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madamechrissy · 3 months ago

Text

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- mentions of sex and sexwork, masturbation (M and f) back shots, threesomes on set w/ Suguru and Sukuna, cum drinking, weed smoking, drinking, lots of longing, reader is innocent DON'T read if you don't like that, pining, obsessive, he can't get hard if it's not you, whipped ass Satoru because that's how I NEED HIM, a lot of mentions of sex, cum, etc- it's about porn so lol. A lil bit of angsttt, a lil bit of cuteness, demisexual reader, hoe Satoru what a pair.

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC 10k!

Based on Pornstar Satoru- Playlist- Chapter Two>>>

Chapter One

Satoru Gojo was one of the most famous pornstars there are, and the baddie arched right in front of him, sucking on one of the other most famous stars’ cock - Satoru’s best friend Suguru Geto - shows exactly why he is. When he slams his latex covered cock so deep inside her she screams, squirting all down his cock while she chokes down Suguru…

That’s not just for the camera.

Satoru knows every spot on his co-stars, shouldn’t it be fun for them too? He never would let a single one of them not cum several times, hence the long, long line and insane demand he has. The amount of onlyfans collab requests he gets, along with shoot after shoot, he has to be extremely picky, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t eat up how desired he was.

Even now, he winks right into the camera, knowing how many people were watching this livestream, gripping his costar’s hips and slamming his cock so deep, while Suguru is gripping her face delicately, moaning. Blue eyes and violet eyes meet the camera, dual smirks while they make this girl shatter for them, until they know it’s time for the money shot.

She’s eagerly on her knees, at the most perfect angle in the room they use as a stage, fully lit with pro lighting, and the comments and tips from this livestream are going insane, all while she looks up at both of them. Satoru takes off his condom, while she strokes him, sucking his cock and then Suguru’s, so huge and heavy, though Satoru loves to brag that he’s just a little longer, and Suguru brags he’s thicker.

They love competing, including who cums more, both of them moaning, though Satoru is a little more occupied with how good his abs look in the camera, fuck they’re glistening really, as she starts jerking them off now with practiced hands. Suguru looks at Satoru then, brushing back dark locks.

“I’m gonna cum way more than you this time.” He murmurs, so that the camera’s couldn’t hear, but the girl stroking them giggles a bit, clearly fucked out.

Satoru stretches his arms up, folding them behind his head, as the strokes get faster, as she laps up his milky precum from his perfect pink tip. “Nah, no way, I will this time.”

“So competitive, hmm?” She says, drawing their attention, then she hits that twist just right, and Satoru and Suguru are cumming all over her eager face, her hands, her open mouth, shooting milky ropes and groaning out.

Satoru gets paid to cum on pretty girls faces, and he gets paid a lot, with his best fucking friend - just how do you beat that? He grins as the livestream is popping off, and Suguru is delicate in swiping their cum all over her for one more money shot, Satoru leans over, stroking himself right on camera once more, to the many happy tips and replies of all his fans.

“And that’s a wrap.” Satoru’s cocky voice follows a click, as he takes in just how much they made, whistling. “Goddamn, we should celebrate.”

“Um… guys…” Satoru turns then, as his co-star is covered, and he laughs a bit, rushing to grab soft wet wipes for her.

“I’m sorry, shit!” Him and Suguru carefully clean her up, and now her manager walks in, along with Satoru’s and Suguru’s, a freshly cleaned costar hugs the two of them.

“Thank you for letting me join, my OF is gonna blow up!” Satoru smiles then, while their managers all spread out the cut.

“Of course, you did great.” She beams, hugging Suguru now.

“Amazing, love.”

“You all are the best!” Soon it’s just Satoru and Suguru with their managers, and Satoru is yawning, bored, still not dressed, cock just swinging and still huge on semi hard, much to his manager’s annoyance.

“We have a big shoot tomorrow, don’t be out partying.” He says, avoiding Satoru’s cock in his vision so much Satoru laughs.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Satoru and Suguru absolutely listen…

Not.

They’re smoking a blunt right in the middle of a Hollywood party, lit off their asses, perhaps they partook in a little coke to celebrate, but who’s to say, just a residue of white in their nostrils to really know. They’re surrounded by women, free drinks all over of the highest quality, to celebrate breaking the bank with the star they shot with, why should they turn it down?

Satoru Gojo loves his life, really.

It feels good, it’s always busy, full of pretty women and an insane amount of money and fame, shit he loves to read comments on himself, but he wouldn’t admit it, about how badly everyone wants him. And why wouldn’t they? Satoru finds himself attractive as fuck, first and foremost. But at times, alone in that penthouse when Suguru would leave for days at a time…

Sometimes he got a little lonely, if he was being honest. Hollywood was full of fake and fleeting friends, and even costars wanted his fame, his cock, his money, not really him. But that was something Satoru shoves far, far back, instead returning his mind to the party at hand, a sea of bodies in a huge mansion right on the coast, littered with entangled and dancing bodies.

It all seems perfect, until Satoru sees someone walk in, a pretty girl who just doesn’t fit in, she just sticks out, nervously clutching a teddy bear cased phone, pushing up her tortoiseshell glasses. As Satoru leans forward, and Suguru hands him a blunt, he can’t get his fucking gaze of the girl, her baggie tan sweater, white pleated skirt and converse.

She stands out completely from the half naked women, many blondes with fake bodies, fake asses, fake tits… not that Satoru minded, he loves all tits and asses, silicon or not. But you look natural, your lips don’t have all that filler, the lips you’re biting, but when your teeth release them, they’re still full and fucking gorgeous, just a bit glossy, the low soft lights glinting off them.

The music of the party fades, everything fades, it’s like some stupid nineties rom com where the room parts, and it’s just this girl. A sweet girl with her hair falling over one shoulder, the other bare, and if Satoru could pick a body part that’s oddly turning him on, it’s your bare shoulder, your collarbones, with a pretty necklace that looks like it must be your zodiac sign.

Someone comes up to you then, handing you a glass of champagne, and he watches you shift a bit, looking down shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear, eyes traveling up and down your body, dying to know what your outfit is hiding. Your eyes catch his suddenly, a sweet, shy smile that just fucks him up, it’s like you’ve punched him in the fucking chest.

“Satoru… Satoru… earth to fucking Satoru… M’gonna smoke all this blunt myself, then-” Satoru finally realizes Suguru is calling for him, when he waves a hand in front of Satoru’s face, ruining his field of vision.

“Who is she?” Satoru and Suguru know most of the industry, sex workers and actors alike, and he sure the fuck has never seen you. Suguru eyes you then, his lips quirking up as you look down shyly once more, poking at your phone.

“I don’t know, she’s pretty though.” Satoru scowls, and Suguru leans back on the crushed velvet couch, purple as his eyes, handing Satoru the much smaller blunt than he previously saw.

How long had he been staring?

“Looks like a good girl, don’t corrupt her.” Satoru glares deeper, blue eyes glinting as he snatches up the blunt, wrapping his lips around the tip and inhaling that smoke deep in his lungs, leaning back and blowing the smoke up in a puffy cloud.

“Just curious, looks like she doesn’t belong here.” Suguru shrugs, taking the brown paper tube back, ashing it in a tray along a dark black table, humming a bit to himself.

“We don’t date.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t… she looks like… she dates.”

“Huh, you can tell that?” Satoru raises a thin brow, and Suguru sighs, smirking a bit.

“I know lots of things.”

“Yeah, whatever… I’m talking to her.” Satoru stands up now, brushing his hands down his white dress shirt a bit, taking a breath.

Fuck is he nervous!?

Satoru Gojo, who strokes his dick on the camera, who grins as people comment that they want it in their mouths, their cunts, fuck- their asses, all their holes - filled up with his white cum. Satoru Gojo who is the top .01% of anyone on his OF, who has pro roles in the highest quality porn there was, was not a shy or nervous man, especially with women.

Why are his hands sweating then? His blood rushing through his ears every step he takes closer to you, your eyes lower a bit, so shy and cute and fucking precious, he has to smile a bit at you, drink in his hand, his other in the pocket of his dark armani slacks. He casually leans over a bit, as your eyes meet his, behind dark shades, his grin bright and enigmatic.

“Hey sweetheart, Satoru Gojo.” He expects you to notice maybe, but you just smile, oblivious, holding out your hand, small in his huge grip, and Satoru has some insane urge to kiss it, that he gulps down.

The fuck is this.

This feeling just touching your skin, inhaling your scent, fuck you smell sweet like some cupcake, you have him intoxicated as his eyes dart to those lips, teeth indentations he feels an urge to run his thumb across. Your eyes look up from behind your own glasses, as the two of you just hold hands for a moment, just a moment, and Satoru can hardly describe just what it is drawing him like a magnet.

You give him your name, and he repeats it, making your own heart race just a bit at the tall stranger, when his blue eyes glint as he slides off his shades, snowy lashes lowering over beautiful blue irises, your breath is caught in your chest. Swirling blue storms unlike anything you’ve ever seen, so intense and beautiful it’s almost difficult to look right at.

“Are you new to the area? Or…” You giggle a bit, sipping on the bubbly champagne that tickles your nose just a bit.

“I look that out of place huh?”

“No, you’re cute. Very cute. Pretty.” He’s stuttering damn near, Satoru fucking Gojo, watching the flush that decorates your cheeks, as your lips touch the rim of the glass, and he can’t stop thinking how much he’d like to kiss those little bite marks away.

“Thank you, that’s sweet.”

“Sweet is not what I’m usually called.”

“Oh really? What are you usually called?”

“Daddy.” You nearly snort out your champagne then, covering your face in a fit of laughter, and he pouts now, swirling those shades casually.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah. They all do, they can’t help it, you know.”

“Mmhmm.” You’re giggling so much you snort, so cute Satoru can’t help but laugh with you, the first genuine one he’s done in a minute, not so forced to always appear so carefree. “I snorted, oh no!”

“It’s cute.” He brushes your hair between two of his fingers, and the both of you pause now, taking a breath, your lids lower just a bit, stepping closer, like Satoru himself is pulling you with his gravity. “What brings you here?”

“My friend invited me! She said seven, so I came a little early… but she’s not even on her way.” You sigh then, and he smirks just a bit.

“LA time is different. Twenty minutes late is on time, and forty minutes late is ‘fashionable’. No one comes early.”

“Shit!” You smack yourself in the forehead, and he takes your hand once more, enveloping your little one in his own.

“I can keep you company, want another drink?”

“Um… sure.”

Soon the two of you are sitting on one of the many couches in the taupe and white decorated mansion, the splashing and screeching of people in the pool mixing in a cacophony with the people dancing and the music inside. Satoru’s enraptured as you begin to talk, soft and thoughtful, while sipping on another glass, his arm just a bit across from you, behind your neck, fingers brushing your soft cashmere.

Every time he does you heat up that much more, you haven’t been with someone you felt this comfortable with in… maybe, ever. The instant feeling that he’s a sweet guy, natural, funny, and you almost wonder why he’s wasting time on you, with all the elegant women in various states of undress. But his eyes don’t even leave yours, his beautiful azure depths.

You can’t be so interesting or beautiful, sure you are very pretty, but more soft and sweet and not the Hollywood babes that were all over. But he’s laughing right with you, he soon starts busting out purple and white fuzzy weed, breaking it up and starting to roll a blunt, and you’ve never thought about being a paper until you watch a wicked pink tongue dart across it, long fingers sealing it.

“What’s wrong, don’t smoke, sweets?” The nicknames make you shift nervously, he’s too charming, too handsome, fuck not even handsome…

Pretty.

He’s too pretty to be real.

“Are you an actor, or model?” You blurt out, you don’t have much… thought before your words. He blinks a bit in surprise, flipping that blunt to smoke it now, lighting it up, you watch the orange and red of the cherry as he inhales.

“Hmm, a bit of both.” He exhales the puff of smoke, leaning closer to you, so close his thigh brushes yours, just that alone has your tummy fluttering.

“What are you in? I’d love to see your work.” Satoru starts coughing now, uncontrollably, eyes wide, as you stare in concern, coming to tap on his back. “Are you okay!?”

“Shit… yeah…” He’s coughing more, covering his mouth before looking away a moment, taking a breath.

Satoru was not ashamed of what he does for a living, and he never fucking will be either, but suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, am I being nosy?”

“No, no… want a hit?” Clearly trying to avoid the question, you wonder… was he in some flop of a movie or something?

“I’ve never smoked.” You’re looking down again, those converse pointing in as you shift once more, so adorable he really can’t stand it.

“Never?” You shake your head, and he grins, teeth glinting as he leans even closer, holding the blunt up high, the smoke swirling around the two of you, creating an even headier atmosphere, like you could get high off him.

“No…”

“Let me be your first.”

“What now!? You’re teasing me!” You cross your arms as he bursts into laughter, taking another hit.

“You’re too adorable not to.” You can’t help how good that makes you feel, he makes you feel… reckless, this stranger. “I can blow it in your mouth?”

“Blow it in my…” You bite your lip again, Satoru leans forward, thumb releasing it from your row of teeth, and the action makes you both pause.

“You bite it too much.” He murmurs softly, and just touching your soft lips, thumb touching the plush of it, is hotter than cumming on a girl’s face this morning, in fact he’s not done something so sensual.

The man who last night was banging a co-star in a mating press, the night before he had two women, one on his face, one riding his cock. The other day, him and Suguru shared another girl, this time dual penetrating her, fuck they were both in her pussy- she clearly was miraculous to take it. This week alone he’d done six shoots, with the best Hollywood had to offer.

But this girl blushing, who’s never smoked a blunt, is so fucking sexy he barely holds back.

He’s leaking precum from your proximity.

“Will blowing in my mouth get me… um, high?” Your words shake him from his revelry, where he’s still touching your pretty little chin, making him clear his throat, plastering on a cocky smile like your scent alone doesn’t have him throbbing.

“A little, but not as intense as a hit yourself. Call it shotgun, you’ve really never heard of it?”

You shake your head, scooting closer and leaning forward, that tan and brown sweater falling just a little more over your shoulder, as your lips are too close. Any other girl by now Satoru would have on his OF, or have in a bedroom, a bathroom, maybe just here on this couch for everyone. He’d have his fingers on them, have them sucking him off.

But he’s just enjoying barely touching you.

Satoru shakes his head, wondering if he’s so high he’s imagining how intense this must be, but looking back down into your pretty eyes behind your glasses, he can’t shove it down. “Trust me?”

“Should I?” He wiggles his brows, grinning.

“Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe it’s a ploy to kiss you.” You’re giggling again, sighing now, and tilting your chin up, your hand resting on his thigh, while he cups your face.

“I doubt you need to ploy anyone into kissing them.”

“Never have before, no.”

“Then… I trust you.” You lean forward again, eyes fluttering shut, your lashes just barely brushing the glasses, and he pauses, before inhaling the blunt deep into his lungs, tilting your chin up and opening your lips.

“Suck in.” His words carry far too much intent, when he blows his smoke directly into your mouth, and you do just that, sucking in all the smoke you can, as he sighs into your sweet mouth, lips full and plush on your own.

Fuck.

Satoru blows all the smoke, and you’re sucking it in. “Good girl.”

Fuck.

You almost die then, coughing a bit, embarrassingly wet for him, and this is not normal. You’re a girl who has to have a relationship to have sex, you’re a girl who has to really know someone, feel so comfortable, but Satoru Gojo was completely wrecking you now. You let the smoke go, the fog rising, when he leans low once more, one hand pulling you closer.

“Another?” He asks in a whisper, you can’t stop but nodding, watching his plump lips circle that blunt again, and he’s blowing it back in your mouth, pulling you closer, while you inhale it deep. He pulls back a bit now, as you’re holding it, sighing. “Blow it back in my mouth.”

You do as he asks, and soon your tongues touch, sloppy and drippy wet, making you whine out from the back of your throat, the sound making Satoru fucking feral. You kiss fully, your hand slipping up his shirt now, lightheaded from the smoke and his ardent kiss, how he possesses your fucking mouth, and the blood rushes to your ears, your head so light and fuzzy.

“Fuck…” His words come out in a low growl, pulling you even closer, until one of your thighs is over his, and he’s pressing a kiss across your jaw, up to your ear, you’re gripping his soft, expensive shirt like your life depends on it, whimpering so softly only he can hear. “Taste so sweet, do you everywhere?”

“I… huh… I… mmm…” You’re dizzy when he nips your ear, a big hand brushing your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before he pulls back, eyes so bright, his pupils shrunk to little pinpoints now. “Gojo…”

“Satoru.”

You’re blushing furiously, eyeing your surroundings, when you’re soaked now, it feels so… naughty but exciting, fuck. You have to gather yourself, taking several shaky breaths, as he’s leaning down further, your heat against one of his thighs now. “Satoru um… I need a moment. That was intense.”

“Shit, of course.” He pulls back, taking his own breath, putting out the blunt now, eyeing the glossy redness of your now swollen lips.

He can picture them so perfectly wrapped around the tip of his cock. So innocent, did you do that? Would he have to show you, direct you? The perfect angle of your eyes, the way to open your mouth, how to take him deep down that little throat, one he can imagine seeing his cock bulge out of. All the thoughts are running insane while you lean back a bit, hands loosening their grip on his shirt finally.

“Want a drink, sweets?” You nod now, your eyes are so dilated they look black, glasses just a little fogged from his breath and the smoke.

“Yes, please. You didn’t tell me um, what movies can I find you in?”

“Like looking at me?” He’s cocky, conceited, but you just nod a bit, making him falter now. “Indie films, low budget, obscure.”

“Oh? I love indie flicks!” He grimaces now, a girl who’s never smoked weed and screams inexperienced may not like him if she knew he cums on girls' tits and their faces for money.

He wants to just say it.

But…

“You’ve not heard of ‘em. Let’s get you a drink, hmm pretty?” You nod shyly, standing with his help, and soon the two of you have made it in the center of one of the main party rooms, there are women getting lines done off them, men with several women on them at once, all kissing, grinding, along with those dancing. And now Satoru has your hips in his grip, showing you how to roll them.

You’re not a dancer, a little awkward and off beat, but you’re laughing, a pretty peal of a sound that melts him, and he can’t remember the last time he has had so much fun, as he does working you in a figure eight, kissing your neck teasingly. You’re ticklish, he really notices when his fingertips graze your hips under your sweater, earning your little gasp and look up at him.

“Cute.”

“You keep saying that, like I’m a little kitten!”

“Maybe you are. Or a little bunny.”

“Oh!” You’re giggling though, when you turn and get just a little dizzy, but he captures you, and you finally say it. “Um… why talk to me?”

Satoru frowns now, thin brows together, as the song is slower, and you’re damn near grinding against his thigh, with how he holds you. “What do you mean why?”

“You’re so… there’s so many…”

“Shh.” He puts a fingertip to glossy lips, taking a breath. “I’m enjoying myself, are you sweetheart?”

“Yes but…”

“Want a secret?” You nod and he leans down, breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You’re the prettiest girl here.”

“No way!”

“Mmhmm, and I’d know. Expert.” You tuck your face against his chest, giggling again, as your arms wrap his torso tighter.

“You’re being too nice.”

“No, just saying what I think. But your cheeks turn a really pretty color, don’t they?”

“Shh.” You look back up, eyes glittering, and it takes everything for Satoru not to take you then and there, lap up that heat he can feel emanating from your surely pretty little cunt. You peck a kiss on his neck, earning a little exhale, when Satoru pulls your little body even closer against his, so huge, tall, hard, everywhere. “Satoru…”

Suddenly your friend hits your field of vision, pausing and widening her pretty eyes as she takes in the sight of you two. You clear your throat, tapping Satoru then, whose hands are dangerously close to gripping your ass, your scent overtaking him, the feel of you in his arms driving him insane with need. He blinks a bit, as he then turns where you’re pointing.

“My friend!” You’re grinning then, and Satoru’s heart drops just a bit, when he recognizes her, since he’d been inside her just last week.

Shit.

“Come meet Satoru!” You’re bouncing practically as you drag Satoru by his hand, and your friend smiles just a bit, as Satoru clears his throat, and you’re adorable and oblivious.

“We’ve met.” You blink a bit in surprise at her words, looking at Satoru, who’s put back on his shades, hand that was on the small of your back falling.

“Oh, where? A movie set? She does some acting too!” Your best friend takes your hand then, as Satoru looks away.

“Yeah, a set. Um, can I steal you baby?” She asks, brushing your hair back, you nod with a pretty smile.

“I’ll be back!” Satoru smiles a bit, cursing softly, when Suguru comes walking up to him, sipping on a whiskey, eyeing the two girls.

“Didn’t you…”

“Fuck her friend? Yep.” He answers with a pop of his lips, hand brushing his hair back then, sighing. “Shit I really like her.”

“Like her or want her?”

“Both. More. Shit.” Suguru contemplates his friend, then eyes you and your friend together.

“Her friend is Jenna Juggs?”

Satoru’s lips quirk up a bit. “She is indeed. Fuck I need a drink, I am sure she won’t want to talk to me now.”

“Since when do you care?”

“Shut up.” Satoru’s all pouty, and you frown now, looking up at Jenna, who is tugging you far away.

“What’s going on? You always say I need to try to meet someone!”

“Yes, but…” She sighs now, looking over at him, then back down at you. “You really don’t recognize him?”

“He said he’s in like… indie films?” She snorts just a bit then, shaking her head and sighing.

“Indie films huh. Babe aren’t you on my OF?”

“To support you! I’ve never looked, oh god.” Jenna giggles, sighing.

“I thought you peeked a bit huh?”

“No. I read my porn.”

“So classy.” You both giggle, and you feel blue eyes boring across the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you look over your shoulder.

“I’m not any better than you because you like to watch or… participate. But anyway, what’s OF have to do with it?”

“We… collabed last week.” You watch her shift a bit, eyelashes lowering as she now giggles at the memory, and you feel your tummy clench just a bit, eyes catching Satoru’s again, he’s leaning against a counter, ignoring everyone that comes his way with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Collabed as in…” She nods a little, and you exhale. “Oh.”

“He’s a huge name, like the top porn star there is, him and his friend over there.” You see him now, long dark hair, as tall as Satoru, leaning against the counter right with him, but Satoru still hasn’t peeled his eyes off you. “It was a big deal to get him to join, and he’s really sweet but…”

“But?” You raise a brow now, and your friend brushes her hair back, looking in their direction again.

“He’s amazing in bed, like the best I’ve had.”

“Ah… that good?” You’re clearing your throat nervously, drinking your glass slowly, trying to ignore the odd feelings in your tummy.

Were you really envious right now?

You shouldn’t feel this way, she’s your best friend and you don’t even know him, but also you could never just…

Could you?

“He hasn’t dated a single girl in the eight years he’s done porn, him or his friend, notoriously single even for the industry.”

“Shit are they together?” She laughs a bit then.

“People certainly ship them but…”

“Ship, like characters, are they that famous?”

“Mmhmm. Now if you just want to have fun, he’s amazing but I know you.” She puts one of her hands on your shoulders now, cool thumb running little circles on your bare shoulder. “You’re sweet, innocent and you want love.”

“I’ve done things!”

“With how many people?”

You sigh now, drinking the rest of your drink in a gulp. “Just my ex.”

“That’s what I figured, and that’s fine baby, if you need a connection, or something deep? He’s not it. That’s all, I see how much fun you were having, and I don’t want you hurt if he gets… what he wants and goes. In this industry how you see sex is very different.”

“Ah. I get it, you think he just wants to…” You can’t even say it, fuck you’d been wet, ready, and you were never like that with a stranger, your experience as a demisexual just is limited, where you crave connection, comfort, and meaning behind sex, you can’t just ‘have fun’.

But he’d had you questioning it all, because you felt something in that kiss- was it just his experience?

“He’s walking sex, I can’t blame you one bit. And I support anything you do- shit I highly recommend it. But you…”

“Yeah no, I am not into hooking up. I’m glad you told me but… something about him…” You trail off then, swallowing nervously, as her hands come to your sides, and she hugs you closely.

“I know, it doesn’t mean you can’t talk to him, but you had to know.” She nibbles on a nail then, lashes lowering. “He gives mean backshots, if you go that route.”

“Jenna!” You’re both giggling, and the party goes on then, the two of you smiling and waving as you keep finding each other around the room, soon Jenna is good and sauced, and you know you need to make sure you both get home okay. But you can’t help but stop by Satoru before you go, nervously fidgeting with your hands in front of you.

“Hey sweets, heading out?” He asks softly, a hand coming to grip your wrist, swallowing it with his long fingers, you eye the connection, feeling yourself heat up at it, trying to remind yourself, it’s him ‘dripping sex’ it’s his job. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty enough not to fuck for a shoot, maybe he’d actually like to know you a bit, but her words hit hard.

“Satoru, do you date?” Your words make him pause. “Not me, just in general.”

“Do I date?” He blinks a bit, lips opening, then shutting. “She told you.”

“I would never judge, my best friend does it, if anything I’m envious that you all can just do that.” Your eyes are glimmering just a bit, now his hand slips up your wrist, thumb brushing the delicate veins there, sighing. “I just wanted to clarify that part.”

“I haven’t dated since like college, no.”

“And you’re…”

“Twenty eight.” You nod a bit now, calculating, a good eight years since he’s dated- since he’s been in the industry. “I was enjoying our time.”

“I was too, very much. Got me high you know.” He grins then, and you can’t help but smile back, heart racing in your chest - and you realize it, Jenna is right. What you’re feeling from one meeting could hurt you. “I’d still like to be friends?”

“Friends, hmm?” You nod as he leans down, his other hand pressing against the nip of your waist, pulling you against him, watching the catch of your breath, the dilation of your pupils. You’re biting that lower lip again, a little soft whine in the back of your throat escaping.

“I’d love to be. I really like you, Satoru.” He melts for you then, at your cute little smile, your hand slipping up his chest. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“So did I. Friends, then, I could use some.” He kisses your lips softly, a mere brush, that’s not what friends should feel from a little kiss, right? That ache between your thighs, your pulse racing, as he can’t stop thinking how good you feel in his arms, thinking he’d like you to stay.

“Me too, maybe you’ll make me a stoner, hmm?”

He laughs then, genuine and charming. It’s hard to think of him ‘giving Jenna backshots’ a mix of sweet and charming, you try to remember just that. “So she didn’t have a bad review for me?”

“Quite the opposite, you’re apparently the best in the industry.” The softness and break in your voice makes him pause, usually he’d be cocky about hearing that, but he doesn’t know just how that makes him feel. “I haven’t watched your kind of work, I’m afraid.”

“I didn’t think so. Too obscure.”

“Clearly.” You both laugh softly again, you are leaning back now, taking a breath, trying to remember yourself, but it’s hard when all you can think of is his lips.

“Can I have your number?” Satoru Gojo has never asked for a girl’s number, but he damn near gets giddy when you nod, slipping out your phone, giving it to him then, which he saves under your name.

“I don’t do casual, I’ve never even kissed someone I’m not serious about. Um… but I really had fun.”

That innocent?

He figured close to it but…

“Did I corrupt you so much in one night?”

“Maybe so. I have to get my friend home safe, so I will talk to you sometime?”

“Any time.” He brushes your hair back again, kissing your cheek once more, your eyes shut at how good it feels, sighing.

When you’re gone, Satoru does not like the feeling left.

The rest of the party is dimmed now, he can’t stop thinking about you, about watching you inhale that smoke, about watching your cute, shy little fucking smile, but why would you like him, he fucked your best friend last week. And you’re clearly a good girl, a sweet girl, and that’s what he would do - corrupt you.

But the thoughts of corrupting you start taking over, so intense he can hardly stand it, imagining teaching you everything. How to arch your ass up just right for him, have you cum so hard you’d squirt and drip down his cock, fuck he’d love to watch your eyes roll back in your head, as he hits spots he’s sure no one ever has, cumming so hard you cry pretty tears.

It’s so ridiculous he’s throbbing, and as some of his co-stars come and flirt with him, he can barely give them a little smile, a playful wink, turning down the endless opportunities tonight with one excuse- ‘he’s tired’ - is about all he can come up with. Because what is this!?

What’s the feeling that night when you’re laying in your bed, scrolling through your friend’s OF for the first time, heating up as you scroll, you’ve seen her naked a ton, you’ve taken her pictures, but when you see her bent over, and that sexy white haired man wrapping an arm around her waist? His other hand, wrapped around her throat, and her eyes rolled back?

The scene alone without clicking play is too much, you’re trembling, imagining pressing play, hesitating. You barely know him, but something clicked tonight, you had fun for the first time in forever, but to know that you maybe already developed a crush on someone unattainable seems a cruel joke.

Hopelessly single because you’re so picky, because a lot of time your interests don’t align - how could you like someone who doesn’t think Lord of the Rings is a classic, for example - or if you’re not feeling something. Your friends think you put too much into it, they think you should let go and have fun, and maybe you did, tonight, but that was because of him.

You keep furiously flushing as you go back and forth, thumb hovering over the screen, Jenna wouldn’t care if you saw, and maybe Satoru wouldn’t, but something feels so different to you, so naughty, like inhaling smoke from his mouth tonight. You keep shutting the phone off, then turning it back on, when suddenly you get a text from him.

Satoru - Hope you got home safe, sweets.

He’s sweet, he’s thoughtful, he’s fucking gorgeous and…

He would never date.

It’s a really mean joke someone’s playing on you.

You - Thank you, I did! I hope you did too.

You can’t look at the video! Can you?

Satoru’s laid up in his bed, picturing you, god he can taste your lips on his still, swiping a hand over his face as you send some little emoji, far, far too cute, so cute you make him ache. He wonders then just what is it about you, surely you’re beautiful, but it can’t just be that.

He can’t get you off his mind.

You can’t stop yourself from pressing play.

Your breath catches when you finally do, and you see it, him fucking Jenna, looking right at the fucking camera, a smirk and blue eyes, as he thrusts up inside of her. You don’t enjoy porn, it’s not intimate enough for you- but looking at him makes your cunt throb, you touch it to find it hopelessly drenched, watching him manhandle and flip her like she’s nothing, right on her back.

You watch him put your best fucking friend in a mating press, watch him smack his cock against her tummy, pulling his condom off, cumming on her then. When you get a good look at his pretty pink tip, veiny long cock and ropes of fucking cum, you mindlessly touch your cunt, soaking your sleep shorts, crying out before you catch yourself, cursing.

You shut it off, huffing and yanking the blankets over your face.

It must be… the drinks, the smoke, him, making you act this way. A good book with meaning, a perfect man in your head, that’s what you want, what you need, right? Not whatever he was doing to your mentality, fuck it’s your friend too, how could you ever get wet to that?

“Fuck this.” You grumble, swiping away from your friend’s OF, but the image is firmly burned into your mind, of Satoru moaning with his lips parted, jerking his cock along her in pretty patterns. You pull up your book instead, filling your mind with anything and everything else, when another text pops up.

Satoru - Good night, sweetheart.

You just watched him cum, now you feel horrible, ugh! What is up with you tonight!? He’s probably being friendly and you’re over here touching your sensitive little clit watching him. You struggle to compose yourself, finally having to go wipe up, splashing yourself with cold water in your little bathroom, you dry your hands on a towel, looking at yourself in the mirror for a moment.

You look fucked up.

You finally text him back.

You - Good night, Satoru, sweet dreams.

Satoru can’t stop the dopey smile on his face, cock annoying and throbbing, and instead of letting it get taken care of, he’d just focused on how badly he wanted you, how much he can’t get you off his mind. Fuck just your shampoo and whatever heavenly fucking body spray spritzed on you made him harder to remember, how pretty you’d look in his bed, under him.

