You blink, “like me?”

Ryo’s mouth tilts as he looks down at the monitors’ control center. He lets out a laugh through his nose before his eyes meet yours. “People who are soft ; kind.” Ryo looks down again, “you’re the one I want to protect the most. You were always my favorite, you know.”

A bang hits the house once more, Peach’s scream echoing with it. You can hear one of her friends insist they just go outside and start shooting — they should just get rid of the strangers while they can. A flurry of footsteps rebounds against the stairs, hurriedly burrowing your way. Ryo takes you into his arms quickly, moving you both out of the way.

“I’ll show them,” he mutters. It’s one of Amagi’s friends — one who tried to get you alone. His eyes are frantic, spit piling at the corner of his mouth as he speaks to himself. “I’ll go out there and tear them all down. Amagi will notice me, then.”

The house’s defenses are down before you can stop him.

Amagi flies down the stairs, trying frantically to get the security systems back up. He clicks every button he sees. The house goes silent as the walls whir, the defenses going back into place. It has to be enough, you bite your lip, hand intertwined with Ryo’s as you tighten your hold. Please, let us be safe. 

A window upstairs shatters, high-pitched screaming mirroring the sound. 

The sound of scraping is the first thing you pick up. The safe room’s door is closed and locked tight, ensuring your safety. You don’t feel safe, though. Everyone watches in silence as the door’s handle twists left then right. You gulp, hiding the shaking of your hand by holding tighter onto Suzaki’s. 

 A bang hits the door, causing everyone to jump in unison. A harrowing, mean cackle breaths against the door. “I know you’re in there,” they call, “let us in so we can play.”

“Fuck off!” Amagi’s friend calls out arrogantly. Amagi rushes to the man, holding his hand against his mouth tightly. There are tears in the bully’s eyes — he has no chance if the safe room is breached. His friend fights him until he’s free to speak, “we’ll kill you be—!”

A body falls to the floor. A girl with lilac hair trembles, champagne falling down her arm as the bottle she holds is in half. The man on the floor bleeds from his head — you don’t think he’ll make it. She drops the half-empty bottle, scurrying to wipe the alcohol off of her person. 

The masked person outside cackles again, “attacking each other now? Let us join in, won’t you?”

Ryo’s thumb rubs against your knuckles and it’s all you can think of. He does well ; distracting you from the dire danger in front of you. But, you can’t help but also think he’s so calm ; so collected and uncaring at the threats that surround you.

Scratching is heard, the door jolting from the impact. The person outside cackles, drops of sweat fall from Amagi’s forehead. A thump against the door again — you think it’s coming off its hinges. Ryo’s shoulder bumps into yours as you back up, the sound of the door breaking disturbing the silence around you. The splintered pieces hit the floor, collecting around two pairs of boots. 

A bloody, rabbit mask and orange hair greets you — another one a Jason-inspired mask doing little to hide blue hair. The rabbit giggles, swinging the axe in hand, “you’ll play with us now, right?”

Two more figures join them but your mind is so fogged from the panic. Ryo is speaking lowly in your ear, but you can’t make sense of anything he says. The girl from before is thrown to the floor, a doll-like mask hovering above her as she’s stabbed. The Jason mask creeps closer to you — he’s got you in his sights and he’s completely locked in.

A kick his sent to the masked man’s chest, sending him flying away as Ryo stands in front of you. He grabs a cheese knife from the center table, putting it in your hand. Your back is to the wall, allowing you to see every inch of the safe room.

Blood splatters as Ryo nails punch after punch onto the blue haired stranger. It’s a sickening, intense anger you’d never seen from him before. Your hands shake as you hold tightly onto the cheese knife, unable to look away from the violence in front of you. Ryo looks over his shoulder at you, blood on his forehead and nose as he stands.

The wound on his torso seems to no longer bother him.

Ryo is quick to pull you to a room, closing the door behind you both as you hold your breath. It’s a bathroom, you see, perfectly compact and hidden. Chaos reigns outside — you flinch as you identify Peach’s cries. A shaky hand cups your cheek, blood smearing as he rubs your skin soothingly. “Stay here,” Ryo pleads,”I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

He strokes your cheek one last time before a glass is shoved in your hand. “Sip on this until I come back.” Ryo holds your hand, gaze fierce and promising, “I will come back, [name]. Stay in here.”

The door is shut and you’re left with the muffled sound of the people you were with being murdered. The handle of the knife you hold is embedded into your skin, the intricate design imprinted onto your palm. Heaving breaths escaped your chest and you know you need to calm down or you’ll pass out.

You eye the water you’re holding, champagne taste staining the flute you sip on. Panic has really set in now, the room around you blurring together into nothing but colors. Trembling legs settle onto the floor, your back to the bathtub as your eyes slide shut.

——♥︎——

“[Name],” is called lightly, a rustle on your shoulder shaking you. “C’mon, angel, it’s time to go.”

Your eyes blink open — they’re heavy, bleary as your eyesight still has to settle. You breathe deeply through your nose — it smells like iron and sweat. An alarm rings, commencing the Purge and thanking everyone for participating.

Your eyes snap back open at the words. You weren’t safe ; the security was fought through and intruders welcomed themselves in. Ryo — Ryo went out to fight. And then, nothing. You fell asleep?

The floor beneath you is wet, your fingers pruning up from the water. Another gentle jostle to your shoulder — someone was here with you. Widened, unseeing eyes blink up at him and he coos.

“[Name],” Ryo calls again. He rubs your cheek lovingly as your eyes flutter shut once more. He sighs — it was too much on your body, after all. Slowly, he wraps your legs around his waist, standing easily and taking you with him as he goes. “Keep your eyes closed, honey. You don’t need to see this.”

Suzaki speaks to someone else as your eyes flutter open and closed periodically. You can’t stay awake — what was in that water? Your mouth moves against his neck, incomprehensible mutters and noises leaving your lips. You hear him kick something on the way out and spit out something you don’t hear.

As you leave, you notice the bloody mess is wearing Amagi’s clothes.

“Welcome back.”

You feel better now ; awake and attentive as your eyes slide open. The sun is in the middle of the sky, warming up the room you’re in. Suzaki sits on the edge of the bed you’re in, clean and grinning as he rubs your legs soothingly. “About time you woke up, huh?”

The last few hours come back to you in a movie-like sequence. The screaming, the door shattering, the blood. You gulp, “what… happened? At Amagi’s?”

Ryo let’s out a sigh, shaking his head. He squeezes your knee lightly, sucking in a breath between his teeth. “It was ugly — an all out brawl. But, we survived and you came out unscathed. That’s all we need to worry about.”

But, your mind stills races. You remember seeing Amagi — seeing what should’ve been his fully intact corpse in pieces. “Peach? And Amagi? Did… anyone else live?”

“I don’t know,” he looks to the bedroom wall. His voice is uncaring ; unsympathetic as he speaks. “All I was worried about was protecting you.”

“You did.” You sit up straighter now, reaching out to hold Ryo’s hand. “You saved us — saved me.”

The room goes silent as you bask in the warmth of the sun. It’s disorienting — the world being so warm after the bloodbath of last night. Ryo speaks quietly, “I’d do it again if I needed to.”

The side of his mouth curves up as he continues, “maybe even after that.”

——♥︎——

happy halloween!! this feels a lil icky to post considering the state of the world rn, but id like to offer a distraction if i can while still using the platform i have <3 if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any HiGH&LOW content, let me know!

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