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li0nn3stuff · 17 hours

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Kiddo

Chapter nine

Kiddo masterlist

English is not my first language, be kind.

Modern!Older!Aemond x Modern!Younger!Reader

•Chapter warnings: obsession, manipulation, talking of sex, smut, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), kissing•

Three months after the encounter.

“Aemond…” She moaned loudly, looking behind her as she was standing on her knees and hands, as Aemond kept pounding in her from behind. She looked at him with her big eyes, her lips glossy, inviting, red and swollen from his aggressive kisses, her eyebrows arched as if she was in pain, when he knew she was feeling heavenly.

“You’re too big… So big…” She moaned pornographically. God she was such a minx, and she knew that.

“Just marking my size, kiddo, okay?” He smirked as he gripped her buttocks to hold on to it so he could pull her back against him.

“Aemond?” Aegon called him again. Aemond groaned, rubbing his hand over his face.

He was more and more distracted as days passed by.

He hated it.

He liked the reason.

“Your secretary told me to print you these things.” His brother threw some papers on his desk. He sighed and looked down at them, noticing how the printing was messed up.

How could someone mess up those kinds of things?!

He could kill him now.

“You just have to make him care about what he does”

He looked up at Aegon.

“I have to sign these documents.” He told him. Aegon looked at him like “Yeah, and?” making Aemond utterly nervous.

“Do you know what these documents are for?” He leaned back against the chair, looking at him with a serious manner. Aegon sighed, and looked at him rolling his eyes.

“For the company? I guess…” He answered uninterestedly. Aemond let out an amused breath.

“I know you like bars, clubs. I have some clients that own them.” He looks at him, studying his expression. Aegon looked at him slightly more interested, even if he tried to hide it for pride.

“You do parties there? For your company?” He asked.

“No, we are a bank, we have no need for that.” Aemond sighed and got up.

“But you could.” Aegon stated. Aemond looked at him seriously, the look in his eye not admitting any other comments.

“But we don’t need them. Print them again, and bring them to me.” He passed the papers back to him and as his brother walked out of the office, he took his phone and turned to look out of the window.

-Tonight at 9:30 p.m. everyone will be asleep! You can come over if you want? :) -

She texted him the day after. In the end, he hand answered yes at her offer, even if her foster mother saw him.

He just had to be careful enough.

He was doing nothing wrong in the end, right?

He just wanted to keep her for himself.

It’s not like someone else wants her.

He parked far from her house. Far and hidden, and maybe, during the day he wouldn’t have minded the little walk, but in the afternoon, with the flys attached to the torch of his phone, the holes on the ground and the mud, he hated it.

He will bring her to the city.

Maybe not in an apartment but in a small house, just for the two of them.

Or maybe a bigger one for them and their children.

Anyway, he would never live outside the city. He’ll buy her a house with a garden.

That’s it.

He knocked at her door, which opened a few moments after. She smiled at him, softly and happily as always.

“Hey kiddo.” He smiled slightly at her, stepping inside the house, taking off his shoes.

“We cannot be too loud, they are all sleeping upstairs.” She said gently, taking his hand to guide him in another room, but he resisted and pulled her back to him.

“Where’s my kiss?” He looked down at her, as he grabbed her big shirt to pull her close to him. She blushed immediately and looked down, trying to hide a smile.

“Kiss me.” He ordered her, leaning his head down to be closer to her. She shyly raised on her tiptoes, going for a kiss on his cheek, but he turned his head and looked at her. “What do you think you’re doing?” He smirked as he saw her face getting redder, so he put his hand on the back of her head, caressing her scalp gently.

She looked at him through her eyelashes, but in the end, she raised herself again, giving him a quick peck on his lips.

He wanted more.

He wanted to pull her back and devour her completely.

But he decided to settle.

For now.

“How are you?” She asked shyly as she walked further in the house.

“Tired, but fine.” He said coldly, not explaining much, as he looked around. The house was not messy but so full of things it almost looked messy.

He guessed that was the price for a lot of kids and an absent mother.

The house was welcoming, the inside mostly in wook and marm, the cool lights gave it a more comfortable place.

He liked that his girl lived there.

“Tired? Do you not sleep enough?” She asked, concerned. He smiled slightly at her reaction.

“Kinda. My brother tires me more.” They go into the living room and sit on the sofa.

“I’m sorry. What does he do?” She asks curiously.

“He is always thinking about partying, he wants to do these stupid parties for the company.” He sighed, annoyed by the thought. “Useless.”

“You could let him handle that.” She smiles happily. “If he loves parties so much, then he surely knows how to arrange a good one.” He almost laughed at her.

“For what? I’m a bank company, I don’t need parties.” He replied.

“Parties help socialize, I guess, you are handling people’s money, they have to trust you.To know you.” She explains, taking his hand to play with his fingers.

He looks down at her hands, so soft and small, when his is much bigger.

“What is the point of knowing me? They just have to know I work perfectly.” He scoffs, looking away from her.

“They have to trust you, they have to know that you care about them.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. They’re your clients.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about them as people. I don’t care about their life or shit like that.”

“Then you can fake that.” She raises her shoulders. He chuckles. “I could come with you if it could help you…”

He tensed at her words and she looked at him surprised and kind of hurted, stopping to play with his fingers.

“No, kiddo, don’t get me wrong.” He sighed “I’d like to, but… people might not understand our… friendship, you know?” He leaned towards her, caressing her soft cheek as she stared at him.

Now he had to warn her.

So that no one could ever try to talk her away from him.

“You shouldn’t tell anyone about me, kiddo. Not your mum… or your brothers and sisters.”

“So I should lie?” She asked worriedly. Aemond smiled slightly as he passed his fingers on her lips.

“Do you like kissing me?” He said lowly, looking down at her lips. She looked at him confused, but after a moment of hesitation she blushed all over and nodded, looking away embarrassed.

“I like it too, you know? You’re a good kisser…” He leaned closer to her, brushing his lips with hers.

“I could spend hours just kissing you, kiddo.” He noticed her breathing in sharply and he smirks proudly for the effect his closeness has on her. He kisses her lightly, their lips touching softly before he pulls back a moment to look at her. She looked up at him, her eyes big and innocent, as she blushed even more. He wanted to lean back, kiss her and taste her mouth deeply, but he didn’t move.

They were close, yes, but he wanted her to be desperate for more of him.

He wanted her to be at least a bit desperate as he was for her.

She looked at him, insecure of what to do about the situation. Her gaze shifted from his eye to his mouth repeatedly, then she looked down. She hesitated at first, then she put her hand on his thigh, close to his knee.

He looked down at her hand for a moment, quickly looking back at her as he saw her swaying closer to him, so that her thigh was pressed against his.

“Do you like being close to me, kiddo?” He moved his head, brushing his nose on her forehead.

“I—I like… the way you smell…” She admitted shyly, her hand on his thigh clenching in a fist.

“You like the way you smell? What else? Tell me.” He looks down at her, caressing her jaw as he presses his forehead against hers.

“Your smell makes me feel… protected… I immediately feel at ease when I feel your scent…” She looked up at him. “I like the way you look…” She passed her hands in his long hair. “So… unique…” She moves her hands from his hair to his jaw, tracing it with her fingers.

He just couldn’t control himself.

How could he, after what he just heard?

After knowing, from her directly, how some aspects of him makes her feel?

He wanted to possess her, touch her, feel her till the rest of his days.

He couldn’t bear at the moment the fact that he would have to leave in an hour.

He put his hand on her thigh, and squeezed it not as gently as he knew she liked things.

She gasped and she looked at him with slight pain, her eyebrows furrowed, confused by his somewhat aggression.

“Aemond—“ She gasped again as he started raising her dress.

“Don’t you want to kiss me, kiddo?” He panted, already, his breathing coming in and out faster as he felt his need for her.

She looked at him and slowly nodded, her face turning red tomato.

“Do it. I want you to take the lead.” He kept looking at her, keeping his forehead pressed against hers as his hand dived under the skirt of her dress, caressing her calves, moving slowly up and up.

He hand on his thigh clenched again in a fist as the other clenched on his shirt as she looked at his lips, still hesitant.

“Why so shy, kiddo? I thought you wanted this.” He smirks, mocking and teasing her a bit. She let out a sound close to a whine out of embarrassment, and he smirked even more, his hand reaching his knee.

“Kiss me, and I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” He said reassuringly, making her gaze snap at him.

“You always keep your promises…” She stated as she finally leaned closer, her lips touching his timidly.

“Give me more, kiddo, I know you want this.” He whispered as he moved his head slightly.

She moved closer, pulling him down gently by her grip on his shoulder, parting her lips to give him a good kiss, sucking his lower lip in a messy way, making him more aware of how inexperienced she was. He chuckled lightly, making her pull away immediately, and before she could even start apologizing, he grabbed her jaw, pulling her back immediately, kissing her, biting her lip and slipping his tongue deep in her mouth, finally tasting her somehow. He opened his mouth, trying to encourage her to do the same in the kiss, so he could move his tongue in her mouth, meet hers. He slipped his hand in her hair, keeping her secure, as his other started trailing down her core, slipping her panties to the side, finding her wet already.

“My my, kiddo, what happened here, mh?” He smirked at her, enjoying how she tried to hide her face in his chest.

“Almost looks like it needs some attention, yeah kiddo?”He smirks as she looks at his horrified.

“But… my brothers and sisters…” She whimpers as he brushes his thumb over her clit, barely touching it.

“They won’t come downstairs, and if they do, we’ll just tell them I was helping you check down there, okay?” He smiles, and he kneels on the floor, between her legs.

He kneeled happily, for his girl.

He would have done it as many times as she wanted, for her, just for her.

She only needed to ask, or push his head down, or even look at him, and he would have been on his knees, lapping at her like a thirsty man, sucking her clit and licking her cunt until she had nothing more to give.

He moved his head down between her thighs raising her dress over her hips, his face getting closer to her. He looked up at her, his eye meeting hers, before he started gently kissing her inner thighs. She looked shyly at him, her hands on her chin, ready to cover her face the moment she won’t be able to handle it. He glanced at her cunt, pulling her panties down, getting rid of them.

“You’re so pretty down here, kiddo… Did you know that?” He kissed his thigh, grabbing them in his hands as he kept her legs apart, securing them.

Her body immediately jerked at the contact of his lips on her skin, so close to her most sensitive spot. He smirked against her skin, enjoying how sensitive she is and how much his touch can affect her.

"Oh, I see....you can't take it when I tease you, kiddo? You want me to get straight to the point then, hm?"

He asks, his voice still playful. He moves his head closer, and lightly and gently kisses her core, feeling the shiver that goes through her body.

“Oh— oh!” She let out a loud whimper, surprised by the weird but pleasurable sensation of his mouth on her core, making him chuckle lightly.

“Your family is upstairs kiddo, you might want to lower your voice…”

He could feel her shivering beneath him as he kissed her core, the reaction of her body making him more turned on and wanting.

"You're so beautiful– So perfect...."

He murmured against her skin, before he started gently licking her, his tongue exploring her slowly and savoring her taste, feeling her as she unconsciously tried to close her legs, but he tightened his grip, his fingers digging in her skin hard enough to be leaving a mark on her, not that she cared at the moment, she was too concentrated in her pleasure.

The pleasure that he was giving her.

He was making her squirm under his tongue, he was tasting her, he was making her feel good, he was the cause of everything she was feeling at the moment, and that made him so fucking proud, and so turned on, it almost hurt.

“Aemond…” He heard her soft whimper, he looked up at her from between her legs, seeing her with her hand over her mouth, her face red, and her eyes teary, as she struggled to keep her voice down. He smirked against her core as he started diving his tongue deeper inside her, making her widen her eyes and almost scream, the sound muffled by her mouth closed and her hand.

“Need help, kiddo?”

He says between kisses and licks, his tongue moving faster and harsher over her core, tasting and savoring her, as he moved his hand on her mouth, pushing two of his fingers in her mouth.

“Suck.” He ordered as he kept looking up at her. She looked at him again, her eyes still widened in uncertainty, but in the end, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and started licking his fingers and sucking shyly.

He groaned as he felt her tongue on his fingers, his head registering her movements, imagining them on his cock, as she choked on it.

"You were born to be with me, kiddo…” He growled as he moved his head from side to side, using his nose to stimulate her clit as he kept licking her entrance, his tongue continuing to work her towards the orgasm, his movements gradually becoming more and more intense.

He could hear her panting loudly, her breathing ragged as she tightened her grip on his arm, trying to suck on his fingers instead of moaning out loud, as much as Aemond would have loved to hear her moan his name.

Another time.

He let out a loud growl as he felt her move one of her hands on the top of his head, pushing his head down, then retrieving her hand immediately.

She didn’t even realize what she was doing.

She was too overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving her.

His body responded instinctively to her touch and her needs, burying his face between her legs, grabbing her buttocks to go as far as possible, squeezing her flesh, her addicting softness.

“I can feel you getting tighter, kiddo–” He mumbles against her skin before he starts gently licking her core again, his tongue moving slowly and carefully. He moaned as he pushed his tongue again inside her, he looked up at her again, seeing her chest moving up and down quickly, frenetically, her forehead with a thin layer of sweat as her lips were still around his fingers.

“I–I– I–” She keeps panting, unable to form any phrase.

He groans again as he hears her poor state, his tongue still moving over her core, his movements growing faster and more intense.

“Good– God–” She moaned loudly as he retrieves his fingers from her mouth, just when he feel her getting impossibly close to her climax, and he shoved them inside her, his lips moving to suck at her clit as his fingers crook, hitting the spot he mapped perfectly in his mind, giving her the most pleasure he could.

Her jaw went slack as she whined loudly, gripping his other hand still on her buttock, digging her nails on the back of his palm.

He growled again, feeling her whines, her body responding so beautifully to his touch, his tongue moving faster and more intently as he could feel her body tensing and shaking, her words and moans signaling that she's close to the edge.

"I know, I know, kiddo... come for me– come for me." He mumbled against her, his tongue moving over her clit in quick, firm moves making her squirm, as she desperately tried to get away from his attentions.

He feels her trembling, her body trying to close her legs, but he uses his strong hands to hold her thighs apart, preventing her from closing them.

"No. Don't close them, let me finish– let me give you everything you want....." He ordered, his voice low and rough as he continued to work over her core with his tongue, his movements faster and more eager as she kept raising her voice dangerously.

He feels her squirming, her body struggling to hold on as he continues with his tongue, trying to make her come as fast as possible.

He wanted to savor the moment, but he figured that he was already risking too much.

And most importantly.

His girl had no idea of how to handle her voice with him.

He smirked on her cunt at the idea, as he kept working her faster, moving his fingers just right to make her body shake under his eye.

"Shhhhh.....it's alright, love....you're so close..... l know you're so close.....just let go...let go and come for me, kiddo."

He says in between flicks of his tongue over her sensitive skin, his hand holding her thigh in place, keeping her from closing her legs from one side so he could continue till the very end.

“Ah! Ah— aaaah…” She moaned loudly as she reached her climax, her walls clenching around his fingers too tightly, it almost made it impossible for him to keep moving them, but he still kept going, helping her ride out her orgasm. He pulled his fingers out and licked everything that came out of her, starting directly by her cunt making her jerk, her back arching by the overstimulation.

Then they heard some steps.

She quickly found a blanket to use to cover him, and he kept still, with his body, moving slightly his head to keep licking her, but it wasn’t visible from over the blanket thanks so her legs bent. He groans as he feels her climax against his tongue, her body shaking and trembling from the intensity of her release.

“Cory…” She lets out a sound between a whine of pleasure and annoyance, her hand reaching his head under the blanket, trying to push him away.

“I heard you making strange sounds Sis… I got worried…” The little boy said.

“I–I’m alright, Cory… I–I was wa–watching a horror movie… such a s–stupid idea, right? Please d–don’t tell mum, and I won’t tell her I saw you up at this hour. Okay?” She says quickly, stuttering due to her tenseness.

“Okay!” The boy exclaimed, and Aemond felt the boy run upstairs. He continues lapping at her for a moment, savoring the taste and sensations, giving her core one last open mouthed kiss, before looking up at her again, a smirk on his face as he immediately captures her lips into another kiss.

"Mmmm.....you taste so good, kiddo, better than I ever imagined..." He looked at her, watching her pant as she tried to calm down.

“A–Aemond! It was so risky– Cory could have–” She looked at him with her glossy teared-eyes of hers as he just admired her beauty, interrupting her immediately. “But he didn’t, did he? And you loved it, I saw it.” He gave her a deep kiss, making her taste herself on his tongue.

She looked down, ashamed, fixing her dress quickly. Aemond smirked as he put his hand over his pocket, where he tugged her panties the moment he took them off of her.

“M–my mum… she will be here soon…” She warned him, keeping her gaze down.