‘Friends’, you’d like to be ‘friends’.

Satoru doesn’t think anything in his mind was friend appropriate currently, not when he’s stroking himself, crying out and picturing just peppering your shoulder and neck with kisses, biting you, marking you. Leaving bruises along a perfect neck while you grip his hair, crying out, head falling back. Having your heat he could still feel on his fingers.

As you’re struggling to calm down, Satoru’s giving up, jerking off for the first time maybe in forever alone, sure he does for videos, but he doesn’t have to make himself cum often when everyone was lining up to suck him. But instead he’s stroking a famous cock thinking of a sweet girl with a brown sweater that falls just so, hiding a body he’s dying to know.

As you’re finally asleep, mind racing, he’s cumming ropes into his palm, picturing much better places for this cum- like inside your sweet little cunt - and that’s one thing Satoru Gojo does not do. Trying to come down himself, cleaning up, he looks in the mirror, seeing the pink of his own cheeks, shaking his head then.

He looks fucked up off you.

*****

While you are at work that next monday, sitting at your desk typing away, Satoru Gojo has an entirely different sort of work to accomplish, this time with his costar Sukuna, who he frequently worked with, and the two of them either popped off on each other or competed for who could make the girl squirt the most. Sukuna was currently lapping at the co-star’s cunt with his pierced tongue.

She’s she’s bent over sucking Satoru’s cock with expert suction, and he should be loving it, he’s worked with her before and she is a sweetheart and highly fucking skilled, and this shoot pays extremely well. A win win, even with Sukuna running it, currently at least his mouth was occupied. The director zooms right in, maybe that’s what’s bothering him, the cameras, the bright lighting.

Satoru’s cock is not staying hard, even as she’s choking back moans with the pink haired munch of a man going so intense, her nails gripping Satoru’s thighs so tightly, pressing in. He tries to focus on how it feels, shutting his eyes, but all he can think of is you.

Your lips.

Your eyes.

Those glasses on the bridge of your nose.

How you shift your fucking thighs, heated from desire.

God, he can’t stop thinking of you, what if you saw him on a video? Would it make your surely pretty pussy wet? He’s suddenly hard fully once more, grabbing his co-star’s hair and shoving his cock so deep she’s choking, gasping, but he can’t manage to open those eyes until the director says something then.

“Gojo, the eyes- look at the camera.” He sighs now, they were part of his money, the eyes that no one had, the ones that entranced so many, he manages to open them, eyeing the camera, but instead of his usual smirk there is a pout, and his co-star pulls back, frowning just a bit, as Sukuna pulls away from her cunt, tattooed face glistening.

Amongst the most famous pornstars, Sukuna rivaled Satoru- the alternative, rougher version perhaps to the pretty boy, he slips two fingers in her cunt, and she moans, as he eyes Satoru. “Who’s fucking her first?”

“Me, of course.” Sukuna chuckles, her cunt is so loud it’s squishing and clicking, much to the delight of the director, and Satoru has her on top of him then, as Sukuna guides her onto his cock, slapping her ass loudly. Satoru struggles, gulping as she sinks on him over his condom.

It feels warm and good but…

He can’t even look at her.

She’s bouncing up and down him while Sukuna plays with her from the back, and Satoru forgets he’s even on a set, lips parted in a sigh as he looks away, and realizes he’s gone soft again. “Is something wrong?” She asks softly, he shakes his head now, gripping her hips.

“No, no it’s fine, wanna ride him for me?” She nods, and Satoru then helps her ride Sukuna’s cock, as he kisses down her shoulder, shutting his eyes once more, trying to hide how soft he is and failing.

“Cut.” The director calls, Satoru sighs, as Sukuna moans, yanking her down his length, and her head falls back. “I said cut.”

“We can fuck while we’re waiting for him to get on board.” Sukuna grins up at her as she giggles, and Satoru glares. “Go get a viagra.”

“I don’t need one, fuck it’s just… the lights.”

“Need a break Gojo?” His director asks, and he manages a nod. “Go ahead to the dressing room, we’ll… make sure they are ready to go when you come back.”

“She’ll be fucked out before you get it up.”

“Whatever Sukuna, fuck you.” Sukuna snorts in laughter, Satoru stomps over to the dressing room, cursing then and resting his head against that door, taking several breaths and scowling at his cock. “Work, shit…”

What is this!?

A pretty girl at a party shouldn’t ruin his whole cock, ruin his enjoyment, cloud his goddamn mind, a girl who’s a - friend - what’s his problem!? He’s sitting down on the couch then over a towel, still literally naked, stroking it, once, twice, three times. Nothing helps, the condom hanging just so off his cock, when he grimaces, pulling it off and tossing it in the trash, pulling out his phone, and he pauses at your name.

Satoru - Hey sweets, I don’t have a pic for your caller ID, could you send one?

He tenses as he sees you immediately typing, cock twitching right back to life from three stupid dots wiggling. He bets you’re biting that lip.

You are.

You’re nervous as you look around your quiet workplace, you’re a graphic designer and it’s a little late, so you’re nearly alone, finishing a project, when you see he wrote to you. The man you have not looked back up, but it’s taken every bit of self control not to watch his content, and boy does he have so much, up to and including his own asmr.

That’s dangerous.

He’s dangerous.

Because you could never just enjoy him for who he is, you would want more, fuck you already feel it, the odd sensation knowing he’s likely fucking someone constantly, picturing yourself wildly for a moment with him behind you. Surely you couldn’t be a co-star, you’d flip on camera, too shy, but you keep envisioning it regardless, him choking you as he sinks deep.

Stop that.

You turn in your big black chair, spinning it just a bit, seeing the beautiful soft lighting of the upcoming evening pouring in through the floor to ceiling windows, deciding it’s good lighting. Your chest rises and falls with your nerves, you didn’t know how to be sexy in photos, but do you want to?

You do.

Fuck you do.

You’re leaning back and angling the phone just so, glasses off for a moment on your desk, since they’d been giving you a bit of a headache, throwing a peace sign and parting your lips, you don’t know exactly how to pose. You knew what art was, what beauty was, but a little clueless how to angle yourself like your friend Jenna has always been able to.

After peering through a few photos, brows drawn together in concentration, you send one his way, he’s viewed it and he instantly hearts it, making you exhale, relieved that maybe he thinks it’s cute enough. But little do you know, you have him full hard now, thumb brushing his leaky tip, making him whimper, picturing rubbing his cock right on those pretty lips of yours.

God you’re just in a blouse but he can see your nipples pressing from the material, begging for him to pluck them, suck them, and he can’t stand the longing, the need making his body ache. He curses softly, wiping a sticky thumb on his towel, trying to compose himself, he’s acting like some stupid lovesick boy, not the entire star he knows he is.

And your eyes, eyes he didn’t get a good enough look at, so fucking gorgeous, it’s hard to look away, but as he does, he notices more, your bitten lips, the gentle slope of your neck, the way you have little marks from the pads of your glasses on the sides of your pretty nose. God, all of you is delectable.

Satoru - Gorgeous, thank you. Saved.

You - Thank you, Satoru um, can I have one too?

He smirks now, because if he was good at anything - aside from making women cum - it was taking the perfect selfie. He’s lifting the camera high, showing far too much of his strong chest, his rippled, cut abdomen, down to those v cuts and his veins running just above his snowy white pubic hair. Not his cock, of course, but enough for you to get the idea.

He sends it with a smirk, and you open it with a gasp, eyeing a body you saw somewhat in the shoot, but nothing looks quite like what’s in front of you right now on your screen. He’s got his brilliant eyes bright and lidded, tousled white hair, lips parted just so, making your lips tingle at the memory. You touch them longingly as you study his body, glistening with sweat.

Fuck he’s sexy.

You shift in your office chair, sighing, putting back on your glasses for an even deeper inspection- and since when are you so turned on by looks? You’re into who someone is, of course looks are great, but to have your pussy clenching over a picture is insanity.

And for Satoru to have a raging hard cock over a selfie is batshit insane, but here the two of you are, you saving an obscenely sexual photo, and him saving a demure little picture, both smiling at them. But then you frown a bit, taking in the couch, the lighting, realizing it then.

You - Are you on a shoot?

Satoru - Yes.

Why does that make you feel just a little envious of whoever gets to kiss and touch on him?

Why does it make you a little jealous of who gets him on them, his plump lips on their skin?

You shake it off, smiling tremulously as your hands shake, typing a

I know you’ll kill it, have fun! Got the pic saved thanks. <3

Satoru leans his head back again, before looking at your photo once more, rushing out before his cock decides not to work again, slipping on another condom. When he’s gripping her hips and smiling at the camera as he does, however, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up, luckily he’s so huge she barely notices, while she’s gushing down his latex covered cock.

He’s encouraging her, pressing his thumb against her clit, while she’s sucking on Sukuna, and he tries to remember how amazing his life is, and focus, surely this is something that will pass. Some infatuation, and he’ll get back to normal in no time, he’s sure of it.

Right?

******

Wrong.

After a string of highly unsuccessful shoots that Satoru’s had to push off on Suguru and Sukuna, he’s decided the only hope for it is to give in and jerk his cock to your pictures. That week you’ve sent others, all cute and innocent, but how do you manage to make him so obsessed? Every pretty inch of skin you show he’d litter with bruises.

Not that there was much skin shown, the plush of your thighs over cute knitted knee high socks, and god you’re as hot with your glasses as you were without, he couldn’t figure out what he liked more. Your shoulders are just a little bare, begging for his teeth to sink into them, since when he is so turned on by hints of skin than soaking wet costars?

The first time he jerks it, he cums so much he knows the best solution, to focus on his solo career, at least until whatever the fuck this is - this obsession - could pass. He’s making bank as he does them, actually, and he can’t help but grin as he’s become the top onlyfans creator, stroking his cock for so many of his fans, all while he can prop his phone up and look at what new selfie you’ve sent.

“Hah- I know, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” He’s winking right at that camera, stroking faster and faster, spitting down on his tip, spreading it with a lewd squishing sound as the comments go insane.

Satoru cum for us!

It’s so pretty

Want a taste

Want it in me

What a win-win, making bank for stroking it to you, all while getting his ego filled by all the comments, he’s stroking his ego with his length, smirking as his free hand uses the mouse to scroll down. “Ah, I know, it’s huge, is it sensitive, mmm… a little bit if I do this.”

He’s twisting just so, eliciting a little cry, when he sees a name pop up, pausing his movements- and you’re staring right at Satoru Gojo’s live stream, heart hammering, worried he’d notice you. His little look of shock confirms it, as his hand finally slides back down his shaft, and your eyes follow the movement, so hungry for him you can’t stand it.

When Jenna teased Satoru had a live stream - she clearly knows now that you are infatuated with him, god he’s all you can think about, daydreaming at work, in your sleep he’s kissing you everywhere with those plump lips. You couldn’t help but talk to Jenna about him again, and she sighed, smiling at you.

“You never know, people change, maybe you two should at least hang out?” You’d repeated it softly, shaking your head. “No?”

“Why would he want to?”

“Well, I heard he’s had no shoots for a bit, and is doing solo things, maybe you could peek?”

You can’t believe you’re on Satoru Gojo’s onlyfans live.

You can’t believe you fucking subscribed to him, too.

And now it’s like he’s looking right fucking at you.

Shit.

He begins stroking his cock once more, murmuring - “I see a new subscriber here, like what you see?”

He’s so pretentious.

But…

You do love it, his veiny cock, which leaks precum on his flat belly button over tense abs, pale thighs spread, muscled and perfect, god all of him was. But something was a little more than just his looks, which sounds insane, but it wasn’t those looks that made you - fuck, lowkey obsessed!?- with him, it was so much more. His eyes elicit far, far too many feelings.

You take a breath for courage, before leaving a comment.

Do you taste sweet everywhere?

Your comment sends him as he reads it, blinking snowy lashes and pausing, while on the other side you’re covering your mouth, panicking- did you really just say that, shit!? You’re taking several breaths, hand on your mouse, ready to leave the chat, as the comments pop off, going insane, asking the question over and over, but Satoru strokes his pretty cock ever so slowly, leaning forward.

He cums when he starts picturing your cute little embarrassed face, he can’t stop himself, knowing you’re watching has him so sensitive, he’s cumming so much it feels so fucking good. His moans are low and gutteral as his cum starts pouring over his slick fist, and you’re watching avidly, breath caught in your chest, heart fucking hammering, so wet it’s dripping through your panties.

You’re on the edge of your seat when he finally opens those blue eyes, to the endless tips pouring in for him, but he’s thinking of just one viewer-

You.

“Do I taste sweet everywhere?” He’s murmuring your name- you’re so dumb to have it as your real name, shit- but the way he chuckles, his eyes going insane as he lifts his hand off his cock then? “Let’s see.”

He’s bringing a white, sticky coated finger to his mouth now, sucking his own milky seed off them, cheeks hollowing as he does, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes, grinding against your seat, desperate for some fucking friction. He’s insane, surely, you’ve never even thought of it, a man sucking his cum up, it’s so sexy and just obscene it fucks you mentally.

Just who is this freaky ass porn star!?

He’s chuckling now, like he can somehow see your damn reaction from behind the screen, it’s like it’s just you and him, and not a fucking stream full of people, as the tips go insane. The comments are going so quickly he can’t keep up with them, grinning as he sucks more of his cum off another thick, long finger you’d love buried inside of you.

“Hmm, I do taste sweet.” He watches as you tip hundreds, smirking before you log completely off.

He pauses now, you’d had him so fucked up he went full out, he wonders if he’s scared your innocent ass off, sighing now, ending the stream with a laugh and a friendly little good bye, as he always does. He has made so much money it’s stupid, and surely you encouraging his little stunt helped, but now he can’t help but call you after he’s cleaned up the mess you’ve made of him.

You watch the phone vibrate and ring, jumping damn near, covering your hands with your mouth as you see his name, with his half naked fucking picture. Shit, shit, shit…

You slowly pick it up, eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what- did you like the show?” His voice is so arrogant and cocky, but you hear it then, the vulnerability under his layers. “I liked that you joined.”

“You did?” Your voice is practically a squeak, he chuckles a bit, laying back on his bed now, phone against his face.

“I did. Now, what did you think?”

“You’re… really… this is embarrassing!”

“It’s not, I promise. I’m flattered.” You sigh now, leaning back in your seat, wishing the air overhead would cool your overheated skin. “Answer me, be a good girl.”

“Satoru, god.” He’s chuckling, but your nipples are pressing out, taut and needy, cunt gushing so much it’s embarrassing. “I liked it but I never do these things.”

“Then I’m more flattered. I’m taking all your firsts.”

“Stop it, you're so ridiculous.” You’re laughing with him then, softly, shaking your head. “How’d you notice me with all those fans?”

“You certainly stand out.” His husky admittal makes you feel far too much, and the next thing out of your mouth makes you question everything.

“Satoru this is stupid and reckless-”

“Perfect, sounds fun!”

“Hush.” You sigh as he grows quiet, words stuck in his throat, how he’d do anything just to see how you taste. “I watched some of you with Jenna.”

He pauses, heart hammering. “Shit, yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re really good at it, um, pleasing.”

“I love to have a pussy drooling on my fingers,” he’s murmuring so fucking soft now, you’re struggling to compose yourself. “My mouth, my cock, fuck my whole face soaked, I love it.”

“Oh?”

He’s chuckling again. “Oh. Cute.”

“Shh. Give me a moment, what if you showed me some things? Off camera, please, I could never-”

“Huh!? What!?” You’re panicking again, embarrassed as he can’t believe his fucking ears.

A chance with you?

Fuck.

“Sorry it’s so rude- that’s your job, and I know you don’t date, but I thought maybe since I feel so comfortable-”

“You feel comfortable with me?” His words are softer now, your eyes shut, sucking in a breath.

“Very. Oddly comfortable, and well I’ve only been with one person, I am sitting here waiting for some romance book love I guess? It’s stupid.”

“Why’s it stupid?” He frowns as he leans his head against his mirror now, standing and trying to pull himself together, cock leaking already thinking of you in his bed.

“I don’t know if it’ll happen but, you’re so sweet and gorgeous and… I’m going on too much.”

“Just say what you want, sweetheart.”

“You to show me things.” You’re shutting your eyes again, waiting for the rejection, but he shocks you once more.

“Then I’ll send a car to get you.”

“Now!?”

“It’s LA, it’ll be thirty minutes at least, if you live where you said, over by that coffee shop on Main right?”

“You remember?”

Of course he does.

“You wanna learn, sweetheart? I’ll teach you anything.”

“Like, free?” He’s chuckling again, the sound so genuine it just makes the ache grow, you’re crazy for this, right?

“Yes free, you’re adorable. Okay then send your address and get ready. Eat something, drink something with electrolytes.”

“Wha-!?” He’s smirking as he eyes his shower, surely he has enough time to wash up for you first.

“Gonna need energy, sweetheart. Lots of it.”

When you’re standing there at the door of Satoru Gojo’s penthouse, and he leans down, his hand on the doorway, veins bulging from his bare arm, hair tousled and still damp, you know it then. When he brushes fingers across your damp hair, bringing it to his nostrils and inhaling your scent, you know it more. But especially when he tilts your chin up, and murmurs - come in.

He’s going to hurt you, but you’ll enjoy the pain.

Ahhh I can't believe all the love the hcs got, like that blew me away, I SO hope you love this, and will enjoy where these two go! I always say - oh this will be four parts- but they always go longer so lol. I hope you all enjoyy I'm so excited to hear what you think! Taglist is closed bc it's so long I'm sorryyy

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay

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eureka-its-zico · 3 months ago

Text

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling.

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?”

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?”

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom.

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween.

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises.

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach.

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED.

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal.

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home.

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t.

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it.

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did.

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange?

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin.

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse.

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head.

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg.

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit.

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer.

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that.

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered.

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years.

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t.

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet.

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago.

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out.

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too.

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see.

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit.

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out.

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.”

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either.

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding.

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time.

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic.

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch.

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her.

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy.

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious.

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could.

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused.

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight.

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing.

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off.

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby.

Fuck it.

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.”

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug.

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again.

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.”

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me.

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him.

And why was he standing so fucking close again?

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael.

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him.

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours.

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland.

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed.

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.”

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.”

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove?

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left.

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was.

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone.

“When’s your next smoke break?”

“Who says I still smoke?”

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break.

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.”

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show.

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear.

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied.

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed.

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.”

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.”

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station.

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed.

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing.

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too.

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear.

You had to get away before you made a mistake.

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble.

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin.

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass.

Used to be, his mind reminded him.

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply.

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn.

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against.

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all.

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it?

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?”

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove.

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same.

“It’s nothing, Michael.” “I’m fine.” “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in.

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15.

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting.

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms.

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward.

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate.

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change.

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David.

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed.

But isn’t that what parents did?

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe.

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut.

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being.

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are.

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there.

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.”

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough.

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station.

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur.

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back.

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out.

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around.

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence.

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him.

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same?

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too.

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria.

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?”

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off.

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going.

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.”

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor.

You didn’t want it like this.

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers.

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous.

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air.

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy.

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it.

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt.

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere.

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response.

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height.

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.”

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken.

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?”

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance.

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that.

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over.

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his.

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well.

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.”

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words.

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew.

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them.

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch.

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there.

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed.

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED.

“Don’t you have patients?”

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost.

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it.

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking.

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t.

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy.

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?”

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod.

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here.

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him.

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest.

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you.

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different.

Jake was still a kid.

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted.

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room.

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home.

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess

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helioooss · 14 days ago

Text

vi. i need to want something more (the end)

synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn

a/n: so here it is…was a long time coming; i appreciate all of you who stuck around long enough to see the end it. there will be no fics for awhile as i work on editing my older stuff — figured i need to show those a bit of love and polishing too. this series has so much potential to become more, i’ll keep my ears open in the future. always enjoy reading your takes on this chapter, so please let me know how you feel about it :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the light wakes you first. not the usual pale grey cast of a seoul morning, but something softer, whiter. your breath is visible in the sliver of air between your duvet and your face.

the heater’s still warming up — typical. you stay curled beneath the covers a few seconds longer, blinking toward the window, where the light presses through the glass differently now.

you already know.

when you sit up, you’re met with the season’s first snowfall. it’s not heavy yet, still a delicate sheet of white layered over the pavement and trees outside.

the world is slower; even the wind is holding its breath.

you get up barefoot, stepping around the pile of laundry near your desk, your laptop still open from last night. giselle flew back to japan last week and yunjin left a post-it note on your side table saying she was grabbing coffee with ryujin. they’ll probably be out for hours.

you should make coffee, maybe start reading that case brief you’ve avoided all week. instead, you stare out the window a while.

the trees outside are really bare now, snow clinging to every branch like a second skin. you reach for your phone and snap a quick photo.

your fingers hover for a moment before sending it to your parents.

first snow of the season! ❄️

they had invited you to join them in switzerland for the holidays; some rental cabin overlooking a frozen lake, something out of a postcard. you told them you had too much to finish here; that much was true.

the reply comes quickly.

from: dad 👨

beautiful! mum says bundle up. she’s already trying to book you a plane ticket despite your answer still being a firm no. 😂

you smile, a little and your screen dims again.

and then it buzzes.

from: sana 🩵

you still like watching the snow fall from windows?

something shifts in your chest as you stare at her name for a moment — warm and uncertain. before you can think about it too hard, you hit call.

she answers before the second ring.

“hi,” you greet, still watching the snowfall.

“hi,” she replies, voice soft and all. she sounds like she’s speaking from under a warm blanket. “you’re up early.”

“snow woke me.”

“hmm,” she hums. “me too, actually.”

you don’t say anything for a second, just listen to her breathing through the speaker because there’s something grounding about it.

“do you want to come over?”

she pauses, then says: “only if we get breakfast first.”

you smile, small and real. “our usual?”

“of course.”

you end the call and move slowly through your morning — brushing your teeth, pulling on layers, rubbing moisturiser into your face with hands that still feel half asleep. you stare at your reflection for a beat too long; there’s colour in your cheeks from the cold and your hair’s a little flat, but you look more like yourself lately.

or someone you recognise, anyway.

as you zip up your coat, you think of sana. how she’s never asked you to call this anything…or make you feel like you owe her certainty you don’t have.

and still — she shows up.

you think about how easy it would be to keep building this quiet version of love, one morning at a time. back then, you thought maybe the whole world would bend if you just stayed still beside her long enough.

you could get used to whatever this is again.

eventually, a car horn honks twice. when you step outside, the snow crunches beneath your boots. she’s already out of the car, walking toward you with a knit beanie pulled low over her ears. her breath clouds in the air.

the first thing she does is reach for your scarf.

“you still don’t know how to do this properly?” she mutters, unwrapping it halfway to re-loop it snug around your neck. “every year, it’s the same issue.”

“you’re just controlling,” you mumble, lips chapped and numb.

“you would freeze to death without me,” she shakes her head, focusing on the knot. her fingers are cold when it brushes against your neck.

there’s snow caught in her lashes and her cheeks are pink from the cold.

her hair is pulled back loosely, a few strands stuck to her collar. and she’s not looking at you. she’s still focused on that damn scarf. you study her face up close; how her brows knit together in concentration and how beautiful she is when she doesn’t know you’re looking.

“you’re pretty.”

she blinks and looks up; the corners of her mouth twitching. “don’t.”

you grin. “just saying.”

“you’re annoying.” she tugs your scarf tighter and gently shoves your shoulder before turning to the car. you follow, heart warmer than your gloves. “come on.”

the drive to itaewon is short and mostly quiet. the windows fog slightly and she draws a little heart in the glass with her knuckle at a red light. she doesn’t look at you when she does it.

“so,” you begin, glancing at her, “you could be in australia right now; drinking cocktails by a pool. why are you here in seoul?”

she glances over with a smile. “i could be.”

“so why aren’t you?”

she exhales through her nose, barely smiling. “because you’re here.”

“right,” you answer, cheeks flushing with warmth. and it’s enough.

that silences you, looking out the window as the snow settles along rooftops. your chest aches a little and it’s not in the way it used to; not with longing, but just with how much space she still takes up, even now.

grazia is tucked between two boutiques, all brick and wood and fogged-up windows. it’s warm and smells like cardamom and coffee inside. the waiter leads you to a quiet table near the back; you end up ordering pancakes and sana gets eggs on toast with extra mushrooms.

you talk about books — what you’ve been reading, what you haven’t had time to. she tells you about a ridiculous rumour she overheard at a party last week: something about taehyung and a chaebol heir (not jennie this time) who may or may not be fake.

it’s ridiculous.

after a pause, she stirs sugar into her coffee and asks. “so…have you decided?”

you look up at her, then down at your plate. “about the job?”

she nods.

“i think i’m gonna take it,” you answer, running your fingers through your hair. “taehyung’s dad offered me a contract starting next month. i’d be handling mid-scale portfolios. nothing glamorous, but…”

“it’s a start,” she finishes.

“yeah…a really good one.”

she smiles. “i’m glad — you’ll do so well.”

she stirs her drink once more, something milky and sweet. she’s dressed down today; soft turtleneck, old jeans, hair tied back with a velvet scrunchie that doesn’t match.

you rest your cheek on your hand and watch her; she looks comfortable.

“you’re staring again,” she chuckles without looking up and the sound makes your head all warm and fuzzy.

you clear your throat. “you’re always stirring your drink for no reason.

she grins. “i’m thinking.”

“about what?”

“you.”

you scoff into your coffee. “try something harder.”

she reaches across the table to steal a piece of your banana bread, doesn’t bother asking. you let her. then, more softly, she adds: “i’m really proud of you.”

“what for?”

“the job,” she mumbles. “with taehyung’s dad. that’s huge…everyone knows the kim family doesn’t let anyone in so easily.”

“it’s honestly just an entry contract.”

“it’s still a big deal,” she insists. “don’t downplay it. you worked hard and earned it.”

you press your hands around your mug and let the silence linger before asking: “and what about you?”

she lifts her gaze as you watch her carefully.

“when are you taking over your empire?”

sana snorts. “don’t call it that.”

“it is that…your family owns half of tokyo and most of osaka.”

“i mean when you put it like that,” she mutters. “it is…a lot.”

you raise a brow. “so? what’s the plan?”

she laughs, soft and brief — but you keep note of how her shoulders tense.

you don’t press, not yet. you just keep your voice even. “you know it’s coming.”

she leans back slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “i know. my dad’s been…bringing it up more often lately. the board’s already making decisions ten years from now.”

her eyes lift to meet yours.

you try to sound gentle; encouraging. “so why not?”

she shrugs, looking away now. “because i’d have to be in japan…full-time.”

she hasn’t said it so plainly before.

you let the silence sit long enough, watching the way she presses her lips together, like she’s already prepared herself for this to hurt.

perhaps the part of you that’s been too afraid to name this…whatever this is — has been waiting for this conversation all along.

“it’s not that i don’t want to,” she adds, quieter now. “but i can’t leave you. not like this. not when we just…started again.”

she meets your gaze once more. there’s something in her expression that makes your chest ache. it’s not doubt.

it’s love, stretched thin by time and distance and the inevitability of her life pulling her somewhere you can’t follow — not yet.

and maybe this is what it means to be grown. to sit across from someone you love, knowing love might not be enough to keep things from changing.

“i’d never ask you to stay just because of me.”

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“but i also wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed to go.”

she exhales, blinking down at her hands. “i don’t want to go if it means leaving this.”

“we’re not a place,” you tell her gently. “we’re not a time either. we’re just…us. maybe we’ll always be.”

you reach for her hand across the table and she lets you take it. her fingers are cold but steady, thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist like she’s trying to remember how to hold on without gripping too tightly.

you think: if this is all we have right now, i’ll take it. and across the table, she looks at you like she’s thinking the same thing.

as you walk back to the car, she slips her hand into your coat pocket; not your hand. just your pocket.

you laugh at her, feeling a bit lighter now. “what are you doing?”

she shrugs, looking forward. “just making sure you’re warm.”

you don’t reply, sliding your hand over hers, not lacing your fingers, just covering them because her palm is cold. you press your thumb into the space between her knuckles and feel her lean a little closer as you walk.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sound of your door clicking open feels louder than it should. your body aches from sitting too long in the same position, neck stiff, legs heavy and your brain mush after hours of reading case law. you drag yourself into the main living area where the scent of cheap popcorn lingers and twilight is somehow playing again — muted blue and green tones flickering across the television screen.

bella is mid-monologue; the sky is always grey in that fuckass town.

yunjin and ryujin are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a throw blanket and a half-empty bowl of snacks between them. yunjin’s legs are draped over ryujin’s lap and they’re blth eating crispy m&ms (because they’re the best) like it’s the end of the world.

you drop onto the armchair beside them.

“how many times do you guys need to watch this a year?” you ask, voice still rough from not speaking all afternoon.

ryujin doesn’t look away from the screen. “you’re uncultured.”

“she just doesn’t get it,” yunjin agrees, nudging you with her socked foot. “she never got the team jacob to team edward pipeline.”

“i was studying contract law while you two watched vampire melodrama,” you grumble.

“that was your mistake,” ryujin shrugs, refusing to look away from the screen. “and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

you sit with them a while, with bits of and pieces of them mimicking lines and a type of silence that only happens when people know each other too well to need to fill it. it’s almost dinner time, you realise. you probably haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.

yunjin turns to you like she’s reading your thoughts. “so, what do you want to do for dinner?”

you hesitate. “uhh, i’m actually going to sana’s soon.”

ryujin raises her brows without comment. yunjin shifts slightly, pulling her knees to her chest.

“movie night?” she asks, a little teasing, but gentle.

you nod, reaching down to adjust your sock. “yeah, she said she found this old japanese film she wants me to watch.”

“what’s going on with you two anyway?” ryujin looks at you. “it’s been a while now.”

you pause because putting it into words makes it feel more solid.

“we’re…good,” you say slowly. “we don’t talk about what it is. but it’s been really good.”

yunjin hums softly. “and…have you heard from karina?”

her name hits like a stone through still water, your shoulders tensing without meaning to. you haven’t thought about her in ages.

not really, anyway. not since early winter, when snow was just beginning to settle and you were still getting used to the way sana folded your blankets and made you tea before you even asked.

after that dinner scene, jimin just simply vanished. no texts or awkward sightings. not even a whisper from giselle, who always managed to mention her in passing before.

and you didn’t chase it. perhaps you were too tired…or maybe you were finally learning how to let silence be what it was.

still, the name makes something flicker inside your chest. it’s no longer pain, not anymore…just something dull and hasn’t fully left.

“no,” you finally answer. “i haven’t heard anything.”

yunjin fiddles with a popcorn kernel. “well, she’s in seoul, i saw her on ningning’s story last week. she was in the background.”

ryujin says nothing for once, she just reaches for the remote and lowers the volume a bit.

your stomach twists. “really?”

“looked like a rooftop thing. not much though, was just a glimpse.”

you nod, mouth dry. “guess she didn’t end up going to europe with jaewook after all.”

“yeah, guess so,” yunjin smiles at you, the way she always does when she wants to comfort you but doesn’t know the words to say.

you push yourself off the chair and stand. “i should get going though.”

ryujin gives you a slight wave. “tell sana we said hi. and look after yourself. and your heart.”

you pull on your coat, scarf still a mess from how it was folded. your bag’s got a change of clothes stuffed at the bottom and a book you haven’t opened. as you walk out into the cold, your breath clouds in the air and the sky has that faint blue cast of early evening.

sana’s apartment is warm, smells faintly of citrus and something boiling on the stove. she answers the door in a navy jumper and fuzzy socks, her hair damp like she just stepped out of the shower. you blink once and feel your chest ease.

“hi,” she grins, already reaching for your scarf, unravelling it to untie it properly now.

you laugh. “seriously?”

“you’ll thank me later.”

you follow her inside, boots off, bag dropped near the shoe rack. she’s already set up her bedroom —blankets stacked and mismatched pyjamas folded on the edge. you change slowly, the clothes a little big on you, the sleeves brushing your knuckles. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you wearing her shirt, but she smiles like something in her has softened.

you settle into the blankets while she brings over miso ramen and sushi on two trays; simple, warm, comforting.

she really insists on playing an old japanese film she watched once with her mum. it’s black and white and slow-moving, all long glances and quiet music. halfway through, your head finds her shoulder and eventually, her chest.

and somewhere near the end, your eyes start to slip closed. you don’t mean to fall asleep. but sana’s warmth is steady, her breathing’s a weird kind of comfort and her hand has found yours under the blanket.

when you stir awake again, the room is darker. the credits are rolling in soft kanji across the screen. she hasn’t moved.

you lift your head slightly and find her staring at you. “were you watching me?”

she smiles, lazy and unbothered. “a little.”

“creep.”

“you’re peaceful when you sleep.”

you groan and bury your face in her arm. “don’t look at me like that.”

she laughs quietly. “and you’re warm, i didn’t want to move.”

you stay there a while longer, the silence easier now. then something tugs at you. “i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t respond right away. “about what?”

“about how we’re still…like this,” your voice is small. “no labels, no real plan — i really need to fix myself.”

she lifts a hand to push your hair back, thumb brushing your temple. “you don’t need fixing, y/n. not for me. i love you the way you are now. and i’ll still love you when that changes.”

you exhale shakily, not sure if it’s relief or fear that floods your chest.

she squeezes your hand to ground you.

“you know when i was a kid,” she adds after a moment, her fingers gently playing with your hair. “i used to imagine running away.

you look up at her. “why?”

“not because i wanted to disappear,” she says softly. “i just wanted to choose who i came back for.”

you don’t say anything.

you just press your face into her neck, grip tightening around her waist while listening to the rhythm of her breathing until you fall asleep again…because maybe that’s what this is. not the end, not even the beginning.

it’s her coming back. and this time, you’re here to open the door for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the suit bag hangs on the edge of your wardrobe, unzipped and half-open, like it’s waiting to be taken seriously. inside are five options. none of which you picked. sana’s stylist had dropped them off earlier that morning, her usual chirpy self making you try on half of them while sana watched from the bed, cup of coffee balanced on her knee.

now it’s dusk and you’ve been through three shirts, three full outfit changes and a minor crisis about the perfect sock colour. the room smells like sandalwood and setting lotion. your window’s open just slightly, letting in the bite of the air, that particular cold that only ever feels sharp in late december.

sana’s standing behind you, hair already done —glossy, parted perfectly with the ends curling. she’s wearing a black suit, white shirt buttoned down enough to make you look twice. or three times. the fabric clings at her waist and loosens again at her hips.

it’s unfair. criminal, even…to look that good.

you’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of a white shirt that isn’t yours.

“this one’s too tight,” you complain, tugging at the collar. “i look like i’m going to cry at prom.”

“you always look like that,” she replies, flicking through jackets on hangers. “it’s part of your charm.”

you glare at her through the mirror and she laughs at your own expense without bothering to look up.

you’re staring.

of course you are.

“you’re staring at me again,” she says, not even looking up.

“you look ridiculous,” you reply.

“that’s not what your face is saying.” she lifts the black lapel of a suit jacket and gives you a side glance, smug. “should we match, bub?”

you cross the room before you even decide to. she’s still smiling when you reach her, but it drops slightly — just enough to tell you she knows.

you don’t think.

you’re already up before she can finish her sentence. your hand finds her waist, and then her back, and then her mouth. the kiss lands hard and sure, pulling her in until her spine meets the wall beside your wardrobe. she lets out a surprised sound that turns into a low laugh against your lips when your hands grip her tighter than you mean to.

she tastes like spearmint and skin warmed by sunlight. everything else fades — your open window, the hum of the street below, the muted rustle of ryujin and yunjin bickering in the hallway.

your entire world narrows to the sound of her breathing, quick and uneven, her hands slipping beneath your shirt; not greedy, never, just holding you in place.

when you finally pull away, you’re still gently cupping her face as she blinks slowly, breath catching.

“you’re such an ass,” she starts, voice rough. “you’re really going to do that an hour before i introduce you to my entire bloodline?”

“hmm,” you murmur, forehead pressed to hers. “seemed like the right time.”

she exhales a laugh and shoves your shoulder lightly, but she doesn’t move away. her lips are redder now, eyes much darker. you like how she looks like this — just a little undone.

“you’re the one in a suit,” you continue, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “this is your fault.”

she kisses you again — just once, before tapping your chest. “grey suit. last one on the rack. wear the white shirt with the pearl buttons.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“you’ll make everyone nervous,” she confirms, unbuttoning the shirt you just complained about. “it’s perfect.”

when you finally walk out of your room — now dressed, hair styled and tie slightly crooked on purpose, ryujin and yunjin are waiting in the living room in matching red dresses that clearly weren’t planned but still managed to look coordinated.

yunjin looks up from her phone. “are you two done making out?”

sana’s behind you, still adjusting your collar from the back. “oh,” she says lightly. “what gave it away?”

they groan in unison, ryujin grabbing a cushion to half-heartedly throw at you. “disgusting.”

“embarrassing,” yunjin adds.

you just roll your eyes, cheeks still warm.

the minatozaki family meet every year in seoul a few days before christmas, no matter how scattered they are across time zones or industries. they are old money, after all, operating like a boardroom with laughter; polite, but rarely without genuine warmth.

it’s all carefully curated holiday cards, biannual art acquisitions and a shared family lawyer who’s probably been with them longer than most cousins have been alive. and they’re big on tradition, binding them like a woven thread across generations.

sana once told you that missing the family holiday party would be a bigger scandal than missing a wedding of the year. no one has ever dared skip it — not even the cousin who got stranded in switzerland one year; he video called in wearing a tux.

the venue this year is a five-star hotel in gangnam; just one of those buildings with glass facades and understated signage. as soon as you walk inside, the ballroom is glowing with golden lights and crystal fixtures, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft glitter. waiters move between clusters of people with trays of champagne and tiny canapés.

she walks beside you, hand in yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you hear ryujin swear while yunjin nervously fidgets around. her other hand rests lightly on your lower back as she steers you through the room, the guests are all family, more or less: great-uncles and cousins and elders you can’t quite place.

everyone already knows. there’s no guessing involved. they all smile at you politely, a few with surprise but no one dares to question your presence.

her mother hugs you as soon as she sees you, still smelling faintly of lavender and expensive tea.

“finally,” she sighs in relief, smiling. “we were starting to think you were imaginary.”

her father smiles approvingly while eyeing your blazer. “you look very sharp, you wear the colour well.”

you thank him, a little awkwardly, and sana leans in to whisper, “he only says that to people he really likes.”

you laugh, brushing her fingers with yours.

throughout the evening, relatives come and go in waves. they ask what you’re doing after graduation, if you’ve thought about law firms abroad, if you would consider working in japan. you answer each one as politely as you can and they nod like they’re taking mental notes.

sana’s grip never wavers. this is the difference.

with her, there’s no hesitation. she doesn’t shrink you and make you feel like something to be hidden. she says: this is y/n like that means something…it has to.

you think about that as the night goes on. how strange and comforting it is, not to be the shadow in someone else’s story. she’s proud. of you. and the whole room knows it.

then, somewhere between dessert and after-dinner drinks, an uncle announces the annual family photo. the photographer’s already setting up near the grand staircase, light stands flaring against the high ceilings.

you start to step back, figuring this part isn’t for you, when she tugs you gently by the wrist.

“and where do you think you’re going?” she asks, an eyebrow raised in that demanding tone too.

you glance at her. “i figured i’d stay out of the frame.”

“don’t be stupid,” she shakes her head, tone now soft, not scolding.

she brings you forward, weaving through her cousins and uncles, until her mother sees you both and waves you in closer. the photographer arranges everyone once again, gesturing toward the centre of the front row.

sana takes your hand and leads you there — right beside her, between her and her mother like you’ve always belonged.

“this okay?” she murmurs.

you nod slowly.

“good,” she fixes your collar, smooths your jacket, then slips her hand into yours again.

her father smiles at you two and her mother wraps an arm around your waist like it’s second nature.

when the photo is taken, sana’s thumb gently brushes against your knuckles. you’ve never felt more seen in your life.

later on, sana excuses herself to the bathroom and you’re suddenly cornered by ryujin and yunjin near the dessert table. they both have shit-eating grins on their faces like they’ve been here before.

“so,” ryujin begins, popping up beside you with a glass of wine, “you’re marrying another heir of a billion-dollar company? what’s this obsession with rich people? when i said ‘eat the rich’, i didn’t mean in a literal sense.”

you nearly choke on a piece of almond tart. “what the hell are you on about this time?”

“we didn’t realise,” yunjin perches in from the other side. “like, you know, she had this vibe of maxed-out platinum card and four overdue bills she refuses to open.”

“i thought that girl was dangerously living beyond her meanest,” ryujin mutters. “like…’it’s crippling, i’m gonna run away eventually’ kind of debt.”

“and giselle used to pray you never had to cover any of her bills,” yunjin laughs. “she was scared for you.”

“you’re all idiots,” you say, but your cheeks are warm. you sip your wine and glance around the room — gold, velvet, soft laughter under chandeliers.

“seriously,” yunjin continues, nudging you. “how does it feel?”

you pause, thinking about it. “honestly? it feels…nice. to belong in the room, be held like this isn’t something anyone’s ashamed of.”

they go quiet.

and then ryujin offers you a mini tart she already bit once. “you earned it.”

you roll your eyes and take it anyway. you’re halfway through your first glass of champagne when nayeon somehow ends up in front of you. ryujin and yunjin shyly greet her before running away to the bar.

“well, well,” she says, appearing at your elbow like a headline. “if it isn’t little top-of-her-class.”

you nearly choke. “hello to you too, nayeon.”

“you didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?” she laughs, pulling you into a hug. she still smells like endless paperwork. “look at you — looking all grown.”

“you’re not still in that securities firm, are you?”

“worse: corporate advisory. mina’s still keeping me sane.”

as if summoned, mina appears beside her, dressed in an ivory pantsuit and the kind of earrings that could probably pay your rent.

“hey,” she smiles, eyes warm. “it’s really good to see you.”

“you too,” you say honestly. “both of you.”

nayeon leans in. “we always knew you and sana were going to find your way back to each other. she was such a mess about you in undergrad.”

they were two of sana’s closest friends at yonsei. both a few years older than you and practically royalty in their own right; effortlessly composed and always surrounded by people who wanted to be close to them — or be them.

you used to see them around often when you and sana were first getting close. they never treated you unkindly…in fact, nayeon always greeted you with a loud “oh, you again?” and mina would smile quietly, handing you a drink like you already belonged. they were your seniors in every way: in age; in experience; in the kinds of heartbreaks and head starts that come with growing up too fast in worlds you barely feel like you belong in.

even now, years later, the sight of them still pulls something warm and nostalgic from your chest. they remind you of a different time — the nights you stood by sana’s side…feeling small but safe, never knowing just how much she would come to mean to you years down the line.

“i was not,” sana says, appearing behind you with two plates of dessert.

“please,” nayeon rolls her eyes. “she used to leave dinners just to call you and then cry about how complicated everything was.”

“used to?” mina murmurs, eyebrow raised. “i think the streak ended, what — last year?”

you give sana a look. “so i’ve heard.”

she hands you a plate and shrugs. “they’re exaggerating.”

“you used to leave parties to sit in stairwells and call her.”

“i was dramatic.”

“you cried.”

she waves them off, then glances at you with a crooked grin. “they’re jealous.”

“of what?”

“that you’re the first person i’ve ever brought here.”

“what?” you blink in disbelief, mouth already full of something sweet and expensive. “no dates before me?”

“not here,” she repeats. “this place is family.”

“so i’m special.”

she rolls her eyes, a teasing smile appearing in the corners of her mouth. “you literally dumped me and i’m still here, so yeah.”

you nudge her, she bumps your shoulder back.

mina watches you both with a quiet smile. “i’m glad you’re here, y/n. you’re both good for each other.”

it takes you a second to absorb that because you do. for the first time in years, maybe ever, you’re in a room full of people who know each other’s names, whose approval isn’t cautious or polite but warm and unconditional — and you’re not being hidden.

it’s late by the time the car rolls through empty streets. the city lights pass like slow waves against the windows. you’re both a little buzzed from wine, shoes kicked off, blazers draped in your laps.

sana’s fingers are still laced with yours, she looks softer now. her voice quieter as she talks to you, like the world is shrinking back to just the two of you.

your hand rests lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of her trousers.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur.

“you’re allowed,” she replies, tilting her head toward you.

“so why have you not brought anyone to this party?”

her brow lifts, leaning her head back against the seat. “honestly?”

you nod.

“you’re the first,” she begins to explain. “because you scare me a little, you never asked to be here — you just…showed up and made space without needing to take any.”

you stare at her, a little breathless.

she turns to look at you fully, her expression is open. “it’s always been you, even when it wasn’t.”

you swallow hard.

the car still moves quietly through the city, lights passing over the windows in slow, golden waves. and you think, for the first time in a long time, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s christmas day and sana’s family home is lit like something from an old winter painting. the snow clings to the trees and lines the edges of the roof like icing. and there’s warmth in every room inside; everything made out of oak in that traditional japanese sense.

you’ve never had a christmas like this.

there are matching slippers at the door, monogrammed napkins and the kind of table setting that makes you hesitate before sitting down. the candles flicker low between you all, flames catching on the wine glasses as her father lifts his to inspect the pour.

he sits at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, wine glass already half full. “not too much,” he chuckles, topping yours off. “don’t want you falling asleep before dessert.”

“no promises,” you reply, and he laughs louder; shoulders shaking and all

it’s just the four of you. no cousins, no extended family or staff pacing in the background. sana sits beside you, ankles crossed under the table, her hand brushing your thigh every now and then like she’s checking that you’re still here.

“your parents must miss you,” her mum says, spooning rice into her own bowl. “have you called them yet?”

you shake your head. “not yet, i was waiting until things quieted down.”

“call them now,” sana says softly, nudging your foot under the table. “you can put it on speaker.”

you hesitate, but her mum is already nodding. “that would be great, we would love to say hello.”

your phone is in your pocket so you fish it out, glancing at the time — still early evening in switzerland. you press call. the dial tone hums once, then twice and then your mum picks up.

“merry christmas, darling!”

“hi, mum,” you greet, smiling. “you’re on speaker.”

“oh?”

“i’m with sana’s parents,” you explain. “they wanted to say hi.”

sana’s dad leans forward. “merry christmas, hope you’re both having the best time,” he waves, warm and clear.

you can hear the delight in your mother’s voice. “oh, how lovely! thank you for hosting our daughter this year. we were sorry she couldn’t come with us.”

“she’s very welcome here,” her mum adds. “we’re happy to have her.”

sana chimes in next, her voice light. “hi, mr and mrs y/l/n. thanks for raising the most stubborn woman alive.”

your father’s voice comes through faintly in the background. “you’ve got your hands full, then.”

they all laugh and you feel your face warm. it feels good.

“we’ll let you go enjoy dinner,” your mum adds after a minute more of cheerful noise and small talk. “we’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

you hang up and sana squeezes your knee gently beneath the table.

her father’s already mid-sip of his wine when he says, “so, this firm you’re joining — under the kim family?”

“yes, taehyung’s dad offered me a placement earlier in the year.”

he snorts. “sounds about right; that man’s sharp. got his claws into you before the others could.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “he was persuasive.”

“a good sign,” he nods, raising his glass. “people chase talent, it means you’re doing something right if you’ve got one of south korea’s richest men to persuade you.”

you hum and it settles over you: the warmth, the acceptance, the easy rhythm of it all. there’s no tension in your shoulders and you don’t feel the need to read between words or brace yourself for correction — it’s a slow meal with people who see you as someone worth being proud of.

not tolerated nor excused, but welcomed with open arms.

dinner finishes with tea and fruits. sana’s mum brings out small velvet boxes and pushes one toward you. you hesitate, glance at sana, who’s smiling gently.

“we said no gifts.”

“and we ignored it,” her mum replies.

you open it carefully.

inside is a watch; silver and elegant, the weight of it immediately grounding as you glance at the name richard mille.

jesus christ, you thought.

beside it, wrapped in a velvet slip, is a gold pen with your initials carved at the top of it.

you’ve seen something like this pen before. on sana’s desk, in her hand, tucked into her notebook. she mentioned she got it at eighteen.

you look up, words forming slowly. “this is too much.”

“nonsense,” her father groans. “you’re part of our lives now; get used to it.”

you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you nod, fingers curling around the velvet like it’ll anchor you.

they don’t need thanks drawn out and scripted; you know their kindness doesn’t ask for anything in return and that’s the part that stings the most. you never knew you could be carried like this without having to earn it.

and when the table’s been cleared and the kitchen grows quiet and her parents disappear up the stairs with soft goodnights and kind glances, it’s just you and sana again — on the living room floor, legs stretched toward the fireplace, two glasses of wine resting on the table between you.

the fire crackles quietly, the only real sound in the room. you can still hear music faintly from the kitchen; jazz, maybe, but the rest of the world has dimmed.

your head leans slightly against her shoulder. she doesn’t move.

you’re full in every sense of the word. full of food, of warmth, of something else you haven’t named yet. and then your phone buzzes.

you feel the vibration in your pocket before the ring even begins.

it’s faint, easily ignorable, except something in your body registers it before your mind does. you shift slightly, ease your hand into your pocket, still curled up beside her in front of the fire.

the screen lights up and her name flashes once.

karina.

the air feels colder all of a sudden. your stomach twists, a quiet clench that catches you off guard. beside you, sana stirs slightly but she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. she sees the screen.

you stand up, too quickly.

“i’ll just — be a minute,” you murmur.

you stand without a word and she doesn’t look up.

you step out onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind you. the air is cold against your neck, your breath blooming white in the dark.

and you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. “hello?”

her voice is exactly how you remember it — low, careful, like it’s measuring the silence between your words before they’re even spoken.

“hi, merry christmas, y/n.”

you close your eyes for a moment, let the wind bite at your face. “merry christmas, jimin.”

there’s a pause. you hear the hum of something in the background and neither of you speak for a second.

“i wasn’t sure if i should call, but you crossed my mind. i guess…you still do,” she continues, her voice is so small it barely carries on top of the breeze. “but i didn’t want to let the day pass without…saying it. i know you were excited for christmas.”

your hand curls around the edge of the railing, feeling the ache before it even takes shape. it’s not a painful, but more like the kind that’s been dulled by time but not erased.

“how are you?” you ask, unsure what to say next.

jimin exhales a shaky breath. “i’ve been better, but my parents are still asking if i’ve managed to win you back,” she lets out something close to a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her chest. “they say it like it’s a job — think they really wanted to know you more.”

you let the silence settle for a moment. it’s familiar, but it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. you didn’t need to know any of that; no longer have the right to.

“how’s…jaewook?”

she’s quiet for a second too long. “umm, yeah, we broke up the day after that night i saw you. i think i knew i couldn’t keep lying to him and myself after that.”

you chew the inside of your cheek, the words settling slowly, heavy but unsurprising.

“i’m sorry,” you croak out.

“don’t be,” she replies. “i should’ve ended it a long time ago.”

the wind whistles faintly between the railing bars. you adjust your weight, heart beating a little harder than you would like.

“are you happy?” she asks; it’s barely more than a whisper. “with her?”

your breath catches with how much weight the questoon carries. you look through the frosted glass, into the house where sana still sits, curled into the couch, waiting patiently — warm and steady.

“yeah,” you reply after a second. “we’re…taking things slow. but it’s real; she’s real.”

she doesn’t reply right away either. when she does, her voice is rougher than before. “good.”

you believe her, mostly, or at least you want to.

“i’m glad,” she continues, though there’s something behind it…like she’s letting go of something without knowing if it’s the last time.

the silence comes back, thicker this time.

“thank you for calling,” you tell her, meaning it. “it’s really good to hear from you.”

you hear her exhale, something like a smile buried in it. “take care of yourself.”

“you too.”

the call ends.

you watch the snow fall for a few more seconds, then slide the phone back into your pocket, letting the cold seep into your skin just to feel everything clearly.

it was kind, that call. necessary, maybe. but you don’t feel unsteady and you don’t feel torn.

it feels…finished.

sana looks up as you return. she doesn’t move, but her face has changed, ever so slightly — like something pulled rigidly just beneath her eyes.

you feel it settle between you like a window left open just a little too long.

“if you ever want to go back to her,” she suddenly voices out, tone sorrowful: “i won’t hold it against you, i knew what i was getting myself into. and you don’t owe me anything at all.”

your heart drops as you stare at the fire for a second longer before you speak. “sana, baby, i want to keep moving with you.”

the words sit between you, unfurling slowly. she nods. once. but you can see how tightly she’s holding herself together.

under the couch, you pull out the small box you had been keeping for her. it’s not wrapped well and the corners are uneven and you had to tape the bottom twice because you suck at wrapping gifts — but you place it on her lap anyway.

“this is for you.”

she looks at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. she doesn’t reach for the gift right away. instead, she unwraps it slowly, fingers catching at the tape.

inside is a square canvas — the edges still a little rough where the paint dried too fast. it’s the two of you, sitting on a bench in that quiet park from that night. backs facing the viewer, just two figures with shoulders leaning in, hair caught in a breeze. nothing fancy, but it’s unmistakably you and her.

you wait while she stares at it.

then: “you painted this?”

you nod. your voice shakes a little. “a few weeks ago.”

her eyes flicker up. they’re glossy now and it breaks something open in your chest. she doesn’t speak for a long time, just holding the frame in both hands like she’s afraid it’ll slip.

you shift a little closer.

“i know we didn’t take a photo that day, we were both too drunk,” you explain, a smile on your face. “but i remember it. i remember thinking that if anything in my life ever felt like home again, it would be that moment — us under the stars, quietly figuring ourselves out.”

her breath hitches.

“i’m still scared,” you admit. “i still think i might mess this up. i still wake up sometimes not sure if i deserve any of it. but i want to try. you’re so, so, so important to me, sana, i never want to lose you again.”

the tears spill slowly, she doesn’t even bother hiding them.

“you’re such a jerk,” she mumbles through a soft laugh. “you couldn’t have said all that before the wine?”

you smile, a little helpless. “sorry.”

she puts the painting down carefully and reaches for your hand. “you won’t lose me, not this time.”

you pull her in gently and she lets you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, the painting resting carefully against her side.

“you matter to me,” you whisper. “always.”

“i know,” she says. “i just needed to hear you say it.”

and so you do. again and again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you wake to the dull hum of your phone vibrating on the nightstand. you don’t reach for it straight away — your eyes are still adjusting. and sana’s breath is warm against your neck, she shifts slightly, murmuring something in her sleep and her arm curls tighter around your waist.

the screen glows again. this time you blink fully awake and glance over.

but the sound doesn’t stop. it pulses again —persistent. you shift, groggy, reaching toward the nightstand where your phone is lighting up.

karina is calling…

“the fuck?” you let out a quiet sigh through your nose, staring at the screen like maybe, if you’re still enough, it’ll stop ringing.

it doesn’t. the digits blur slightly — 2:31 a.m.

sana stirs behind you. “who is it?” her voice is still caught in sleep, soft and heavy.

“it’s…jimin,” you mumble out in slight disbelief. “she’s calling, should i answer?”

you half expect her to roll away, to go quiet like last time. but instead, she rests her hand against your shoulder and says, gently: “answer it.”

you turn to her. “are you sure?”

she nods; her hair’s messy against the pillow, eyes barely open, but she still offers you a small, understanding smile. “i know what it’s like…to be the one who never gets the call back.”

your heart aches at that, but you nod and slide off the bed quietly, grabbing your hoodie from the chair as you step out into the lounge room.

you swipe to answer. “hello, jimin?”

you’re already halfway down the hallway, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, heart thumping as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

her voice cracks instantly through the speaker. “you answered…i wasn’t sure.”

it’s messy — slurred, uneven, like her tongue’s too slow to keep up with her mouth. there’s noise in the background. a car maybe, or the wind, it’s nothing solid.

“are you okay?” you ask. “where are you?”

“i don’t know,” she breathes. you can hear her sniffle. “i didn’t want to call, i just — i couldn’t not. fuck, i sound so stupid.”

your brows furrow, concern rising. you drop onto the couch, pressing the phone harder to your ear.

“jimin, what’s going on? are you out?”

“i wanted to see you,” she answers, voice trembling. “i keep wanting to see you. i keep seeing you. it’s like — everything i do reminds me of you and i don’t even know if you care anymore. do you still care?”

you sit down on the couch, rubbing at your temple. “what more do you want from me?”

“you,” she says it so fast like it’s always been waiting behind her teeth. “i want you back.”

you close your eyes. “karina…”

“don’t, don’t say it like that, don’t say it in that tone like you pity me.”

you run a hand through your hair, staring at the dark screen of the tv in front of you. “you’re drunk, can you please send me your location?”

“you still care?” she asks, voice wobbling. “you still care about me, don’t you?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you repeat, firmer this time, “send me your location. please.”

she sniffs, quiet for a moment. then the familiar ping of a map drops into your phone. “you didn’t answer me…”

“stay on the line,” you demand. and she doesn’t argue.

you get up from the couch, walking back toward the bedroom. sana’s sitting up now, pulling her hair back into a bun. the bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow against the walls. she looks tired, but she’s already pointing at her bag.

“keys are in the front pocket,” she gestures you over with a sleepy, understanding smile.

you lean in, press your mouth to her temple, then her cheek, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be,” she cups your jaw gently. “all i want is for you to bring her home safe.”

“i’ll be back soon,” you whisper.

“i know.”

you slip your shoes on at the door, phone still pressed to your ear as you speak quietly to jimin, who’s gone quiet but hasn’t hung up.

“hey,” you say. “i’m coming to get you, okay?”

there’s no response at first. then: “okay.”

the street is cold and quiet, light snow from the previous night still melting in uneven patches along the curb. you get in the car, engine humming to life with your hand tight on the wheel. you glance once at the rearview mirror and try not to think too hard about where this night is headed.

because even now — even with sana asleep in your bed, with your life finally steady, with love that doesn’t hurt — you’re still driving out into the dark when jimin calls and a part of you hates that you always will.

the streets are empty this late. seoul feels softer somehow, the edges dulled by the chill and the quiet. traffic lights flicker through amber and red, casting slow glows against the frost on your windscreen. the heater hums low.

while jimin’s still on the line, she’s quiet now, only the sound of her sniffling breaking through. you don’t say anything. there’s nothing left to say in the silence and yet you stay on the call.

you drive with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to your ear, her breath moving in and out like waves.

the location leads you to a quiet side street near a convenience store. a line of taxis sits idle nearby, lights off, drivers probably asleep. you see her before she sees you — curled up on a bench, knees pulled tight to her chest, hair tousled and damp. her coat’s buttoned wrong and she looks smaller than you remember.

the sight of her like this does something strange to your chest — splits it, gently, like an old wound reopening along its scar line. you hadn’t realised how deeply the memory of her lived in your body.

but you get out anyway.

each step toward her feels like walking underwater. heavy and unreal. it’s not like the movies; there’s no music, no chatter, not even the buzz of the neon bar sign — just the sound of your boots crunching over ice and her small, wracked breaths in the distance.

she looks up; mascara smudged under both eyes, blinking like she’s not sure if you’re really here.

“you came,” she speaks, voice shaking. “you actually came.”

you crouch down beside her. “of course i did.”

it’s not even a sentence, really. her lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out except a new wave of tears. she breaks immediately — no hesitation, no pride left to cling to. she just folds into you like muscle memory, like all those months apart didn’t stretch the distance between your bodies.

her arms lock around your neck, shoulders shaking violently, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deeper than sadness.

grief, maybe. or realisation.

“you look so much happier now,” she mumbles into your sleeve, voice muffled in between breaths. “with sana. i see it in your face…you never looked at me like that.”

“that’s not true,” you reassure her. “

she puts a slight distance between you two, wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat instead. her eyes are swollen, cheeks red from the cold. “i ruined it. i ruined everything.

you look at her, really take a good look at her. the way her lips are chapped, she looks so tired. you wonder if she’s eaten today.

if she’s still trying to pretend she’s okay to everyone but you.

“maybe,” you say gently. “but that doesn’t mean i hate you.”

she laughs bitterly through her tears. “you should.”

“i don’t,” you say again. “you loved me in the way you could…it just wasn’t enough.”

the words feel cruel even as you say them, but they’re honest. and maybe she needs that more than kindness right now.

you guide her to the car with gentle hands, barely saying a word. she’s compliant but stumbling, half-apologising through her sobs. her coat slips off one shoulder, and you pull it up, fasten the belt for her. the seatbelt clicks into place and you pass her the water bottle from the centre console.

“drink some of this, you need it.”

she obeys. she always does with you, even now. she’s still crying — softly, into the crook of her elbow. you start the car and pull into the road without asking where to go.

you already know.

the han river’s quiet this time of night. empty car park, the kind of silence you used to share like a secret. back then, it felt like the only place in the city where you could breathe together.

no lights except the scattered halos of streetlamps catching on the water. you pull into the spot she used to love — far left corner, facing the ripples.neither of you speak right away.

the engine hums low on the background.

“i used to take you here every time i ran out of things to say,” she whispers. her voice is hoarse. “and somehow you always found more.”

you turn to her. she’s staring out at the river like it holds every answer she was too scared to look for back then. her hands tremble as she sets the water down to her lap.

“why did i do that?” she asks, voice small. “why did i lie to you every time i told you i was choosing you? why did i make you believe that?”

you don’t know how to answer. you’ve asked yourself the same thing, over and over. back then it felt like she was always reaching for you with one hand and holding something else in the other.

you wanted her to choose, you waited for it. but she never did.

“i was so scared,” she admits, eyes glistening again. “not of you. of what it meant to love you that much and the expectations already set out for me in stone.”

you remain quiet because your throat aches with too much of everything. she reaches for your hand, like she’s checking to see if it’s still real.

you watch the water shimmer through the windshield, her reflection blurring next to yours in the glass. “i tried so hard to let you go, but i think i just…folded you into every part of me instead.”

“i hated myself for how i treated you,” jimin continued, her voice cracking again. “i still do.”

“don’t,” you finally look at her. “you were scared. people make stupid choices when they’re scared.”

“you weren’t,” she lets out a pained sob. “you never were. you always chose me, even when it hurt. even when i couldn’t say your name out loud.”

“and you’re punishing yourself for not being ready, but that’s not love, jimin. it’s guilt. and it’s going to eat you alive if you let it.”

you both sit there for a long time, her head resting against the window and her hand still holding yours.

she folds over again, body racked with sobs, and you do what you’ve always done — you hold her. her head lands onto your shoulder this time and she grips your sleeve like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

at some point, you find tears slipping out of your eyes too. not because you still want her, not in that way. but because once, you really did. and that kind of loss never leaves quietly.

you stroke her hair slowly, the silence stretching around you like a blanket pulled tight. it’s not cold anymore, but you’re both shivering from everything else.

then, your phone buzzes. sana. asking if you’re still there…but it feels like a different question, like it holds another meaning than just there.