“I know, I’ll wait for your text tonight, okay?” He stood up, looking at her from above,

“Okay… and yes.” She said, grabbing his pants on his thigh before he could step away. He looked at her confused, not sure of what she meant by the second part of her sentence.

“Yes?” He questioned her.

“I’ll lie to them.” She looked up at him, her face completely red again, she sniffled. Aemond smiled at her, bending down to wipe one tear she let out, then he kissed her again.

“Good girl.” He whispered to her, then he strided outside the house, walking to his car.

The scent of the grass, and nature hit his nose, but he had something way better.

He took out her panties from his pocket, bringing them to his nose.

They smelled so much like her, they still had a wet patch on them.

He made her that wet.

He will make good use of her panties.

Even if his cock was already impossibly hard, he felt his pants get even tighter as he looked with a smirk at her panties.

Tag: @zenka69 @blaustappen @julczimozart @diannnnsss @i66cilla @queenofthekeep @summerposie @tssf-imagines @vaylint @sweet-nothings-s @esposamultifandom @av989436751 @ladythornofrivia @xcinnamonmalfoyx @deliaseastar @kotadislikesthissite @nebulamorada @madelynwalt @shari-berri @seraphdayiwah @witchy-jadda @odeioemail @alphard-hydraes-blog @isntitdelicatevivi @famousrebeldaze @ssnapsaurus @paigeestrawfordd @mamawiggers1980 @aemondracarys @aegonswife @iloveallmyboys

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hoseoksluna · 3 days

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STRAWBERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi & spectacled boy)

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.8k

summary: when your ex-boyfriend's fury burns you whole, you just might need to let hobi in to pour water over you and save you.

playlist: strawberries

pinterest board: j. / taglist: join

warnings: jungkook is nasty and mean and rly needs a trigger warning, oc is lost in her negative emotions and goes through a lot, sadness, crying, shame, longing for death, minor physical violence, oc and hobi take puffs of a shared vape <3, mental and emotional suffering, fighting, belittling, mentions of sex

note: this was an absolute pain to write as i'm not used to writing this genre of jungkook and i hope it's the last time i did skfskfsk, nah i'm just over exaggerating. i'm so happy i got this done in time. two updates in one week! wow. how did i do that? i hope you like this part. prepare yourselves for this jungkook and i'm sorry in advance..... that's all im gonna say. pls, validate me! asks, comments, anything. pretty please! i love you, my babies. big mwah.

You can still sense the ghost of his touch on your shoulder blades as you’re laying halfway on your tummy upon the crumpled bedding of your mattress. Your phone lights up and shuts off like the flickering of stars and all you can do is watch the wane and the rebirth, numbly, with the knowledge that death will never come, not when you’re still a living, breathing person because Jungkook is not the type of individual who gives up. Not easily, that is.

Hobi left but an hour ago while you slept. Kissed you goodbye. Murmured onto your forehead that he would see you again and you merely nodded amidst the magnetic pulling of your dreamland. Couldn’t peel your eyes open due to the heaviness of your tiredness, which didn’t steal, in all peculiar truthfulness, all of your attention, however. You carried on your shoulders a question way heftier. A question of how your body is still able to submit to slumber, when your blood curdles beneath your skin, when it’s so icy that you’re shivering on top of the duvet.

And the question didn’t leave when you woke up to your empty bedroom. It thumped, vigorously, against the nape of your neck. The very place Hoseok clutched when he poured his affection and admiration all over your body.

You wish he hadn’t left. You believe he would’ve possessed your burden, pretending it was his all along. Believe he wouldn’t need to know the alpha and the omega of it. Would pout his lips the way you’ve learned he often does, take the pain from you as if it were a backpack filled with stones. And it does feel like that, your mistake. Your torso is swathed with a double rope, whose end is tied with a stone that you’re cradling in your hands.

A few hours ago, you cradled Hobi’s face in your hands while he kneeled for you, and now you’re anticipating the death that will never come as your stomach hurts.

But the memory of his touch is soothing. While your imaginary wings are flaccid and lackluster on the bed, his invisible hands are the force that pumps blood, feebly, into its membrane. Still warm, though a little less firm. It’s as if he were here in the flesh.

Your body is asking for him, emotionally, however your mind is forbidding you from conveying your need for him to him. Logic is whispering to you that he’s spent the entire day with you, canceled his work meeting because of you. You couldn’t possibly ask for more of his time, for more of him when he had already given you more than enough.

And besides, you can’t let your attachment reach this unhealthy depth. It triggers you, reminds you of the very thing that spliced your heart open almost a month ago. You don’t want to wander there, nor do you want to be pulled there if you were to ever let go of the reins. You can’t afford Jungkook’s life to entwine around your world again. Not when Hobi diligently dug a grave for it, threw its flesh down and covered it back with the soil, his straining muscles the very force that made you forget about… everything.

You can’t do that to yourself. And most importantly, you can’t do that to Hobi.

It’s the latter that propels you to fight. That gives you strength to raise the top half of your body onto your hands. You don’t give a fuck about yourself—you know full well that your life is cursed. Nothing good has ever come out of the events that creeped in until Hobi came along. And you don’t wish to break him out of a selfish intent. You don’t wish to break him because of him. He’s a pure angel, a saint with an honorable heart, a God that has his eye on you. You wouldn’t take it well, if the bane of the ambrosia of your life were ever to touch his lips.

He’s here, and that’s stable. He’s here, and that’s the reason why you need to protect him. From yourself, from the poison, from the rotten apple of your ex-boyfriend current persistence in entering your space all over again.

You don’t want to eat that spoiled fruit anymore, and so you simply won’t.

This decision has shifted the atmosphere because your phone is no longer going off. You sigh a breath of relief, running your fingers through your hair, and you get up, a Virgin Mary that has become a warrior for her God, and you begin to dress yourself.

You need some fresh air.

Clothing yourself in a matching outfit—a light wash baggy jeans, a cropped white tank and a denim jacket with your Nike’s, you grab your phone and keys and drift out into the night.

Your hair has dried while you slumbered and it ripples in the gentle wind of autumn. The street is lit in a darkly yellow tone, also dried from the morning’s downpour and you stop in the middle of the road, where Hobi drove past while you teased him. You breathe in the freshness of the air in effort to inhale your God, in effort to bring him into your system and your chin quivers with weakened emotions, with a weakened wish that he was here with you, holding your hand, giving you the last bit of strength you need. You know his warmth would smooth out your blood, boil it to a temperature that would cook up your joy and bring it to your heart on a silver platter. Bring it to your mind and calm the hurricane within, feed it so it doesn’t wail anymore.

And with another sigh, you will yourself to stop. Will yourself to stop needing. You will stumble and you will fall if you keep going down that road that has never shone brighter, that looks nothing like the one you’re standing in the middle of. And as inviting as it is, you close your eyes to get rid of the blessing reaching out for you—only to discover that it’s waiting for you there, too. A circle of light, of fire amidst a cloud of pure, pitch-black darkness.

You want to scream, and much to your neighbors’ dismay—you do.

It’s a singular, loud stream of your frustration, swaddled with the pulsating energy of your affection. And then your shoulders tremble. And it’s your tears that are louder than that murmuring watercourse in their very silence.

You head to the convenience store down the street with your teardrops dotting the ground as if it were the rain. You don’t want your neighbors to detect it was you, who caused the disturbance, and tell your parents. You have enough fire in your orchard, you don’t need another filling of oil.

You ask the very drowsy guy behind the counter for a strawberry ice vape. His round eyes, behind thick rimmed glasses that make them look even bigger, are barely kept open as he reaches for it with a flabby hand. Your eye catches the glint of a myriad of plan B’s right next to the shelf scattered with packs of lung burners and your heart constricts, a rivulet of emotion cascading down your cheek, caused by the fond recollection of Hobi’s intimate desire and you break—terribly, terribly break. Fruit trees crack in you, collapse to the ground with a horrendous thud and the berry bushes… they wither until they’re mere wisps of blackness. A picture of devastation.

The boy blinks twice when he turns around, regarding you, and he asks for your ID, only to startle when you glare at him. He tells you the price and you pay with your phone, thanking him and saying your curt goodbye.

One he doesn’t reciprocate.

You probably gave him the fright due to the tears marring your pallid cheeks. You hope he isn’t there the next time you’re in the mood to douse your lungs with chemicals.

Your hands are shaking as you’re tearing up the unnecessarily sturdy packaging. And your tears resume in their outpour when your manicured nails make your life harder than it already is. The tape folded over the top of the rectangular box is too thick and you hurt your nail beds when you claw at it. You have to use your teeth and the fucking thing finally gives in.

You furiously throw it out in the bin.

Feel an incoming calmness when you take a deep puff. And you do it over and over again until your cursed world spins, the plump swirls of smoke mingling with the night, never fully connecting. Not like you and Hobi.

And your world tilts on its axis once your phone lights up in your hand and there’s no picture to be found on the screen.

Your heart hammers, threatening to fling out of your throat.

Hobi is calling you.

And the thing is, you don’t really believe it.

Your vision swims as another onrush of dense tears blurs the letters of his name. You stare down at your phone, dumbly, sobbing and not caring at all that the spectacled boy can hear you.

You don’t know who does it—who swipes your finger across the screen and allows you to hear Hobi say the pet name that stole your soul. Who anoints your tears with strawberry-scented mollification while you fail to comprehend that the person you willed yourself not to need in order to not hurt him the way you were hurt somehow heard your cries and answered them like the God he is.

Because it couldn’t have been you. Not when you’ve become a lifeless sculpture in the middle of a yellowly-lit street. A modern, urban art—awakening ugliness in anyone’s first impression.

Not a sculpture of the angel you saw at the museum, the one Hobi took your picture with, though.

You're a sculpture of a road kill. A wounded, small animal, laying on its side with its guts out. And Hobi places them, with gentleness you’ve never felt before, back inside, stitches your belly closed and picks you up, carrying you in his arms. All because he repeats the pet name—with a slither of panic this time.

He acknowledged that something is wrong, validated it.

And somehow, it snaps you out of your vapor of numb sadness and shame permeates your body, cold sweat coats it—something beyond it, too. Something that makes you shiver so hard that your teeth begin to chatter, preventing you from speaking, your tongue twisted, lifeless.

A reality check.

You sent a filthy video of yourself getting rocked from behind to your ex-boyfriend, in which you screamed that your most intimate parts belong to another man.

You’re not Virgin Mary. You’re Mary Magdalene.

You don’t hear your pitiful crying fits, but Hobi does—and it is through his inhale of a trembling breath and his words that you perceive that you’re baring your ugliness to him.

“Pup, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You squeeze your vape in your small fist, sensing those words doing something in you—something that untwists your tongue and lets you breathe like him, though in painful, quick staccatos. Your frail legs hurt, not able to withstand your tremor, and they give out. You fall onto your bum, the impact and the gravel shooting a spark of pain up your spine and you whimper, your tears soaking your neckline.

“Hobi,” you call out, the last vowel breaking, teeth chattering, cacophonously. “I made a mistake. A terrible mi-mistake.”

He coos, sorrowfully, his loud breath still trembling—a strong rope nonetheless that you want to hold onto. That cord wouldn’t lead you to your death, wouldn’t scrape your hands with its harsh texture, wouldn’t be wrapped around a stone on the other end.

“Breathe for me, baby,” he says and guides you to do it. You inhale the night air with him, feeling like there isn’t enough of it to appease your lungs, and you exhale.

Somehow it halts the river of your cries and you do it again. Hobi lets you, patiently waiting on the other side, encouraging you and praising you. This time, it doesn’t sprinkle you with the sultriness of sin. No, you sense it cleansing you, giving you the kind of newness you stumbled across in his car this very morning. Your palm, the one that clutches your vape, opens and it rolls onto the ground. You grab it and when you wrap your fingers around it, you perceive that you do the motion around that newness. And your heart, your submission—they’re not letting up. Not again. Not when it’s him.

“That’s it,” Hobi praises, a hint of calmness in his tone. “Can you try and tell me what happened?”

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, the newness gracing you with strength that spreads feeling into your legs and you stretch them out. Blood pumps in them and you can sense the direction it’s traveling to. You tighten your grip, open your mouth to talk.

“I sent the video to the wrong person,” you utter, and along with your grip, your lungs tighten as well. No sobs escape you, no tears. Only gravely stillness, nothingness while your shame stands behind you, menacingly, a demon set out on destroying you, the curse upon your life a bracelet around its wrist, a knife in his hand, to which it’s attached.

Hobi doesn’t say anything for a moment and you can sense his shock, its cold tendrils the ice that courses down your legs. An agony forms in your heart, stretches out an arm of regret and strikes against your ribcage, pangs of guilt and self-disgust seizing your body.

“I’m so sorry, Hobi, I thought I sent it to you,” you continue, your voice splitting, though no external expression of it is evident on your countenance. It’s as if you were telling him the most ordinary of a thing. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a puff of your vape. It is only now that you can taste its strawberry savoriness and it suffuses your lungs with a mockingly sweet, feigned fume.

Hobi hears you exhale and you hear him swallow, dryly. An exchange, most redolent of the one you’ve done many times earlier.

“What are you smoking?” he asks, and it catches you off guard. You didn’t expect him to yell at you, nor did you expect him to scold you. Truth be told, your fragile state of mind didn’t let you expect anything of him, any sort of outcome. Yet this question still surprises you. It flattens lukewarmness upon your skin and you feel like nuzzling your face into it, needing more of it.

You take a deep breath. “I bought a strawberry vape. Scared the guy in the store with what I looked like.”

Hobi laughs through his nose, barely. That’s the real sweetness you know. The original one, from God himself. “I’m sure he thought you were beautiful. Should I beat him up?”

The same sound leaves you and lightness descends upon you. You welcome it in, without a fight, and the sigh you let out is of a serene kind, at last. “Not at all and besides, I almost did it myself. He asked for my ID.”

Hobi coos, the endearment prolonging—wafting through your ear down your throat until it clings to your heart. You snivel, your inkling to nuzzle into the apparition of him lining your body growing bigger until you submit to it. You graze your cheek upon your arm, propping both of them onto your lifted knees. Feel his caress, but faintly. It should be enough, but it isn't. Could never be.

You open your mouth again to tell him to come get you, despite the fight rising in you, but Hobi speaks first.

“I don’t blame him that he did. You’re just my little pup. But my adult, little pup. I’ll talk to him.” You hear a shuffling in the background and your breath hitches in your throat, your heart joining it, ascending. “Where are you? I’m getting in my car.”

Your mind, where the war is coming from, wins. That quickly. Reminds you that if you face him and tell him what you’ve done, you’ll ruin everything. Ruin the connection, ruin the affection he carries for you.

You’re hasty as you scramble your words, but as your heart descends back into your ribcage, it throws you a lifeline. It all happens in an instant and distaste pools on your tongue from the rapidness of it all. You never liked it, and you never will.

The lifeline of your new life, created by Hobi, changes your words, but leaves the intention untouched.

“Can I tell you who I sent it to?” you ask, taking a puff to relax the electricity of your nerves. The strawberry flavor only heightens it, though. Out it must go, then. So you can forget about it the moment you see his face.

The shuffling halts. “You can tell me in person,” Hobi says, lightly, but you shake your head. You know he means well. Know that he wants to reassure you with touch, but it’s a risk you can’t afford. Not when the wrong kind of neediness is at stake.

“I don’t want to talk about it when I see you,” you push, pursing your lips, finding them in a serious need of a chapstick. You begin to nibble on the flecks of skin that stick out. “I want to focus on you. I want to forget.”

No ounce of a lie in your words, though your intention still remains hidden. Rightfully so—him leaving you because of the storm of your mental state and issues is another risk you don’t want to have staining your hands with blood.

You hear him sit down. Hear him play with his keys—and the clanging sound is oddly comforting. “All right. Tell me, then.”

“I sent it to someone from my past,” you start with great difficulty, pause afterwards because a light pours in from behind. The squeak of breaks, the impatient buzzing of a running car. Your mouth dries, your torso turns around. A silhouette exits the vehicle and as the person emerges from the darkness and steps into the bright lights that it’s emitting, the name that slips past your lips is more of an acknowledgement of his presence than a disclosure of information. “Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops right behind you like the demon of your shame did, with his hands in his pocket. You don’t feel warmth radiating off of him. You feel coldness, a wintry coldness so akin to the one that troubled your body before Hobi called. He zeroes his gaze down on you, piercing your irises with a fury that causes the fine hair on the nape of your neck to rise, painfully. The muscles of his forearms are clenched, oscillating as he drums his fingers on his thighs in the cocoons of his pockets. Your breath trembles, terror prickling you profoundly until it cuts your skin open and you whimper—you whimper with a sob.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Hobi asks, softly, and you close your eyes to incarcerate your tears, curling your lips under your teeth, terribly fearful that Jungkook can hear him.