“we should go,” you heave out a sigh. “sana’s waiting for me.”

“okay,” she nods quietly. “okay, we can do that.”

she’s quiet when you drive her home. her hand stays in yours the whole ride, resting on the centre console, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

nothing needs to be said now.

when you pull up outside her building, she doesn’t move at first. she just turns to you, eyes full and steady. she hesitates. and then, barely above a whisper: “will you stay with me tonight?”

you pause, heart twisting, then stills. “no,” you say, as gently as you can. “i can’t.”

she nods, like she expected that answer but it still wounds her. “this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

you look over at her. “i…yeah. i think so.”

she reaches out, touches your cheek gently, her fingers cold but still familiar. you shake your head, but she leans in, presses her forehead against yours and keeps going. “if i ever get another chance…i’ll do it right.”

your eyes sting and having her this close again makes your chest ache. “jimin —“

her voice is barely a whisper now, her tears falling on your lap. “if i have to wait a lifetime, i will. if not this one, then the next.”

you don’t promise anything, but you press your forehead to hers for a moment longer and then pull away.

“please go inside,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “goodnight, jimin.”

she nods and steps out of the car — doesn’t look back but you can see the way her shoulders shake. you watch her walk away until she disappears into the building, and only then do you let the tears fall freely.

it’s not love anymore, not quite. but it’s still something. maybe it always will be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you don’t mean to make a big deal of it. not really.

the sky’s that bright blue that means late spring is almost over and it’s warm enough that the breeze coming off the han river barely makes a difference.

sana’s leaning back on her elbows, the grass soft beneath the blanket she insisted on bringing. it’s the same one from the last time — the one you two fell asleep under after sneaking snacks into a campus lawn movie night months ago. you’re both stretched out at yeouido park, iced coffee mostly melted between you, the soft hum of people around blending with the low strum of an acoustic busker in the distance.

you should be focused on your book but you’re not. you’ve been reading the same paragraph three times; she keeps tapping your ankle with hers. she’s got sunglasses on, head tilted back like she’s soaking in the last of the coldness before summer pulls it away.

“you’re staring,” she says, not looking at you, her mouth tugged up into the smallest smirk. “i can feel it.”

“i’m not,” you lie, flipping the page like that’ll save you.

she doesn’t push, just keeps tapping your ankle lazily, her foot warm against yours. you want to tell her to stop because it’s driving you mad, the affection of it.

the way she still treats you like someone precious, even when you’ve made her wait all this time.

you glance sideways at her. her lips are soft and she’s wearing your hoodie. she smells like the inside of your pillow. and when she turns her head to face you — sunglasses sliding down a little — you feel it all at once.

every slow moment you’ve spent together since winter. the little things. the movie nights, the long drives, the way she remembers how you take your coffee. how she’s never made you feel like loving her is a countdown to goodbye.

and god, you love her.

you set your book down. “hey, sana.”

she hums.

“can we —” you falter. clear your throat. “can we make this official?”

that gets her. she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, blinks at you like she didn’t hear you right. “what?”

you sit up straighter, stomach twisting. “i mean…i want to be with you. like, actually with you. if you still want that.”

she’s silent for a second too long, in the way you know she’s replaying your words, making sure they’re real. her smile starts in her eyes before it reaches her lips.

“you’re asking me to be your girlfriend,” she repeats slowly, softly, like she wants to savour it.

you nod, heart thudding. “yeah.”

“finally,” she lets out a breath, practically laughs, and then leans forward, pulling you in by the front of your hoodie and kissing you, full and slow and warm like sunlight. it’s like she’s known it would happen, eventually, and now it has. her hands cradle your face as she pulls away. “took you long enough.”

you smile against her lips, relief blooming in your chest. “sorry.”

“i forgive you,” she grins. “but only because you’re cute.”

you groan, bury your face in her shoulder. “i should’ve asked you when you brought me coffee every morning for a week. or when you stayed up all night helping me with my thesis draft.”

“or when my parents bought you that fancy watch for christmas.”

“okay, yes, that too.”

she plays with the hem of your sleeve. “i would’ve said yes every time.”

you look down at her fingers brushing yours. “i know.”

and you do. you really do…because that’s the difference with sana. with her, there’s no guessing. just quiet loyalty, kindness that doesn’t make you feel small.

you both lie back again, the moment settling into your bones. she squeezes your hand once and doesn’t let go and the grass rustles beside you.

you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. she knows.

and somewhere, maybe not too far off, you think of jimin — how some things burn out before they ever have the chance to be steady. how sometimes, it’s not about who makes your heart race, but who makes it feel safe to stay.

today, you chose safety. and maybe that’s what love is now. not the ache of almost, but the warmth of finally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fuck, you didn’t plan on seeing her.

not today of all days — when you’re feeling light, even content, walking along the street with a brown paper bag in hand, the apricot pastry tucked neatly inside.

sana had texted you earlier, something about being stuck in a last-minute campaign, promising to make it up to you with takeout and terrible reality tv.

but campus is small, specially after graduation. the cafés are familiar and the corners shared.

jimin.

she’s sitting alone outside, cup of americano going cold in front of her, a book she isn’t reading open on her lap. her hair’s even shorter now, blunt around her jaw and she’s dressed in black again, like she’s always bracing for winter, even in the middle of summer.

you think of walking past or turning around, but your feet don’t move fast enough and she looks up like clockwork — and there it is. the recognition and the pause. her eyes soften the second they land on you and she lifts a hand in a small wave.

your feet begin walk over. there’s no ache in your chest now. it’s something softer; nostalgic.

“hey y/n,” she smiles, a bit brighter now.

“jimin!” you sit across from her, slipping the bag onto your lap. your heart isn’t racing like before, now it’s a steady thrum, a quiet reminder of everything you used to feel.

“hey,” she repeats, voice low.

still familiar. still jimin.

“hi, how are you doing?”

“i’m well,” her lips twitch into something like a smile. “you look good.”

you shrug. “so do you. different…i like the short hair, it’s good.”

it’s awkward in a way it always is with exes…or whatever you two were.

she nods slowly, as if she knows. “i feel different.”

you glance at the book on her table — something classic, spine cracked, pages annotated in the way she always used to do when she was trying to understand something deeply. you used to love watching her read like that, as if the words meant everything and they were a map.

“i heard about you and sana,” she adds after a beat. not bitter, just factual. “and graduating top of your class isn’t an easy feat; i’m so proud of you.”

you nod again, it means a lot coming from her. “we’re doing well.”

there’s a pause. then she says: “she’s good to you.”

“she always has been.”

and jimin looks down, eyes on her coffee. her voice is steady when she speaks; “i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. about how i was with you. with jaewook, with…myself.”

you don’t say anything. just listen.

“after you,” she continues, “i tried to fill the space with noise. with him. with plans that didn’t belong to me. i thought maybe if i pretended hard enough, it’d go away. the guilt and the wanting.”

you watch her hands as she speaks. they’re calmer now. no shaking, no nervous twitching. just open palms, resting on her lap.

“i broke up with jaewook a few weeks after that night at the restaurant. i didn’t tell anyone. i think part of me was still waiting for you to come back.”

your chest tightens — not painfully, but enough to remind you that the past isn’t as far away as you sometimes pretend.

“but you didn’t,” she adds. “and i’m glad you didn’t because it forced me to stop waiting and start…choosing.”

you tilt your head slightly. “choosing?”

“myself. finally,” she lets out a breath. “i’m taking over the family business.”

that makes you blink. “really?”

she nods, chuckling. “yeah, i always thought it was a sentence. something i’d be trapped in. but now it’s…mine. i want to do it right. make something out of it that means something. not because they told me to — but because i want to.”

you can’t help it; you smile. for her; with her, because you can recognise how far she’s come.

“i’m proud of you for deciding on that; jimin, the ceo of yu group — can’t believe i get to say i knew her.”

jimin looks up then, really stares at you. and for a second, you see her as she was when you first fell in love — messy-haired, sharp-tongued, eyes always searching for something to hold onto.

“thank you for loving me the way you did. i was too young to understand it at the time, too scared and stupid.”

you nod slowly, the words settling somewhere deep inside. “i used to wish you’d been braver.”

“i know,” she smiles, a little sad. “i wish i had been too.”

you both sit there for a while, letting the silence do what words can’t. there’s nothing sharp in the air anymore. no what-ifs or if-onlys; just two people who survived each other.

“i miss you,” she admits, finally.

you meet her gaze. “i miss you too, but i don’t miss us.”

it’s gentle, the way you say it, but you can see it hit her — the truth of it. she doesn’t cry and doesn’t reach for you. instead, breathes in then out.

“and thank you for loving me when i didn’t know how to love you back properly.”

you smile, soft at the edges. “you taught me a lot. even in the mess of it.”

she laughs, a little broken, a little healed. “that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me i was a total disaster.”

you smile shyly too, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans. “take care of yourself, jimin.”

“you too,” she says. “and y/n?”

you pause.

“if you ever need someone to have your back — even if it’s from far away — it’ll always be me. what i said that night…i meant it. in every lifetime.”

your throat tightens, offering her a small smile. “i know.”

you walk away, heart strangely light. there’s no heaviness, but you carry the knowledge that some people are lessons. and some are homes.

sana’s probably waiting for you back at the apartment now, with her soft playlists and too-large jumpers and the smell of peppermint tea she always forgets to finish, wondering if you remembered the name of the pastry this time.

you did; and this time, you’re bringing it home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#heliooosss #kpop x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #aespa #angst #karina #karina imagines #sana imagines #sana x reader #minatozaki sana

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vampishnes · 1 month ago

Text

Sanguine Hunger: Ptichye Moloko

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven, Chapter eight, Chapter nine, Chapter ten. Pairings: Platonic!Yelena & Fem!Reader, Bob x FemThunderbolts!ExAvenger!Reader Summary: Late-night cravings drive you to the kitchen, where you find unexpected solace. Tags: No use of ‘Y/N’, Female reader, Reader is a mutant with blood manipulation powers that require her to have regular blood consumption. Slow burn! I have around 10k words of lore for this reader insert, so strap in. Beta read. Warnings: Graphic depictions of blood/blood consumption. (very) Slight descriptions of body horror. References to past trauma/violence. Word count: 3.1k

Some days were easier than others. That sanguine hunger that churned in the depths of your stomach was only a distant hum, a sound so quiet you had to tune the rest of the world out to hear. That was before the Thunderbolts, when Valentina still held both the carrot and the stick.

When Valentina dangled fresh meat over your nose, and you devoured it like the pathetic dog you were. You were always fulfilled, at least in terms of blood; you always had a victim you bled dry, and another lined up. The last eight years as a mercenary was mindless work with a simple objective: kill. Valentina used you as a warning to anyone who didn't play nice.

Things were different now as a 'New Avenger'; killing was usually frowned upon, and deaths were few and far between. So, the hum grew louder, eating at your insides like the parasite your power was.

The Thunderbolts tried to work together to find a solution, trying to think back to your old Avengers days when you had weekly blood transfusions, but after being fed for so long, it wasn't enough any more. After trial and error, the Tower's refrigerator became your own personal blood pantry—rows of crimson bags organised by type, each one a salvation from the need you fought harder than any enemy to keep contained.

Although transfusions were more desirable for everyone else to witness, feeding directly into your stomach was the most potent way to get blood into your system. At first, you took to carrying a matte black tumbler everywhere, but eventually, you grew tired of Walker's lingering gaze whenever you took a sip, his eyes fixating on the ruby stains between your teeth, his expression a shade of disgust, though he tried to hide it.

So now you only drank in the dead of night, in the comfort of your room.

But tonight was different. The day had been a special kind of hell—cameras flashed in your face during the press conference, and fighting the 'villain of the week' drained you mentally and, from using your powers, physically.

Now the kitchen, your last lifeline, remained frustratingly occupied. The rest of the Thunderbolts found themselves orbiting in the kitchen long into the night, some impromptu debriefing (that you refused to attend) became aimless conversation, their voices drifting down the hallway like a barrier between you and salvation.

It wasn't until the bright, glaring red numbers on the clock beside you read 2:12 AM that silence settled, and the telltale sound of footsteps began fading.

You waited for twenty, painstakingly long, minutes. Counting each second like a prisoner counting down the days until sweet release. You slipped from underneath the silk covers of your blanket, your mattress groaned against your weight, as if telling you to stay. Your feet made no sound against the marble flooring of the tower. The hallway stretched before you, room after room, two with light peeking out from under the cracks of the door.

Your senses picked up on the smell of fresh exposed blood just two floors down, and you could almost taste the metallic tang dancing on your tongue. You took the stairs, descending with irregular clumsiness, one hand trailing the wall for balance as a wave of dizziness reminded you how desperately you needed blood. The communal floor was supposed to be empty, dormant like the rest of the Tower.

Yet as you approached the kitchen, your nostrils flared as they caught something. Something sweet, a flavourful mixture of cocoa powder, sugar, butter, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. You froze mid-step, cursing silently. Someone was still awake.

Yelena was in clear view, her head buried deep into a cookbook. For a second, you thought about turning around and retreating into the confines of your room, but the painful stab of your veins convulsing brought you back to your senses. "You're not as quiet as you think," Yelena said without looking up.

Her hair was messily piled behind her head, and she wore comfortable-looking faded flannel pyjama pants and an old, beat-up white tank top. "I could hear you pounding down the stairs," Yelena continued, now looking up. Her eyebrows furrowed deep into her glabella, her top lip arching upwards in slight shock. "You look like shit. You okay?" You remained in the doorway, caught between pain and the unexpected intimacy of seeing Yelena do something so domestic.

"Drained," you replied, quick and rougher than intended. Pattering down to the fridge, you swung it open with shaking hands. Yelena nodded in quiet understanding and looked back down at the bowl in front of her. You scrambled for any bag you could reach, your hands gripping tightly at the first one you touched. The liquid sloshed around in the clear bag as you twisted the valve at the top and wrapped your lips firmly around the nozzle.

The first mouthful hit your system like electricity, flooding your withered veins with life. You tried to suppress the small sound of relief that escaped your throat, but failed. Behind you, Yelena continued working, the rhythmic sound of a whisk hitting against the side of a bowl providing a strangely soothing backdrop. No questions. No staring. No judgment.

“What are you making?” you asked after a moment, your voice already stronger, the tremor in your hands subsiding as the blood worked its magic.

“Ptichye Moloko," Yelena replied, her hand working tirelessly, whisking a white, sweet-smelling mixture. “Couldn't sleep.” You nodded, understanding without needing elaboration. You all had your coping mechanisms. You stepped around the kitchen island and sat on a stool in front of Yelena.

“My mother used to bake,” you offered quietly, “Challah, mainly.” You smiled crookedly, your thoughts trailing off, unprepared for the memory's sudden vividness, the smell of your mother's kitchen from a century ago. You finished off the rest of the blood bag and placed it to the side; your veins were fuller now, yet the relief was fleeting. You recognised the hollow echo still reverberating beneath your skin. You had stretched yourself too far this time, waiting until you were running on fumes.

One bag merely took the edge off; your body, depleted from your powers' exertions, demanded more.

Yelena didn't push for more, instead responding with, “If you're still awake in an hour, you can try it.” You bobbed your head; you should have returned to the solitude of your room, hidden behind the walls you had spent so long meticulously building, but instead, you found yourself walking beside Yelena to get a better look at the cookbook. It was in Russian, of course.

“I can help, but my Russian is rusty,” you said, your eyes scanning over the words you understood. Yelena's eyebrow arched slightly, but she nodded toward the refrigerator.

“Fridge. Third shelf. Heavy cream. I hope your arm isn't weak.” A small laugh escaped your lips, unexpected but genuine. You retrieved the heavy cream from the fridge, grabbing another blood bag. You placed it on the counter beside you, trying to be casual about it. Yelena's gaze flicked to it briefly, then back to her bowl without comment. “Put it in a bowl and whip it, I'll say when you're done.” You poured the cream and began whisking it by hand; the repetitive motion was almost meditative, and for a moment, you forgot about the blood bag sitting inches away.

“You said you knew Russian?” Yelena asked, now adding the layer of pale, thick cake into a pan.

"Yeah. Natasha taught me. Taught me English, too," you replied tentatively, hand gripping your spatula slightly tighter in anticipation of Yelena's response. A shaky breath left Yelena's nostrils, but her mouth remained tightly shut.

"She liked Ptichye," she said, eventually, her throat closing. "You're almost done." You felt the familiar ache rising again, eyeing the blood bag. "Just drink it," Yelena said without looking up, her hands reaching underneath a cupboard, returning with a small pot. Heat flushed in your cheeks at the notion of being caught staring. You stuttered for a moment, fumbling around for a reply.

"I usually don't have it in front of others."

"Why?" Yelena asked, "Because Walker? He's disgusted by everything. Yesterday I saw him scowling at my guinea pig." A laugh bubbled up from your chest.

"People think it's weird, disgusts them. Reminds them I'm…" You drifted off, trying to focus all your attention on the stiff peaks forming in your bowl.

"Different?" Yelena finished, shaking her head. "When I was young, they made us sleep with our ankles tied to the bed frame. Every morning, my skin was raw." She lightly pressed one of the stove's digital buttons, which beeped in response. "Everyone has their scars. Some are easier to hide than others." You reached across the kitchen island as you twisted the valve and brought it to your lips; you braced yourself for the recoil you'd come to expect, but Yelena continued pouring chocolate chips into the warmed pot atop the stove, completely unfazed.

"Smells good in here," a small voice said quietly from the kitchen's door frame. You jumped lightly, immediately wiping any remnants of blood from around the rim of your mouth. Bob stood stock still on the cold flooring, his bare feet restlessly fidgeting. His hands twiddled around with the bottom seam of his blue pyjama jumper. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Couldn't sleep. Could smell someone cooking."

He lingered in the doorway, backlit by the dim hallway light, his shadow stretching across the kitchen tiles. He shifted his weight awkwardly for a moment longer before walking in and sitting on a barstool. His eyes fluttered to the blood bag in your hand before snapping back up to your eyes. You smiled back at him, revealing your blood-stained teeth.

"Bird latex," you said, presenting your bowl of whipped cream to Bob. Yelena burst out in laughter, her eyes creasing in the corners. She shook her head, her hand preoccupied with mixing the melting chocolate.

"Bird milk. Ignore her, Bob, she is terrible at Russian." Bob's mouth hung open, his brow furrowing as if decoding a cypher. A soft "oh" escaped him.

"It's just mousse and chocolate icing, I think." You took another mindless sip from the blood bag as you thought, moving to sit beside Bob, "Yelena's right, my Russian is terrible." The kitchen fell into a comfortable silence, only broken by the soft clinking of Yelena's spoon against the pot of melting chocolate.

"Do you want to help?" Yelena asked, glancing at Bob quickly from behind her shoulder. Bob straightened, his shoulders tensing slightly before he nodded. "You can start assembling," Yelena instructed, pointing to the pan with cake layered at the bottom. "Cakes in. So start cream, then cake again. When I'm done, we'll put the chocolate on top." As Bob moved to help, you watched with silent amusement. He hadn't commented on your drinking, nor cared that your teeth were stained, or your breath gave off a metallic tang with every word. His eyes shot up to where your eyes watched him.

A drop of blood dripped from your mouth and trickled down the side of your lip. Bob watched it slowly descend the curvature of your lip before your thumb swooped it up, sliding a red streak across your chin. Your tongue darted from the side of your mouth and lapped it from your finger in one careful swoop.

His Adam's apple bobbed slowly in his throat, mouth suddenly dry from watching your unintentional performance. He shook his head repeatedly, trying to remove the inappropriate imagery from his thoughts. Trying to focus on scooping up the spoonfuls of cream into the pan, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he was defusing a bomb rather than forming a cake.

"You know," Bob said as he waited for the dessert to settle before adding another layer, "I've been thinking about starting a garden on the rooftop. Growing things. Walker says it's a waste of time, but…" He shrugged, leaving the thought unfinished.

"Walker," Yelena rolled her eyes, "has a heart of wet cardboard." You laughed in reply and discreetly dipped your finger into the bowl of whipped cream in Bob's arms, gesturing to him in a silent plea not to tell Yelena.

"I could help. I think it'd be a good use of all that space," you replied, and Bob's face brightened in response.

"Really? Do you know anything about plants?"

"No," you admitted, bluntly. "But I'm a quick learner." You shrugged your shoulders and leaned back on the stool. The stove turned off with a distinctive 'beep', followed by Yelena holding a warm pot of melted chocolate.

"You had some, didn't you?" Yelena accused, her head tilting sideways as she stared down at you.

"No," you lied, raising the blood bag to your lips with deliberate nonchalance. You gestured with the half-empty pouch clutched in your other hand, as if its very existence disqualified your involvement. "Ask Bob." Yelena's gaze shifted to your teammate, whose guilty expression hung between you. Before words could leave his lips, you corrected yourself, "Don't ask Bob," your voice softening as a smirk bloomed across your face. Bob's laughter mingled with the clink of his spoon against glass as he settled it down, his work finished.

Yelena poured the warm chocolate over the layered dessert in one smooth motion, creating a glossy coating that immediately began to set against the cold layers. She picked it up by the base of the tray, opening the fridge with her spare hand. "It needs to set," Yelena stated, sliding the dessert into the refrigerator. "Forty minutes. Minimum."

You groaned in response, finishing off the rest of your blood bag, and you placed it beside the other empty one. You felt your power flow back into your veins, you could hear everything again - the subtle heartbeats underneath layers of clothes and skin and the sound of blood rushing through veins and travelling through hearts. All of it under your command.

"I'll wash," you offered, sliding off your stool. The least you could do was help clean up after they'd accepted your feeding without comment.

"I'll dry," Bob added. He brought all the utensils he could gather at once to the side of the sink and grabbed one of the dish cloths. Yelena looked momentarily surprised before stepping back and raising her hands.

You settled into a rhythm, washing each utensil haphazardly and passing it to Bob, who dried it with practised fluency. It was repetitive, boring, but oddly comforting. No mission plans, no next steps, just bubbles and wrinkled hands.

Yelena had taken her temporary leave upstairs at some point, stating she'd be back down when the cake was done, leaving just you and Bob washing dishes side-by-side. "This is nice," Bob said, his voice so quiet that if you hadn't just turned off the water, you wouldn't have heard it.

"What is?" you asked, although part of you already knew.

"This," he gestured vaguely around the kitchen, a dripping cup still in his hand. "Normal things. Together." You smiled in response, dipping your hands back into the water-filled sink. You handed Bob the last bowl and drained the sink, watching the soapy water swirl away.

"The garden," you said, turning to Bob. "What would you grow?" His eyes stayed focused on the bowl in his hands.

"Anything I couldn't kill easily. I have a black thumb." You laughed in reply, tucking a piece of loose hair back with your shoulder. You couldn't help but stare at him for a moment, his face was slightly flushed, a light shade of pink.

Your ears focused on the rhythmic pattering of his heartbeat against his rib cage, steady but fierce. Your bottom lip found itself slowly trapped beneath your front teeth as you stared him down. You gulped hard, feeling the thick saliva crawl down the crevice of your throat.

"I'll buy a book," you grabbed the cloth from Bob's hands, gently pulling it from his grasp. "Start simple. Tomatoes, onions, garlic." You wiped your hands with the moist cloth, and Bob's eyes followed the movement.

"I have a book in my room, got it a long time ago when I first had the idea." He trailed off and, realising he was starting to ramble, attempted to backtrack. "But, I mean, you can still get a book. My one is probably dusty by now, I don't even think I remember where I put it." You stopped him with a light touch on the shoulder.

"If you're not tired, after cake, we can go to your room and start planning. No clue when we'll get the next chance." His thin lips twisted into a stunned smile, and he nodded repeatedly.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your conversation, and Yelena reappeared in the doorway, a thick cardigan over her tank top. "Cake's probably done."

"Never thought I'd see the day," you said, turning around. "Yelena Belova, deadly assassin, waiting impatiently for cake to set." Yelena shot you a look.

"And I never thought I'd see the day when the notorious bloodhound 'Vampyra' would be washing my dishes." She bit back.

"Not a Bloodhound any more," you corrected. The nickname didn't sting like it used to. "Just a regular dog. House-trained and everything." Bob laughed, and even Yelena's lips bent up. Yelena walked down to the fridge and observed the cake - it still needed more time. Instead, she pulled out the dessert and examined it.

"It'll do," she decided, setting it on the counter. She took a knife and cut into it with no technique at all, revealing the uneven layers of cake and cream. She handed a crumbling slice to Bob and you. The stickiness attached to the skin on your hands, leaving chocolatey brown stains in its wake. You took a bite, the sweetness of the chocolate juxtaposing the stark taste of blood still resting on your tongue. It wasn't unpleasant. Bob took a much larger bite, his expression instantly softening into delight.

"This is amazing," he mumbled through the mouthful. You nodded in agreement, taking another bite of your slice. "Do you think we should do this more often?" You looked down at the cake in your hand, uncomfortable with the tenderness.

"Why not?" Yelena said, her expression unperturbed, her voice slightly muffled by her mouthful of cake. "Kitchen's always here." You looked up to find Bob eyeing you, waiting for your verdict.

"Sure, I'm up most nights anyway."

#yelena belova #thunderbolts #the new avengers #thunderbolts spoilers #marvel thunderbolts #the thunderbolts #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #marvel #marvel mcu #sentry #robert reynolds #bob x reader #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts x reader #bob reynold x reader

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stylesispunk · 2 months ago

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"Blind faith | part vi"

Priest! Joel Miller x night club dancer! reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: The aftermath of Joel knowing part of your "secret" and everything falling apart between the both of you. w.c: 10k warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), angst, forbidden love, betrayal, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of guns. Reader is latina. English is not my first language. a/n: chapter six is here and first, excuse the amount of stupid things that have happened to me. Also, excuse me if this chapter seems to be overdramatic at times but is part of the story. Thank you so much for reading and sharing. Reblogs and comments are always so so appreciated. dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel was drowning into his third glass of whiskey. It was one a.m, everything felt silenced by the defeated sound of his own heart trying to find an answer amidst the chaos of his own thoughts echoing through the walls of his house.

He couldn’t sleep, still thinking on the fool he has been made by you. He had told you the truth no one knew about him. About his beloved baby daughter, he hadn’t had the chance to pour all his love to. He had broken his vows for you.

His fingers trembled around the glass as he stared at nothing. Just the floor. Just the night.

God, he had sinned.

And you?

You were in everything.

The curve of your smile in the edge of the wine glass. The shape of your hips still ghosting his palms. Your breath still warm in the hollow of his neck.

He hated it.

He hated that he loved you. Hated how fast you had carved yourself into his bones. Hated that he had told you everything. He had broken every vow stitched into his skin. Every sacred promise. He had let you lay your head on his shoulder. Every time he had let his lips touch yours. Let you lie beside him in the dark. Let you wrap your fingers around his, not knowing you were already holding a knife.

Joel had never seen himself as a human. At least not ever since he had sworn his vows and he had given himself to God and his faith.

For him there was nothing else in the world that could make him feel like he belonged to the simplicity of being a human. There were not feelings, not reasons why he would make that effort again. He was a simply a God machine giving people advice and helping them to figure their guilt, sins and shit together with words that would soothe their minds.

But what about his mind?

Where was the guidance when he needed it the most?

Where was the guidance when he felt love was making him weak?

Where was the guidance when you were his answer and the one making him weak?

“God…” he breathed, voice cracking, head tilting back to the ceiling as if the cracked beams above would give him answers. “God, I have sinned.”

A knock on his door woke him up from his own misery. He feared it was the same man as before. The only looking for you.

Gabriel.

Gabriel, your fiancé.

Gabriel, the man who had claimed you.

His heart and mind reeked with jealousy. God, he felt miserable.

He didn’t stand up, not even opened his eyes until he heard the soft voice calling him

“Joel?”

The moment he heard your voice, rage bubbled up. Rage and tenderness because you were still here, you were still his baby, his darling.

Your voice lingered in the air like a ghost he wasn’t ready to face, sweet and trembling and familiar in a way that hurt more than the whiskey in his veins.

“Joel… please.”

That please cracked something in him.

He opened his eyes slowly and stood up, taking a few seconds to sober up. Finally walking towards the door as if waking from a dream he’d tried to bury. He opened with such a pain on his bones it almost killed him.

There you were standing in his doorway, damp from the night, face pale under the porch light, eyes red-rimmed.

“Thank god” you said, throwing yourself to his arms instantly.

He didn’t know how to react. He debated between push you away from his life or letting you stay on his arms as long as you wanted. As long as he could hold you while during the time he had left. The seconds felt long enough for you to notice the hesitation in him. The way his arms hovered before they finally wrapped around you.

And when they did, you melted into his chest after holding your breath for hours.

Joel held you tight, tighter than he should’ve, maybe. Like you were the only thing keeping him sane and mad at the same time.

He closed the door behind you with one hand, the other still wrapped around your back. The click of the lock echoed through the silence, making you feel like nothing could ever catch inside this place.

You were shivering in a way he wasn’t used to seeing. He guided you toward the couch, but you didn’t want to let go. And he didn’t force you to.

So, you stood there for a moment longer, wrapped in something too complicated to name.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked after feeling the scent of whisky everywhere.

Joel let out a low breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. His hand was still on your back, fingers twitching like they couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or finally let you go.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough, like gravel soaked in guilt. “Does it matter?”

You leaned back just enough to look at him, eyes flicking over his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the redness lacing the whites. He looked tired. Like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Like someone who’d been drowning quietly in his own thoughts.

“I guess not,” you murmured, and your voice broke a little at the end.

That broke something in him too.

Joel cupped your face gently, thumbs grazing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks still cold from the night. He studied you like you were a puzzle he’d already solved but didn’t want to believe the picture it formed.

“Can I stay here tonight? Please?” You asked in a whispery tone, eyes searching doubts on his face.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His silence stretched long between you—long enough to feel like a lifetime, short enough to make your heart pound harder.

He was staring at you, and this time you could see the war behind his eyes. The love and the betrayal you were too naïve to see. The need and the ache. All of it, cracked and bleeding, tangled into something too human to name.

You feared it. What if he had regretted everything, he had done with you.

Finally, he gave a slow nod. Just once.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “Of course you can stay.”

He stepped back only slightly, just enough to take your hand in his. His palm was warm, calloused, and trembling. He led you toward the couch, and when you hesitated, he looked at you again.

“Do you want the bed?” he asked, like it would make a difference. Like you hadn’t already shared a bed before. Like you hadn’t once laid beside him with your hand on his chest after making love like it belonged there.

“No,” you whispered. “I just want to be wherever you are.”

That did something to him. He didn’t show it much—Joel was too used to hiding things deep—but his jaw clenched. His fingers gripped yours a little tighter.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Joel asked, gaze still ahead, not looking at you.

Your lips parted, but nothing came. You couldn’t lie to him again, but the truth? The truth might ruin everything you had shared.

“I can’t,” you said at last, barely a whisper. “Not yet.”

Joel nodded slowly. Not in acceptance, but defeated.

“Then I won’t ask anymore.” He said, plainly, locking eyes with you again.

You woke up at three a.m., the world outside cloaked in silence, the kind that only settles over small towns and broken hearts. You thought you had been able to sleep only for a reason.

Joel.

Even when your worst nightmares had been coming to catch you in the form of Gabriel. You had been able to pretend nothing was different from when he wasn’t in town, when he hasn’t found you. Pretending you weren’t restless because of it.

The room was dark, save for the moonlight spilling in through the window, washing everything in silver. You reached across the bed instinctively—searching for warmth, for Joel—but your hand met only the cold press of empty sheets.

You sat up slowly, the ache in your chest louder than your breath.

Joel wasn’t there.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself and padded quietly through the hallway, the wood creaking beneath your feet. You found him in the living room, exactly where you'd feared—on the couch, asleep, or maybe just pretending to be. His body was curled slightly to the side, one arm hanging off the edge like he had fallen into that position after hours of unrest.

The bottle of whiskey still sat on the table beside him, almost empty now, the amber liquid glinting under the moonlight. The glass next to it held the dregs of another pour he hadn't finished.

Your eyes wandered to his face. Even in sleep, his brows were furrowed, as if some burden followed him into his dreams. You noticed how his lashes twitched every now and then, how his lips were parted just slightly, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.

It hurt.

God, it hurt to love him this much.

You sank to your knees beside the couch, blanket pooling around you. And for a while, you just watched him—memorizing every line of his face, line and shadow, like maybe if you memorized enough, the truth you carried would become easier to bury.

Like you were never to see him again.

You leaned in.

And kissed his temple.

Soft. Lingering. Like a confession you were too much of a coward to speak out loud.

His skin was warm under your lips. Too warm.

You stayed there longer than you should’ve, breathing him in, willing his pain into yours, hoping maybe he could feel what you meant, even if you didn’t say it.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, so softly it barely left your throat.

He didn’t stir but you almost wished he had.

But as the connection you both shared seemed harder to ignore. Harder to fight. His breath hitched. And then, slowly, he turned his head.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your eyes locking in the dim light of the room. There was a storm behind his eyes, rage, grief, longing, but beneath it all, the love you thought you’d lost. The kind of love that made you ache to your bones.

He reached up, fingers brushing your jaw like he didn’t believe you were real.

Then he kissed you.

Not out of desire, but because he had to. Because something inside him cracked open and your name fell through. His lips found yours with a painful kind of tenderness, slow and aching and full of everything he was saving up to say. A kiss laced in apology, in heartbreak.

Your hand found the side of his face again, grounding both of you in that one fragile moment. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t erase the lies or the truth you hadn’t told, but it was honest. It was him. It was you.

You both were real and he was the realest thing to love you had ever met.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing uneven.

His breath caught, and you felt it, right there, between you. The way he tried to hold himself together. The way he always did. But this time, it was slipping. He was slipping.

His hands trembled where they cupped your jaw, and you felt the warmth of his tears mingling with yours on your cheek, falling quiet and slow like the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

“Joel,” you whispered again, barely able to breathe with the closeness. “What’s wrong tonight?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, trying to hold back everything breaking inside him. Then, finally, his voice came out, hoarse and cracked.

“I don’t know how to carry this,” he rasped. “This love I feel for you… and the price of what it cost me.”

Your lips parted, your heart twisting. His voice was so full of sorrow, you could feel it like a bruise spreading through your ribs.

“I swore I’d never—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I swore I’d never cross that line. And then you walked into my life and I didn’t even hesitate. I just let it happen. And now every part of me wants you, even the parts that were never supposed to.”

You touched his cheek, gently brushing away the tears there. “You didn’t do this alone,” you whispered. “You didn’t fall alone.”

He gave a shaky laugh, low and bitter.

Your eyes filled again, because you couldn’t stand to feel like he seemed to be ruined tonight. It felt almost destructive and poetic at the same time. “Joel,” you said, soft but certain, “you are worth loving. You always were.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were red, raw with emotion, and his voice broke completely when he whispered. “I would love to believe you.”

And you didn’t know how to answer anymore.

A few hours later, the morning sun spilled in through Joel’s kitchen window like it had no regard for sorrow. The kind of morning light that was supposed to promise hope, but only reminded you of everything that was slipping through your fingers.

Even the day didn’t feel as warm as always.

You sat at the edge of his bed, still wrapped in the blanket from the night before. Your hair was a mess, your throat tight from unshed tears. You hadn’t slept after you kissed last night. You had returned to his bed silently, curled into the space he used to fill, and stared at the ceiling while the weight in your chest pushed heavier and heavier.

You couldn’t shake the image of him asleep on that couch, face twisted in pain, like even his dreams knew what you were hiding.

You rubbed your palms over your knees. Tried to ground yourself. Failed.

This town was supposed to be a temporary sanctuary, a borrowed illusion to buy you time until you could find a place to plant roots and start again. And Joel—God, Joel—he had become your whole heart.

You’d told yourself this was only for a little while. That you could leave before anyone got too close. Before you got too close.

But you were already in too deep. Too in love with him that the thought of leaving him behind shattered your heart into pieces unable to get together again.

You would walk on fire for him. You would let other throw bricks at you, only to be with him.

And God, last night you had wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: the truth about Gabriel, about why he had found you, why you’d run. About the whisper of your name on a list you weren’t supposed to be on.

But fear had made a home inside you. And now? Now Joel was tangled in it.

You stood slowly and walked to the window. The sun was rising over the fields outside, light stretching long over the earth. You could see the church from here. You remembered sitting there in silence beside Joel, hands brushing innocently.

You had ruined his life.

You pressed your fingers to the glass like you could stop time if you touched it softly enough.

You heard a soft rustle from the living room. He was waking up.

And soon, you'd have to look him in the eye again.

Would you lie?

It was spring when everything fell apart.

You remember the way the city felt, after time was holding its breath. Like everyone had started speaking in code. Streets that used to pulse with life felt quieter, even when crowded. Eyes darted faster. Names dropped from conversations like broken like delicate porcelain.

You were coming back from rehearsal, your toes still pointed in your worn ballet shoes, your muscles aching from hours of movement. The theater had always been your favorite part to be at—your escape from the noise outside. The only place where you didn’t have to choose sides.

Until that day.

You still remember the look on Mariana’s face, your best friend, your partner on stage, your sister in everything but blood. She’d waited for you by the back door of the studio, her cloth wrapped tight around her neck, eyes wild in urgency.

“Don’t go home,” she whispered.

You laughed, because what else could you do?

“I’m serious,” she hissed, gripping your arm. “Your name was mentioned. On a list.”

That stopped your heart. You thought you’d hidden it well. Your conversations, your meetings, the way you stayed after shows to pass messages, to deliver notes, to make your voice heard when the world was determined to quiet it. You thought you’d danced your way around it all.

You didn’t speak. You just nodded. And she kissed your cheek like it was goodbye.

You never saw Mariana again.

Later that night, Gabriel had shown up to your house where you’d gone. His eyes were frantic, his military jacket soaked with droplets of a spring rain “They came to your apartment,” he’d said. “They tore it apart.”

Your breath stopped. “My brother? My parents?”

“They weren’t there.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Gabriel had begged you to leave with him. To disappear. “I’ll find a way” he said. “There are people across the border—friends. We just need to get out.”

But something in your gut told you not to go with him. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you were already half a ghost.

Like you were already death.

So, you ran. Alone.

………………………………………………………………………………..

You stood in the doorway, watching him as the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor. Joel was still lying on the couch, his body curled into a tight ball as if the night had pressed him down, heavier than it should have. His eyes were half-closed, groggy from sleep, and his hair was mussed, falling in wild, dark strands around his forehead.

When his eyes finally met yours, there was a faint, almost apologetic sigh that escaped his lips. “Sorry,” he muttered, blinking like he wasn’t quite sure where he was. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

You didn’t move from where you stood. Your feet were frozen, almost like you couldn’t bring yourself to step any closer to him.

“You drank too much,” you said, your voice a little sharper than you intended, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. They hung in the air between you like a reminder of the distance that had been created, like a wall that neither of you knew how to tear down.

Joel rubbed his face with his hands, his expression tightening for a second before he relaxed again. He was tired. You could see it in the lines of his face, in the way his shoulders slumped. But you could also see something else. Guilt. Pain. And maybe a little bit of regret.

“Yeah…” His voice trailed off as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly, like even that small movement hurt him. “I know. I don’t... I don’t usually drink like that. I never do, actually.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, still standing by the door, your eyes not leaving him. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. The silence between you stretched, thick and suffocating.

“Is there something bothering you?” You asked, fearing the worst. Fearing he had regret loving you, that his love to God and his faith was bigger than you.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours at the sound of your voice, but there was something distant in them. Something that made your heart sink. His gaze softened for a split second, but he quickly looked away, like he didn’t want you to see what was going on behind those tired eyes.

God, he wanted to hate you.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to massage away the tension that had built up there. "I don't know," he said, defiance in his voice, also thick with exhaustion. "Maybe it's just—everything. Everything that happened... that I've let happen." His eyes finally met yours again, but this time they seemed a little more guarded, a little more distant.

"I don't regret loving you," he lied, almost as if he was reassuring himself that was partially true “But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost myself” He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated with himself. “What’s right, you know?”

Your heart twisted at his words. You wanted to rush over to him, hold him, tell him that it didn’t matter, that whatever doubts he had, you were here, right here, willing to stand by him no matter what. But something in his expression stopped you. Something told you that even though he loved you, something deeper—his faith, his sense of duty, something you couldn’t quite name—was pulling him in another direction.

“I just… I don’t want to be the reason you lose your way,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion you didn’t know how to hide. “I know what you believe. And I know I don’t fit into that life.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, like your words hit him harder than he expected. He stood up slowly, walking toward you, but the gap between you felt just as wide as it had before. He stopped a few steps away from you, standing there as if he was weighing everything in his mind.

“You’re right” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was intense, full of things left unsaid. “And I don’t know how to make it work. And maybe I don’t have the strength to fight for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words hit you hard. You hadn’t realized just how much you were holding in until they started to fall, tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop the aching in your chest as the weight of what he was saying settled over you.

“Joel…” Your voice broke, the name coming out as a whisper, fragile, like it didn’t even belong to you anymore. “I never asked you to give up your faith. I just... I just want you. All of you. Not the parts that fit into some idea of what you’re supposed to be. Just you. The man I...” You swallowed hard, struggling to find the strength to finish. “The man I love.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but it was a softness, pain, like he was trying to absorb your words, but the weight of his own burdens was making it impossible to do so. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head as if he couldn’t bear to look at you, as if looking at you was a reminder of everything, he felt he couldn’t have.

“You don’t love me,” he whispered, voice shaking now, as if the words were cutting him too.

The words hit you like a slap, cold and unexpected, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your chest tightened, and your thoughts spun, dizzying in the sudden, unbearable weight of what he had said.

"What... what do you mean?" The question barely left your lips, as if the very air between you had thickened, made it impossible to say anything that could break through the suffocating silence.

Joel’s hands clenched at his sides, his eyes still cast down, not daring to meet yours. Joel's jaw clenched tighter, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained averted, unable—or unwilling—to meet yours. “I am a priest.” he growled, voice rough with barely contained anger. “I’m married to God and I broke all the vows and promises I made for-for—”

“For what?” you asked, almost challenging him.

Joel’s chest heaved as he took in a sharp breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t answer you right away, his gaze still fixed on the floor like he was trying to find the strength to look at you—like he was searching for the words that would make sense of everything he was feeling.

“For you,” he finally whispered, voice trembling with something raw, something that tore at the edges of his pride. “I broke every damn vow for you.”

You took a step forward, your heart aching at the admission, but you couldn’t let yourself get too close—not yet. Not with the weight of his words still hanging between you. “Joel, I—”

“No.” He cut you off sharply, his voice suddenly fierce. “Don’t. Don’t try to fix this with words. That you still love me after what I’ve done. After everything I’ve given up for... for this.” He gestured between the two of you, his frustration growing as his anger cracked through the cracks of his guilt. “You think it’s that easy?” His voice broke, the weight of his words pulling him apart.

“I don’t know how to feel anymore,” he added, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “You—you—were supposed to be my redemption.”

You swallowed hard, emotions building up in your throat, each word from him slicing through you like a sharp blade. You wanted to reach out, to take his face in your hands and make him understand that nothing about this had been easy for you either. That you had never wanted to be the reason he was torn between love and faith.

“Why did you come here and ruin everything?” Joel repeated, his voice harder now, edged with frustration and something that felt like betrayal.

His words hit you like a slap, raw and unforgiving, and for a moment, the world around you blurred. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—like he had stolen all your words, all your defenses, with that single sentence.

You stood there, fighting the knot in your throat, trying to piece together what had been shattered between you both. His anger, his hurt—it stung, but it was laced with something deeper, something that felt like love twisted into resentment.

The silence hung heavily between you two, the air thick with unsaid words and broken promises. Joel’s eyes softened, but there was a coldness in them now, something that made you feel smaller than you ever had.

He swallowed, his voice shaky, but firm. “I can’t do this,” he said, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “I need you to leave.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t understand at first. You stared at him, waiting for the catch, waiting for the reassurance that he didn’t really mean it—that he still wanted you, needed you. But there was none of that. His face was set, his jaw clenched, as if he had made a decision he couldn’t take back.

“Joel…” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out.

You took a step forward, heart pounding in your chest, desperate to reach him, to make him see the truth of how much you needed him. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for him, your fingers gently cupping his face, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the coldness in his eyes.

“Please,” you whispered again, this time your voice thick with emotion. “Don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away.”

His eyes flickered at your touch, a momentary weakness that made your heart flutter with hope. But it quickly faded, replaced by that familiar wall he’d built around himself.

“Don’t you get it?” Joel’s voice was rough, each word like a knife. “I’m not good for you. I’ve never been good for you. I am not a man you need; the one would fit into your life.”

Your fingers tightened around his jaw, pulling him gently toward you, forcing him to look into your eyes, to see the depth of your feelings for him. “You don’t get to say those things and pretend there’s nothing bothering you” you said fiercely, your breath shaking. “What have changed?”

His breath hitched, his brows furrowing as if he wanted to argue, to find some reason to push you away, but the look in your eyes—so raw, so full of pain and love—stopped him.

“I need you and I love you,” you whispered, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I need you, Joel. And I can’t leave you now.”

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside felt distant, as if the two of you existed in a bubble, suspended in time. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. His breath was shallow, and you could see the internal war raging inside him.

You held him there, your forehead resting gently against his, feeling the weight of everything that had passed between you. Your hands lingered on his face, waiting for him to make a decision—waiting for him to choose you, to let you in.

“Please,” you whispered again, softer this time, your voice breaking. “Don’t push me away, not when I need you the most.”

For a brief, fleeting moment, Joel’s eyes softened, and something flickered within them—something that felt like the remnants of the love he had for you, buried beneath the weight of everything else. Before you could speak again, before the words could form in your throat, he closed the distance between you.

His lips found yours with a force that made your heart race. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t angry either. It was raw, desperate, filled with everything he’d been holding inside. His hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you closer, and you could taste the whiskey on his lips, the bitterness mingling with something deeper, something painful.

When he finally pulled away, the air between you was thick, the tension unbearable. He looked at you, eyes dark in confusion, his breath ragged, like he wasn’t sure how to breathe without you.

You could see the battle inside him—the love and the pain, the anger and the guilt, all tangled together. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“I need time,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like a man trying to hold on to the last bit of control he had. “I need to think. I need to figure this out. But not today.”

You nodded, your heart aching with each word that passed between you. You didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to be the one to walk away. But you could see the wall he’d put up, the armor that he was trying to maintain.

“Can you leave?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “Just... just for today. I don’t want to say things I’ll regret. I just... I need some space. We can talk later. When I feel better.”

Your throat tightened, but you nodded again, your fingers brushing against his as you stepped back.

“Okay,” you said softly, your heart shattering with every step you took away from him. “I’ll leave. But I’m not going far.”

Joel watched you opening the door and leaving the safety of his house, leaving him behind with a heavy weight on his heart.

And his thoughts drifted to the prior night.

Gabriel didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Joel, like he’d been carrying this decision in his chest for hours.

Then, he stepped forward and held out a small piece of paper.

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What’s this?”

“My number,” Gabriel said quietly. “And the place I’m staying.”

Joel didn’t move.

Gabriel sighed, not with annoyance, but something closer to tired concern. “If something happens… if you perhaps see her…please call me and tell me.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “Why would I do that?”

“Because she owns me a lot and I’m not leaving her.” Gabriel said plainly, his voice firm, unwavering.

Joel stared at the slip of paper in his hand, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. The numbers blurred for a second, like they were mocking him. Like they knew.

He sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor but not really seeing it.

You had lied.

The thought came uninvited, poisonous. He tried to shake it off, but it sank its claws in, deeper and deeper the more he let it twist in his chest.

You belonged to Gabriel.

You weren’t his.

You never were.

The house was quiet when you stepped inside, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind. It was the quiet of something waiting to unravel. The shadows on the walls were familiar, the smell of lemon cleaner still the same. But it wasn’t the home you had made of yourself anymore.

Not after Joel’s dementor. Not after feeling he was slipping through your fingers like water in your hands.

You walked further in, your fingers brushing against the edge of the hallway table like muscle memory, and then you heard movement in the kitchen.

Carmen was there, sipping a cup of coffee as if she were waiting for you to appear.

“Did you spend the night at the father’s house?” she asked as if it the chance was poison.

Not a “Good morning” just a simply question.

You looked around, and felt your chest tighten. “So, this is what it’s come to?” you asked back not answering her question, voice barely above a whisper. “You tell Billy everything when you promised you wouldn’t say anything about me and Joel.”

She set down the cup in her hand, leaning against the counter. “It mattered. You’re—”

“I’m nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer, heat rising behind your eyes. “Don’t ever say it was because you care because—”

“And what were you doing?” Carmen shot back, her jaw clenching. “Sneaking around with a man who told you from the beginning it couldn’t happen. A man who wears a collar, for God’s sake.”

You flinched like she’d hit you.

“And yet he chose me anyway,” you said, your voice trembling with the ache in your chest.

“Did he?” she asked, not because she wanted to hurt you but because she wanted to understand what thoughts were running inside your mind.

Something flickered in her eyes—guilt, maybe. Or regret. But it was gone too fast.

“You don’t belong with him,” she said, voice low. “You don’t see it now, but someday you will.”

You stepped closer, meeting her eyes squarely.

“You don’t get to decide who I belong with.”

The silence was sharp. Years of shared history hummed like a storm in the walls.

“I love you like a little sister, you know?” she spoke, “And you don’t deserve to spend your life hidden beneath the cloaks of a secret.”

You didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. She took a step closer to you.

“You already told me why you are here, Estrellita. Don’t waste your life hiding anymore.” She spoke.

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers without even realizing it. The way she called you Estrellita—it broke something open in you.

You had never learned what it meant to love someone in silence. You had always been so carefree, not used to a life of being caged. You were not used to run from your past like it was a fire at your back.

“I didn’t mean to fall for him,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“I know,” Carmen said gently. “But it did.”

You looked up at her then, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t see her as just the woman who’d tried to protect you, who interfered or judged or told you what was right. You saw the friend who held your hand when you needed the most the first time you arrived here.

Tears welled in your eyes again. “I thought I could outrun it, Carmen. I thought if I didn’t say it out loud, if I kept it buried… it wouldn’t follow me here.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Gabriel.” You said, his name felt like poison on your lips. It tasted like blood. You wiped at your cheek. “He is here. He found me and I think he wants to take me back to home.”

Carmen’s face went still—like something in her braced at the mention of his name. Her breath caught, her posture tensed, and suddenly all the softness from before hardened into something sharp and protective.

“He’s here?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, your hands trembling now as the weight of saying it out loud settled on your chest. “Last night… at the club. I didn’t imagine it. He was watching me, then he left.”

Carmen blinked, like she needed a moment to absorb that. “That bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her voice suddenly laced with steel. “You think he wants to take you back to your family?

Your throat tightened. “No. He must have been caught up.”

“That’s why you ran in a hurry from the club last night?” she asked.

You nodded, “I went to Joel’s because he wouldn’t find me at a priest’s house.” you pause for a bit, “but he was acting strange too and I feel like I’ve ruined his life and I cannot stop running.”

Carmen took your hands then, firm but not unkind. “Listen to me,” she said, fierce now, “Fathe-well, Joel is not the important thing now. You are not alone. And whatever this Gabriel thinks he’s going to do—he’ll have to go through me first.”

You gave a watery laugh, and she smiled, only for a second,before her face turned serious again.

“You’re not performing tonight.” She said, as a momentary solution to this issue.

Your brows furrowed. “What? Carmen, I have to—”

“No.” Her voice left no room for argument. “You’re not getting on that stage tonight. Not with him out there. Not when you’re this shaken.”

“I’ve been through worse,” you whispered, but it didn’t even sound convincing to your own ears.

Carmen shook her head. “This isn’t just stage fright or nerves. This is fear, real fear. And I’m not letting you walk into that spotlight like nothing’s wrong when we both know you’re still looking over your shoulder.”

You looked down at your hands, her grip still grounding you. Your skin was clammy. Your thoughts raced. But there was a small, stubborn fire in your chest.

“He’ll think I’m hiding,” you said quietly.

She arched a brow. “He’ll think you left this town.”

You didn’t answer.

She took a seat next to you “Then, he’ll leave and you will be fine okay.”

You stared at her, those words hanging heavy between you. He’ll think you left this town. Like it was easy. Like he would just pack up and vanish the way you should’ve months ago. But something inside you twisted at the thought—something sharp and aching.

You shook your head slowly. “But I don’t want him to keep looking for me,” you said, voice trembling, almost ashamed of the truth.

Carmen turned to you, eyes searching. “Then what do you want, mi niña? Do you want to run forever? Or do you want to finally live your life?”

You blinked back the tears forming again. Your throat burned.

“I want to stop feeling like I have to choose between running and breathing,” you said. “I don’t want to face Joel while feeling like this.”

Carmen was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Then we make a plan. But not tonight. Tonight, you breathe. You eat something. You sleep with the door locked. And tomorrow—if you want to tell Joel the truth—we tell him everything. Together.”

You looked at her, the fear still clawing at your insides—but for the first time, you didn’t feel alone in it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

The house was quiet, almost too quiet. Carmen had gone to the club a couple hours ago, but sleep wasn’t coming to you. You sat curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a shield, though it did little to ward off the storm building in your chest.

The TV played some old black-and-white movie on low volume—just enough to keep the silence from swallowing you whole. Shadows danced across the walls, flickering every time the screen flashed. You’d been staring at it for who knows how long, your thoughts looping, racing, tangling.

How do you tell Joel?

How do you say it without breaking whatever fragile thread you still have between you?

What if he doesn’t believe you? What if he thinks you play with him?

You’d rehearsed the words in your head a thousand different ways, none of them good enough. None of them could undo what had been done, or explain why you hadn’t told Joel the truth from the beginning.

The silence broke with a sudden ring that pierced through the stillness, loud and jarring. You jumped, your heart lurching into your throat. For a second, you just stared at the phone on the table, afraid to move, afraid of what—or who—was on the other end.

Your breath caught. You stared at the phone for a long moment, your finger hovering over it like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Then—almost without thinking—you picked up.

“…Hello?” your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to.

There was a pause on the other end. You could hear the faint sound of his breathing, uneven. Like the person on the other side didn’t know what to say either.

Then finally, low and tired and rough, a voice came through, saying your name.

You closed your eyes, your chest tightening.

“How are you?” Joel asked, the words thick and quiet. “I… I know I don’t deserve to ask, not after this morning.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Just a breath. Just silence. And then, “It’s fine,” you said softly. “You were upset.”

“No,” he said, and you could hear the guilt straining in every syllable. “I was cruel. I pushed you away and I didn’t mean to. I just—”

He exhaled sharply. “I was angry, but not at you. Not really. I was angry at myself. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You let the silence settle for a moment, heart thudding dully in your chest.

“I know,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Can you come to the church?” Joel asked. “Now. Please.”

You hesitated. The question hit you hard, like he’d reached through the phone and gripped your wrist. You stared at the dark window, the flicker of the TV, the stillness of the house. Carmen’s warning echoed in your head.

“I can’t,” you said. It came out too fast, too brittle. “I… I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Joel said again, more urgently now. “I just— I need to see you. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You could almost feel Carmen’s disappointment if she knew you were even considering it.

But his voice was breaking. And your heart… your heart was already halfway out the door.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You could hear the breath of relief he let out, like he hadn’t believed you’d actually say yes.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

And then the line went dead.

The room felt impossibly quiet. The truth still weighed heavy in your chest, but your feet moved on their own—toward the door. Toward him.

Despite everything.

Despite Carmen.

Despite Gabriel.

Despite the danger.

You were going to Joel, where he would be waiting with the lights up to protect you.

The old wooden doors of the church creaked open, the sound echoing softly through the vast, candle-lit silence. The night air clung to your skin as you stepped inside, the scent of old wood and melted wax wrapping around you like a memory.

Joel was there.

Up by the altar.

His back to you, shoulders slightly hunched as he lit one candle, then another. The glow bathed him in gold, flickering shadows dancing across his frame like ghosts.

You stood there for a second, just watching. Your heart thudded so hard it almost drowned out the quiet. You opened your mouth.

“Joel,” you said, softly.

He stiffened immediately. The match in his hand paused mid-air before he extinguished it slowly, fingers curling around it like he didn’t want to let it go. Then he turned.

There was no smile. Just dark, tired eyes locked on you. His face unreadable. Haunted. Like he had traveled miles through his own mind just to meet you here.

You wanted to say something. You thought of all the ways you could start but nothing felt right. Nothing touched the heaviness pressing down on both of you.

He finally spoke.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I almost didn’t.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Why did you?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “Why did I do what?” you finally asked.

His jaw tightened as the question cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked, like each word cost him something to say.

You stood still, the faint glow of candlelight brushing your face. There was nowhere to hide in this place, no shadows to slip into, no noise to drown out the truth. Just him. And you. And all the pieces of what you’d broken between you.

You looked down for a second, then met his eyes. “I—What?”

Joel took a slow step forward, the echo of his shoes heavy against the church floor.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low. Controlled. But his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You stared at him, a dozen answers caught in your throat. None of them good enough.

“Gabriel,” he said. Just the name. Nothing else. And still, it landed like a punch.

Your breath caught. “Joel…”

“You are engaged to him.” He shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back something ugly. “All this damn time, you were engaged while messing up with my head.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head. “It’s not—Joel, it’s not what you think.”

His laugh was humorless, bitter. “Isn’t it? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks pretty damn clear.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, fingers trembling at your sides. “I left before. I left everything behind when I came here. I’m not engaged to him I never was I—”

“I don’t believe you.” he called out.

You took a slow step forward, trying to mend what was broken. Your voice quivered as it left you. “I never said yes. I never said yes to him, Joel. I—”

Your words die in your lips because he wouldn’t even look at you now. His jaw was tight, arms crossed like a shield, like if he let them fall, he might shatter.

“I told him I didn’t want that life,” you continued, trying to reach him. “I told him I wasn’t his. I ran, Joel. I ran from all of it. From him. From the danger I was in.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, something cracking in his expression—but not enough to let you in. “You should’ve told me,”He said, low. “You should’ve trusted me with the truth.”

“I wanted to,” you said, stepping impossibly closer. “Every time I looked at you, it was right there, stuck in my throat. But I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me like you are now.” You paused, “You told me I could do it when I feel ready.”

He held your gaze for a long beat, pain written deep across his face.

You took another step, just a breath away now. “Joel, please. It’s not what you think it is, there is so much more to tell. The truth of it.”

Silence pressed in. You reached out slowly, placing your hand gently over his. He didn’t pull away.

“I’m standing here asking you to give me a chance to explain.”

His fingers twitched beneath yours—like maybe, just maybe, part of him still wanted to hold on.

"I'll ask god to get rid of those feelings you have for me.” He said, letting go of your hand “I'll pray for you."

Your hand hung there in the space where his used to be, suspended in the air like a ghost of something that had once meant everything. His words hit harder than any shouted accusation could have—quiet, measured, and final. A blade wrapped in velvet.

You stared at him, throat tight. “Don’t do that,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t erase what we had like it was nothing.”

Joel turned away from you then, his jaw clenched, his silhouette bathed in candlelight and heartbreak. “I ain’t erasing it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m just tryin’ to survive it.”

A bitter silence followed.

"I don't want to get rid of them!" You shouted at him.

"Don't. You lied!” he shouted back, while pointing his finger at you.

"No, I didn't." You cried out

"You did! You made me sin. I knew I should have never touch you, never should have loved you.

"don't say it, you will regret it" you warned him, before he could say anything else.

"The only thing I will regret is you."

You didn't even have time to completely allow your heart to break after hearing those words. You were stunned. No words could even come out from your lips.

He was staring at you now, eyes wide with something that almost looked like remorse—but it was drowned out by the rage, the hurt.

“I never lied to you,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would make it too real.

Joel shook his head, his face twisted with frustration, as if your words were a foreign language he couldn’t understand. “You don’t get it, do you? You—you—taught me how to love, how to want things I shouldn’t. And now I’m left here, broken because of you.”

He took a step back, his fist clenched at his side. “I should have never let myself feel this way about you,” he spat, and the words felt like venom. "I should’ve never let you in."

Your heart shattered in the silence that followed. You could feel the crack of it deep within you, splintering everything you thought you understood about him, about you, about what you could have been.

"You don’t mean that," you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. But even as you said them, you felt the truth settle into your bones. He did mean it.

Your hands moved on instinct, cupping his face, your fingers trembling as they touched his skin. His jaw was tense beneath your palms, but you didn’t care. You needed him to feel it—to know it wasn’t a lie.

“Joel, I love you,” you breathed, desperate, broken. “Please, let me—”

But he pulled your hands from his face, slowly, painfully, like he hated the way it felt to do it.

“No,” he said, voice low and steady. “You belong to him. To Gabriel.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “What…?”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t stutter. “That’s why I called him.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your hands dropped to your sides as your mind spun. He called Gabriel. Joel called him. He called him.

“Why would you—” your voice cracked.

But then, before you could finish, you heard it. A voice behind you. Smooth. Familiar. Sickening.

Your name, spoken with a twisted fondness. “Aquí estás.” (Here you are) Gabriel said.

You turned slowly, dread creeping up your spine like frostbite.

Gabriel stood just inside the church doors, shadow stretching long behind him. He looked at you like he always did, like you were something that belonged to him.

Your stomach dropped.

Joel’s voice was behind you, sharp and cold. “Now he can take back what’s his.”

Your knees went weak. Everything around you blurred except for that one terrible truth.

He’d brought you here. He’d brought him here. Joel did it.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun, the walls of the church closing in like a vise around your chest. The candlelight flickered, suddenly too bright, too hot.

Your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape, and the sound of Gabriel’s footsteps—calm, deliberate—only made it worse.

You stumbled back.

“Don’t,” you rasped, lifting a trembling hand. “Stay away from me.”

But Gabriel kept walking. And when your back hit Joel’s chest, you realized you’d moved without thinking.

You were hiding. Behind him. Joel stiffened in surprise as you pressed against him, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracked and broken. “Please don’t let him take me.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a long second. You could feel the tension in his body, the confusion, the conflict. He’d expected anger—guilt, maybe. Not this. Not you trembling behind him like a trapped animal.

He looked over his shoulder, saw your face, pale, wet with tears, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps and something shifted in him.

he murmured your name but you couldn’t speak. Gabriel was close now, too close, his steps slow and confident. “Ya no puedes seguir arrancando” (You cannot keep running anymore)

You flinched at his voice. Joel turned to look at you again, really look at you. The panic in your eyes. The way you were clinging to him.

And suddenly, everything didn’t seem so black and white anymore.

“You tricked me” you said through shallow breaths, chest heaving.

Joel’s jaw tightened.

Gabriel frowned. “She’s confused. That’s all this is. She always gets like this.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, no, please don’t listen to him. Joel, you have to believe me.”