Cursed, your life is.

He shows no sign that he does—merely burns with that fury, patiently waiting for you to end the call. Your heart stills, ache replacing it, and you think it’s been wounded so much that it can barely work anymore.

More than ever, you feel like that Mary Magdalene, face to face with the devil that tempts her to return to her vomit like a dog.

Hobi calls your name, panics, and it’s another lifeline—this time thrown over your torso by his own hands. You have to fight, you have to stand up to this hell and walk the fuck away from it.

“Baby, I gotta go. Please, hurry. Please,” you pule, stressing the last pretty word to divulge to him how grave the situation is that you’re in. Hobi lets out a breath, lowly and shortly, and it’s such a relief that he understood your vague message, that you can hear him scurrying to his feet and that comforting sound of his keys clanging.

“I’ll be there in a few, pup. Tell me where you are. Are you safe? Do you have your keys?” Hobi spews, massaging your heart with his care and there’s no ceaselessness to your tears.

“Down the road, like less than a minute away from my apartment. And I don’t know. And yeah, they’re in my pocket.”

A bang of his door closing. Jungkook begins to tap his foot. You scowl at him, despite your fear. He doesn’t stop. You withdraw your gaze.

Hobi’s breath quickens. “Pull them out and use them when you need to, okay? Have them ready in your hand.” You nod, doing exactly as he says, without a thought spared. “Walk to your apartment building, I’ll meet you there. You got your keys in your hand?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, pup, I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?”

You do, but you can’t.

“I’ll go to my apartment now, Hobi. Thank you.”

You don’t allow yourself to hear what he says next. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you hang up with a heavy heart. Your sudden, miserable aloneness enfolds around you, rigidly. But not as rigidly as Jungkook’s cold hand around your arm.

The heaviness in your heart grows as its drum speeds up.

“Get up,” Jungkook grunts, hauling you up onto your feet, awkwardly, causing you to drop your vape onto the gravel with the strength and hastiness he uses to do it with.

You stumble before you catch your balance and Jungkook doesn’t let go of his deathly grip on you until you do. Then, before your blurring sight, he bends at the waist and picks up your lung burner, skimming his eyes over it. Hands it to you with a scoff, his touch icy cold as he grabs your wrist and places it onto your palm. You sob, with ugliness that scars you, with such intensity that Jungkook’s narrowed eyes round and you pull your gaze away. You don’t want to see it. Tug your arm away from him, rubbing your wrist to get rid of the ghost of his fingers there, disgust flooding your bloodstream underneath.

And even though he seemingly softened at your tears, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It didn’t touch his fury, not at all.

“Baby, huh?” he seethes with gritted teeth, letting go of you so harshly that you almost stumble again. “Your pussy is his, huh?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, rivulets of tears rolling down your cheeks, pain compressing your entire body. It’s at this moment that you will death to take you somewhere far, far away from him, because you’re too frozen on the spot to run away.

“You’re covered in hickeys and you’re smoking that shit again. Was it really that good? Did he fuck you so good that you had to send it to me in spite? Did he fuck you better than I ever did?”

Your sobs gain that same agony that prevents your lungs from inhaling. And when you open your eyes, all you can look at is your shadow and his, yours blackened so much that it digs a hole in the gravel, his furling with flames.

And along with death, you will a little strength into your anguish.

And most unbelievably, it slinks in, and your following words come as much of a surprise to you as to him.

“Stop.”

His shadow stills, his tremor following suit.

“You have no business talking to me this way,” you continue, your throat constringing, and you take a big puff of your vape—to spite him rightfully this time. It loosens the tightness and you open your mouth, not finished with your outpour.

But Jungkook stops you.

“I have no business? You crushed my fucking heart.”

Your head whips and the sight of him causes your pain to rise in levels. Palms outstretched towards you, his posture slouches and the breaths he lets out are wretched, the sound of a tumultuous sea at night. One would think he’s the one being inflicted great emotional violence on, not the other way around.

Jungkook raises a finger to his heart, licking his lips before he flattens them, as if the utterance of something so private, so fervent took all of his strength. He pants and you know it’s due to the fact that he can’t catch up to the thoughts rushing in his brain. And you wish you didn’t. You wish you didn’t know him so intimately.

“This fucking heart has never stopped being yours,” he confesses and cringes at his choice of words, triggered. Your stream of anguish is silent as you take them in. “And you crushed it. Ruined it.”

There was a time, one that used to be nearly endless during those weeks in August you spent at the beach, healing from the breakup, when you longed to hear that confession. Prayed for it. Sough it when you grazed your fingertips along the sand. And now that it’s here—now that you’re tasting something so great, greater than your entire being, something so burnt as he voiced out your tendency to cause ruination—you wish you never heard it. Wish you never had the ears that carried that message to you.

And there’s nothing you can do. Not as darkness swallows you, confiscating any bit of strength you had left. Your eyes sting from their downpour, face features droop. Your pain is an enormous stone and you can’t carry it. You can only chase away the heft. And you do—you take a puff of your vape.

One that he rips from your mouth and throws it out in the bin, preventing you from doing so. You don’t yelp, you don’t claw at his arm—you merely watch him rid you of your only salvation for the night, watch him exert his power over you all over again, bursting your indignation into flames.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you ask, your voice deathly, uncannily placid, carrying no tendril of the offense and anger you feel. Adrenaline courses through you, asking to be let out.

And you just might.

Jungkook turns around and spits on the ground. “Don’t smoke that shit.”

It’s not hurt, what the expression of his arrogance produced. It unlocked the door, which kept your adrenaline and your darkened emotions at bay, invited them out.

And so you lash out, using that freedom.

You slap him.

And he takes it. Without moving an inch. Still as a grand statue. You yearn to demolish it to smithereens, so you can never see him again, and you strike at his chest with your keys in between your fingers, pushing him. Affected from the force, it causes him to unwillingly take a step back and it feels fucking glorious until you catch stars flash in his eyes.

“You’re hitting me because I threw out your fucking vape?” he asks, his voice coated with a dark bitterness that deepens it. His brows furrow, grimness casting a shadow over his face, hiding the glitter of the stars. “I’m laying my heart out to you. I’m here in the middle of the night because of you and this is what you care about? This fucking thing that harms you is more dear to you?”

You push him again, fuming. Jungkook grits his teeth, takes your wrists and holds them in the air. You fight against it, but he won’t budge. Tightens his grip. And you’re a bird, locked in a cage—but you still have your voice.

“I’m hitting you because I hate you,” you mutter, burning him with the vapor of your anger through your narrowed eyes. “I’m hitting you because I hate the way you think you’re still entitled to have a say in my life. And it doesn’t even matter whether I have a man or not. You let me go and the moment you did that, your control over my life? It went fucking bye bye.”

You let him forbid you from smoking in the past. Needed it at the time, needed a father’s hand—and you liked it because you never had it. Never had a male care about you, about your health, about your actions. Your father never spared you a glance, never gave a fuck about you. He always had your mother handle you, blaming her for the way she raised you.

But during those weeks you healed, being alone by the sea helped you unattach yourself from that, from needing Jungkook to tell you what’s right and what’s not. The moon doesn’t tell the sea which shells to wash up onto the shore—it does it by itself, handpicks them, makes the decision. And the more time you watched it deliver it to you and you collected them with gladness, the more you understood it.

You’re never letting him have that power over you again. You’re your own person, carrying an armful of your right and wrong decisions—your own possessions. And so you will smoke if you want to. You will bring a man home on the first date. You will fall in love. And you will speak up.

You twist your wrists, unrelentingly, until he lets go. You will win, not your mind, not your heart. The raw, brutal, unabashed you.

You take a step back away from him, feel your blood rushing to the places of your body parts that he held, quick to recover them. “You don’t get to dictate my life anymore. You have no place in it. You didn’t have it then when I was by myself, and you most certainly don’t have it now.”

Jungkook takes in your words with a parted mouth, a red mark forming over his cheek, the light shunned from his eyes. The glorious feeling returns, blooming thin, translucent tissues of happiness in you.

“Hoseok is his name, isn’t it?” he chunters, placing his hands back into the cocoons of his pockets, tilting his head to the side.

Hearing him say his name is a taste of spoiled milk and bile springs up your throat, your guts longing to empty themselves out. You stifle it, you have to, clutching your stomach, feeling so horribly faint. Your hatred for him blossoms like that poison ivy you dealt with earlier in the morning.

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” you spit, scowling at him, clutching your stomach harder—just like Hobi did when you brought him home. A sliver of nostalgia forces you to look behind you, in case you catch a glance of his car, but the street remains empty and sullen.

“You can hate me as much as you want,” Jungkook mutters, his words swiveling your head back to face him, and your guts ripple. “Yell at me. Hit me. But don’t send me videos of you getting fucked. That’s not fucking right.”

You bare your teeth, seething. “I made a mistake.”

Jungkook nods. “Yes,” he hushes. “Yes, you did.”

You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand.” Confusion pinches his brows, creating a wrinkle in the middle and he lets you continue. You lick your lips, your face dry from the way your tears have seeped inside. “I thought I sent it to Hobi. I was too tired, I didn’t see. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Jungkook scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip swiftly, mimicking you. “Don’t fucking lie to me, little girl.”

You mewl, painfully, at the pet name. It’s as if he sank a dagger in the middle of your sternum. Weariness descends upon you and you rub your eyes, wishing you had your strawberry vape, your salvation, in your fist. And you find no traces of any grit, any determination to convince him that you’re being truthful to him.

You turn around halfway. “Go home.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, but the squeaking sound of brakes causes him to close it right away. You know it’s Hobi and the knowledge is more satisfying than the dose of chemicals Jungkook threw out. Relief washes over you, bringing along lightness and something that is kindred to joy. You don’t care that Hobi is about to see your ex-boyfriend. You don’t care about anything at all—you’re just so grateful that he’s here. And you’re willing to let go of your walls, of your war that you tend to be so submissive to. You’re willing to let yourself go and let Hobi take you, handle you, take care of you.

You need it. As much as it pains you, you need him after this encounter with Jungkook.

And when Hobi calls your name and you pivot on your feet to watch him walk, hurriedly, to you, your legs do give out after all. Because he’s caked in blood, a trickle of it flecked and dried on his brow, illuminated by Jungkook’s headlights. You land, awkwardly, on your bum and your wrist, wincing in pain, but it’s not his hands that lift you.

It’s a pair of hands that you know to be cold and, despising the sting of it, you shriek, pushing him away. The motion leads you to stagger into Hobi’s arm that he opens for you, his chaste, feathery touch grounding you, giving you the sense of home, even when the look he gives Jungkook is anything but warm and friendly.

“Hobi, what happened? Are you okay?”

You take his shiny, sweaty face into your hand. Your eyes could fall out of their sockets due to how beautiful he is, even bloodied, alarmed and bestial. You need to know what happened. Need to clean him up. Take him home.

But Hobi doesn’t answer you. Doesn’t look your way, only acknowledges you with his scalding touch. Stares down your ex-boyfriend with such contempt that you’re surprised the man is still standing.

You’re so pulled in, so focused on him and his unwavering expression of detestation, which flatters you and soothes you, that you don’t notice that Jungkook is leaving. Hobi snaps his fingers at him and beckons him to come back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hobi barks, his fingers lowering and hooking around the middle belt loop of your jeans.

Jungkook returns to that space of light, the black tank top he’s wearing making it seem like he’s hollow on the inside. Perhaps he is, he did hand over his heart. Wasn’t affected by your fragile state of mind, by your tears. Wounded you to the point that you will take days to recover. Only a person of complete nothingness would be able to do that.

“I saw you at the museum,” Hobi continues, brows wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?”

You should speak. You should take this elsewhere, but you can’t. Not when you feel so small, like a little girl hiding behind the leg of her father who’s dealing with the boogeyman. And you’re reminded that this has happened before.

Only the roles were reversed.

In the wine-tinged room this morning while you were confronting Jungkook and his companion found him. She asked the same question, though the hostility she showed you could never be compared to Hobi’s unkindness. He emanates respect while she’s a condensation of insecurity.

“I see you’re the Daddy from the video,” Jungkook laughs, humorlessly, dipping his chin before he lifts it in a very evident effort to reach not only Hobi’s height but his supremacy as well. He will always wish to overpower—it’s in his nature. “Trust me, you’re not the only one she called Daddy. Long before you came along, it was all I heard from her—”

You blink and Jungkook’s face is in Hobi’s hand.

You gasp. You’re a witness to Hobi protecting your dignity as he squeezes his cheeks until Jungkook moans, pathetically, in pain. And all you can think about is how long he had that coming. For throwing out your vape, for his arrogance and now for the way that he spoke about you.

You don’t feel a slither of pity for him.

No—your joy, fully, forms.

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to unable to you talk,” Hobi says with concerning seriousness and you shiver, grazing your fingertips along your collarbones after you fold your arms over your chest, touched, flattered, loved. A line of tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, but you hold them back. You don’t want to cry anymore—you’re sick of it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. Hobi waggles him before he lets him go and you swear you caught a tinge of whiteness scattering along his knuckles. Your mouth dries.

“Now you’re dismissed,” Hobi finishes, turning around and grabbing your hand, tugging you back home.

Your legs follow him, but your vision doesn’t. It remains fixed on Jungkook, on his heaving chest, on his reddened cheeks, embossed with Hobi’s fingerprints and the lines of your hand. His eyes are smothered with stars, a skyful of them, ones that expand until there’s no darkness left.

And you’re witness to regret taking shape in them.

And something about that tells you that this isn’t the last time you see him.

Hobi had been in a car accident on his way to rescue you. He tells you of it as you’re cleaning him up with a lukewarm, wet cloth and your arm gets stuck in the air, unable to move, as you comprehend the life-threatening danger he underwent because of you. Another driver bumped him from the back while he was slowing down at the yellow light, wanted to race on the almost empty highway. Was under the influence, Hobi found out when he stepped out of his vehicle to grapple with him. Deemed it wasn’t worth it, especially when time was pressing down on him, and with a little manipulation and an installment of fear, the silly guy agreed to pay for everything and Hobi got his number.

You wonder at how he managed to get back inside his car and drive when he hit his head on the steering wheel. You worry that he has a concussion. Suggest to take him to a hospital, but Hobi only shakes his head, reassures you he’s fine and once you completely clean the blood off of his brow, you can see a thin but bulbous scratch right beneath the fine hair, surrounded by violets and pinks. A different bruise from the ones bestrewn over his body from your mouth.

Your heart aches. This is all your fault, the repercussion of your neediness, the finished work of your ruination.

You grow solemn, your features drooping again, but Hobi isn’t blind to it. Cups your chin, lifts it, fondles it with his thumb. Pouts ever so slightly. Why is it a relief that you feel bursting in your chest amidst your lingering pain is something you can’t really understand.

But he’s God. No wonder he’s able to mount such strangeness in you and make it work.

“Did he hurt you?” Hobi whispers, cradling your other hand on your lap. He’s sat in your armchair, with you on his thighs, in the very corner of your dark living room, lit up coolly and solely by your antique lampshade. It’s where you read your poetry, where you recite it to nobody else but you, where you recharge your battery when your world exhausts you. The fact that Hobi chose to sit here instead of your couch speaks volumes, has a great meaning that you’re too weary to decipher and romanticize, but you like it. A lot. To the point that you’re comfortable enough to answer his question, despite the fact you looked forward to Jungkook’s absence in your alone time with Hobi.

“The way he spoke about me was the same way he talked to me,” you say, your voice coated with milky sadness. Your eyes instinctively drop to his hand holding yours, to his fist wrapped around your fingers. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t send it to him on purpose.”

Brusqueness clouds his eyes, but he remains gentle with you. “You don’t have to care about what he thinks, whether he believes you or not. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Your one word is enough,” Hobi says, drifting his hand down your arm until it winds up at his other one intertwined with yours and you sob, tearlessly. It’s precisely what you needed to hear without knowing it, the final touch to the closing chapter that had so abruptly opened. You carry it into your minuscule heart, sinking it there, letting it permeate its entirety, and you nod your head. “Did he hurt you physically?”

You lay yourself down on his chest, on his bloodstained blue shirt, on his heart that you missed and Hobi locks you in, taking his hands and wrapping them around your form. You could fall asleep like this, forget and become the happiest girl in the world.

“Not that much.”

His heart quickens and you regret your words.

“What do you mean not that much?”

You’re quick to fix your mistake, not thinking it through.

“He was rough with me. My legs gave out on me before he came. He found me on the ground and he lifted me up. Then held my wrists when I hit him—”

“You hit him?”

You stammer, jumbling your words, deciding on just one. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, squeezing your arm, and this is the death you longed for.