Your fingers twisted tighter in his cassock Joel’s eyes flicked from you to Gabriel. And for the first time… doubt. Real, sharp, dangerous doubt crept into his face.

And he took a slow step in front of you, this time not to give you away.

But to shield you.

“What the hell do you want from her?” he asked, low, directed at Gabriel now.

Gabriel blinked once, then gave a short, breathy laugh—quiet at first, then building, echoing through the old church like a sick hymn.

“A priest?” he said, incredulous, mocking. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He looked between you and Joel like the punchline of some cruel joke had just landed in his lap. “There’s no way you fell in love with a priest.”

You flinched at the sound, but Joel didn’t move. His jaw clenched tighter, fists at his sides.

Gabriel took a step forward, his shoes tapping softly against the stone floor. The candlelight caught the edge of something cold and metallic beneath his coat—then, slowly, he pulled it out.

A gun.

You froze.

Joel’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you again, forcing you back behind him. His voice dropped lower, sharp as a blade. “Put that down.”

Gabriel cocked his head like he was considering it—like this was all just some twisted game.

“You think wearing that collar means something to me?” Gabriel asked in defiance.

Joel didn’t flinch. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“Joel—” you whispered, barely able to breathe.

Gabriel’s gaze cut to you, and his smile returned—cold and cruel. “You always were good at pretending,” he said.

“No,” you whispered. Your voice was shaking, but your spine straightened.

Joel stood solid in front of you. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

Gabriel raised the gun slightly, hand steady. “That can be arranged.”

Gabriel’s arm rose, the gun steady now, aimed directly at Joel’s chest. His eyes had gone dark, void of reason, swimming with something far worse than jealousy.

“You have no idea what she did to me,” he hissed. “No idea what she owes me.”

Joel didn’t move, didn’t blink. “She doesn’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

Gabriel’s finger twitched on the trigger.

“She does,” he spat. “You think she’s innocent? You think she ran away from nothing?”

You were trembling, the edges of your vision tunneling, the air thick and heavy in your chest.

Gabriel sneered, not even sparing you a glance. “You always have a choice. And you chose wrong.”

Joel took a step forward, deliberate, protective. “You’re not taking her.”

Gabriel’s hand raised with him, following the movement. “She’s mine. I bled for her. I ruined myself for her. And she walked away leaving me paying the consequences?”

Joel’s voice was low, but it rang with conviction. “You are not taking her” he repeated.

For a second, Gabriel’s face twitched—something unhinged cracking behind his eyes.

“She’s not yours to save,” Gabriel said. “And when I’m done with you—she’ll remember that.”

Joel didn’t budge. “Try me.”

And that was when Gabriel’s hand jerked. The sound of the gunshot split the silence

Joel hit the ground with a cry of pain, the bullet tearing through his leg. The sound of it—the thud of his body, the ragged gasp that ripped from his throat—split you open.

“Joel!” You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands already pressing over the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. His cassock was soaked within seconds, your fingers slipping in the warmth of his blood.

“No, no, no—stay with me,” you pleaded, voice trembling, cracking. “You’re going to be okay, just look at me. Please.”

His jaw clenched, but his eyes still found yours. There was pain there, yes, but something else too. Something soft, even now.

Before you could answer, a force yanked you backward by the arms.

“Enough,” Gabriel growled.

You screamed, thrashing against him, kicking and clawing. “Let go of me!”

His grip tightened. “You think this is about him? Him? After everything I did for you, you choose a fucking priest?” His voice broke on the word, madness trembling under the surface.

“You shot him!” you shouted, your voice shrill and full of rage. “You could’ve killed him!”

“And maybe I should have,” Gabriel hissed near your ear. “Maybe then you'd remember what you own me."

You struggled harder, your eyes locked on Joel still lying on the floor, bleeding, trying—despite the agony—to push himself up for you. For you.

“Don’t touch her,” Joel said, voice hoarse, weak, but full of fire. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Gabriel laughed, wild and bitter. “You can’t even stand.”

Gabriel’s fingers dug into your arms as he dragged you toward the church doors, your heels scraping against the floor. You kicked, shouted, screamed Joel’s name, but he was behind you now, and bleeding, and you couldn’t get to him.

“Déjame!” (Let me go!) you cried, nails raking at Gabriel’s hands, but he didn’t flinch. His grip was iron, and the fury in him had snapped something loose. Something terrifying.

He shoved the doors open with his shoulder, the night air crashing into your lungs like a slap.

“Ahora nosotros tenemos una conversación pendiente, fugitiva,” (Now we both have a a pendant conversation, little rebel) he spat, his voice low and venomous. “Creíste que podías huir de mí, ¿eh? ¿Que podías esconderte detrás de un maldito cura? (Did you think you could run and hide behind a fucking priest?”

You struggled, tears streaming now, hot.

He kept dragging you down the steps of the church. “¿Después de todo lo que hice por ti? ¿Después de lo que sacrifiqué? (After all I did for you? after all I sacrificed for you?)

“Déjame!” you screamed, the words ripping from your throat.

He slammed you against the hood of a car, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

“No me pongas a prueba,”(Don’t try me) he growled.

People had started to gather—neighbors, passersby, drawn by the shouting, the shot, and the slam of doors, the chaos erupting outside the church. You could hear the murmurs, the uncertainty in their voices, but no one stepped forward.

Except one.

Mr. Langdon appeared at the edge of the crowd, his eyes wide in horror. “What’s going on here?!”

Your eyes locked onto him, desperate. “Go to the Father!” you shouted, voice raw. “He’s bleeding! Go help him, please!”

Mr. Langdon hesitated, then turned, finally breaking into a hurried limp toward the church steps.

Gabriel leaned in close, his voice slithering in your ear like a curse. “Ahora te vas a subir al auto y me vas a escuchar,” (Now you’re going to get in the car, and you’re going to listen to me.) he whispered, so low only you could hear.

You shook your head violently, heart hammering, eyes darting from one stunned face to another in the crowd. Why weren’t they doing anything?

“Help me!” you cried out. “Please!”

And then—Carmen. She burst through the people, Billy right behind her, both of them panting from the sprint, eyes wide with panic as they took in the scene.

“¡Hey!” Carmen screamed. “¡Déjala!” (Let her go!)

Billy didn’t even hesitate; he ran toward you.

But it was too late. Gabriel jerked open the passenger door, dragged you inside with terrifying strength, and slammed it shut.

You fought, your hands pushing at him, legs kicking wildly, but the doors locked with a heavy click, sealing you inside. Your cries were muffled now by glass. Gabriel’s hand clamped over your thigh, keeping you still as he started the engine.

Outside, Billy was pounding on the window. Carmen was screaming your name.

And all you could do was look back through the glass—at them. At the church.

At Joel’s silhouette, just now staggering out under the arch of the church’s door, his hand clutching his side, eyes locked on the car that was taking you away.

And then it moved.

Gabriel drove, leaving this town behind.

Oh god, what have he done?

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lovecla · 8 months ago

Text

EAT YOU LIKE A PREY ; luke hughes.

nhl masterlist, nsfw, @lovecla’s kinktober collection, single chapter:

— pair: luke hughes x fmc (mila)

— synopsis: after finding out that her friend, the shy, cute luke hughes has a crush on her, mila decides that she will do anything to make him confess his feelings for her out loud. but what do people say about biting more than you can chew?

— word count: 4.3k

— chapter warnings: lowkey mean softdom!luke, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, size kink and degradation if you dig deep, p in v, fingering, squirting (not super detailed tho), edging, pet names, drinking (just a shot but,) dacryphilia.

from me to you: happy halloween, my loves 🤍 i have a few things to say today so buckle up. 1st of all, thank u so much for 400 followers and 10k likes! this means so much to me, and it’s not about the numbers but about people liking what i write— something that not even i do sometimes. 2nd, thank u all for all the compliments on my smut writing heheh i’m really trying to improve my skills so whenever u guys compliment me i’m like ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა so thank u again. 3rd and last, this is just a single chapter but TM(HTMHC) chapter 5 is already in the making 🤍 this is a lot different from what i’m used to write but i hope it’s still good? lmk what u think 🐰

𖧷

LUKE HUGHES was the sweetest, most adorable guy you have ever met.

Falling for him wasn’t anything out of this world, you were just another person to fall in love with his wholesome personality, and even though you had certain advantages over the other girls— because you knew him personally— you never really did anything.

When Jack told you that Luke had a crush on you— yesterday, literally—, the first thought that came to your mind was: “How?”

He always acted sweet and shy around you, besides treating you with utmost respect and affection. He takes care of you whenever you need, he knows your favorite drinks and your favorite TV shows, knows that when you’re bored you like to watch Disney Channel’s cringe ass shows just to laugh at the actors’ lines.

So him, having a crush on you, wasn’t at all that much of a surprise.

The fact that he hadn’t done anything about it, though? Yeah. That was a big, unexpected surprise.

Now it was Thursday, and while you got ready in your room, and waited for your best friend, Suzy, to pick you up, you thought of ways of making Luke want to confess to you.

You wouldn’t be the one doing it first, no. You had too much pride for that, and with every reason. You were gorgeous, you didn’t need anyone to tell you that. You could say that you’re too much of a princess and you don’t like to run after boys, but in reality, it was just that all of the men you had relations with were just a bunch of assholes.

They wanted you to be the first to make a move, they wanted you to decide where you would have dinner, or what movie you would watch. And that just doesn’t work for you, at least not anymore. You want them to work for getting you, not the other way around.

But with Luke, things were different. You can’t just know that Luke Hughes has a crush on you and not do anything. So you would have to be smart, and make him want to tell you how he feels, without asking him to.

Is this some way of gaslighting?, you ask yourself, applying some more blush to your face, I don’t know. But it has to be done, I guess.

Suzy didn’t take long to get to your house, and you got inside her car, complementing her Snow White costume. Now, you’re even more glad that you spent hours trying to choose the perfect costume for Mercer’s party. Usually, you’d go for something that showed less skin and was more scary than slutty, but something told you that this year you needed a change; and if that change was shortening your skirt and wearing a corset that squeeze your tits and push them up higher, then so be it.

𖧷

“SOMEONE SHOULD’VE told me that Dawson was planning on throwing his Halloween party at a fucking haunted mansion.”

You laugh, getting out of the car and feeling the cold breeze hit your skin, the sight of the tall, dark house in front of you making you shiver.

The party was happening inside a huge mansion that looks like it had been abandoned for years even though you know it’s all just play pretend. The front of it is highly decorated with skeletons, coffins, trash and signs that read:

“YOUR FINAL STOP,” and “WELCOME TO YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE.”

You thought it was all super funny, while Suzy whined beside you, and held your arm like her life depended on it. Entering the house after showing your ID and giving your name to the security guard at the front door, you saw that the interior is just as decorated as the outside, if not more.

“How much do you think Dawson spent on this?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Suzy started rambling about how he probably spent a lot of money and how there were thousands of people inside the mansion and how you were never going to find Jack or Nico or anyone for that matter because everyone were wearing costumes and makeup and—

“It’ll be fine,” you cut her off, shouting over the loud music. “I mean, are there hundreds of people here? Yes. Will we be able to find them? Very unlikely. But it’s fine, right?”

“I guess?” She cocks her head, her curls going everywhere. “Can we grab something to drink, though? You know I need my daily dose of beer…”

“You’re crazy. But yeah, we can.”

Moving through the sea of bodies, you greeted so many people that your head was starting to get tired. You didn’t even know all of them properly, but since Jack, Quinn and Luke knew so many people, and you were always with them, people said “hi” to you anyway.

Finding the drink section had been like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert, and while Suzy grabbed a can of beer, you had a shot of vodka before grabbing a non-alcoholic drink, wanting to be very aware of your actions through the night.

You got back to walking, listening to Suzy’s long complaints about how much time you spent talking with people she didn’t know and how she wanted to dance.

“Fuck, Mila, this is Drake!” She shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the side, where a bunch of people were dancing.

“I was talking to Elliot, you know,” you shout, laughing.

“I don’t care, baby, this fucking song makes me want to go crazy and make out with you!” Suzy throws her arms up, jumping.

“Baby, that’s the alcohol speaking.” You smile, giving up and moving with the beat.

You need to get done, done, done, done at work, come over

We just need to slow the motion

Don't give that away to no one

Long distance, I need you

You danced with Suzy, not letting your mind think of Luke or anything else. Moving your hips was way easier when you didn’t have to worry about anything.

When I see potential I just gotta see it through

If you had a twin, I would still choose you

I don't wanna rush into it, if it's too soon

But I know you need to get done, done, done, done

Suzy’s hands caressed your body, as she goes to the floor, making you smile as she runs her hands through your bare legs, mouthing the lyrics to the song, singing Drake’s verse with a flirty tone. She got up and you turned around, laughing as you grind your ass on her, placing your hands on your knees and moving your hips while she held your waist, playfully.

I spilled all my emotions tonight, I'm sorry

Rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin'

How many more shots until you're rollin'?

While you danced, and while Suzy sang to you and hugged you tight, you felt a weird sensation in your chest. You were constantly getting goosebumps, and the left side of your neck burned. But no matter how much you looked around, you couldn’t find anything weird.

You knew so many people there, you could see Nico, Cole, Matt; and yeah, some of the guys were watching you and Suzy dance but that’s just normal, expected behavior from men.

Until you saw him.

There, standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall and holding a typical American red cup, wearing a full black outfit and.

Was that a ghostface mask?

You couldn’t be sure of who was behind the mask, but for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes off him— and it looked like neither could he. While you ground on Suzy and danced with her, you made eye contact with the mask, feeling the hair on your arm going up; the hotness that before only covered the left side of your neck, was now running down your body, making you feel warm all over.

Which is weird, so weird.

Suddenly, the lights are off, and now everyone’s screaming with excitement and exhilaration, making you jump slightly, trying to find Suzy’s body. Once you do, you shout at her— or at least at what you hope is her ear.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She yells back, and you can tell that she’s having a lot of fun for someone who was just complaining about how scary the house looked. “This is so fun!”

“It is, yeah,” you reply, as they turn the lights back on, the music somehow louder and the people even more animated.

“We need to dance more and then,” she gets closer, biting her lips. “I’ll find someone to fuck me.”

“Jesus,” you roll your eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

You laughed before moving your body with the next song again, dancing for what felt like hours, but not as thoughtless as you were before, no. Now all you could think of was the man that stood in the corner of the room and that now wasn’t there anymore, vanished as soon as the lights were on again.

Even if you had already looked around the entire room and you were one hundred percent sure that that man wasn’t there anymore, you could feel his presence around you, making your skin crawl with need.

I’m fucked up. Probably.

𖧷

YOU DON’T know where Suzy is.

Sometime between dancing and drinking, she found someone and disappeared like she had never been here in the first place.

You were tired, and you wanted to go back home, but, unfortunately, Suzy was your ride, so you’d have to wait until she’s done to go back to your apartment.

Of course, you could always call a taxi, or even one of the people you knew, or maybe try to call Jack or even Luke—

Luke. You hadn’t thought about him since you arrived at the party, too worried about having fun to even think of doing anything else.

But he’s not here anyway, you find yourself pouting, standing in the middle of the huge, fancy bathroom and staring at yourself in the mirror. At least I don’t think so.

But Jack had told you that he would be there, and Jack could be many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. So, Luke probably is here, just hiding in a corner, like he usually did, always the shy boy.

Corner. Man. Black outfit. Ghostface.

Right, you take a deep breath. I’ll try to find him. Maybe I’ll manage to kiss him before leaving.

The thought of kissing Luke motivated you to get past the ocean of people, looking for curly hair and thick thighs. It didn’t help that you didn’t know what he was wearing or who he was with, but you were determined.

You walked the entire first floor, feeling your legs burn with how many steps you had already taken, especially after wearing high heels for so many hours. Luke definitely wasn’t there, and you were starting to feel frustrated.

You went up the stairs, regretting almost immediately. Dawson didn’t just decorate the first floor and the outside of the mansion, but the second floor as well. And if you thought the first floor was bad, this was even worse.

It was empty, it looked worse than the fucking Haunted House at Disneyland, and it was creepy as fuck. You started walking down the hallway, looking around while wrapping your arms around your middle, listening to the muffled sounds from downstairs.

Why isn’t anyone up here?

You walk past closed doors, until you stop in front of the only open one. Curious, you get inside the room, finding out that it was some kind of office: a big, dark wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, with an expensive looking chair behind it, and tons of books decorating the bookshelves against the walls.

A couch decorated the corner, and so did a lamp and a coffee table. You were just about to leave and go back to the party when you saw it— there, laying on the couch, the mask from before.

You hold in a gasp, feeling the left side of your neck burning again.

He’s here, he’s here. He’s here and he knows I’m here too.

“Took you long enough, bunny.”

You let out a scream, turning around to face the same man from before, who was now standing right behind you.

“L-Luke,” breathing fast, you mumble his name. “God, you scared me.”

“Sorry. Not my intention.”

He walks inside the room, sitting beside the mask— his mask.

“It… it was you.” You whisper, eyeing his clothes. The exact same outfit the man who watched you dance with Suzy and made you feel hot all over was wearing.

“Me?” He cocks his head, like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

“You,” you nod. “Downstairs. When I was dancing with Suzy.”

He stays quiet, not saying anything to confirm nor deny.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been looking for you for a while now.” You ask, confused.

“You looked like you were having so much fun,” there’s some kind of sarcasm in his tone, but you can’t really tell why. “I didn’t want to ruin your fun, that’s all.”

Usually, you’d just play around and tell him something funny. But you remembered what Jack said, and you also remembered that you had a plan. Make Luke Hughes confess his feelings for you.

Smiling and walking further inside the bedroom, you start your plan.

“You know you could never ruin my fun,” you say. “I missed you.”

He smirks, spreading his thighs on the couch.

“Yeah?” You nod. “I missed you too. You look cute with your little bunny outfit.”

You give him a little twirl, placing your hands on your hips. “D’you like it? I also think it looks great.”

He hums, before getting up, standing in front of you, his 6’2” figure making you feel small, even though you were 5’4” yourself.

“Why were you looking for me, Mila?”

His tone is so different from what you’re used to. He doesn’t sound sweet and adorable anymore, and for some reason, it has you intrigued. His eyes, looking darker with so little lighting in the room, staring down at you.

“I just wanted to see you. ‘Been a while, no?” Sweetening your voice to the max, you blink twice. “Perhaps we could, I don’t know, have some fun?”

His smile only widens at that, and just when you thought you were about to get what you want, his next words make you freeze.

“Do you think I’m dumb?”

You frown at his words, gulping.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper.

“Bunny, bunny,” he clicks his tongue, stepping closer to you. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything—”

“I know Jack talked to you,” he whispers. “He isn’t exactly subtle. And I’ve seen you with boys before. You use those pretty, sweet eyes to make them fall for you, do whatever you want, beg for just a little bite. Am I wrong?”

You bite your lips, holding the hem of your skirt, looking for some kind of support. Luke’s breathy voice makes all of your tiredness leave your body.

“I asked you a question, cutie.”

“No,” you whisper. “You’re not wrong, Luke.”

The smile he gives you is brighter than the moon shining in the sky.

“I know I’m not, baby,” he gets closer, placing his large hand on your waist, on top of your corset. “So, if you want to have some fun with me,” he continues, using the same words you used not even five minutes ago. “It will have to be the way I want it to be, right?”

You nod with your head, scared that he would find out your underwear is slowly getting wetter and wetter.

He gives you a forehead kiss before stepping back, walking towards the door, letting you wonder if he was just being silly and was in fact leaving the room. Which he doesn’t, just closes the door and walks back at you, eyeing you like a wolf would look at a bunny.

Luke kissed you as if he was hungry, thirsty for something he could only get if he stuck your lips together. His hands, warm and large, encircled your waist and pushed you until your back hit the large bookshelf that decorated the wall of the office.

“Fuck,” Luke moans against your mouth. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

You wanted to tell him that you had too, but you didn’t even have time; Luke kissed you again, making you stand on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, messing up the curls that decorated his head.

His mouth moved against yours, his lips sweet and soft, different from the way he kissed you: bruising and desperate, holding you so close that you feared, for a second, that the two of you would become one.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he warns, his green eyes, now a darker shade, looking into yours and showing all the impure thoughts he was having. “I’m gonna fuck you hard against that table, Mila, and I swear to God I won’t stop. So, if you don’t want that, tell me now and I’ll take you home.”

“No,” you say, desperately and shamefully wet. “I need you.”

“I know you do,” he says, his voice full of malice. His hands roam your body, touching only the top of your breasts, not lingering on them for more than a minute.

Then, Luke’s hands find the middle of your legs, and you close your eyes, embarrassed that he would now know how turned on you were.

You can hear Luke’s ragged breathing as he pulls the wet fabric of your panties up, making you moan as the fabric touches your clit, splitting your two outer labia.

“You’re so wet, bunny,” He murmurs against your skin, playing with the thin and—now—soaked fabric of your panties. “I bet I don’t even have to prep you before slamming my dick into you with how sloppy you probably are.”

You moan loudly, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Luke—”

Your speech is cut off when he shoves your panties to the side and thrusts two fingers inside you, thrusting them with urgency and need.

“I knew it,” he chuckles. “So. Fucking. Loose.”

You grip his arm, feeling wetter than you had ever felt in your life. Luke had always been sweet and loving, and you loved that face of his. But this? This is so much better.

Two of his fingers were moving in and out quickly, while his thumb was touching your clit quickly, making you see stars. The wet sounds filled the room and made you close your eyes in shame.

The weight of Luke's body on yours was comfortable and overwhelming at the same time, the height difference only making you feel even more like prey that had just been captured.

“Luke, fuck.”

“It’s a shame that a cute bunny like you has such a dirty mouth,” he makes a tsc sound with his tongue, not once stopping moving his fingers. “Did no one teach you manners?”

You shake your head, moaning loudly and forgetting that the door wasn’t locked, and that there was a party going on downstairs, with hundreds of people who at any moment could open the door and see the obscenity happening in front of them.

“I’m gonna come, Luke, please, I will—”

Tears immediately form in your eyes when Luke suddenly removes his fingers from inside you. “What? Why did you stop?” You sob.

“Because I wanted to.” He simply says, kissing your cheek, the sweetness of his act contrasting with the harshness of his words.

He comes closer again, running both hands behind your thighs, picking you up with ease. Then, he walks towards the table in the middle of the room, stopping in front of it and placing you on the floor gently.

He kisses you again, biting your lips right after.

“Turn around, cutie,” he smiles, before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his underwear, making you sigh.

Luke is big. Like, bigger than any of the guys you’ve been with before, probably thicker too.

“What?” He smirks. “Did the little bunny bite off more than she can chew?”

Gulping, you shake your head. “Y-you’re… big.”

“Mhm,” he shamelessly grabs his cock, stroking the head a few times, spreading the precum all over his length, as you watch with awe, his hand size matching his dick. “Think you can take it?”

Even though your brain screamed for you to run and hide, the unstoppable throbbing between your legs was too hard to ignore.

“Yes, but… even if I can’t,” you tilt your head up, staring at his lustful eyes. “You’ll make me, right?”

“Smart, smart bunny.”

He kisses you again before turning your body around, placing your hands on the table and lifting your skirt. You can feel him removing your panties as he spreads your legs wide with his feet.

He runs his cock over your lips for a few seconds, the wet sounds echoing off the walls of the room, and when he finally enters, it’s like everything you’ve been searching for finally makes sense.

“Holy fuck, Mila,” he groans, resting his torso against your back.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust before pulling his entire length out of you and putting it back in, thrusting hard and precisely. Your hands grip the wood beneath your fingers tightly, and your eyes meet the back of your head.

You can feel the tears decorating your face, as Luke grips your waist with an incredible force and pushes his cock hard inside you, moaning loudly.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he says, and you bite your lips, holding back a loud moan. “You’re getting my dick so wet.”

“Luke.”

You didn’t care about anything anymore. All you wanted was to cum, and preferably on his fingers.

He seemed to have heard your thoughts, as it didn't take him long to support one of your legs on the table, entering even deeper inside you, hitting places no one had ever hit before. Then, moving his fingers over your engorged clit, he rubbed it mercilessly, your orgasm building faster, since he edged you not even ten minutes ago.

“Luke,” you sob, calling out his name. “I’m gonna come.”

“Are you going to make a mess?”

“I-I don’t know—”

“Then hold it,” he says, as he applies even more pressure on your sensitive nub, slamming his dick deeper onto your g-spot.

“I can’t, I need to—”

“Baby, you’re not the one in charge here,” his voice is soft, gentle and calming— it didn't stop your tears, though. “If you’re not gonna make a mess, then why should I bother letting you come anyway?”

“Please, Luke, please,” you hiccup, feeling some pieces of the wood get under your nails with how hard you were scratching the table.

“Make a mess, Mila. That’s the only way you’re coming tonight.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is empty and you only need to let Luke ruin you, and everything you believe. When you finally reach your peak, you come, wetting his fingers, your thighs and the table, but none of that is enough for the curly haired boy behind you.

He keeps rubbing you, biting your neck, fucking you into pure oblivion, overwhelming you to the max. And when you feel himself pulling away, you shake your head, crying louder and clenching your hole around his dick.

He hisses. “Mila.”

“No,” you cry. “Inside— ah, please.”

“You’ll drive me insane,” he jokes, but there isn't a hint of playfulness in his tone. He keeps slamming inside you, until he finally comes, painting your insides white with his release.

It’s dirty, raw and human. It’s oddly comforting and overwhelming at the same time; it’s maddening.

People have been put in mental institutions for feeling much less than you right now.

“Mila.”

Luke’s voice is far, and as you rest your forehead against the cold wood of the table, you can feel him pulling away from you.

“Bunny?”

You feel his hand on your hair, and you can feel his presence everywhere. Wiping your cheeks, cleaning your thighs with his shirt, putting your underwear back on, pulling your skirt down. You can feel his warm, burning body behind you as he gets you up and rests your back against his toned abs, kissing your neck gently.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you can tell he’s trying so hard not to freak you out. “Mila, baby.”

“‘Gimme a minute,” you whisper, smelling his perfume, a mix of sandalwood and patchouli.

He lets out a quiet laugh, caressing your thigh with the same hands that held you so strongly not even five minutes ago.

“Do you want to sit?”

“I don’t think I can move my legs right now,” You chuckle, and he hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up again, walking you to the couch, laying down with you on top of him. “Feels nice.”

“I know,” he hums back. “Listen, I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” you ask, closing your eyes. “I wanted this.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize for fucking you,” he laughs, and you feel his chest moving under you. “I was going to apologize for not telling you sooner.”

“Telling me what?”

“That I like you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. I guess I was just scared.”

Now he sounded like the boy you knew.

“Same. I like you too much to screw things up.” You confess, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

You snuggle closer to his body, ignoring the wet clothes and the fact that there was a party happening downstairs, and that Suzy was probably looking for you.

But it was fine. You could deal with her tomorrow.

𖧷

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thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

Note

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

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tossawary · 26 days ago

Text

I have about 10k of fic that's about as far from SVSSS as I've ever written, taking greater inspiration from fics I've written before, which I've been using as writing warm-up. It's a pre-canon third transmigrator AU from the outsider's perspective of Linguang-Jun. (Linguang-Jun having a great reputation as a hunter is something that I originally came up with for the Stardust AU.)

Like SVSSS Mobei-Jun, Linguang-Jun is fun to write because he sucks pretty bad; it's a LOT of fun to try and write a setup for him that's going to explode eventually (not yet, but eventually, inevitably) and in a specific way. How many parallels can I draw? I think it's amusing to think about how the cringefail ballad of Moshang and all the rest of SVSSS is taking place in the crater where Linguang-Jun's dreams used to be. (That happened to my buddy Tianlang-Jun, too, now that I'm thinking about it, and he decided to make that everyone else's problem.) Such is the life of a mere background character!

I don't know when I'll be posting this to AO3. I don't like to post WIP there unless I can fully focus on them. If I don't continue this story, I'll post it eventually to AO3 as an open-ended one-shot or something. But for now... Enjoy!

Warning for minor character death and graphic violence (and vomiting) in the first part, and also unpleasant demonic attitudes to things. Everyone but Linguang-Jun is an OC.

Chapter One: A God's Spear

There is no greater feeling in the world than the long thrill of the hunt.

Chasing their prey, they become the laughing winds rushing across the yellow steppes, howling at the heels of the thundering herds, even felling centuries-old pines that have bent for every natural storm but never broken before. They send corpse after corpse of scavengers squawking and flailing for their lives.

Mobei Yang cannot wait to sink his teeth into the monster wrecking its way across the northern kingdoms. They are chasing a Giant Sea Heron... or rather: the creature that used to be one before it met a hole in the world. Did it breathe the poisonous gases too deeply? Did it feed on the vent's escapees too hungrily? Did it become mesmerized by the shimmering chaotic energy and allow itself to dream where reality itself is torn apart?

Who knows? Who cares? Mobei Yang's lordly brother doubtlessly hadn't cared to ask the babbling messenger either, before waving the lesser demon on to younger men who can truly appreciate the unique challenges of what an unstable Abyssal gateway can create.

Already two times the height of a large man, the creature has swelled in size to become twice as large as that. Its brown neck has thickened, its dark head has grown a sharp and lopsided crest, and its unnaturally elongated beak is now the same size as the rest of its body, perhaps, a god's spear capable of swallowing grown demons whole. The giant creature needs its folded, white wings to walk along the ground now, almost like a large monkey or a small bat, but it struts slowly along not unlike a long-necked antelope.

All the Giant Sea Heron does now is eat: struggling to grow, struggling to sustain its growth, struggling to fill the endless hole that's crawled inside of its core. It has left a bloody, dissatisfied trail behind it. Which the breathless messenger claimed had started with its own former mate and eggs, the messy remains found abandoned in a nest on a high sea cliff.

The giant creature looks so heavy, lumbering awkwardly around the corpse of a Black-Moon Rhinoceros - the crescent of the horn is unmistakable - to jab its long spear back into the dark guts and yank it apart. Ah, it's picking one of those parasitic snake demons out of the body.

Its eyes have become enormous, bulbous; they have a sickly pale color and are rimmed with mucus. Abyss-touched creatures are often sick, like Abyssal creatures themselves are often blinded by sunlight. The giant creature doesn't seem to notice anything as a brown fox darts out of the tall grass and steals a piece of the kill that had been tossed aside, nor does it care anything for the circling black vultures that aren't yet nearly so brave.

Just looking at it, one wouldn't think that the elephantine creature is still hollow-boned enough to fly! Yet when their hunting party ambushes it, the giant creature somehow vaults itself into the sky, folding hideously in on itself and then launching upwards in an ascension even more unnatural than a human's.

Mobei Yang watches its heavy wingbeats take it high up into the heavenly clouds, beyond the easy reach of most demons. All of their hunting prowess, all of the joy they have spilled on their skill, leaves them with nothing today. But this is nothing! When his faithful followers look anxiously towards him for direction, Mobei Yang is the first to laugh at their failure, at the renewed challenge, and they soon echo him.

"Any excuse to extend a hunt is a cause for celebration!" Mobei Yang shouts, receiving a gleeful roar in response. "If you want a meal that doesn't fight back, then go back to the Ice Palace, cowards!"

They don't find it again that day, but the mood is still good when they make camp, freed from the dullness of the courts. At home, Mobei Yang is a prince, sought after and respected, but also one among many formidable clan members working to keep his elder brother's favor. On the hunt like this, he might as well be the Lord of the Northern Desert already.