Never in your life had you ever experienced praise from a man in a non-sexual context and not gotten lustfully affected by it. The purity, the newness is so healing, so consequential that you can’t help but to stroke his clothed ribs in side to side motion, in appreciation and even a faint smile of fondness curls your lips, one that Hobi can very well see from above. He caresses the trace of it while it is still there, causing your smile to blossom, and you sense the orchard in you gaining life.

“You went through so much emotional suffering today and yet you’re still able to smile. All because I praised you. You react so beautifully to it,” Hobi comments and you blush, his thumb skipping over to it, giving it the same attention, collecting it like keepsakes. You’d wonder at it, too, if you haven’t already acknowledged yourself, intimately, with his sovereign power of erasing past events.

And you tell him, peeling your torso off of his chest.

“It’s your doing. You make me forget about everything when I’m with you. It’s like it never happened at all. I don’t know how you do it.”

Hobi smiles, the corners of his glimmering eyes crinkling. “If it’s my doing, then it’s yours, too. You should know how you do it.”

You soften into liquid and it’s your heart that quietly weeps now. “You remember the poem.”

He nods, gliding his hand up and down your side. “How could I not? It’s all I can hear in my mind. I kept hearing it on my way home and then on my way back to you.”

That alone takes the unfateful events of the night off of you like a layer of clothing, dressing you in strength. You need a giant puff of your vape, just to recuperate from being drowned in the sea of your past longing for this. And you reach into the pocket of your jeans, only to be reminded of what happened to it.

It feels like a distant memory. So much had occurred that it slipped from your mind. You frown.

“What’s wrong?”

You purse your lips. “I thought I still had my vape.”

“You don’t?”

You shake your head. “He threw it out.”

Hobi seems as offended by the information as you were when you watched it happen. And as much as you bonded over your sexual desires, the same connection clicks over this.

“He’s such a dick. Let’s get you a new one.”

He pats your bum and then you’re on your feet, tugged back outside, with a smile quivering your lips. And this time you follow him with your vision, too. Your eyes sail over his strong imaginary wings, on which the pink dominates the black, and you feel your own being upheaved, slowly gaining the vigor that they lost.

And Hobi scares the spectacled boy in the convenience store. Not with his stained shirt, but with the way he provokes embarrassment in him by asking him if he wants to see his ID as well, staying true to the words he said to you over the phone. The boy didn’t even so much as peek at you, too afraid to do so.

It made you laugh.

Hobi double checked with you if it were the strawberry flavor that you wanted, and you changed your mind. Picked the blackberry one because you never had it before. Could use another dose of newness.

He opens the packaging with you, struggling at first, but then he immediately uses his teeth. You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt.

Smile even as he places it between your lips, but you can’t take a puff, can’t drop the presence of your happiness, even when he encourages you. That is until he inhales it first—you’re so struck by the beauty of it, of him that the muscles in your face let up. The smoke twirls around the feathers of his wings, adding just the right amount of white into its art, and you yearn to fall asleep on them.

“Can you stay over tonight?”

“Only if you take a puff.”

He carves it between your lips and this time, as you’re so mesmerized by him, you wrap your lips around it and suck; suck in that heady, hefty, colorful flavor that pools warmly in your throat, blowing the smoke around his neck while he kisses your forehead. Takes you back inside. Dresses you in your pajamas. Lets you smoke in bed with his wings swaddling you and your little childhood bows-adorned bunny plushie. Lets you put the vape in his mouth as he strokes your hair.

The night birds begin to sing and into their song your phone dings. You know who it is long before you prove yourself right.

But it’s not a text message that disturbed their music.

Jungkook sent you a picture.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

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7surugi · 2 days

Text

blue waves and his last kiss ｜ satosugu x f!reader

with a friend abruptly gone from your lives one day, you and satoru are left behind to reminisce about the love from past to present, and a future without him.

[content] slice of life, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationships, mentions of sex, mentions of underage drinking & smoking, mentions of death, implied child neglect/abuse, something about trying to cope with loss and grief (?? i think), non-linear

[word count] 9.3k

[note] summer memories told out of chronological order… i tried to do something new ┐(´ー｀)┌

The train gradually slows, screeching to a stop, piercing his ears and rings. This old village is still surrounded by a dreamy haze, almost slumbering, everything here is slowed down, and Satoru can feel everything; the gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of the ocean brings him back to summer. Their summer. His summer with you.

Walking down the streets feels a little empty, drained of life, gravel crunches beneath his feet with each stride, nothing has changed within a year, and he inhales, loosening his tie. Satoru has never been fond of wearing suits for formal events; he wishes he had worn his school uniform to attend the ceremony instead.

Dreadful, thick air, the smell of the dead welcomes him before he steps into the place. White chrysanthemums, lilies, and Satoru almost finds it hard to breathe here. It’s full of people he doesn’t recognise, an old lady he thinks he met last summer, and you. Even by your back alone, Satoru knows it’s you. So small and curled up near the corner, your head is hung low, not looking at anyone or anything, eyes getting lost in the thin lines of the flooring.

Satoru kneels down beside you, wrapping an arm around your stiff shoulders. You look up in surprise, eyes empty, brimmed-red, matching the tip of your nose. “Hi. Sorry, the train was a little delayed.”

“Satoru…” your voice comes out croaky, barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks down at you, pulling you into his arms as he tells you it’s okay, that you are fine. You really aren’t fine, it’s evident in your tired expression, your broken heart you wear on your sleeve. But you are still alive. You, a non-sorcerer. That should count for something, and it does, it’s more than something, in a tragic way, Satoru understands what it means. A remaining piece of him begins to break.

You are shaking in his arms and he holds you tighter. “How could this happen? They said…” your words are lost within your mumbling and how you are pressed right against his chest. “And the police said they don’t know… I don’t—Satoru.” His name escapes your mouth, you say it so sadly, begging him for something he can’t give to you, something that he wants, too.

“I don’t know,” he chokes out an easy lie, thin, almost painful, none of his eyes are looking at you. His line of sight is only focused on the pairs of slanted eyes that replicate the deep, soul sucking ones he had first met when the cherry blossoms bloomed three years ago. Incense smoke rising high in front of the still frames.

—

Satoru forces himself to tag along, much like he always seems to do these days, hanging off of Suguru, following him around to annoy him. He allows Satoru to come with him to visit his hometown because Suguru wouldn’t leave him in this shithole alone, right? (Of course, Suguru would never do that.)

After hours riding the train, it comes to a slow stop. Cicadas greet them with a loud screech in the air once they hop off the train, the familiar scent of the ocean hits, and that’s how Suguru knows he returned back to his hometown. It’s humid, too hot out here, his loose strand of hair begins to stick to his forehead, and Suguru wipes away the sweat. He glances over to Satoru who looks absolutely fine in the heat, he doesn’t understand how Satoru rarely sweats, even during training. Even Buddha has his favourites.

“Oh, wow? This place is so…” Satoru trails off as he looks around at the scenery around them.

“So what?”

“Unique.” It clicks off of Satoru’s tongue like a sickening sweet insult, coated bright red in the cherry flavoured lollipop that he sucked on the ride here. Rude. Snobby. And hypocritical. Satoru had been raised in the countryside too, Suguru learned this months after being ridiculed by the said boy for being a ‘country boy’. They aren’t so different. However (unlike him), Satoru is someone special, so special, and was raised in a secluded place for a reason. A reason nobody, but the holder of six-eyes could understand, and a small fishing village like this is nothing compared to what Satoru is used to.

Suguru rolls his eyes at that, not replying, to which Satoru takes as a sign to continue speaking. “It’s very you, Sugu-chan. I mean it.”

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Okay, sorry, so sorry,” he unapologetically replies with a smirk, childish and irritating, mischief reflecting in his icy eyes, a grin that begins to grow deviously. “Guru-chan.”

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”

“Oh, you should know flattery will get you nowhere.”

—

His mother greets him with a hug, wrinkled and cold hands holding him, she glances over his shoulder to Satoru, whose eyes are darting around the old hallway, his judging eyes hidden behind those tinted black lenses. “Is this the special boy you told me about?”

“Oh, you called me special, Suguru?” Satoru teasingly asks with a laugh to his words.

Suguru rolls his eyes at the boy’s growing ego, somebody needs to pop it one day. “I didn’t say that. And yes, mom, this is Gojō Satoru, one of my classmates,” he says, drawing out the last word, Satoru clicks his tongue. “Satoru, this is my mom.”

Suguru watches the two share a greeting, forced, and awkward kindness neither of them share. The walk to his bedroom is short, Satoru is quick to force his way inside to inspect the room he will be staying in for the next few weeks. He predicts Satoru’s next words correctly, like always, saying, ‘What a small room,’ and then, ‘How interesting.’ Asshole. What makes it annoying is how Satoru isn’t trying to be rude, this is just how he speaks, which is somehow more irritating.

Satoru is looking through his leftover collection of CDs he had forgotten to pack the last time he was here, he had already brought all of his favourite ones with him. Satoru picks out an album, one he is quick to recognise as the one his childhood got for him last christmas, ‘My Sweet Darlin’’ by Hitomi Yaida plays on his old stereo, your favourite song of hers. Satoru mentions this is his favourite single by her, Suguru blinks, he doesn’t mention you, nor the coincidence.

“Suguru!”

Ah, speaking of the devil, he thinks as he hears you before he sees you, the familiar sound of your footsteps running down the hall, your voice, and the moment he turns around you wrap your arms around him.

“Oh, hi, didn’t expect you to get here so quick,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer for a second, the scent of your shampoo and perfume is so sweet like coconuts.

“That’s what I should be saying, you know how those trains are always delayed,” you happily reply, saying something about how it’s been a while and that you missed him.

Satoru can’t keep his eyes off of you, his gaze locked on your figure, then he looks to Suguru, and smirks, mouthing some words, which widens Suguru’s eyes as he subtly shakes his head.

“I brought over some leftover onigiri I made earlier… Oh, wait, are you and your friend not done packing yet? I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,” you say, looking over to Satoru who acknowledges your attention with a simple wave and signature smile in which you return.

“Okay, we’ll be down in a minute,” Suguru says to you as you nod, making your way out the door to the kitchen downstairs.

“Hey, you’ve never mentioned a girlfriend before… She is kinda hot, she might be the Waka Inoue type in a few years. You’re one lucky guy,” Satoru says letting out a shameless whistle.

“She is my childhood friend,” Suguru hisses once he makes sure you are out of sight. “Don’t say things like that about her.”

“What? It was a compliment. I always say things like this to you and you never—” Satoru abruptly stops, and Suguru can tell his eyes are gleaming behind those stupid sunglasses of his, he teasingly grins, pearly white flashing at him. “Oh. I get it. It’s ‘cause she is like your girl, but isn’t your girl, right?” His girl. Not his girl.

Suguru scoffs at the assumption, denying it. “No… Satoru, sometimes normal people find talk like that gross.”

“Okay then… I am so sorry,” he slowly replies, voice void of understanding, obviously not knowing why people may be turned off hearing words like that. His words go in and out through the other ear, Satoru only likes to hear what he wants to hear. “But you think she’s hot, like, it’s not just me, right?”

Suguru merely shrugs his shoulders with a sigh, dismissing Satoru. He agrees, saying you are pretty and changes the subject to something Satoru likes. To digimon and those pokémon cards he’s been collecting.

(You made tuna onigiri, his favourite, and karashi mentaiko onigiri, with a glass of iced genmaicha, exactly what is needed on a day like this.)

—

You are eighteen when you are whisked away from this little dull village to the lively city of Tokyo. To a bigger world where the lights never turn off. For a long time you’ve imagined this moment, and now that your wish has come true, you can’t find yourself smiling like you do in your fantasies. The midnight train ride is a long one, it’s silent and cold, too. The scenery passes you by, too fast and too dark to see.

Satoru is here with you. Sitting in the blue seat in front of you, his signature sunglasses rest low on the bridge of his nose. Eyes so void of emotion. Similar to when winter arrives and frosts over the ocean. A sheet of ice, you cannot see nothing, but your own reflection. Full of discomfort, chilling, you hate the way your lonesome reflection is hazed and muddled when he looks at you. You don’t want to see it, so you turn away.

“You good over there?”

“Yeah, I am just getting tired. It’s a little late,” you reply and before you get the chance to ask if he’s alright (which would be an understatement; his lifeless eyes and the dark circles that rest underneath are quite telling, almost as if he hasn’t slept in a few days), he quietly laughs as he leans his head against the cold window, saying he’s a little tired, too.

This Satoru resembles nothing of the boy you met during summer back then. That boyish smile of his feels lacks warmth; those pretty blue eyes of his are fully crystallised, reminding you of when snow heavily begins to fall. Summer is over, your final summer of youth comes to an end, the last page scribbled of black swirls.

Satoru sends you a sleepy smile when he catches your eyes glancing at him from time to time, you force a thin smile back. “This is exciting, huh? It’s like you’re a dumb kid running away from home, following some random guy to Tokyo. Imagine if you were following a murderer home.”

You awkwardly laugh at Satoru’s joke, his sense of humour is sometimes different from what you are used to, Suguru would say this is just how Satoru is, and not to take his words too seriously. You assume it’s a city people thing. “Wow, how romantic, or should I be concerned right now?”

“Perhaps, it is a little bit of both. Scared of me yet?”

“Maybe a little bit now,” you jokingly reply.

Underneath his playful tone and airy laugh, bitterness lies beneath, and you can understand it all too well. When Satoru catches your lurking eyes, he pushes up his frames, shielding those eyes of his from you, black lens blocking you out. You are tired, so tired, yet sleep doesn’t consume you the entire ride there.

—

The entire sky is painted bright blue, thin white clouds floating above, instantly reminding him of Satoru. The sky twinkles deeply in his eyes, the sun captured within, Suguru is almost envious at how Satoru easily consumes the world, how the world kisses him.

You and Suguru drag Satoru out of the house to show him your secret spot in this little seaside town. You are carrying a homemade kite that you’ve been working on the past few days, made up of scrap fabric from your old bed sheet. Suguru and Satoru follow behind you, carrying a bag of snacks and cold drinks from the little shop on the main street.

Walking up north, the wind carries the sand across their exposed ankles, behind an area seemingly of huge rocks is an area on the beach where people don’t come to (you and Suguru just haven’t seen anyone here throughout the years).

You carefully lay your kite down on the sand, holding the handle tightly in your hands, your skirt flutters in the wind as you run.

The two of them sit on a long beach towel, picking at the carefully assorted fruits, Satoru only eats the strawberries before eating the other fruits. Satoru glances over his shoulder to you, nudging Suguru, as he tilts his head in your direction.

“Have you ever fucked her?” Satoru is blunt, he asks this with a knowing grin to his smug face. “Like, nobody could blame you if you dreamt about it before.”

“You’re an idiot, Satoru,” he scoffs, his words or actions aren’t harsh, he is almost smiling. How he thinks of you is no one’s business, but his own, what he does with you is only for you to know, and of course, Satoru will only think of it as sex, like all teenage boys do. Suguru can’t help, but roll his eyes. He realises that maybe Satoru has never liked someone before, like like.

“So you have…?”

“I never said that.”

“Didn’t deny it either.”

Satoru is someone who is loved by others, thousands have waited for his birth for many years. Satoru has the world beneath his feet — the elders, and his clan worship the very ground he walks on. He has marriage candidates, girls younger and older than him selected to become his wife, which Satoru always complains about. It’s sad, very sad, and he can’t help but feel bad for his best friend.

Everyone loves Gojō Satoru, but nobody really likes him. Suguru wonders if he’s the only person that will ever know Satoru, who he is, and what lies in his heart.

Your handmade kite drifts in the air, slowly coming down, until Satoru begins to chase you, you run and run, the kite flying high right behind you.

—

Satoru watches, watches, and watches — he has always been good at that. He sees everything, things nobody will ever see, light shimmering in the darkest cracks, specs of crushed stars scattering this world, six eyes allow him to, he is Gojō Satoru, afterall.

His focus is on Suguru and by extension, you. Your neighbours down the street, the Yamato’s, had given the three of you an extra watermelon they had grown. Suguru had chopped it open, cutting half of it into thick slices. It’s so sweet, refreshing on this hot day, the three of you are sitting in Suguru’s backyard, drinking in the summer heat and the cool breeze that drifts by every few minutes.

You offer Suguru a bite from the slice of watermelon you had already bitten. Suguru doesn’t like to share food – something about sharing germs and what-not – however, Suguru opens his mouth, taking a huge bite causing you to whine, yelling about how you hate it when he does that. You hit his shoulder and he playfully grins at you, your little star pendant swaying around your neck. He studies this side of Suguru he hasn’t seen before.