The wind picks up as the sun sinks. The clouds darken and writhe against a beautiful, burning sky. Shuang Tao, his right-hand, a frost wind demon, loudly and laughingly recalls some of their best kills, their most daring and reckless feats, over the years. A blur of memories now.

Mobei Yang knows a great deal about the habits of hunted creatures, but this one is new, even before it became the only thing in the world like it. Weak-minded creatures and demons touched by the Endless Abyss tend to go uselessly mad: short memories and shorter tempers and a thin grasp on reality if any. He's hunted Emperors of the Abyss before, those malformed masses of demonic energy that die with every step they take out of their pits, and White Sea Whales, their clever and vindictive cousins that never took man-shaped forms.

"I'm preparing myself for disappointment, really," Mobei Yang drawls, accepting a new cup of wine. "But ahhh, that skull will look beautiful in the West Wind Palace... hanging over the hall, I think."

As they were watching the ruined creature, it must have seen them. It must have been watching them as well. In one moment, Shuang Tao is toasting the evening and tomorrow and every hunt after. In the next moment, the setting sun vanishes all at once, as the Giant Sea Heron falls on them like the wrath of the heavens.

Its enormous beak spears through a demon before it lands with a heavy thump, before any of them know it's there, and a second demon rolls away from the continuing jab. Not fast enough to escape the sharp drawing of blood.

The Giant Sea Heron's massive wings crash through the camp as it lands. Mobei Yang is knocked head over heels into the grass and dust. His wine spills everywhere.

Mobei Yang rolls with the blow and recovers quickly, unharmed, of course. And he is the first to summon his weapon and strike back, hastily followed by his hunters, but the creature is well-fed, unflinching, faster than something of its size should be, lunging like a snake.

Its spiritual energy is unleashed with its battering wings: it's foul, rotting, almost overwhelming. Ice spears and arrows don't seem to pierce its feathers at all. Hastily formed spells break easily against the burn of its spiritual strength.

Shuang Tao throws an ordinary spear, whistling with the wind behind it, and manages to draw blood from its featherless leg. But the wound is glancing, a shallow cut in surprisingly thick skin.

"Mire it!" Mobei Yang shouts, summoning ice around its feet. The ice is too weak, too slow, cracking open immediately.

He dodges its long beak, its heavy wings, its beak again. It seems fixated on him more than the others - not uncommon when dealing with spiritually starving creatures, it wants the most meal - but it still gets distracted when another hunter tries to rope its wing. It pulls on the wing up sharply, pulls the unready hunter into the air, and then spears the weak demon through with its long beak.

It's much cleverer than Mobei Yang thought that it was. Much stronger. Not clever enough to live, but still annoying, still thrilling, still enough to bare one's teeth.

Mobei Yang dances towards Shuang Tao's fallen spear, flips it up with his foot, catches, and then launches it towards the creature's swirling eye.

His aim is true! Of course! The Giant Sea Heron screeches and thrashes like a dying thing, but the spear clearly doesn't punch deeply enough to hit its brain. The spear falls out in the thrashing. Messily.

The remaining ten hunters have formed a circle around the Giant Sea Heron, ready just out of easy reach, making it more difficult to kill them all quickly. One of the other hunters makes a second spear-throw for the other eye, not nearly so beautifully. The creature ducks blindness easily and screeches. Its raised feathers crackle with resentful energy.

Mobei Yang can see it decide to flee. Maybe they're much stronger and cleverer than the creature thought they were too.

The Giant Sea Heron goes down and tries to launch itself upwards, only to go nowhere, to stumble, to barely keep itself upright. The summoned ice they've been throwing at its feet has easily been cracked and crushed, but the water remains, and it has been skillfully manipulated by the likes of Heng Leyang and Xi Mingzhu.

The water demons have made a mud pit and the Giant Sea Heron's thrashing has only sunk it deeper into the trap. The half-frozen mud is harder to break.

The creature's rotten energy rises, bubbles, and then it screeches again, disorienting in its sheer loudness, its hatred and desperation rippling through the air. Most of the hunters cover their ears and it helps very little. The unnatural sound shakes through one's entire body. The first terrible screech is still rippling through the world when the next begins.

Such venting of power can't be sustainable, but the unnatural screeching makes the battle wretched while it lasts.

Mobei Yang becomes the black wind around the spearing beak, then twists away to attack this ruined creature, repeatedly. But shifting forms burns under the onslaught of spiritual energy. The hatefulness of it even disrupts him once, forcing him to become solid flesh again, and dodge as an ordinary demon might to avoid a raking of freed talons.

It's hard work keeping the creature down, baiting it this way and that, keeping out of its deadly reach. They pick and they peck, but none of them are certain how to put this Giant Sea Heron down. The Endless Abyss has made a remarkable ruin here.

Shuang Tao's young nephew, Shuang Qiang, keeps looking towards Mobei Yang with wide, expectant eyes. This is the young frost wind demon's first hunt with this royal party. Does he expect a retreat to be called here? Does he think that the spoiled, weaker, younger prince will go running back to his lordly brother now, swallowing his pride, begging for help? Mobei Yang has never surrendered in such a way and never will while he lives.

If a creature can bleed, it can die. Through the ruined eye again might do it...

Mobei Yang isn't certain how long it's been when a new hunting party appears, but the dying sun hasn't fully drowned yet. They must be local demons, summoned by the screeching or the spiritual rot.

"They'll get in our way! Keep them back!" Mobei Yang snarls at Shuang Tao, who nods and turns to his nephew.

He doesn't need assistance. Ordinarily, he might appreciate an audience, but this battle is slipping from fascinating to frustrating.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mobei Yang tracks young Shuang Qiang's progress. The leader of the newcomers, a rock demon by the look of him, greets their messenger with an ally's gesture. Rather than charge in recklessly, they keep their distance atop the hill.

Most of them.

While trying to keep the Giant Sea Heron's feet frozen down, Mobei Yang sees a smaller figure break forward from the new hunting party. Shuang Qiang lunges to catch them and... misses? He shouldn't have missed. The figure running forward obviously isn't as fast or as nimble as Shuang Tao's nephew.

One of the Hao brothers notices and also tries to grab the intruder, his hand should easily wrap around their spear, and yet... he also somehow fails. An illusion wind demon is fast and not easily fooled, but the Hao brother stumbles as though his hand didn't touch anything at all.

Shuang Tao lurches to intervene and Mobei Yang whips an ice spear in front of his second's middle. "Wait," he orders, "I want to see this."

The Giant Sea Heron fixes the approaching figure in its one eye and then spears its enormous beak forward. It should split the intruder, crush them. The enormous creature is faster than this fool.

The intruder disappears. Mobei Yang isn't sure what happens. The figure's own shadow seemed to leap up to swallow them, or they fell down into it, and the blood-stained beak spears down on nothing. There was no noticeable burst of new spiritual energy. Nothing that could be sensed above the Giant Sea Heron's rotting wrath, at least.

The Giant Sea Heron tilts its head in obvious confusion. It screeches its unhappiness again, much to everyone else's misery, before... the ruined creature jolts and abruptly cuts itself off.

"How...?" Shuang Tao says. "On its back?"

"What terrible posture," Mobei Yang remarks, too surprised to put the proper dryness into it.

The disappearing intruder has somehow reappeared on the giant creature's back, struggling for balance. Despite their slowness, despite their obvious lack of strength, the shadowy figure somehow manages to drive their spear through the creature's long, feathered neck in a single thrust. Mobei Yang sees the spear tip come out the other side.

The Giant Sea Heron thrashes wildly to dislodge its attacker. When it tries to screech again, the high shriek quickly dies off into a gurgle of dark blood.

At first, the disappearing intruder clings to their spear like a tied rag, but they fall off within seconds and then vanish again.

Where they go, Mobei Yang doesn't care. While the giant creature is distracted, he becomes the black wind again and rushes forward to take their place, to put solid hands on the embedded spear, then to push all of the wrath of a noble ice demon into this critical weak point.

The ruined creature's neck explodes in a shower of ice, spiritual energy, blood, and no small amount of feathers. The severed head hits the ground with a heavy thump before the body finally topples over in an ungainly heap of wings.

Mobei Yang rides the collapse down easily. Then he jumps off the body, still holding half of the broken spear in his hand, and looks the weapon over. The shaft is ordinary wood. As he felt when he pushed his spiritual energy into it, the spearhead at his foot appears to be without spell or even decoration. This spear should not have been able to pierce such a creature's throat with such singular ease.

Some of his hunters are whooping with victory, with relief, but Mobei Yang is distracted away from their celebration of him by a stranger stepping audaciously in front of him. A... teenage boy?

This demon is a full head shorter than Mobei Yang, which puts them at a taller than average height among most other demons, and their pale face seems young. They're plump like a seal, with large, dark eyes. They have no painted marks or tattoos. Their dark hair is cut shockingly short, close to their head, just long enough to flop over furrowed brows.

Instead of paying the rightful attention and respect to a prince, the boy is frowning at the broken spear, and first crouches down to pick up the spearhead. Like Mobei Yang, the boy is wearing a fair amount of spilled blood. He must have been close.

The boy stands up again and looks up with those big, seal-dark eyes. "Hurt?"

Mobei Yang doesn't understand the word at first, so poorly pronounced, so heavily accented. The boy squints at him, looks him up and down.

"H-help?"

As though Mobei Yang didn't just kill the creature that this boy failed to finish. The boy's eyes are already drifting disrespectfully away to one of the dead hunters, partially crushed in the battle, a gruesome but unsurprising sight. Such is life, as they say, such is death.

One would think so, at least, except that this boy's face turns sickly and he looks hastily away. His body jerks, a hand goes over his mouth, he jerks again, pauses, and then turns away from Mobei Yang completely to vomit on the ground.

It's not often that Mobei Yang finds himself at a loss for words. The overwhelmed awe that he often inspires in lesser demons usually doesn't realize itself so unintelligibly or pathetically as this.

"Please, do contain your excitement," Mobei Yang says.

The boy squints up at him, teary-eyed, only to immediately start gagging again. He holds out a hand, apparently trying to cover up the offending sights.

"How dare you behave so disrespectfully before a prince!" says one of the nearby hunters, Junjun, a mountain wind demon. "Don't you know who this is?!"

The boy flinches away from this looming defense, staring warily up at Junjun without any sign of understanding.

"I don't think he does," Mobei Yang says dryly.

Unfortunately, Junjun takes this as introductions being in order. "This is the greatest hunter in the Demon Realm! A prince of the ancient rulers of the northern kingdoms, the Northern Desert Clan! The only living brother of the great Mobei-Jun! Linguang-Jun!"

"Yes, yes, thank you."

The boy looks between them, turning the spearhead over in his hands again and again, hunching his shoulders. "Sorry," he says, bowing slightly, once to Mobei Yang and twice to Junjun, all equally shallow. "Sorry. Sorry."

And then, further proving his lack of understanding, the boy turns on his heel and runs away. It's so shamelessly cowardly that Mobei Yang laughs.

"Stop him!" Mobei Yang calls out to the hunter ahead. "If you can."

It's one of the Hao brothers, his expression immediately determined. Expecting slippery prey, the hunter should have little trouble; they're all used to disrupting disappearing tricks with their own spiritual energy, all of them practiced at wrestling opponents back into solid forms.

Mobei Yang is surprised again when the flinching boy slips into his own shadow and then appears on the hunter's other side.

The Hao brother is enraged, of course, which is at least amusing. The hunter roars and chases after the slow boy, who stumbles, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes, and then vanishes again. The boy reappears and disappears a few times on his way back up the hill. The Hao brother catches him once, only for the boy to apparently melt away in the hunter's hands, despite an obvious attempt to use spiritual energy to disrupt the escape.

"Enough of that!" Mobei Yang decides, when the comedic pair are too close to the other hunting party. "Stop playing with your prey and come back here!"

The Hao brother stomps back to join the other surviving hunters, gathering behind Mobei Yang. The newcomers whom Shuang Tao is escorting forward hardly seem fearsome, but appearances do matter. Mobei Yang looks best when he looks better than someone else.

The boy skirts wide around Shuang Tao and dives back into the party of newcomers, which... doesn't seem to welcome him back with any enthusiasm. Like larger beasts dutifully making way for some tiny but venomous creature. The boy lurks behind the rock demon leader, peeking out warily, like a plump little seal sticking its snout of the ice.

The rock demon leader is a large fellow, a little taller than Mobei Yang himself, fat and strong. Far more grim than handsome. A stone that ice could crack open without much difficulty, Mobei Yang is sure.

"Greetings and welcome, Linguang-Jun," rumbles the rock demon.

"This is Bocheng, the next clan leader of the Flying Mountain Clan," Shuang Tao offers. "Sworn to the Northern Desert Clan, of course, and at our service."

Bocheng the rock demon appears less than pleased by his required obeisance, but Mobei Yang doesn't care much if some backwater warrior hates the fact that he has a king. So long as all due respect is shown to the future Mobei-Jun.

"And who is that?" Mobei Yang gestures vaguely behind the rock demon.

Shan Bocheng the rock demon's frown deepens. Some of the others step plainly away from their leader and the coward, so unwilling to shelter the boy from their superiors, even though demon children are supposedly all precious creatures. Sighing, the rock demon pulls the boy up beside him. His massive hand spreads across the mulish boy's back and touches those hunched shoulders with no trouble.

"You introduced yourself to my hunting party so audaciously before," Mobei Yang observes. "You truly do have trouble finishing a job, hm?"

The boy looks around miserably. It's like watching some pitiful sea creature try to crawl back inside its shell.

"He wants to know your name," Bocheng says to the boy, with the slowness that one might offer to a particularly stupid baby. "Name. Naaaaame."

Mobei Yang can see the way that the boy's eyes light up, before he bows again, deeper this time, and stays there.

"Beida Wan," he says. "Sorry. I... sorry. Sorry."

"That's a rather long name. So unique. Not very lucky, though," Mobei Yang says. Shuang Tao laughs, while some of the other hunters chuckle.

"Sorry," the boy says again. "I... help."

Bocheng the rock demon sighs again. The mauling of each word suggests another language, but none of these other clan members are stepping forward to offer their translation services.

"Does he not speak Tongyu or Beiyu?" Mobei Yang can also follow the whispered conversation between two of the newly come wind demons, but there's no need to enlighten them of that yet.

"No, we don't know what language he speaks," the rock demon says. "We don't know where he's from."

"He just appeared one day and now he won't leave," complains a young water demon. "Because he saved Bocheng's life somehow, more or less, we can't just-"

"Yubo, shut up," says the rock demon.

"He really didn't know who he was interrupting," the young water demon insists. "Still doesn't. Stupid."

"Let's hear this mysterious mother tongue," Mobei Yang decides. "Perhaps I or one of my faithful followers, worldly warriors that we are, will recognize a few words of it. Say something, boy."

When everyone turns their eyes onto him again, the boy once more tries to shrink into a shell that isn't there. It takes some more prodding from the rock demon to get the confused, then annoyed boy to produce more than one word at a time.

"Whadda fuckayou wan' fro'me?"

Mobei Yang looks at Shuang Tao, who shrugs unhelpfully, and none of his other hunters step forward. There are many isolated languages and wretched dialects across the Demon Realm alone, but Mobei Yang doesn't even recognize the general sound of this one. It's very flat.

"You must be a very long way from home," Mobei Yang says finally.

The boy doesn't answer. He doesn't seem to understand the statement at all, squinting helplessly before taking shelter again behind the rock demon.

Mobei Yang is distracted then by more conventional affairs. The locals had apparently been watching this destructive creature and had been preparing to kill it themselves, and so now must at least pretend to be grateful that their superiors arrived to defend them. Tradition and respect also demand that these lowly demons make an offer of hospitality.

Some of his hunters are injured, two are dead, so arrangements must be made. Mobei Yang graciously accepts the hospitality outwardly, while inwardly accepting that there will be some trouble from his mother's family for even briefly associating with one of their many rivals, which is exactly what he'd wished to avoid when they set up their now-ruined camp instead of seeking shelter. Perhaps if he does his hosts sufficient damage during his stay, subtly of course, the familial moaning and groaning will be minimal.

While Shuang Tao negotiates with the locals regarding the Giant Sea Heron's curse, Mobei Yang studies the intruder again. The Beida boy is staring at the sky, occasionally swallowing retching. He's been staying close to the rock demon like a little fly. How does someone with such obviously poor cultivation have such remarkable abilities?

In his mysterious language, the boy mumbles to no one: "Didwe jus' killa fuckin' pterosaur...?" Utterly unintelligible.

Beida Wan is cultivated enough that he eventually notices Mobei Yang watching him. He stares back, at first, his brow furrowed, and then shuffles to hide behind their shared host again.

Chapter Two: The Wind Demoness

That night, under the silver moonlight, Mobei Yang has his heart suddenly and ruthlessly stolen from him.

The Flying Mountain Clan's fortress is built on and into a tall hill, the foundational stonework not unimpressive, presumably the work of several generations of rock demons. Of the many villagers still awake to greet them, Mobei Yang takes note of the mixture of rock and wind, with some noticeable brides of ice or water, some less distinguishable types, and some here and there of the animal kinds. It's all very rustic and quaint. Very homely.

Mobei Yang is being led to the crown of the fortress in the hill, where rests the clan leader's home and his temporary accommodations. Most of his other hunters will be scattered around the other better residences in this place.

"Oh, when we heard that monstrous screeching, I didn't dare to dream that your hunting would bring back such a handsome trophy. You are most welcome to our humble home, Linguang-Jun!"

Mobei Yang looks away from a weathered stone carving of rampaging Red River Horses and up to the speaker standing on a stone ledge. His breath abandons him, as though plucked out of his lungs by fine and clever fingers, as though beaten from his chest in a single, mighty blow, and his unguarded heart is carried out along with it. Looking down upon him, veiled in moonlight, is perhaps the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Peerless.

He is not, let it be said clearly, a stranger to beautiful women. This demoness is tall, broad-shouldered, and her pale skin glows like untouched snow under the moonlight. Her finely beaded dress glitters faintly as she moves and bares most of her stunningly long legs, which have all the hardness and thickness of a powerful runner, the pride of any wind demon. She's wearing long, complicated braids in richly black hair. With a smile of such pretty fangs, she should be wearing pearls and jewels, instead of merely metal bells and ivory. Her pale gray eyes glow nearly as bright as the moon behind her.

"We have not had a noble demon lord grace us with his presence in too long! If only I had been given time to prepare for you, Linguang-Jun... Days! A month! A year! We can only hope to meet some of your princely expectations..."

"All of my expectations when it comes to enjoying my stay have already been effortlessly succeeded," Mobei Yang promises.

This demoness's indulgent laugh is like the sweetest of songs. He desperately wishes that he wasn't covered in both dust and dried blood for such a fortuitous meeting. Fate can be so cruel.

"My only disappointment is that we haven't met before," Mobei Yang continues. "Oh calamity, have you been busy battling the heavens for daring to outshine them?"

"No, for they must be arguing over who among them has to face you in battle, Linguang-Jun, for such a wicked tongue," the laughing demoness answers, her smile wolfish in its wideness. "But the little human gods are welcome to come when they are ready."

"What handsome trophies that hunt would make," Mobei Yang agrees. "Far more worthy of such a wonderful hostess... whose generosity may also, I hope, extend to her name...?"

"Xiang Ningyue, the only child of Clan Leader Xiang Peng."

Before Mobei Yang can remark that her mother must have been the moon itself, that grim-faced rock demon steps forward, pulling that strange, stumbling boy ahead of him again. It's understandable that the local demons wouldn't enjoy seeing their greatest beauty be so appreciated, but the interruption is nevertheless annoying.

"Wife," says Shan Bocheng the rock demon. "Beida Wan needs to be washed. I'll see you it that our honored guests are given baths as well."

Mobei Yang closes his mouth.

Wife? Wife?!

Xiang Ningyue, the most beautiful woman in the world, lets out a soft moan when she sees the boy covered in blood. "Oh, what did you do to yourself now?"

Beida Wan frowns up at her and predictably says nothing, still trying to fold himself away into the protective shell that he doesn't have. When Xiang Ningyue sighs and gestures for him to come closer, he shuffles forward without any apparent appreciation for the privilege.

"You're not coming back into our home looking like this! How am I supposed to-? Oh, fine! Fine!"

Xiang Ningyue apologizes sweetly to them for this, before throwing out an impressive array of orders towards her husband, their servants, her clansmen, and her clansmen's own servants, as confident and as impatient as a whirlwind. Mobei Yang is still mildly stunned and nauseated when she drags the strange boy off.

"...If I had such a wife, I wouldn't dare introduce her to any higher demon," Mobei Yang murmurs to Shuang Tao, who snorts in agreement.

"She seems very willing to be stolen."

"Mmm, clearly this pile of rocks is a little more interesting than previously known."

A cold bath is most refreshing, even if the following meals are hasty and unbefitting of their stations: some lamb and vegetable stew, which is at least well-spiced. The accompanying wine is tolerable.

While eating, Mobei Yang and his attending hunters suffer through a long and dull conversation with the elderly wind demon clan leader, the beautiful Xiang Ningyue's father, and Shan Bocheng, who is apparently the clan leader's most fortunate son-in-law. Mobei Yang wants the Giant Sea Heron's head for himself, that marvelously misshapen skull with its god's spear of a beak will look good mounted somewhere, but he doesn't much care what the locals do with the rest of the monster's awkward corpse.

Xiang Ningyue rejoins them at this point, with the Beida boy slinking in behind her. The Beida boy's new clothes are less plain than before, but still oversized, now obviously borrowed, beaded and embroidered with the vibrant greens, yellows, and blues that this clan seems to favor. Very modest. The short, wet hair ruins any chance of dignity, sticking out at odd angles like an overgrown tuft of grass, partially covering the boy's eyes.

Beida Wan is sat in the corner of the room with a bowl of stew, which he eats silently and slowly. Mobei Yang has relatives who have been poisoned who regard their meals with less disgruntled suspicion, and he says as much to the beautiful Xiang Ningyue, who laughs in her delightful manner once more.

Xiang Ningyue's rock demon husband's glaring misery is quite delightful too, while his guests strive to make his beautiful wife cackle and preen, and so Mobei Yang doesn't call for the strange boy to be brought over to sit with them. He forgets Beida Wan almost entirely, until the boy becomes relevant in his retelling of their Giant Sea Heron hunt.

"Trying to steal a kill from Linguang-Jun!" Xiang Ningyue laughs. "If I didn't already know that our dear guest Beida Wan is stupid, that would make it clear! How insulting! To think that you would need any help from someone like them..."

"I can generously forgive our glorious battle being cut short if it brought me to such wonderful company all the sooner," Mobei Yang promises.

When he looks over one or Xiang Ningyue's fine, broad shoulders, he sees that the strange demon in question is watching everyone very intently. Perhaps Beida Wan heard his name, obviously listening, head tilted shamelessly.

"Perhaps a little more strength behind that killing blow next time, hm?!" Mobei Yang calls across the room.

Beside him, Shuang Tao cackles drunkenly, and his other present hunters laugh and toast the stupidity and audacity of youth. The present locals join in. Except for Bocheng the rock demon, of course, though he doesn't move to defend the little fly that was clinging to him earlier.

Beida Wan looks around at all of them, black-faced, even though there is an embarassing red flush crawling up his face. When he finally comes back to meet Mobei Yang's gaze, he bobs his head, neither quite a nod or a bow, and then stares determinedly at the floor, picking clawlessly at the beads of his trousers.

Xiang Ningyue sighs dramatically. "We've been trying to teach Beida to speak some Tongyu these past few weeks, but it's hard work! The only thing that's flatter and more useless than this demon's ears is their tongue..."

"Does anyone in your clan have a map that this stranger can at least point at?" Shuang Tao leans forward to ask. "Or does he not know his homeland's geography?"

Xiang Ningyue sighs even more dramatically. "He just stares at it for far, far too long and says, 'No.' Sometimes, he even shrugs!"

"Does he perhaps... not want to go home, do you think?" Mobei Yang asks. "A remarkably slow runaway? A rather unfortunate fortune-seeker?"

"Can he read Tongyu?" Shuang Tao asks.

"I don't know why Beida would have run away from home, because this demon was clearly spoiled!" Xiang Ningyue complains. "No, they can't read any Tongyu either. They just scribble ugly nonsense characters into the dirt. They claim to be twenty-five years old, if you can believe it! But they're even more useless than a child when it comes to most things!"

"Claims to be twenty-five?" Shuang Tao presses. "Does he know numbers or is he just counting tallies in the dirt?"

"Beida can count up to ten using real numbers now," Xiang Ningyue explains, with a nod towards the latter option. "But laundry? Spinning, weaving, building, carving, braiding, cooking... They're such a picky eater, you wouldn't believe it! All useless! So useless! "

Mobei Yang doesn't do many of those things either, but he can at least feed himself. "You're as generous as you are lovely to have taken such a useless demon into your household," he promises.

"I know!"

"Truly magnanimous."

"At least they're an obedient learner," Xiang Ningyue says, finishing her second cup of wine. "Beida can count on their fingers and make stupid gestures in a way that's almost clever... but it's hard to believe that they're supposed to be older than I am! This demon really should be dead!"

"Wife," her husband says reproachfully.

"Where did you find him?" Shuang Tao asks, ignoring the rock demon.

Xiang Ningyue either can't keep a secret or there isn't one to be kept. "We think that they fell out of the Endless Abyss."

"Beida can't explain anything yet," says Shan Bocheng the rock demon, as if trying to remind his loose-lipped wife of something. "We don't know anything."

"The Endless Abyss," Mobei Yang repeats, rubbing his chin. "Well, he's not like any Emperor of the Abyss that I've ever seen spawned in those depths before. He's much too small."

Xiang Ningyue cackles again, as does Shuang Tao, and Mobei Yang smiles and studies the stranger again.

A powerful warrior might go into the Endless Abyss to test their own strength, to prove themselves, but Beida Wan is much too cowardly to be an adventurer.

Weaker demons will seek out the more stable gates into that hellish realm, the openings the least likely to tear them apart, and seek treasure or rare ingredients. One does have to be clever and slippery to survive such expeditions.

Abyssal openings, natural or summoned, often take victims who stray too close. Some are taken when the hole in the world reacts somehow to the spiritual energy of a living creature. Others get snagged and dragged through by lurking creatures, which often can't live long outside of the Endless Abyss, but are eager for easy prey. The Giant Sea Heron killed today is the least of what the Endless Abyss can do to the things that it swallows.

Some who are taken by the Endless Abyss manage to break free again. But most weaker demons don't survive such places physically or mentally whole. Especially not picky eaters.

Even Mobei Yang doesn't hunt often in the Endless Abyss. His expeditions there last no longer than a few days, typically, and only through the most stable guards, better armed and armored than he is now. The lack of sunlight may be reminiscent of northern winters, but the sheer heat of some areas can be atrocious.

"I think that Beida used to be-"

"Wife," the rock demon says again.

"I think," Xiang Ningyue repeats louder than before, "that little Beida used to be human."

"Human!" shouts Shuang Qiang, the nephew of Shuang Tao, now looking at Beida Wan as though the demon might be diseased. "That's a human?!"

"Well, not anymore, clearly," Shuang Tao says dryly. His nephew looks alarmed by the prospect of transformation.

"Calm down, it's not catching," Mobei Yang reminds the other demons. "I hope." He sets his drink down, as the flavor seems to have gone off. "...That thing isn't one of those dream demon puppets is it? One of those artificial demons?"

"Wife," the rock demon groans.

"Dream demons tend to sign their work," Shuang Tao muses.

"Well, yes, they're all narcissistic, everyone knows that," Mobei Yang agrees. "The boy is covering quite a lot of skin..."

"But what would be the point of pretending not to speak Tongyu? Any grandmother knows how to check for possession! At least most types of possession..."

"Beida is not possessed," says the rock demon. "We checked. We don't know that Beida was ever human."

"I do," Xiang Ningyue says loftily. "You just don't like that a human saved your life! She saved my husband, so I spend more time with Beida than anyone, and I'm telling you: no killing instinct! None!"

"That seems against their efforts to interrupt our hunt," Mobei Yang says mildly.

"Oh, Beida will kill if you make them, just like they'll help with the butchering, but they're not any good at it," Xiang Ningyue says, nodding. "They'll run in to help, but they don't fight."

"What does that mean?" young Shuang Qiang asks.

"Won't scratch at anyone!" Xiang Ningyue says, listing offenses off on her claws. "Won't even snarl! Won't hit! Won't even willingly take a hit! Not for fun, not for position, not for pride. Beida will run away from any fight, every time, and it makes all the boys and girls so badly behaved."

"I've never known any demon youth to be able to resist a soft target," Mobei Yang agrees. "Our storytelling hostess, do indulge us, how exactly did your clan find this strange demon?"

Xiang Ningyue lights up. The story isn't complicated, but it is enthusiastically told by the wind demoness: their hunting party was attacked by an Abyss-touched Sword-Toothed Tiger and her husband was injured in the ambush. Their hunting party had been, for nearly a full day by that point, followed by a stranger who had eluded all attempts to catch them, Beida Wan. Shan Bocheng insists that this distraction was the only reason that the Sword-Toothed Tiger managed to surprise him.

To everyone's surprise, the cowardly stranger had rushed in at the last moment to assist Shan Bocheng. "Beida somehow put a stick up through the creature's jaw and into its brain," Xiang Ningyue says with an illustrative jab.

"Without injury?" Mobei Yang asks. Sword-Toothed Tigers generally didn't simply let one approach.

"Without injury! Owing such a debt, we of course had to take in this poor thing in, especially because Beida followed us home anyway." Xiang Ningyue sighs and says begrudgingly, "Beida does try. A real servant's heart, this demon has."

As the wind demoness describes nursing her husband back to full strength, her vivaciousness does... falter. Briefly. Her lip wobbles as she mentions how worried she was. She and the rock demon are, according to her, childhood sweethearts, born in the same month only twenty years ago, and there may be genuine fondness between the young couple.

How annoying. Sunk in a comfortably pool of drunkenness, Mobei Yang falls asleep that night wondering how one might lure such a beautiful demoness away from her marriage and her clan.

One cannot simply kidnap a woman on a whim. One has to plan these things.

He's more powerful than some backwater rock demon, of course, far more handsome, and far richer. His lordly brother even gifted him the Northern Desert's magnificent West Wind Palace as soon as he came of age! He can cover Xiang Ningyue in as many real jewels and rare bones as she likes! And when his childless, elderly brother finally passes, Mobei Yang will inevitably inherit all of his ancestral strength and become Mobei-Jun himself, and his lucky wife will have all of the Northern Desert at her whims.

He certainly wouldn't make his peerless queen share her home with some strange, lost creature who can't speak and won't even fight for themself, neither a servant nor a second spouse... Though, what else does one do when a life debt is owed to such a wretched demon? Too publically to honorably ignore? Mobei Yang falls asleep still wondering.

Chapter Three: A Clever Trick

The land upon which the Flying Mountain Clan lives belongs to the Northern Desert Clan by conquest, so upon them, Mobei Yang and his hunters cannot impose. Mobei Yang takes advantage of this obligatory hospitality by declaring that they will linger in this fortress for several days, until all injuries are mended and all corpses are tended to.

"We'll have a real feast tonight!" Xiang Ningyue declares, swirling in excitement, looking out over her little queendom. "With singing and playing for the great hunters! And dancing! There are no more beautiful dancers in all the world than wind demons!"

"Oh? You know, I've seen many wind demon dances before," Mobei Yang replies.

The blood of the Northern Desert Clan dominates, but his mother was from the Black Wind Clan and they play on that connecting string often, trying to get Mobei Yang to dance for them where they can.