Watermelon juice runs down your hand, dripping onto your exposed thigh, you don’t wipe it away, not noticing it as you continue to talk and Satoru grabs another slice off of the plate to eat. He picks all of the black and white seeds out with his fingers before eating.

“Yup, but Tomoko-san absolutely loves pretty boys, so she will probably try to set you up for marriage with one of her daughters—they’re like eleven now,” you say, “right, Suguru? She is sweet but loves to chat a lot.”

Tomoko-san. Off the main street. White roof. Free fruits and drinks. Satoru has no idea what you are talking about or referring to, but he hums every time you pause for a second in wonder if he is listening, and he lets you know he is.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. Satoru doesn’t shut up.”

“Hey, don’t say that about him,” you scold him in a friendly manner, before turning your head to Satoru, flashing him a sweet smile, lips glossy from the watermelon juice. “If she bothers you, all you need to do is remind her that Suguru is at the age where he may need a suitor.”

“Ooh, throwing him under the bus, I like that.”

“I don’t. I’ll kill you if you do,” Suguru grumbles, and Satoru immediately takes his words as a challenge. Satoru has never once backed down from a challenge.

“How could you? You can’t even beat me during sparring, Suguru.”

“Should we find out then?” Suguru bites back like he always does, he’s never liked to be challenged.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Hey! No fighting, it’s a nice day out, and I am trying to relax,” you speak up loudly between them, your hand gripping onto Suguru’s wrist.

“It’s actually called sparring,” Satoru spits out, and you roll your eyes.

Suguru explains this is just how they are, they spar together almost everyday during training, it’s something fun they like to do, especially when they are given permission to use their cursed techniques (which is rarely ever now after the damage they created during their first year).

You say, “I know that, but I don’t want to see two guys fight, oh, sorry, spar, nobody wants to see that.”

Suguru loosens his wrist from your grip, lightly holding onto your hand, stroking it with his thumb as he looks at you, telling you no spar would be taking place, they were only fooling around. Suguru looks a little different around you.

He wonders if Suguru loves you. Like the way humans love one another. He can tell that his best friend feels something towards you — something that isn’t friendly in the way Suguru treats him, it is in a way that’s foreign to him, perhaps, it’s because you two are childhood friends. Satoru has never had a childhood friend, so he wouldn’t know what it feels like. This side of Suguru is unfamiliar, overly gentle, touches that linger and tighten before letting go, something deeply blurred and entangled between the two of you. You are dangerously blurred within those violet eyes. Suguru has you, he probably has since so long ago, and you have him, and maybe that is a fact you don’t know.

Satoru sprinkles a bit of salt onto his watermelon slice, copying what he had seen you and Suguru do earlier. He immediately bites into it, the salty taste makes him grimace, spitting it out onto the freshly cut grass to which you both loudly laugh at. Suguru says he didn’t wait long enough, so he tries again, waiting a few minutes this time, the juice explodes into his mouth, overflowing with sweetness and he becomes addicted.

—

During the summer of your third year, you almost take all of your belongings and run to Tokyo. Almost. Yet you don’t, staying curled up on your bed in silence, swallowing your pain and hatred, your screams go unheard in the deep ocean. Forever muffled. The cicadas buzz loudly tonight, too loudly, the town is always so quiet during the night.

Tonight, Suguru visits you alone, without a call or any heads up. It’s midnight, you heard his school has a curfew, you wonder if he’ll get in trouble once he returns (“—and did you know Suguru is a delinquent? He makes the elders' heads hurt all the time, it’s true, he is no better than me,” Satoru had whispered into your ear last summer, a little secret treat for you, he said. You guess Satoru was telling the truth about that), you wonder why he visited so unexpectedly.

He invites himself in like this is his own bedroom, like he’s lived here for years, and technically he has. There’s something so different about him today, something sad in his slow movements, and shadow. There always has been. He’s always been wrapped in an air of melancholy, but his sadness tonight is different. Different in a way you think you’ll never know, in a way you could never understand, your heart burns, you swallow.

“Why are you here? You didn’t call,” you whisper in hopes your voice doesn’t slip through the cracks and awaken your parents. You walk over to your single size mattress, sitting down as Suguru joins you, sitting right next to you, legs touching within the small space.

He shrugs, saying, “I was nearby for a mission, thought I should come and see you.”

You’ve never once not believed in Suguru, he’s never given you a reason to doubt him, except for when he bottles things up and refuses to talk about it, always saying he is fine. You find it hard to believe his words tonight, you don’t think he was nearby, and guilt pricks your heart knowing you feel happy he came to see you. You’ve missed him dearly.

You lean forward, your hands rest on his shoulders, a bitter scent lingers on the collar of his white shirt, one that you have always hated since you were a child, you don’t know when it began to linger on Suguru, or when he began to start. His hair is let down, flowing down and framing his face beautifully, those eyes of his are too dark tonight; not a spec of purple can be seen, devoid of the deep violet you’ve fallen for all those years ago.

Suguru doesn’t say or do anything, so you tilt your head up, an attempt to capture his lips, however your lips are met with his thumb, pushing lightly against you. Suguru smiles so softly, so sadly, he looks down at you in a way you don’t recognise. Your heart races, a sharp pain piercing through you, and you place a hand on his wrist, as he runs his thumb against your bottom lip one last time.

“Oh. What’s wrong, Suguru? You don’t want to…?”

He shakes his head, “it’s nothing. I think the summer heat is getting to me.”

“Is it those missions you do? Or training… Has it been too hard for you?”

“No, it’s not that. Sometimes, they are tiring, and I feel like I need to rest, but I can’t.” Suguru does seem more tired than usual tonight, the dark circles underneath them are prominent.

“Oh, should we sleep then?” you offer, not wanting him to stay awake for any longer, especially when he seems so exhausted, on the verge of collapsing. “You need to rest up, Suguru.”

“Yeah, let's go to sleep. I just want to hold you tonight,” he says, you wrap your arm around him once you lay down, he feels a little thinner than usual. There is not enough space on your bed for the two of you, you lay slightly on top of him, and neither of you complain about the cramped space. It’s not the first time he’s slept with you. Suguru really only holds you tonight, calloused and strong hands don’t roam, his fingers don’t dip underneath your shirt or waistband. He holds you tightly, so tightly, it’s too hot, and you find it hard to breathe, yet you don’t complain about it, pushing yourself closer into his embrace. Suguru’s presence has always been so soothing, the way he holds you in his arms makes you feel okay once again, lulling you to sleep as your worries vanish back into the sea, the sharks can’t reach you from here.

You wake to an empty bed, his side has been cold for a long time. You don’t see or hear from Suguru for the rest of summer. You receive a postcard or souvenir in the mail like you usually do every few weeks. Mid-august, humidity high, and you can hardly breathe in the heat, and you hear about the murder of the Getō family. Mr. and Mrs. Getō were murdered in their living room during the silent night. Their son, Getō Suguru has gone missing. Whispers seep through the cracks of the concrete saying he is the main suspect — the parents were murdered by their own son. Getō Suguru, your precious childhood friend, killed his own parents. You choke on the summer air and throw up.

None of your messages or calls go through. You are met with the same automated reply. Suguru is gone, and Satoru never replies to you.

Winter seems to come early this year.

—

A knock on your window wakes you up in the middle of the night, the sound of pebbles gently hitting against the screen, and you frown as you slowly force yourself up. You already know who the culprits are.

You open it as quietly as you can to not wake your parents, as you glare at them. Suguru smiles at you sheepishly. “We can’t end the summer without fireworks,” he says, Satoru stands behind him widely grinning, holding up his hands to reveal senko hanabi sparklers.

And you find it hard to stay mad, you weren’t mad in the first place, just annoyed that you were woken up in the middle of the night. You break out into a smile, telling them to wait for you as you change into some clothes.

Sneaking past your parents’ bedroom and out of the house is easy, you’ve done it many times in the past, tonight is no different.

“Why did you wake me up to light fireworks? It’s not the end of summer yet,” you yawn into your hand and Satoru quietly laughs, his hand reaches over to touch your hair.

“It is with you,” Satoru replies, “you’ve got bedhead.”

“Oh. You guys are going back soon, I forgot about that,” you try not to sound sad while saying this, saying goodbye to Suguru every time he visits always leaves you feeling blue. “And it’s because you two woke me up!” you exclaim, swatting his hand away.

“Geez, who sleeps during the summer? You’re supposed to be staying up late and having fun.”

“I do…”

“Need your beauty sleep, huh, princess?”

“Maybe you should try it sometime, Satoru.”

Suguru tells you he will visit you again soon, that he will send you gifts, you always tell him you don’t need them, but he insists, and you always check the mailbox in anticipation. Every gift, postcard, and handwritten letter is kept safe in a box hidden beneath your bed.

Far past midnight and the village sleeps so silently, walking to your secret spot feels a little slower than usual, a way that is relaxing. A blanket of stars keeping the dark sky company, black with hints of dark blue and purple, similar to Suguru’s eyes; when you look long enough, you will find yourself lost and comforted, a pretty shade of the darkest violet holding you. In the distance the moon is shining brightly, its reflection ripples within the crashing waves.

“Suguru, pass me your lighter,” Satoru says, reaching a hand out as his other hand opens the box of firework sticks. Suguru reaches into his loose pockets, taking out a silver lighter, passing it off into Satoru’s hand.

You grab an incense stick each as Satoru lights them, crouching down on the rock, waiting for the molten ball to form, once it does, the fire flower begins to bloom underneath you. The fireworks illuminate Satoru’s face, the orange sparks dance a heavy tune with the blue stars within his eyes.

You remember Suguru had told you about a special boy in their world — someone so special that the world sits beneath his feet. Everything about Satoru is so ethereal in their world, and you, an outsider, can tell. From the way his eyes shine and how he breathes, Satoru draws everything towards him, but there is something about him that seems so far out of reach.

“I feel like these used to be a lot brighter, prettier, back when we were kids,” you say, watching the fireball slowly making its way to your fingers, the sparks of little shooting stars burning the image into your mind.

Satoru replies, “I think sparklers are still pretty, they’re the beauty of summer.”

You know Suguru is someone special, too, because that special boy is smiling and playing around with him so effortlessly. Suguru is reflected in those ocean eyes of his, shining ever so brightly, brighter than the fireworks and stars above, from his thin brows to his soft lips, everything lovely in between, and like Suguru always does, he chases after the wave and drowns.

(Satoru stands up to spin the sparklers, running wild in the night as he spells out his name and vulgar shapes which makes the three of you burst out laughing. When his back is turned as he looks for the lighter to light some more, Suguru’s shadow engulfs your shadow whole, he presses a swift kiss to your lips, and Satoru notices, he always does, he can see everything, the sparklers in Suguru’s hands burn out without any of you noticing, the fire has long burnt out. Satoru never noticed the remains of ashes piled up below.)

You wish this summer would never end.

However, like all things do, it ends for you the next day when the sun peeks through the horizon, they are on the train back to Tokyo.

—

You are eighteen left alone in Tokyo. Satoru barely calls you, his visits are even rarer, it’s been over two weeks since he had last shown up. He is busy, he always says this, and you believe him.

You are eighteen, trying your best to survive in the big city of Tokyo, the roads are busy, full, too wide, you find yourself getting lost in the crowd. Your hands are becoming colder, summer is not coming around, nerves bite away at the remains of your broken heart, unable to find the missing piece. You take a deep breath, telling yourself you are okay, that you’ve got this, you are used to surviving on your own.

Everything will be okay, you repeat again and again.

—

That day and the following ones were a blur; they still are and Satoru can barely recall it, memories play out hazy and tinted dark gray, almost the darkest shade of black.

(Explain yourself… Suguru!)

Even with the words spilling from Suguru’s mouth, Satoru finds it hard to believe in them. To believe in Suguru’s cruelty. Suguru is warmer than everyone he has ever met; his soul shines brighter than everyone he has ever known.

(Are you the strongest because you’re Gojō Satoru?)

Satoru doesn’t understand how it started, when it all started, but he does know. It started in Okinawa, right when they flew back to Tokyo, once they entered past the bright red torii gates, a blade slashed through his chest.

How could Suguru not spare his own parents? He spared you. His parents were sweet, always smiling, dull eyes, warm food, loving—they were (were they?). They treated them nicely when Satoru visited two summers ago, they asked him about school and cooked warm meals to eat, everything was so unfamiliar and foreign, like things he has seen on television.

(Or are you Gojō Satoru because you’re the strongest?)

How could Suguru leave him behind like that? A blade twisted through his heart, a deep scar remains on his chest, a reminder of the day and ones to follow.

And you. The smile of summer morphs into one belonging to a girl much younger than you, to Suguru, who smiles ever so tenderly under the shining sun.

(If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that too.)

There is no meaning in any of that. Those words trapped within his throat, unable to spill to a boy who refuses to listen.

Satoru needs to see you again. He needs to see you now.

—

“How is life in Tokyo?” Satoru asks you as he sits across from you at the table of a new café. The strawberry shortcake in front of him is already half-eaten, and the waitress comes over to deliver the strawberry parfait he had ordered a few minutes ago.

“Tokyo… It's really different. You said to come with you to Tokyo and then you ditched me,” you jokingly reply, before taking a sip of your matcha latte. You can understand why it is so popular, everything is made up of the best quality here, and only the best.

“Mhm, bet it’s better than that tiny village. It is, huh?”

You nod in agreement, it is better, even though you can’t help but feel anxious, like a shark is chasing after you and only you in the deepest pit of the ocean. “I decided to try and become a teacher…” you say. What you really wanted to do was become a counsellor or something similar for children, but you aren’t so sure if you would be good at it, if your fragile heart would be enough.

“We are so similar,” you look up when he says this, he is smiling at you as he leans his head on his palm. “I’m gonna become a teacher too. For people like me, though.”

A teacher. Satoru wants to become a teacher — he will become one, a confirmed future. You never knew he was interested in something like that, however, you know you don’t know Satoru well enough to judge. “We are. It must be the work of fate,” you say.

“That’s right, it’s the work of a young god,” he goes along with your little joke, shivers run down you, you drink your now cooled latte. You should’ve finished drinking it while it was still hot.

Satoru promises he will see you again soon, you smile, holding onto his empty promise.

—

Empty promises always remain empty. You don’t hold it against Satoru, that is just how he is. He still calls you from time to time, and you find yourself becoming too busy, drowning into your studies.

—

The next time you see Satoru is months later when he is sitting outside your doorstep despite knowing the passcode, he has the original copy of the key, too. He’s drenched from the rain, his white hair sticking to face, hidden eyes. His hair has grown out a bit over the months, messy and unkempt.

“Satoru, you should’ve let yourself inside…” you quietly say as you unlock the door, Satoru stands up, towering over you, yet he seems smaller than usual today. He only replies that he was waiting for you to come home.

You ask him if he’s hungry, you have leftover miso soup from this morning, and some ingredients to make chicken katsu (you don’t mention that you had eaten with a new co-worker earlier). You suggest he takes a hot shower so he doesn’t get sick, he remarks saying he has never fallen ill before, making his way into the bathroom.

Your mattress is much bigger than you are used to, a queen size bed, there’s so much space, yet Satoru is pressed up behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist as he keeps you close. You assume Satoru will be sleeping here tonight. It’s been a long time since you last slept beside someone, you remember the night so distinctly, as if it was yesterday.

And Satoru holds you so, so, so gently, it’s rather uncharacteristic of him, not like the Satoru you know. So tenderly if you closed your eyes an image of a face you haven’t forgotten would be there and you blink away the tears that want to form within your eyes. You think, his hands are too light, you can barely feel the callouses and constellations of little scars. His hand trails up your thin shirt, rubbing light circles against your skin, on your waist and beneath your breasts. Satoru holds you in a way that feels wrong, in a way you both know he shouldn’t — in a way he wouldn’t if he were here. However, he doesn’t stop, and you don’t stop him.

You turn over, meeting his eyes. The little stars in his eyes are crying to be seen. You lift a hand to his cheek, gently brushing the strand of hair that sits too close to his eyes, and Satoru only watches you silently. It remains like this for a moment, you carefully holding his face, warm and pink from the hot water that drenched his skin, his hand wrapped around you, travelling up and down your back, tracing little circles as he feels your soft skin against his hand.

“I used to wish to know his lips,” he whispers ever so quietly, those vacant eyes of his glimmering in the darkness of your bedroom as he flickers from your lips to your eyes. “The taste of them, the feeling… Sometimes, I still do,” he sounds a little sad as he says this, but he’s smiling, and you can’t help but smile sadly, too.

Satoru wants to kiss you, too. You can feel it in the way he looks at you, you can feel it in the prickling air. You expect Satoru to kiss you first, to close the distance between you, and he does, leaning in first, his lips are on yours, slowly moving against yours.

You were fifteen when Suguru had stolen a bottle of your mother’s favourite whiskey and the two of you had spent the afternoon in his room, door locked, the liquid burning your mouth and throat, cheeks flushed red, Suguru’s intense gaze slowly consuming you. He asked you if you ever kissed someone before, a question you both know the answer to, and you get annoyed thinking he is teasing you. He is quick to reassure you that isn’t the case. Maybe it’s the liquor running in your veins, because he leans in to kiss you, a small peck before he pulls back, a moment of awkward silence lasting only a few seconds, before he kisses you again. One with less hesitation.

You remember the taste, something you don’t like, to this day you still don’t, always avoiding whiskey, but you loved the feeling of Suguru’s lips on yours. Shy and giggly, teeth grazing, nose bumping. Trying to search for a proper pace, clammy hands awkwardly trying to find a place to settle.

Kissing Satoru doesn’t feel like that. He kisses you so slowly, deeply, you feel every movement and it tingles through your body and soul. Everything fades around you, all you can think and feel is his lips. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you softly gasp, pulling away for air, breathing heavily.

“Are you scared?” Satoru asks once you pull away from him, his breathing matches yours, his breath fans your face, a sweet scent lingers in the air. Like strawberry candies, sugary sweet, artificially sweet, Satoru’s favourite.

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

He chuckles, teasing you as he says, “your heart is beating really fast, though.”

“I-I know that…” you murmur, feeling shy and embarrassed, as if he doesn’t know you can feel how hard your heart is beating, how fast it races in this moment. It’s your heart, you know her better than anyone in the world.

“Mine is beating, too, princess,” he says, before flipping the two of you over, giving you no time to reply, you are caged between him, his pure white hair lightly brushing against your face. Lust fogging over his eyes as stares down at you, gray and blue. Matching everything around you. “Let’s take our time tonight, yeah?” Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down, linking your legs around his thin waist.

Lonely fingers woven together, he holds you so close, hearts intertwined, and kisses so intimately and intensely, you feel so wanted and loved by this boy who is known as a god in a world you do not know. A world you will never see. Kissing Satoru makes you feel like you’re not alone in the world. This is plenty, it is enough for you, you don’t want anything else, except for this. Only Satoru. You whisper this lie to your yearning heart.

—

“‘Toru? Wait, are you leaving?” you hastily ask while you watch him throw on his white dress shirt, the red lines on his back disappearing, your cheeks warm at the vivid memory, you feel shy, pressing your thighs together. You pull the covers higher as you sit up on the bed.

“Mhm, can’t stay tonight,” you pout at his words, feeling disappointed in him, Satoru knows your next question before you say it. “I’ve got kids at home to watch over,” he simply says, and you huff a small laugh at his joke.

“Huh? Did you take in some pets or something?” Satoru has always been fond of strays, you remember those times when he used to try to call over the wandering cats around your village and attempt to pet them, yet they only ran towards Suguru before disappearing into the bushes. Satoru would always get annoyed and pout about it, saying something about how his Pokémon on his gameboy would never do this to him.

Satoru lowly hums, “yeah, somethin’ like that. They’re so tiny, I think they didn’t eat much until I took them in. I gave them some cash, so hopefully they ordered themselves some fresh sushi or something for dinner… Is ten thousand yen enough for two kids?”

“Oh? Wait, you are serious… Satoru, you are taking care of actual kids? What, why?” you say in disbelief. You haven’t seen Satoru in months and he drops by unannounced, sleeping with you, and then tells you he’s leaving to go take care of some kids at his house. Actual kids, human kids.

The information slowly processes through your brain, you have so many questions on the tip of your tongue that you know if they spill, Satoru would never answer them. You decide to swallow them down.

“It was a request. A last one. I felt like I should grant it since nobody else can.” Nobody else but me, his unsaid thoughts are loud. So loud, your heart shakes, you slowly swallow.

Satoru turns around to look at you as he buttons the last button on his shirt and leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek which makes you scrunch up your face. “Maybe you can meet ‘em one day, you said you’re good with kids, right?”

You slowly nod your head, not really sure what to say, even by your lack of response, Satoru smiles. “Great. They’re still so shy, so one day. Soon,” he says, softly kissing your lips before he leaves, the feeling feels so faint.

Your bedroom door clicks with a shut. Even with you, his back still seems so lonely, as if the weight of the world sits on his shoulders.

Down the hall, you can’t hear his footsteps, everything about Satoru acts light. His footsteps. His breathing. Everything except his heavy presence, that is how you know he is there. Until he isn’t, and you hear the echo of a faint click of your front door being shut. Silence consumes the empty home and you’re left to sleep alone once again.

—

Turning twenty didn’t change anything. Neither did turning twenty-four, nor twenty-five. If anything, sometimes you feel more lost now than you did at eighteen, you thought you knew the world at sixteen. You are grown, yet sometimes it feels as if your physical appearance is the only thing about you that has changed.

It took a few years, but now you are used to the bright lights that never go out and the busy streets with crowds that never split. You love Tokyo, and all of the new things you have never experienced or seen before, you’ve grown used to living here. However, every once in a while, a memory of that village hits you so hard and the cracks in your heart begin to widen once again, just when you were able to put it back together again. A type of sadness that always lingers within you, settling behind your ribs, deeply in a place you could ever reach, and all you can go is try to pretend it isn’t there. Even in the middle of this city, sometimes you swear the scent of the ocean passes you by, you always remember Suguru in those moments, and shead a few tears.

You feel Satoru’s presence before you hear or see him, you hate it when he randomly appears in your apartment like this, you always tell him to use the front door like a normal person.

“Well, don’t you look so pretty today.” You smile when you hear this as he pulls you into a hug and you feel his hand running through your hair, causing you to glance up in confusion. “Why is your hair shining? Hmm, is this glitter?” he asks, his index finger in between both of you as a little sparkle shines against it, causing you to deeply inhale.

“One of the kids was playing around with glitter and got it in my hair, spent all night washing it out,” you explain, feeling frustrated all over again. “Is there still a lot? I thought I got all of it out…”

“There’s still some left.”

“What, where?” you ask, automatically lifting your hand to your hair, patting around for a feel for tiny pieces of plastic. “Help me, Satoru,” you plead, seeing him just stand there watching you.

Satoru leans down, his face right in front of yours as he grins, “they’re in your eyes, princess,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your eyelid. You huff at his words, biting down on your growing smile, unable to stop the blush rushing to your cheeks.

You lightly shove him away from you, asking, “why are you here?”

“I can’t come and see you without a reason?”

“Really, tell me why,” you insist on him coming over for a reason, you know he did.

“I want to go on a little trip with you,” he admits.

“I have work on Monday,” you reply, jabbing your finger into his toned chest, “and you do, too. No slacking off.”

“I know, I know. That was only once—”

“More than once,” you correct.

“Yes… more than once, you’re right, but it’s only for day,” he says, taking your hand in his. “Just for one night, so come with me?”

And you agree, the two of you already knew your answer from the very beginning, an answer destined from the beginning.

He takes you to Yokohama, only an hour away, he rents a free room in the hotel with the best view of the city, and takes you out to eat your favourite foods. By evening, he’s dragging you along, you try to keep up with his long strides, mentally cursing him and his long legs.

He takes you all the way to the pier, an overlook of the small beach, nothing compared to the one you grew up in. It smells of seaweed, and you can see across the water here, the sun slowly sets in the distance, an orange and red sky reflected in the water, your eyes feel heavy the more you sink into the view. Satoru never lets go of your hand, his steady hand holds yours firmly.

The younger you could never imagine herself in your position. Into the deep city, older with an ordinary job, watching a pretty sunset at an average beach. A younger you could never imagine herself living a life without Suguru in it. Many things have changed. Some things remain the same. Your feelings have never changed. The ocean always stays the same, it always will, and there’s a comforting feeling in knowing this.

You quietly sigh, feeling the need for a cigarette. His lucky cigarette. You long for the familiar bitter smell that you once used to hate.

Satoru only stares at the crashing waves. Unable to tear his eyes away from it; those eyes of his have always belonged to the sea. To the blue sky. To their youth. And there is no doubt that he’s thinking of Suguru right now. You know this because whenever you are by the sea, you can’t help, but think of him, too.

—

From a young age, Suguru comes to realise he is a small fish in a big pond. The world around him is much bigger than the cage he swims in. He grows more insecure when he comes to realise his family is different from others; that he is different from others.

He has always been sensitive to his surroundings. Sensitive to his mother’s silent presence and wishes, to every action and expression his father made and everything around him. For a long time he believed this village was haunted, that one day ghosts emerged from the sea and haunted him and the townsfolk. After all, he swore he was always being watched, every one of his actions was being judged and digested. And when he told his father that, his father laughed and said he didn’t think Suguru would believe his words for so long. He was only trying to scare him.

However, this feeling never goes away. The black shadow beneath his bed greets him every night with a snicker, hiding beneath the blanket causes the laughter to become louder, louder, until it screeches, like the sound of a nail running across a chalkboard piercing his ears, refusing to become muffled as he covers his head with his old pillow.

He is eleven when he sneaks out of his house at midnight, he finds it hard to breathe in there, desperately needing fresh air, and he meets you wandering along the empty dirt road. All alone. He knows of you, you are from the class next door, he has seen you walking in the hallway a few times. Apparently, you don’t get along with your classmates, rumours travel fast in this village through hushed whispers and mocking snickers, the stars this time are about your mother and father, and caught up in between the clashing meteors is you. In a way, you are similar to him, your eyes have a sadness to them that no child should have, however your smile is soft and warm, and Suguru can’t help, but feel drawn to you.

You bring him to the sea; walking across the shoreline to a little corner behind an area hidden by a bunch of huge rocks that you call your secret spot. You tell him it belongs to him now, too. A secret corner in this little big world only for the two of you. There’s a white fin he can see in the distance, the shark doesn’t make its way closer to shore. Suguru looks over to you, you’re looking across the vast sea so yearningly, the stars are twinkling in your eyes.

(He wishes he asked what you were looking at so beautifully.)

Suguru wishes he could go home, but he can’t, unable to run to the little safety corner at the end of the world. Not now. Everything around him is burning blue, he’s drowning himself in the screams and curses of hundreds of strangers, his hands are dripping crimson red. Everything is blue. Bright blue like the summer sky and glistening sea. Blue eyes. White hair. Carefree smile. Little white sundress and your innocent laughter muffled between the haunting cries. Splattered blood. Drifting white headband. A celebration for the dead. A cage for the living. The sound of clapping echoes within the crackling. It snaps, then pops.

Suguru can’t go home. Nowhere is home. Everything around him is burning blue. So blue, and he’s being consumed by the fire. He accepts this as his fate, he has to.

—

“Hm? Not in the water today?”

Sprawled out like a starfish, Suguru lays on the sand, where the water meets the sand, eyes closed and peaceful.

When there’s no reply, Satoru pouts, plopping down to lay beside him. He calls out his name, wanting attention, awaiting a response as he stares at him. Suguru doesn’t turn his head to meet his eyes, he just lays there, so listless, and Satoru softly sighs, a small smile gracing his face despite feeling a little annoyed. He closes his eyes, the sound of ocean waves crashing, cicadas calling out from the high branches in the distance and the seagulls' low mews create a summer melody.

“I’m listening to the waves,” he says, and Satoru smiles in amusement.

“From here?”

Suguru hums a reply and Satoru parrots it. Listening to the waves. How stupidly poetic, he thinks to himself, chuckling at how cute and childish Suguru can be. A hidden side of Suguru that is so endearing as it is entertaining.

The way the waves crash onto the shore — rather gently, reaching the brim of his jeans and Satoru hates it. He doesn’t understand how Suguru is fine with the water soaking his clothes and the sand that sticks onto their skin and hair. The water is strangely warm as well, adding to his annoyance.

“Do you have any dreams, Satoru?”

“What’s yours?” he asks.

“I asked first,” he knows Suguru is rolling his eyes, however, Suguru is kind enough to not push, he says, “I think one of my dreams came true already. I wanted to get out of here for a long time.”

One of his dreams. What are his other dreams? What does he dream of? Yet, instead of all the thoughts that shoot through his brain, Satoru finds himself asking about you. “What about her?”

Are you one of Suguru’s dreams? He needs to know.

“I am waiting for her in Tokyo,” Suguru says this in a way that Satoru is familiar with. Too familiar. Suguru calls out his name like this. “Once I graduate and make money from these missions, I will take her out of this place and bring her home.”

Satoru thought Suguru liked this place since he keeps coming back, maybe it is only to see you, and his parents. Maybe in this seaside village, Suguru only likes it here, this little part of the beach where nobody goes. It’s not so bad here, just a little lame, and very boring, but Satoru wouldn’t mind staying here with Suguru. And you, much to his surprise.

“I think she may wait for you for a long time. I took a peek at your bank account and—”

“Hey, why did you look at that?! Don’t snoop through other peoples’ belongings, has nobody taught you that? You are jinxing it for me.”

Satoru repeats his words in a mocking tone, earning a sharp elbow to his rib, a loud and painful groan escapes his throat.

“I was just joking! Really, I am!”

In a few days, they will fly to Okinawa. A pretty island that Satoru hasn’t seen before and he doesn’t know the exact details yet, Yaga hasn’t said anything, but he knows the mission will be one with Suguru. As expected, the two strongest sorcerers of this generation, it comes to no one’s surprise. It’s hours away from this place, hours away from Tokyo, yet the ocean is vast, reaching far out into the world, connecting right back to where you are.

Right back to the place Suguru had once called home.

#꩜— interstellar communications #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader

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jeankluv · 1 day

Text

But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.05]

short series

summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.

tags: 18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n, mention of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, character death, nightmares

words: 5,2k

Notes: enjoy this last chapter, just know that the epilogue still needs to happen 💋

ch.01 | ch.02 | ch.03 | ch.04 | ch.05 | epilogue

Jujutsu Kaisen materialist

Your gaze was on the window, you had barely moved a muscle since the sun had risen. But it had been like that since your father read that letter. You didn't know how much time had passed, you had stopped counting, the only thing you knew was that summer was coming to an end. Was it September? You didn't know, nothing mattered to you anymore.

You knew Rose was in the room, despite everything she still came and took care of you. Every morning she was there, trying to cheer you up and make you smile again, to pick up one of your books, to go to the market with her.

The only time you got out of your bedroom was when Mr. Harrison visited. You felt nauseous when seeing him and when he talked about how excited he was to take you with him to his house and finally have an heir. You felt sick to your stomach, but you stood there in silence, feeling how your heart didn’t beat anymore.

“My lady…” Rose whispered. “You need to take the herbs.”

You turned your head and looked at Rose. “Don't you think that if there was a baby, that baby is no longer there?”

Rose grimaced and sat up on the bed. “I don't know, my lady. But your mother insists that she keep drinking it until you bleed again.” You just nodded and took the glass from her hands.

You felt the bitter taste pass through your throat and the unpleasant smell invade your nostrils. It was so unpleasant that your eyes watered and a gag shot up your throat. You closed your eyes tightly and swallowed.

“I know you don't want to hear this…” Rose whispered. “But the wedding is in three days.”

“You won’t come with me right.” You raised your knees and rested your forehead on them.

“No, my lady.” You could notice the anguish and sadness in her tone. “Mr. Harrison doesn't want anyone from the house to accompany you, he will provide you with maids in his house."

You closed your eyes and nodded. “You can leave now Rose.”

“My lady… please eat something.” She said walking towards the door.

You heard the door open and then close. You sighed heavily and lay back down on the bed, looking again at the blue sky outside. No matter how much you thought about Satoru, you had a hard time believing, you had a hard time accepting that everything had been a hoax. That you had been manipulated by him.

Maybe it was the fault of your heart, the fault of falling in love the way you did for that man with white hair and crystalline eyes. Maybe it was all your fault and you should never have given him your heart the way you gave it to him.

But his voice and his words echoed in your head.

Trust me.

We will live in a house by the sea, you will have your own library.

I don’t plan on hurting you.

His memory was fresh in your mind and the pain was intense.

You rolled over yourself and you cowered between the sheets, mulling over the matter. The letter talked about some documents, something about the nobles. Satoru told you about it, how your family and a few others had refused the king's reform proposal 20 years ago and had paid for it. And some time later Satoru's parents had been murdered and Satoru's brother had spent his entire life investigating to clarify the facts and they had taken him to your family.

There was something that didn't quite fit you in that whole matter and that is, if Satoru was thinking of betraying you from the beginning, why did he tell you the plan he had in the middle? Maybe he thought you were going to be extremely stupid not to say anything.

You shook your head and tried to remember the last encounter between the two of you.

“I told you.” He said with a smile. “Before you finish your second book I will be back.”

“I trust you.” You whispered.

“Just… believe me.”

Were those promises empty? You stood up from the bed and walked around your room, feeling your body aching and heavy.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Satoru knew something was happening. And that’s why he looked like that the last time you saw him.

Covering yourself with a thin jacket, you left the room and walked looking for a specific figure. If Rose was your most trusted person in that house, that person was the second most trusted.

When your eyes met his straight figure and his gaze looking straight ahead, you smiled and approached him.

“Nanami.” You whispered causing his head to turn in your direction.

“My lady.” He said, bowing his head subtly to show her respect.

“Nanami, I need your help. But first walk me to my room.” You turned around. “I don't want anyone to hear us.” You walked, feeling Nanami's footsteps on your back.

When you got to your room, you made sure that no one was in the hallway and you closed the door. You walked to the couch and looked at Nanami.

"I need you to do me a favor." Nanami nodded slightly. “I have a feeling that something happened to Duke Gojo and I would like you to check it out. You and Rose are the people I trust the most, which is why I want to entrust you with this mission.”

“I will gladly do it my lady.” He said bowing.

“But before you leave, my parents are gone, right?” Nanami nodded and you felt your heart accelerate at the idea that had been established in your mind. “I need you to accompany me to my father's office and watch the door while I look for something.”

“No problem my lady.” You smiled and thanked him.

Waiting for a while to pass, you and Nanami left the room, trying not to be seen by any curious eyes. As you stood in front of the door of your father's office, you felt your heart pound and your nerves begin to attack your body. You took a breath and looked at Nanami, who nodded giving you the signal to enter.

Nanami stayed outside, keeping watch and preventing anyone else from entering. You moved through the room quietly and carefully, and among the pile of papers and letters that were on the desk you began to search and read, wanting to find something, some clue that would indicate that Satoru had not lied to you, that there was something more behind all that.

You found two letters that caught your attention, one of them had a stamp that you didn't recognize and the other was a letter addressed to your parents. It was a letter from one of the servants informing your parents about how you had been having premarital relations with the duke. You crumpled the letter slightly and sighed, there was nothing you could do about it now.

You took the letter with the unknown seal and began to read, the letter was addressed to your parents and talked about the crown prince and how to change the balance in favor of the person who sent the letter.

“My lady.” Nanami called you. “I think it’s better if we leave.” You nodded.

With that letter in your hands, you left the office followed by Nanami's steps. You felt your heart racing, that letter could mean something. You knew that Satoru was a friend of the crown prince and that your parents had not disagreed with the king's reforms, so this could mean something. But that seal, you didn't know which house it belonged to, nor were the names known.

“Nanami.” You called him when you got to the room and, uncrumpling the letter, you showed it to him. “Do you know this seal?”

You could see how Nanami was stunned looking at the letter. “Was this in his father's office?” You nodded confused. “My lady, if this letter is found by the palace, the entire family will be condemned for treason.”

You opened your eyes surprised. "What? What do you mean?" Nanami sighed and pointed to the seal.

“The seal belongs to the king's brother, that is, to the uncle of the future king.” You looked at him confused, you had never heard of the current king having a brother. “You are young to remember, but the king had a little brother. He was sent into exile after he tried to assassinate the prince. The king took pity on him and did not kill him, he simply exiled him.” You opened your mouth in surprise.

“Did this person have anything to do with the event 20 years ago? Where several noble families opposed the king?” Nanami nodded and you sighed. “Nanami, I fear that the duke knew about this and that something has happened to him.” You looked at him. “Please find out.” Nanami nodded once again.

“I will leave right now my lady.” He bowed his head and left your room.

When the door closed and you were alone in your room again, you sat on your bed and put your hands to your face, terrified to think that something could have happened to Satoru and that your parents knew about it.

It was terrifying to think that Satoru could be… No, no. You shook those thoughts out of your head and tried to think positively. That Satoru hadn't betrayed you and that he would be fine. You just needed Nanami to return and confirm all your suspicions. And you prayed that this would happen before the wedding that would take place in three days.

Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling, the night darken the room and the accumulated fatigue that you were carrying covered you peacefully. But it was not like that. That night you couldn't rest.

Nightmares tormented you. The image of a dead Satoru haunted you throughout the night, reflecting in your tired eyes every time you closed them. The dreams were vivid and unrelenting, showing you scenes of Satoru lying lifeless, his once vibrant presence reduced to an eerie stillness. You saw his bright blue eyes, usually full of mischief and warmth, now dull and empty. You watched as the confident smile faded, replaced by an expression of eternal peace that brought you no comfort.

You tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around your legs as you struggled to find a way out of the nightmare. Every time you woke up suddenly, your heart would race and your breathing would be difficult. The silence of the room was oppressive and the darkness suffocating, leaving you gasping for air with every breath you tried to take.

You shifted between the sheets when the first rays of the sun began to penetrate through the curtains. A new day began and in your mind and heart there was only the anguish of knowing Satoru's whereabouts and condition. You got out of bed and opened the window, letting the breeze fill the room and the smell of the sea occupy your nostrils.

“My lady?” Rose entered the room with a surprise look on her face.

“Rose…” You smiled at her. “Good morning.”

“My lady, how are you feeling?” She approached you and held your hands with care.

“I am…” You sighed. Not knowing what to respond.

“It’s okay my lady.” She tried to calm you down.

You sat down on your dresser and looked at her through the mirror. “I send Nanami to investigate the whereabouts of the duke.” Rose looked at you, intrigued to know more. “Rose, I think something happened to the duke and I think my parents have been involved.”

Rose swallowed and opened her eyes slightly. “My lady, are you sure?”

You nodded and clenched your fists. “If it's true... and what they did is discovered, the palace will kill us.”

“My lady”

“Rose, we must find some way to leave this place before the wedding, if Nanami does not arrive with news before.”

Rose nodded. “I will be with you my lady.”

You felt your chest fill and your eyes water as you realized you weren't alone. “Thank you Rose, thank you.”

“No problem my lady.” She gave you a warm smile. “But my lady…” You looked at her. “Your parents and Mr. Harrison will be arriving today.”

You sighed. “Alright.”

The morning and part of the afternoon passed faster than you would have liked. Anguish and uncertainty had established themselves in your body, they almost seemed like an extension of you, one that was dragging you down. Your hands were sweaty and your heart rate was fast, having to meet your parents and Mr. Harrison was like putting a noose around you. You were afraid but you wanted to be brave, even if it was for once in your life, you didn't want to tremble.

The carriage carrying your parents and Mr.Harrison arrived and now you looked at your reflection in the mirror while Rose brushed your hair. Your gaze was fixed on your face but at the same time not, you were lost in your own thoughts, trying to find something so that the wedding would be delayed or canceled.

“My lady…” Rose whispered as she let the brush down. “I have an idea that might help us win some time.”

You looked up and looked at Rose through the mirror. "Tell me." Rose leaned close to your ear and whispered her idea to you.

It was crazy but it would be a shock and Mr. Harrison would even want to cancel the wedding. You lightly laughed and looked at Rose.

"Thank you."

“I am here for you my lady.”

You looked out the window and saw how the sun was setting in the sea. You took a deep breath and stood up from the chair. The room was beginning to be illuminated only by the specifically placed candlelight. Asking Rose to wait for you in the room, you left and walked through the hallways, feeling your legs give out with every step you took.

You looked out the window and saw how the sun was setting in the sea. You took a deep breath and stood up from the chair. The room was beginning to be illuminated only by the specifically placed chandeliers. Asking Rose to wait for you in the room, you left and walked through the hallways, feeling your legs give out with every step you took.

The room was filled with the faint smell of old books and ink, a testament to the countless hours spent here studying and negotiating.

Your parents sat on the side of the desk, their expressions a mix of expectation and concern. Mr. Harrison was standing by the window, his back to you as he watched the darkening night. The silence in the room was oppressive, the weight of the impending conversation pressing down on you.

“Just two more days and we will all be family.” Your father proudly smiled.

“Yeah.” Mr. Harrison proudly sat on the chair. “Hopefully a baby will also come soon.” He looked at you and you felt nauseous.

You took a deep breath and stood up in your seat, trying to show a little confidence and strength. “Father, mother, my hand has already been asked for by another man.” You spoke without showing any hint of tremor.

You knew that talking about this in front of Mr. Harrison was not the right thing to do but you had to find some way to escape from this or the wedding would be delayed.

Your mother ground her teeth and said your name in a harsh, cutting tone. "Shut up."

“Darling.” Mr. Harrison called you, with that nickname that ok his lips sounded so disgusting. “Duke Gojo only came here and used you. You really want to marry that boy?”

You clenched your fists and clenched your teeth as you looked at the cynical smile that had spread across his face. Your blood boiled as the atmosphere in the office became increasingly overwhelming and cutting.

You wanted to get out of there but you couldn't, you had to delay that wedding. Or else, in two days you would be damned forever.

“Honey.” Your father spoke, with that false tone that you had already gotten used to hearing. “Mr. Harrison is right, don't you think about the damage that boy has done to us?”

Looking at him you wanted to laugh out of anger and ask your parents if they knew the damage they had caused to you for years and that Satoru had been the only one who had managed to make you feel alive.

Filling your lungs with air you spoke or rather screamed. “But daddy I love him!”

It had been years since you stopped calling your father that, but you knew that if you threw a tantrum in the middle of that place, your parents would be embarrassed and maybe, with luck, Mr. Harrison would put the wedding on hold.

You looked at their faces and could see how your mother was red with rage and your father clenched his teeth tightly.

“Well darling.” Mr. Harrison spoke, cutting the tension in the air. “I’m sure you will grow to love me too.”

You bit your lip and the crazy idea that Rose had proposed crossed your mind. What else could you lose?

“I’m having his baby!” You said out loud.

“What?!” Your mother and father screamed with speechless looks on their faces.

Out of the corner of your eye you looked at Mr. Harrison, who had his mouth slightly open and his face, like your parents', was a poem.

“This…” Mr. Harrison began and slightly smirked. “This is humiliating.” He turned to look at your father. “Did you know?”

“Mr. Harrison, I…” Your father stuttered trying to find some words, but they all got stuck in his throat.

“You stupid bitch.” Your mother approached you and held your arm tightly, you narrowed your eyes, feeling his nails dig into your skin. "Didn't you take the herbs that the doctor prepared for you?"

“Yes mother, apparently they didn’t work.” You smirked.

“You stupid bitch.” She slapped you and your head turned to the side, leaving you breathless.

Stunned by the slap heard how your father tried to reason with Mr. Harrison and how your mother also joined in.

They weren’t hiding anything anymore, how that marriage was going to bring them a large amount of money and how Mr. Harrison was also going to support the king’s brother's return. You smile when you hear those words, it was the confirmation you needed that those letters were real and that most likely there were more.

You left the room and practically ran to your room. Your heart was thundering in your ears and your head hurt from the enormous pressure you felt. It was almost like you were going to pass out before you could get to your room.

Holding onto the doorknob you entered your room and leaned your forehead against the door once you closed it. Trying to make your heart calm down and air return to your lungs.

“My lady…” You heard Rose approaching you from behind.

“Rose I need a minute, but…” You began to talk.

“My lady.” You froze and turned yourself to look at the man that just talked.

“Nanami!” You said breathless and looking at him.

“My lady.” He looked at you, then at Rose and then back at you. He took a deep breath and then you heard his words. “Your suspicions about him were correct, Duke Gojo had an accident when he was heading back here. His carriage failed and he fell down a hillside, all I know is that the Duke is currently under the care of His Majesty the Crown Prince. But I don't know his condition."

When your father read Satoru's supposed letter your heart stopped, but at that same moment you felt like your heart was falling out of your chest. Your breathing accelerated and you began to feel your eyes stinging because of the tears that were accumulating.

“My lady.” Rose caught you when your legs gave out. “My lady, you need to breathe.”

We tried but it was like a foot was pressing on your chest and sinking you into the ground. You held Rose's hands and tried to speak. “We need to go…”

Rose looked at Nanami and they both nodded. “We will leave here as soon as possible, my lady.”

“The letter…” You whispered.

You had to take the letter with you and give it to the king or someone from the palace, you knew that this would mean the death of your parents but those two people were no longer your parents and you wanted to see them sink.

Rose grabbed your arm and the three of you left the room, heading towards the stable. You still felt your emotions on the surface, at any moment you felt like you would break but you shouldn't. You had to stay strong and leave that place and send that letter.

Taking the reins of your horse you raised your gaze and fixed it in front of you. Sighing heavily, you signaled to Nanami, telling him to leave.

Your body was so exhausted that you practically didn't remember much of the trip. You remember stopping to pick up Rose's husband, you remember Nanami telling you to ride with him, and you remember arriving at a lodge where you spent the night, but other than that, your memories were vague and confusing.

When you opened your eyes, you blinked repeatedly, taking in the light that filtered through that window. Rose was still asleep in the bed next to her. Sitting up carefully and quietly, you changed your clothes and left the room, meeting Nanami's figure guarding the door.

“Nanami.” You spoke with your voice still sleepy.

“My lady.” He greeted you with the same courtesy as always.

You chuckled and shook your head. “You don't need to continue behaving like this Nanami, I don't belong to that family anymore.” You smiled at him. “But my last proposal as your lady is that you accompany me to her majesty so I can deliver the letter to her.”

Nanami held your gaze and shook her head. “My lady, if I am still here serving you and accompanying you it is because I trust you completely and my loyalty is yours alone.”

“But…”

“I don't care if you never belong to the family again, I am faithful to you my lady.” He bowed. “And I will follow you.”

You looked at him stunned by the words he just said. “Nanami…”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I will follow you and make sure you meet the duke once again.”

“Thank you…” You whispered, whipping away the tears that had gathered in your eyes. “How long do you think it will take us to get there?”

Nanami thought for a moment, thinking of the shortest and most feasible route for everyone. “Probably in two more days.” You nodded and smiled calmly.

“Good.” You said.

And so once you were all ready you left again, heading towards the capital. You were amazed with each new place you visited, with the people and the landscapes. It was the first time you traveled, since you had always been in your town and had never left there. You didn't know what would happen after delivering the letter and showing them the evidence that the king's brother was still plotting against the crown. If they would also condemn you or what would become of you. You did not know.

You also didn't know if you would be able to meet Satoru. Nanami had told you that he was in the capital, where the palace doctors were treating him but you didn't know if you would be able to see him, but you longed to see him, you longed to touch him again and feel his warmth.

When you crossed the wall that surrounded the capital you felt your heart begin to accelerate and when you began to enter the castle gate to have a reception with the king it accelerated even more. And standing there in front of the king and the prince, you felt like you could faint.

“So…” You began. “His majesty, I’m the only daughter of…” You said your family name and bowed. “I’m here to give you this letter that I found in my father’s office.” You held the letter in your hands. “I believe it’s extremely important for his majesty to know about this information and to take care of it.”

The king nodded and one of his guards took the letter from your hands and brought it to the king. He read it carefully and with a slight frown.

“You say you found this letter in your father's office?” You nodded. “You know what it means right?”

"Yes sir." You said with your eyes downcast.

“Why would you betray your family like that?” He wondered.

You clenched your fists and clenched your lips into a thin line. “Those people were not my family, my family is the ones who have accompanied and supported me on this journey and the man I am looking for.”

The king touched his chin and smiled and then looked at his son who nodded. “Thank you very much for this young lady, the crown will take care of it.”

The crown prince looked at you and smiled. "Follow me please." You looked at Rose and Nanami doubtfully and the prince, noticing it, turned to you. "Don't worry, you can trust me."

You nodded and followed his steps, tightly gripping the pendant you were wearing, trying to calm your nerves. Your eyes roamed every corner of the hallways you walked through, marveling at the details of the walls and ceilings, admiring the paintings of old monarchs that hung on the walls and the large windows that illuminated your entire path. It was like being inside one of your books, where the protagonist toured her spacious palace.

“It must have been a long trip, right?” The prince spoke again, exalting you a little.

“Uh… yeah a little.” You smiled.

“Well now you can rest here as much as you want, I'm welcome.” He smiled at you again and you smiled back. “Oh!” He stopped short in front of a large white door. "We have arrived." He said, taking the knob he opened the door.

His back blocked your view of what was in front of you so you couldn't see well what was inside.

“Look who came to see your injured ass.” The crown prince stepped aside and you finally saw what was in that room, who was in that room.

Your breathing stopped and your heart forgot how to beat when you saw him lying on that bed. His face had the occasional scar that seemed to be healing and his arm was completely bandaged. But it was there, he was there. Satoru was before you, he was alive.

“Angel…” He whispered with his blue eyes looking at you, unblinking.

And that nickname, that whisper was enough to break you down. Crying, you approached the bed and fell next to it.

“I thought…” You tried to speak but words were hard to pronounce.

“I’m so sorry my angel.” He held your hand. “Suguru give my future wife a chair or something!”

“Tsk.” You heard the crown prince. “You know I’m going to be the next king right?”

“And she is going to be my wife, so what?” Satoru replied.

“It’s okay, I…” You tried to speak.

“My lady, here you have a chair.” The crown prince smiled.

“Thank you, his majesty.” You bowed and sat down on the chair.

“I will leave the two of you alone.” The crown prince said and left the room.

“Angel…” Satoru called you.

“I though you died. I thought you left me, I…”

“I’m sorry.” He caressed your hair. “After going on that visit, I planned to take you with me to my house and finally get married. But well, the accident... it left me unconscious for several weeks and when I woke up your engagement to Mr. Harrison had become official and my condition was not the best." He sighed and squeezed your hand lightly. “I wanted to go there, get you out of that place and take you somewhere where I knew you would be happy but…” He touched his leg and smiled. “Suguru, the prince, did not allow me to do anything and I had to resign myself to knowing that the love of my life was not going to be able to be happy.”

You grabbed his hand in your hands and looked into his eyes. “But now I can be happy.” Satoru smiled.

“I didn't tell you at the time and when the accident happened my last thought was how sorry I was for not having told you but I love you my angel. I love you." He said and cupped your face in his hands and kissed you.

You closed your eyes, enjoying that kiss that you had longed for so much and you let yourself be enveloped by all the love and affection that Satoru was emanating at that moment.

You had believed that you would never taste those kisses again, that you would never again feel the soft touch of his skin against yours. But there you were, enjoying the love you both felt for each other.

You rested your head on his shoulder. “Satoru…” He hummed in your ear. “Your brother was right.” You looked at him. “I’m sorry my parents were behind your parents death and also behind your…”

“Hey angel.” He made you look at him. “None of that was your fault, you are not like your parents. And soon you will be a Gojo.”

His kiss made all the storms disappear from your heart, and calm was restored, allowing your heart to beat again with serenity and tranquility.

The tumultuous waves of doubt and fear that had threatened to engulf you subsided and were replaced by a deep sense of peace. Her touch, gentle, felt like a soothing balm for a wound you didn't know was so deep. It was as if, in that moment, all the chaos and uncertainty that had plagued you dissolved, leaving only the clear, steady rhythm of love.

Satoru broke the kiss and caressed your face. “Suguru told me that before you ran away from home, Mr. Harrison had called off the engagement or proposed. What happened?"

You smiled slightly. “I told them I was having your baby.” Satoru opened his eyes. “No I'm not.” You clarified. “But you should have seen their faces.”

"I would have loved it." Satoru smiled. “But next time it could be true.” He whispered.

You turned your face. “You must recover first.” You said.

“Angel, we can do a lot of things while we wait for me to recover.” He kissed your shoulder. “A lot of new things you still don’t know.”

You turned your face to look back at him. “Like what?” You had been tempted and Satoru knew it, which is why that smile that had captivated you from the beginning appeared on his face.

Fin

Notes: I can’t believe BDILH is over (the epilogue still needs to happen but still) 😭. The fact that this short series started as a Mikasa one shot, then turned into a dark romance with Sukuna but it ended up being a Gojo short fic bc I’m such a Gojo sucker… But thank you everyone for the likes, the comments and the love.

Also sorry bc this final didn’t have much angel x Satoru but the epilogue will be fully focus on them and just them and it will be 4-5k. But the main story needed a conclusion and didn’t want to extend the chapter too much. I’m quite satisfied with the result and I hope everyone enjoyed it ❤️

— comment if you want to be tagged in the final part

🏷️: @catobsessedlady @zoeyflower @satoracyxys @lavender-hvze @slashersgirlypop @tinydonkeysforlife @oddball08 @tttttttf @crybabytoru @fccxxxcvvx @augustine13028 @alwaysfreakingout

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mystic-writings · 2 days

Text

out like a light | steve harrington

PAIRING — steve harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY — you and steve have been living a happy, simple life in hawkins. the return of an old friend flips everything on its head.

WARNINGS — angst, verbal arguments, cheating, steve and reader are married

WORD COUNT — 2,856

NOTES — loosely inspired by 'out like a light 2' by ricky montgomery

masterlist | navigation

Steve Harrington was all yours.

It started out as a silly promise, a quiet whisper between lips and sheets in the early days of your relationship. But it was a promise nonetheless, and Steve intended to keep it for as long as you would let him.

You seemed to have one of those picture perfect relationships; one that everyone envied, even if the path that led you there was anything but. It took time to get to where you were, and a lot of pain. Effort. But it was worth the heartache, the uncertainty. Because you were happy.

According to the social class guidelines of your high school career, you and Steve even being friends with each other was something nearly unthinkable. But neither of you could care too much about something as stupid as that — your relationship meant too much. You’d been through too much together.

And, somehow, through the nights spent singing to Queen on the radio and driving along the long abandoned Hawkins roads, you fell in love with Steve Harrington. And he fell in love with you, too.

Your relationship didn’t go without its trials and tribulations. You weren’t that lucky.

The first big fight you could remember happened right after your high school graduation. There was no forgetting it; it was the first time you’d ever told him you loved him.

“Why are you being so ridiculous, Steve?!” You shouted, standing with a heaving chest in his parent’s living room. You’d been shouting at each other for an hour, now. Maybe longer. Steve’s parents weren’t home, so you didn’t mind being so loud. Then again, they never were. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“I’m not being ridiculous, here! I’m just—” he huffed, carding his fingers through his hair. “You’re going off to college in two months and I’m staying here, I just don’t think it’ll work out.”

You felt like your lungs were robbed of air. “Don’t say that.” You pleaded, eyes brimming with sudden tears. “You don’t get to decide that. It’s not fair.”

“You deserve better.” Steve decided. “A lot better than me.”

“And what makes you think that, Steve? What, because you didn’t get into any colleges?” Your voice was soaked in emotion, and you didn’t have the energy to try to hide it from him. You didn’t want to. “You can try again next year, you know. With Robin. Save your money and just try again.”

Steve seemed to deflate at your words, but you weren’t done.

Taking a hesitant step closer, you began to close the gap between you, words trembling on the tip of your tongue. “I love you, Steve Harrington. Nothing is going to change that. I’m all yours. No one else’s. I don’t want to be, baby.”

“Don’t,” Steve nearly begged. His heart swelled at your words, almost unbearably so, a terrifying reminder of why he was doing this. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

“From what?” You asked, voice a mere whisper. “What could you possibly hold me back from?”

Steve sighed, his head dropping. He could barely stand to look at you; at the pain he was causing you. Your red rimmed eyes searched for his, and his resolve almost crumbled. The sinister voice in the back of his head reminded him that this was for the best. The calming one told him to hear you out.

“From a life away from here, from Hawkins.” Steve said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’m just— I’ll always be the reminder of this town. Of the things we’ve been through. And I know how much it all hurt you. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“If there’s one thing you’re not, it’s that, Steve,” you told him, taking another step forward. “If anything, you’re my reminder that there’s still good in this place. You help me forget.”

A strangled sob slipped from Steve’s lips, and you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. Steve’s head fell into the crook of your neck as one of your hands cupped the back of his head, your lips pressing gentle kisses to his hair.

“I love you,” he whispered, grabbing your sweater by the fistful.

You sighed, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “I love you, too.”

Being high school sweethearts and making it through college was a feat you didn’t think most people could achieve. But you and Steve had been so in love that somehow, someway, you did. The thought that you couldn’t never even crossed your mind.

All of the friends you made through college all said the same thing — you were made for each other. Soulmates. The perfect couple.

A perfect picture of love and happiness.

Eventually, after that first fight, Steve had proved you right. He and Robin attended college together, graduating the year after you did. You never once doubted his ability to do what he wanted in life.

You built a life for yourselves together. Steve began working for his dad, with a higher title than he could’ve ever gotten without a degree. You put your knowledge to use, working with the freshmen at Hawkins High. Even if Steve had wanted a life for you outside of the town, you didn’t mind staying. You’d go anywhere if it meant you were with Steve.

He proposed Christmas after his college graduation. You got married two springs later, and moved into a brand-new, red brick house with four bedrooms — enough room to start a family.

It was the simplest of lives, but you relished every single day of it. If it meant that there were no more monsters crawling out from the depths of hell to try and kill you, you would enjoy every single day.

But it seemed that Steve didn’t want the life you did anymore.

You should’ve seen the signs earlier. After being married for half a decade, and together for almost twice that time, you should’ve seen it when Steve first began pulling away from you.

Nights spent late at the office, leaving you to eat dinner alone. Business trip after business trip, where Steve barely made the effort to call before bed. The declining amount of date nights, both out and in the comfort of your home. Steve’s lack of enthusiasm to hear about your day, or to just spend time with you in general. The way that every conversation began with snipping remarks that eventually turned into meaningless shouting matches.

It should’ve been no surprise when you found the root of it all.

Nancy Wheeler moving back to Hawkins was a surprise. Though, she was by no means Nancy Wheeler anymore. She’d been Nancy Byers for just under four years when she and Jonathan came back to their hometown.

You were eager to catch up with her when she moved back to town. She and Jonathan had been living in Boston ever since they graduated college — her degree coming from Emerson, and his from Quincy, a community college from what you’d heard. With them, they brought a one-year old boy, with eyes like his mother’s and a quiet demeanor like his father. Benji Byers, short for Benjamin.

The couple seemed content to move back for their son’s sake, to live out the rest of their life in the quiet town, now no longer plagued by the horrors you’d experienced in your teenage years. You were just glad you had someone familiar to talk to again; Robin stayed in Chicago after college, and only really visited for the holidays, wherein she’d crash in your spare bedroom for a month with her girlfriend, Jess. You loved the company.

You spent a lot of spare time with Nancy, Jonathan, and Benji. They’d moved back to town around the time of year where Steve was away more often than he was home, and you couldn’t get enough of Benji.

“Why don’t you and Steve don’t have kids yet?” Nancy had asked one day as you sat in her living room, a cooing Benji in your lap. You knew she had meant well, but the stutter in your heart and the hesitation before your response told her everything she needed to know.

“We’re just not ready yet.” You said with a tight lipped smile. “Steve’s just so busy right now, and I think we’re still enjoying ourselves for now.”

You just hoped your face didn’t show it as you relived the countless arguments over having kids that seemed to happen between you and Steve. Shouts of ‘I’m not ready’, always to be countered with your rebuttals of how much of a lie Steve’s words were. There was nothing you were more ready for than having a child.

But it seemed Steve had his eye on something else.

The Byers family moved back to Hawkins, and in less than a year, your marriage was nothing but a pile of rubble and shattered glass.

The shuffling of feet and a clatter somewhere in the house roused you from your uncomfortable sleep.

“Steve?” You mumbled from your place on the couch, voice raspy.

An open book lay face down on your thigh, darkness drenching the space around you as your eyes adjusted. The last you remembered was flipping the page on your book, the clock reading quarter-past midnight, as you waited for Steve to get home safe.

The shuffling stopped abruptly, and you stretched out your stiff limbs before closing the book and making your way to the kitchen, where light was spilling from the archway. Bleary-eyed, you glanced at the clock, almost unsurprised to find it reading twenty minutes to four.

“Where were you?” You asked, finding Steve’s back to yours as he stood at the sink, hands gripping the counter. A bottle of whiskey and a half-full glass sat on the counter next to him.

“Nowhere,” Steve said, knuckles turning white, head hanging low. “I, uh— I went to the bar with some of the guys, that’s all. Go to bed, I’ll be up in a minute.”

You sighed, shuffling into the room. “Steve,” you whispered. “Come with me. Please.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed beneath his crumpled button down, and it was now that you noticed the state he was in. Most of his outfit had been wrinkled, the sleeves haphazardly rolled halfway up his forearms. His hair was a mess, almost as though the gel he’d put in it that morning was never there in the first place. And the closer you looked, the easier you could see it.

His hair was wet.

You had known for a fact that it wasn’t going to rain tonight, mostly because you were planning to cook a barbeque dinner for yourself and Steve.

The pieces seemed to click into place in an instant, and your blood ran cold. The thought of it made your stomach turn, your heart shattering in your chest, shards ripping and tearing at the skin of your soul.

“Steve, where were you,” your tone was low, soaked in emotion.

In an instant, Steve was turning to face you, anger twisting his face. “Jesus, I already told you! I was at the damn bar, Y/n!”

You stepped back at Steve’s flailing limbs, horrified to find that the front of him looked no better than the back.

The tie he’d put on that morning was no longer around his neck — in fact, it was missing altogether. The top five buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing the white tank top he wore underneath it. It also exposed the angry red marks that littered his chest and neck, forcing a strangled, quiet gasp from your throat like the last breath of air before you drowned beneath the weight of it all.

“Who is she?”

“What?” Steve hissed, following your eyes to his chest. His shoulders sagged, fingers fumbling to button his shirt, as if hiding the evidence of his infidelity would make you forget about it. “Y/n it’s not— don’t—”

“Who is she?” You said, voice dripping with anger and pain. You could barely see your husband through the wall of tears building in your eyes, but you refused to take your eyes away from him. You would not break.

Steve gnawed on his lip, heart racing. He knew he couldn’t lie to you, to his wife.

“Nancy.” He spoke barely above a whisper, the name coming off his tongue like a bullet, aimed at your already shattered heart.

The staggered breath that came from you made Steve’s chest fill with guilt. When he looked up, he found you staring at him, eyes tearful and cheeks stained with the ones that had already fallen.

And yet, the response you gave was one he wasn’t expecting.

“She’s a mother, Steve. How could you?” The more you thought about the entire situation, the more your sadness turned to rage. “She has a child! What did you think was going to happen, hmm?! You’d break up two marriages and ruin that poor boy’s life because— because, what, you got bored of me? That you’d raise someone else’s son because you couldn’t stand to think of having one with me?”

As soon as the words slipped past your lips, it seemed the brief fire within you went with them. Your stomach turned at the thought, hands carding through your hair. “You… She has a son… Oh, God.”

“Y/n—” Steve rushed forward, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You pushed your husband’s arm away from you, taking several steps back. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, Steve. I can’t believe you.”

Turning on your heel, you rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Steve shouting your name as he followed after you.

“Y/n, come on, let’s just talk about this,”

You spun around in your bedroom doorway, chest heaving. “You want to talk about this?” You scoffed. “Why don’t we talk about the fact that every time I’ve brought up kids you said you didn’t want any yet! That you weren’t ready! Let’s talk about how I’ve spent the past four months— longer than that, even— trying to find a way to fix our marriage while you screwed your high school ex-girlfriend behind my back! About how you ruined two marriages because you couldn’t stand living a normal life!”

“That’s not true!” Steve shouted back, following as you moved to grab a suitcase from the closet. “You know that isn’t true, Y/n!”

“Yeah, right, it’s not true.” You admitted, stopping between where the suitcase sat open, empty on the bed, and where the dresser sat. “You wanted that life. The white, picket fence, Church on Sundays life. You just didn’t want it with me.”

Steve stood in your bedroom — the room you shared, as husband and wife — dumbfounded and heartbroken at the sight of you. He had been the one to cause this hurt, and for what? To relive his teen years? To go back to the time that seemed to be the highlight of Steve’s life?

His mind started back up again when he noticed the clothes you were packing into the suitcase. They were his.

“What— Honey, what are you doing?”

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, shoving everything he owned into one of his suitcases. “And if you really want to know, I’m packing. Because if you really love Nancy that much, you can go sleep on her couch. I’m not sharing my bed or this house with a cheating asshole.”

Steve’s chest deflated, struggling to catch another breath. “What?”

“You heard me. You made the choice to sleep with another woman. A married woman. Now deal with the consequences.” The zipping of the suitcase on the bed punctuated your words, and Steve watched, practically glued to the floor as you hauled it out of the room and into the hallway.

It wasn’t until it thumped heavily down the stairs that Steve jumped, legs finally kicking back into gear.

Your footsteps followed the tumbling suitcase. Steve watched from the top of the steps as you grabbed it, and he followed you as you moved to the front door, wrenching it open.

“Y/n, Y/n, wait—”

Steve was unable to stop you as you tossed it out onto the paved walkway, the suitcase skidding along the concrete as you turned to look back at him.

“Get the hell out of my house.”

Upon catching the look in your eye, the fury mixed with unimaginable despair, Steve knew there was nothing to be done to salvage your relationship. As he passed you by, Steve stopped at the threshold and whispered, “I’m sorry,”

You didn’t acknowledge him as he walked out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

And with the click of the lock latching, and the metal door cooling your skin as you pressed your forehead against it, you let the dam break. Sobs wracked your body, shaking your bones as you slid to the floor, curling up against the front door.

Steve Harrington had once promised that he was all yours. But promises get broken, and people, more often than not, turn out to be liars.

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