"It seems like every dancer of skill has been summoned to the Ice Palace over the years," Mobei Yang continues. His elder brother is very, very fond of dancers. "I think I've seen everything by now."

Xiang Ningyue smiles with all of her teeth. "You haven't yet seen me," she promises shamelessly.

Mobei Yang laughs. "I haven't seen anyone like you before," he agrees. "You're a calamity."

Before he can decide whether or not to get closer, to risk being scratched, a familiar figure plants itself beside them.

"Mistress Ningyue," Beida Wan says.

Mobei Yang sighs. "I thought you said that this demon didn't enjoy tasks such as butchering prey? He makes such a mess of your lovely name."

Xiang Ningyue cackles, her initial annoyance melting away. "I did say that Beida was bad at everything!"

Beida Wan looks back and forth between them warily. Away from their hosts, Shuang Tao has suggested that the strange boy may be some kind of ridiculous spy, but even Mobei Yang's second can't seem to believe his own suggestion.

With great effort, the boy says, "Cook... say... help. Mistress Ningyue help?"

Mobei Yang wonders if the rock demon sent the boy as interference, given that the boy clearly doesn't know better than to get between his betters and their prey.

"That nasty old cook did not say, 'Help,'" Xiang Ningyue says, but she seems amused.

"Help," Beida Wan repeats firmly. "Help! Help!" The boy waves his hands back and forth slightly, a mockery of flailing panic. "Help, Mistress Ningyue, help!"

Xiang Ningyue laughs again and Beida Wan understandably looks pleased with himself for provoking it. Mobei Yang feels surprised that the strange boy is capable of humor despite his handful of Tongyu words. His smile reveals slightly crooked front teeth and small canines.

The smile fades as Beida Wan looks at Mobei Yang again. "Ahhh..."

"Ah, something to say to me as well?"

"Master Bocheng say..."

"Even repeating things is apparently too difficult," Xiang Ningyue complains. "So useless! A parrot would be a better messenger. And prettier."

"Tr-trainer-ing," Beida Wan slurs out eventually. "Training. Lingu-Linguang-Jun."

Mobei Yang bemusedly watches as the strange boy raises his fists, circling them slightly, in a poor fighting stance. It's vaguely reminiscent of a small child play-acting. Then Beida Wan shrugs, with those round cheeks flushed red again, and points down the hill.

Mobei Yang follows the gesture to see a wide, dirt ring, where some of the local warriors are enthusiastically doing drills and eagerly beckoning some of his watching hunters forward. Such challenges to visitors are extremely common. And likely the only entertainment that Mobei Yang will be offered here until the promised feasting begins later.

"Oh, we would be honored!" Xiang Ningyue exclaims, more elegantly. "Nothing interesting ever happens here! Some of our youths could stand to be made a little more worldly, Linguang-Jun, if your men would be willing to show us their strength."

"I am your most gracious guest."

If nothing else, Mobei Yang can show off for this peerless wind demoness, and perhaps even directly against her inadequate young husband.

His hostess must excuse herself to the feast preparations, so Mobei Yang is escorted to the training ring by Beida Wan. Or so he assumes that is the strange demon's intention, as the boy steps back and makes a presumptuous beckoning gesture, repeating it often along the stairs and sloping roads downwards.

It is the closest Mobei Yang has been to this stranger since the bloody death of that ruined creature. He cannot quite resist the urge to reach out and grab an arm.

Beida Wan startles wildly, but as weakly as a child, before the boy then slips out between the fingers easily. Even with Mobei Yang making a mild spiritual effort to hold onto his prey. The boy simply dissolved like an illusion, with a faint shimmer in the air, before reforming a few skittering steps away.

There is spiritual energy being used here, Mobei Yang confirms now that he can focus upon it. It's... slippery. Subtle. An insect landing in water: one would perhaps only notice it in a small, still pool.

Beida Wan is looking at him with wide eyes and no teeth. "No," he says, flatly.

Then the boy turns and runs ahead to the training ring, as though a wind demoness's son couldn't easily, immediately, close the short distance between them, if he so chose. Where does this Beida Wan come from that that wouldn't be taken as an invitation to chase?

Mobei Yang follows sedately, ignoring the whispers and curious looks from the local villagers, and also from Shuang Tao, who has come to greet him. His hosts have set up a modestly comfortable and shaded lounging area for him and his hunters to observe the training and challenges, waited upon with drinks and cool cloths by some of the clan leader's servants again.

Shan Bocheng the rock demon is acting as their master of ceremonies for this impromptu tournament, with Beida Wan lurking behind the young future clan leader again like a little fly that doesn't even bite.

Predictably, there are several scowling warriors who evidently won't believe in their own inferiority without a demonstration. Just as predictably, there are several eager youths, at least half of whom are likely hoping that they might impress enough to be taken away from this place.

"I do have some empty space in my hunting party at the moment," Mobei Yang remarks casually to Shuang Tao, just to fan the flames.

The locals are determined to mark their territory. Some of the older warriors, canny and cultivated, even manage to put Mobei Yang's hunters on their backs several times, albeit inconsistently. Many of the villagers gather eagerly to watch. A group of younger children are squealing and shouting from a rooftop.

Shan Bocheng is highly skilled for his young age, but not significantly powerful, and he intelligently doesn't dare to challenge Mobei Yang directly. While Mobei Yang is contemplating proposing a "friendly spar" between them, he is challenged directly by a young water demon, with more awe than arrogance, an appetite sharper than his cute teeth.

"Yubo!" Shan Bocheng snaps.

"Can't I have ambitions?" complains young Xiang Yubo, a cousin of Xiang Ningyue apparently, only seventeen years old. "Is it so bad to dream of losing a battle to the great Linguang-Jun?"

Mobei Yang laughs. "I'll consider it," he tells the water demon.

"I want to fight the boy who tried to take the killing blow from us!" declare one of the Hao brothers. "From the great hunter, Linguang-Jun!"

Sitting behind Shan Bocheng, Beida Wan is drawing in the dirt with a stick. Unsurprisingly, he seems to be completely unaware that he's been challenged.

"No," Shan Bocheng says. "Beida can't fight."

At his name, the boy looks up and then around, squinting for some understanding. He scoots back, a little more behind the rock demon, like a small child.

"He nearly killed an Abyss-touched Giant Sea Heron," says Xi Mingzhu, another of Mobei Yang's hunters.

"That's... different."

"How so?" Mobei Yang calls.

The rock demon looks amusingly disgruntled, struggling to explain it. "Beida doesn't know how to fight like this."

"Beida can stab things badly with a spear until they're dead and that's it," says young Xiang Yubo, the water demon. "And that's only if running away doesn't work!"

"Yubo!"

"What? It's true!"

"Just for that... come fight Beida for us."

"In front of-?! I'm not doing that!"

Shan Bocheng the rock drmon ignores the whining and looks down at Beida Wan, who is still squinting at everyone. The rock demon picks the boy up by the back of his clothes and puts him on his feet.

"Go train with Xiang Yubo," Bocheng orders. "Practice fight."

Beida Wan's face twists up. "No," he says. He looks around at her waiting audience, then back at Shan Bocheng. "No."

"Yes," Shan Bocheng insists.

"No."

"Yes."

"No! No, no, no!"

The rock demon has to physically push Beida Wan into the training ring and hand the boy a... staff? It nearly gets dropped. Shan Bocheng throws another staff at Xiang Yubo, who catches it easily and executes a skillful series of twirls, familiarizing himself with the weapon.

"No... hurt?" Beida Wan says.

"No hurt," the rock demon confirms. "No kill. Training. Practice. Go."

Even before the young water demon can lunge forward, Beida vanishes. There one moment, gone the next, in a flicker of shadow and twisting air. He reappears on the other side of the ring without any attempt at counterattack.

It's clearly frustrating for the young water demon, but it gives Mobei Yang the opportunity to study such remarkable abilities. Most elemental creatures can still be caught, can be followed, can be disrupted, can be forced between forms, unfortunately including Mobei Yang himself. It happened often when he used to spar against his lordly brother and all the overwhelming power of their ancestors.

Beida Wan is... unrecognizable. Even when watching closely, there's often no clear thread of spiritual energy to follow from one point to the next. A broken trail.

Shuang Tao is snickering at Beida Wan's clumsy form, the childish slowness, the obvious uncertainty, the unwillingness to strike back. It's distracting. It's understandable. Such remarkable abilities from such pathetic overall cultivation!

But Mobei Yang wants to know how the boy is slipping away from a superior opponent, another warrior who is clearly experienced in fighting elemental creatures. He focuses on those subtle twists of demonic energy.

And he finds himself thinking of... the iridescent shimmer in the air above a hungry Abyssal vent.

Of the twisting flash of an otherworldly spiritual weapon being summoned to a waiting hand.

Of the whisper when opening a small pouch hiding a deep stomach.

Of a dream demon's illusions, spun by a creature hidden in another realm entirely.

Of a monstrous creature disguised as something small, suddenly unfolding itself, ripping a giant's body out of a spiritual web to reveal its spider's trap.

Of the way the air shakes when a Black Moon Rhinoceros Python screams.

"...Ah," Mobei Yang says.

Shuang Tao and the Hao brothers look at him with interest, but Mobei Yang ignores them to lean farther forward. If they can't figure it out, he's not telling them.

The fight ends when the young water demon manages to trip Beida Wan, not for the first time, and Beida Wan is too dazed to get up before Xiang Yubo swings the tip of the staff up against his throat. The water demon taps for emphasis.

Mobei Yang can see the boy's nervous swallow, but also the way that Beida Wan is watching the crowd more than his opponent. It's the boy's choice to release his weapon and indicate surrender. The only thing preventing his escape here should be spiritual exhaustion.

"Well done," Mobei Yang calls out to the young water demon, who was persistent, if ineffective.

Xiang Yubo pulls the staff back and demonstrates relieved gratitude, after such a frustrating duel. It must have been like trying to pin down a ghostly butterfly.

Beida Wan rolls himself up and limps back to hide behind Bocheng again, sitting against the wall in a tired heap.

"Strike back more," the rock demon says to his little fly.

Beida Wan raises his hand sharply, an inward fist with the middle finger pointed upwards, though he drops it quickly.

Mobei Yang wonders what that's supposed to mean. A salute? An agreement? An apology? Hard to say when Beida Wan's sweaty, red face is between his knees.

He understands better now why this young water demon said that Beida Wan only knows how to run and kill. The boy doesn't have the strength or the speed to strike back ordinarily, to wrestle an opponent to the ground, to spar in a skillful way. All Beida Wan can do is sneak close and put a spear through an opponent's critical weak points, using an apparently natural ability to warp space itself around him.

No wind demon, no matter how quick or powerful, can reach something that has slipped away into another realm entirely.

Mobei Yang fights the young water demon, because it makes him look generous more than out of any personal interest. He wants to show Shan Bocheng the difference between them, especially with the beautiful Xiang Ningyue now watching from an overlook with some other local wind demonesses, their colorful scarves and skirts flowing like flags in the breeze.

And he wants to see Beida Wan's face seeing a true demon warrior demonstrate some of his strength. The boy alternates freely between very wide eyes and a frowning squint, apparently.

Mobei Yang indulges a few challengers after that, out of boredom more than curiosity, and likely embarrasses some of them more than originally intended. The Ice Palace attracts countless challengers, fighting for countless reasons, and his lordly brother has become less and less willing to indulge any of them as the years go by; it's a responsibility on top of the countless cousins whose ambitions need to be treated like summer greenery: killed off before they become overgrown.

The cheering and compliments are appreciated. The naked envy even moreso. "I did apparently have to prove to this clan that I have no need of help during any of my hunts," Mobei Yang says dryly, provoking laughter again.

The rush of battle, however inglorious, makes impulses more difficult to resist. While lesser demons debate who has to follow such a performance, Mobei Yang looks towards the elusive little fly.

"Beida Wan!" he calls.

The boy's head snaps up. Several strings of surrounding conversation are cut off, but Mobei Yang isn't afraid of an audience. He echoes that condescending little beckoning gesture. By the way that Beida Wan's reddened nose wrinkles, Mobei Yang's demand is immediately understood.

Shan Bocheng hauls the boy up by his collar again and Beida Wan begrudgingly slinks over to stand in front of Mobei Yang. His expression is wary. He remembers to bow in greeting quite belatedly.

Mobei Yang doesn't give any warning before grabbing the boy's arm again. Again, Beida Wan is too slow to dodge, startling without dignity.

"Whadda fuck?!"

It would have been trivial to break this limb, to do far worse, but Mobei Yang waits patiently. He can feel the shift of the boy's elusive spiritual energy even better this way; he can shift his own weighty spiritual energy to counter the forces hastily moving to work here.

He owes thanks to the depths his ancestors have given him. Perhaps also to the clan priestess who first taught him how to fortify himself against unstable Abyssal gates, so that his body and mind wouldn't be torn to pieces. And to those others who passed down onto him the ancestral knowledge of stabilizing such gates... of destroying them. Though Mobei Yang doesn't think one can discount his own impressive experience, learning how to disrupt summoned weapons and untie folded spaces and all those annoying tricks with just... a little... push.

Beida Wan grunts, flinches, as the shadows twist and writhe and fail to whisk him away into whatever halfway realm he's been using. He pulls uselessly. He keeps trying, again and again, a panicking animal with a paw stuck fast.

Mobei Yang keeps denying the boy an escape. It takes continuous effort, a fair amount of spiritual energy, and really, the boy should be grateful that Mobei Yang hasn't accidentally broken this arm.

"No," Mobei Yang says dryly.

Beida Wan stops struggling and stares up at him. Really, it reminds Mobei Yang so much of snagging a surfacing seal as a bored youth, all big eyes and flopping rage.

Whatever this boy was before, human or not, he's just a weak demon now with a single clever trick. Remarkable abilities left raw and uncultivated. Mobei Yang laughs as he releases his unique prey, at yet another successful hunt, however short and simple it turned out to be.

"You caught Beida," the young water demon, Xiang Yubo, says. "And he actually stayed caught!"

"Oh, you just have to find the trick of it," Mobei Yang says airily. "Shan Bocheng, tell your clan leader that I've found some new demons for my hunting party!"

It's like kicking over a wasp nest, with the buzzing that goes through the watching crowd. The rock demon remains grim.

"Who?" Shan Bocheng says.

"Such an honor!" Xiang Ningyue calls from her makeshift pavilion of ladies, far more civilized, all of her beauty on display as she leans forward. "The Flying Mountain Clan is honored to run with Linguang-Jun! But which of us are you stealing?"

"Your young cousin, generous hostess," Mobei Yang falls back. "Xiang Yubo may have the potential to impress!"

More importantly, the young water demon will give an excuse to return to the Flying Mountain Clan and speak with his relatives. Mobei Yang will simply have to tell his late mother's family, the Black Wind Clan, that he has a complicated plot to destabilize the leadership of their rival clan.

"It's- Thank you! Thank you, Linguang-Jun! I won't disappoint you- I won't- I'll prove myself worthy-" Xiang Yubo stammers.

Mobei Yang nods vaguely at the appropriate gratitude. "And I'll have this thing," he adds, pointing. "If you can bear to let this guest leave your hands."

Xiang Ningyue cackles, as does Shuang Tao. The other laughter around them is more nervous. Beida Wan looks at Mobei Yang's finger like he doesn't know why it's pointing at him; presumably, he doesn't. He shuffles backwards... into the rock demon.

"I... owe Beida," Shan Bocheng says.

"And what better reward could you give than a placement with a superior clan?" Mobei Yang says, even though he really doesn't need to ask anyone's permission here. "If there's anything worthwhile to be learned from Beida Wan, the Northern Desert Clan will uncover it."

"Yes, take them!" Xiang Ningyue calls. "If anyone can make a hunter of Beida, it's you, Linguang-Jun!"

It's more likely that such a useless warrior will die sooner than later, but Mobei Yang doubts that the Flying Mountain Clan will truly cry over the loss. Perhaps something will be made of these remarkable abilities before that, but perhaps not.

Shan Bocheng's shoulders sag slightly. The rock demon won't fight over this.

Mobei Yang smiles down at Beida Wan, who remains wary and confused at first, and then hesitantly smiles back. Weakly. Not threateningly. Obviously false. Quite odd. The humanness is hard to unsee after Xiang Ningyue suggested it.

"What an opportunity to bring our two clans closer together," Mobei Yang remarks, almost entirely to see Shan Bocheng struggle to remain polite again. "Let's look forward to the new future, hm?"

#tossawary svsss #tossawary updates #linguang jun #long post #transmigrator mobei jun mom #mobei jun's mother

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zorostitties · 3 months ago

Text

Aurora; 10 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 10k oof

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE!!! ANOTHER 10K BOMB HITTING YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOWWW 💥💥💥 Many shifting POVs this chapter bc there's too many things happening at the same time!!! Just know I'm rubbing my hands like an evil fly as I post this chapter hehehheheheheh ENJOY!!! <3

⤕ Masterlist ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Playlist

Alucard would not fail.

The sky above him was painted in red. The sun, a symbol of hope and life, was hidden behind an eerie shadow that had nothing to do with the natural movement of celestial bodies. The air smelled of salt, iron, apprehension and fear. He was used to this smell – he knew it intimately. He was used to war. How many times had Alucard put his life on the front line before? Uncountable. Every time he faced an enemy, whether weak or strong, he knew there was the possibility of dying. Perhaps that kept him on edge. Perhaps that’s why he kept fighting, aside from his love for humanity.

The men behind him weren’t used to this feeling. The heaviness in the atmosphere, the strange weigh that preceded battle; some of them might’ve fought against humans, not against vampires or demons or deities. They had no idea what waited for them.

And that is why Alucard would not fail.

He stood in front of the defensive lines, his grip on the sword unwavering as he held it close to his chest as a sign to halt. The wind played with his hair and cape. His senses, sharpened beyond human capabilities; he could hear every breath, every step, every whisper, every heartbeat. His own emotions, controlled with the precision of a true master. Serenity. Severity. Confidence. These men needed it. They needed a strong image to look at; they needed an unyielding force to trust.

The moment Alucard entered the Revolutionary Commune holding the severed head of one of Erzsebet’s servants, he understood that he had taken the responsibility over that fight. He also felt that weight over his shoulders – the weight of hundreds of lives of courageous men offering to fight, and hundreds of thousands of other civilians. Elders, children, women… they had been evacuated to the outskirts of the city, but if everything went down, the Vampire Messiah’s army would not spare anyone.

And that is why Alucard would not fail.

That is why his impeccable posture and severe expression did not change when he saw a battalion of vampires approaching from the other side of the bridge. That is why he was firm when he lifted his sword, signaling the men behind him to get ready to shoot. That is why he did not flinch when she finally appeared from within the fog, being carried by two horses in a golden chariot.

Some men gasped at her horrendous figure. Taller than any human being or vampire, her giant red hair looked like a wild lion’s mane; her face was distorted into animalistic traits. While Annette, possessed by Sekhmet’s Akh, looked beautiful and dignified – the goddess of healing –, Erzsebet looked like a ferocious monster – the goddess of war.

She was extremely powerful now. Alucard could feel her pungent power from miles away; the horrid stench of profane magic. She brought fear with herself, as if gravity became heavier around her, luring weaker creatures into submission.

Erzsebet locked eyes with Alucard. Anyone else would’ve passed out with that simple feral gaze. She grinned, exposing her sharp teeth – a smile filled with vanity and anger.

“Alucard!” She yelled at the top of her lungs. “Where is my Ruby?!”

Alucard wanted to kill her.

Right then and right there.

But that was not part of the strategy. He had to keep his own emotions in place. Annette and Richter would take responsibility over fighting her; Alucard had to care for the men behind him.

He held himself back from attacking her. That would dismantle the plan. That would be irrational and Alucard had to be rational regardless of how he felt for her.

From afar, he heard a beautiful unknown male voice singing in a foreign language; Creole, he understood with a bit of surprise. Soldiers, attack. Those who die, so what?

A war cry.

Very appropriate.

Alucard pointed his sword towards her.

“Now!”

Cannons ignited. Multiple explosions. A hailstorm of shots; the front lines of her battalion were immediately obliterated, rows of vampires being reduced to pieces without having a chance to react. The smell of iron became stronger. Smoke clouded the bridge.

“Again!” He ordered. More shots. More explosions.

That wouldn’t be enough to stop Erzsebet and he knew it. Alucard got out of the way the moment she attacked – too fast for a creature so big. She was strong, but hasty, disorganized, too angry for her own good. She was no warrior and that would be their upper hand.

Fuck, Alucard wanted to fight her. He wanted to impale his sword through her chest, he wanted to cut her horrendous head off. He looked at her strength and her size and her ferocity and remembered Ruby’s size compared to her, Ruby’s fragility, Ruby’s inherent fear which was hammered into her – and that made him hate hate hate hate Erzsebet. But the battlefield was no place for hate; hate clouds your perception, your senses, your intelligence. He had to trust his plan and his allies.

So Alucard turned around and ran.

He lead his men to the backstreets, abandoning the bridge. Erzsebet’s followers saw it as weakness. Vampires were predators; if you act like prey, they would naturally be attracted… and their instinct was their doom.

The streets were barricaded with meters and meters of rubble.

Before the vampires realized they were cornered, another hailstorm of shots fell over them – coming from above.

Soldiers hidden inside the street’s buildings shot again, and again, and again. Alucard’s vision sharpened as he attacked before they could regroup. These vampires knew who he was. These vampires trembled, knowing they had no chance against him – and their expression of fear would remain forever when Alucard sliced their heads off; in their vision, he was but a red blur of death, moving too fast to be stopped.

He moved on to the next street, and the next, and the next in a frantic pace, not stopping for a second to breathe. He needed to eliminate as many opponents as possible to minimize the chances of melee battle between humans and vampires while keeping the battalions focused on that part of the city – away from the refugee citizens and away from the tailor shop where Ruby was hidden. Alucard was like the grim reaper himself: no one could stand on his way. It seemed no one was enough of an opponent for him. No one made him lose his balance, no one was enough of a threat for him to wield his sword with both hands, no one broke his sprint. To witness that was like the fire of courage the soldiers needed to keep fighting. They had a strong ally; they could win.

Alucard already knew she was coming before she even appeared in his field of view.

He felt her presence, the flap of her gigantic wings behind him. When she halted her flight on the building in front of him, holding a maniacal grin and with the gaze of a killer, Alucard was ready to face her.

He already knew at that point that Drolta was the real danger. Drolta was the mastermind, the strategist behind everything. In this great chess game, Erzsebet might’ve been the King – the most important piece in the board, but Drolta was the Queen – the most powerful piece, the one that could move freely.

The ruby necklace sat on Drolta’s collarbones.

He’d been planning to defeat her for the past five years. He had killed her once and lost to her resurrected form once, too. Now, it didn’t only feel like it was his duty; it felt like justice.

Ruby’s frightened expression upon seeing Drolta again resurfaced in his mind.

I promise I won’t fail you again. Erzsebet and Drolta won’t get anywhere near you.

It was time to end this.

Drolta launched herself at full speed towards him. He gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands.

Alucard would not fail.

Mizrak had never felt so small as in the moment he landed in Paris.

With the help of Maria’s and Juste’s magic, they managed to fly to the capital in just a few hours. Mizrak ignored the dizziness and nausea, immediately focusing on the situation at hand.

Paris was in chaos. He could hear the screams and shots even from the sky – the sounds of battle. Blood painted the streets, made the air smell of iron. Spots of smoke peppered around the city, flashes of light illuminated the red sky. He’d never witnessed a battle so big, so heated, so violent before.

And at the center of the square where Richter and Annette waited stood the most gruesome creature he’d ever seen.

Mizrak took a second to understand that that was Erzsebet. She had transfigured herself into an even uglier, unholier thing; she was worse than any night creature he’d seen. Mizrak hated her. He hated that Emmanuel had placed all his bets on her and died for it. He hated himself for helping her to some degree; he was well aware that he had his share of fault in this.

He almost didn’t notice that Annette looked different – there were too many things to take in at the same time – and Richter explained that she was also possessed by this… entity, and that somehow granted them an advantage. Maria, Juste and Richter immediately took fighting positions. Mizrak unsheathed his curved sword.

He knew there was no way for him to face that demon. Maria, young and short the way she was, already proved herself to be a powerful magician; he saw Erzsebet’s servants gasp when she opened a huge golden portal and summoned a gigantic blue dragon from it. A part of him felt proud of her for being able to control her powers after so much effort.

Juste was an old man, but just as powerful as the blonde girl. He evoked lightning and ice and fire as easily as he breathed. And Richter united his magic prowess to his brutal fighting style and muscular physique – all the while Annette (or Sekhmet, whatever) worked on weakening Erzsebet.

As soon as they started fighting, the square became literal hell.

Their attacks seemed to shake the world itself. The three of them fought like a single body, in pure synchronicity, not letting Erzsebet stop for a second to recover. Their magic made Mizrak feel goosebumps, made his stomach drop.

Mizrak was just a man with a sword. He did not compare to them in any way.

But King David was a small boy and even so, he killed Goliath, a giant; because he had faith within him. Because he had God with him, guiding his movements, clearing his path to victory. Light always beats darkness – and Mizrak believed that God, the only true God, was on their side in this battlefield.

For the Lord is righteous and loves justice; the upright will see His face.

Mizrak might be just a man in the middle of beasts, but no man is ordinary when God stands by them.

He attacked.

His sanctified sword was the harbinger of justice against his enemies. Vampire after vampire, he slashed heads and stomachs, severed members; at every fallen enemy, he felt that he was little by little avenging all these poor soldiers killed in Machecoul by Drolta. He still remembered the smell of blood and fear that filled the air that afternoon; he still remembered the tears he shed, the despair he felt, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop that carnage.

Every cloaked vampire in the square was killed either by him, his allies, or even indirectly by Erzsebet in their violent fight. There was nothing he could contribute there anymore. He ran towards a nearby street.

His heartbeat throbbed in his ears. The ground beneath his feet shook – the result of the magical fight behind him or cannon explosions. The cobblestones were painted in blood; fallen soldiers were everywhere. Some already dead, some on the verge of it. Screams and shots came from all directions. Mizrak kept running, looking for more enemies; a tall wall of rubble that barricaded the street forced him to turn left.

More cloaked servants. With a scream of effort, Mizrak slashed the nearest one and jumped to the next. Vampires might’ve been stronger and faster than human beings, but most of these vampires weren’t fighters; they were just overconfident aristocrats that lived most of their lives inside palaces, hunting clueless humans in the night to feed. Mizrak doubted many of them ever faced anyone in battle before.

Of course, even a regular vampire was much more dangerous than a regular human. The multiple bodies on the floor he saw on his way was proof of it. Mizrak knew he had to be careful; a vampire is never too weak.

He moved on to the next street. Screams attracted him; three human soldiers tried to keep the barricade of rubble standing while an unknown force on the other side tried to destroy it. His heart dropped a little when he realized the soldiers were boys – probably even younger than Richter.

Mizrak rushed, leaning his back against the ruble with the strength of his whole body, replacing the skinnier looking soldier; the three of them were surprised.

“One of you, climb the wall and shoot!” He ordered through gritted teeth. Whatever was on the other side was too strong even for him; he wouldn’t take it for much longer than a minute.

Luckily, they weren’t too shocked to move. Two of the boys, a ginger one and a black haired one, immediately climbed over the tall wall with their muskets. Each could only shoot once, so they had to hope it would be enough to stop whatever waited for them. They silently counted to three before emerging, pointing their weapons down to the other side and shooting.

The pressure stopped.

Mizrak sighed in relief and leaned away, already feeling his arms and shoulders heavy with fatigue. But he couldn’t stop, not when his allies and these young boys were giving their all. Before the two soldiers could even climb down the wall again, Mizrak already had sprinted to the next alley, looking for opponents.

Mizrak kept running and running and running. A puddle of blood on the floor almost made him trip and fall. God, there were so many corpses; the remains of humans, vampires and night creatures… Mizrak already knew these images would stay with him for a long time. His throat felt dry, it almost burned. Sweat covered his entire body. He ignored all of that. The pain, the fatigue, his feelings, all of that brushed aside to the farthest corner of his mind–

And his mind went actually blank when the glimpse of a moss green skirt passed by him.

Mizrak widened his eyes. A woman? A human woman?! What was she doing in the middle of the chaos?! Maybe she didn’t evacuate for some reason? That wasn’t a vampire – she wasn’t wearing a black and red cloak. Cold fear immediately crawled his skin for that woman. She wouldn’t stay alive for much longer there.

He turned on the same corner she did – hell, that woman was fast. She had already almost reached the end of the street. “Mademoiselle, wait!” he yelled. The woman stopped for a second and looked back–

Wait.

He knew that face.

Worry immediately turned to suspicion; his widened eyes narrowed, his expression hardened. The woman stopped running, but he didn’t. She held some sort of golden staff in her hands.

She widened her eyes in shock when Mizrak grabbed her by both arms and slammed her against the nearest wall.

“What are you doing here?!” He demanded.

The young woman looked up at him with round scared eyes that almost made him feel bad. She gripped the scepter close to her chest, sweat dripped down her forehead, her hair was disheveled. What was her name again? It had something to do with a jewel stone… was it Jade? Pearl?– It didn’t matter. What mattered is that Mizrak never trusted her for a second.

He even questioned if Alucard was right by bringing her along to Paris, but decided to not argue since he knew the vampire was strong and could deal with the situation if she offered any danger. Now, though? Her running around the streets, alone, unsupervised?

That could mean no good.

She blinked a few times. “M-Mizrak, isn’t it?!” She asked in a breathless voice. “Please, I need your help. I need to–“

“Why should I listen to a word you say?” Mizrak pressed on. She visibly shrunk. Once again, he felt a bit bad, but decided to brush it aside. “You said you were helping Erzsebet summon eclipses, and yet look up. They did it without you. Liar!”

“I wasn’t lying!” She gripped the scepter with even more strength; for the first time, a glimpse of anger crossed her features. “Erzsebet reunited with the second half of Sekhmet’s soul, that is why she didn’t need me this time!”

“And you said you weren’t a witch, yet what is it that you’re holding?!” Mizrak ignored what she said and his eyes dropped to the golden scepter she held. It had a strange symbol of the sun on its tip and multiple scriptures in a language he didn’t know. Clearly paganism. “You were just waiting for an opportunity to act, isn’t it? Erzsebet’s witch!”

She looked actually angry for a second; but her eyes suddenly locked with something behind him and they widened.

“Watch out!”

She moved faster than him.

The jewel stone girl used her scepter to push Mizrak out of the way, pressing it on the side of his body; it wasn’t enough to send him flying away – Mizrak was way too heavy for that – but he lost his balance regardless. This saved his life. If he had stayed on that same spot a second longer, he would’ve had his head ripped off by a cloaked vampire.

Mizrak turned around and unsheathed his sword again in a quick motion, slicing the head of the vampire off with a scream of effort.

They watched the body on the ground, both breathless and in silence, for some seconds.

Mizrak turned back to her slowly.

She… had saved his life. But that wasn’t enough to convince him.

The young woman gulped and hardened her expression.

“Sir, I need you to trust me. Please, I just want to help them. Y-You’ve seen how many losses they’ve had. Erzsebet’s army is stronger and you know it.” She stepped closer to him.

Mizrak gripped the hilt of his sword harder. “All the odds are against you.”

She groaned.

Jewel stone girl looked fragile and scared the entire time he’d been around her at the ruins of Machecoul – and it didn’t quite convince him. At that moment, however, the heat of the battle seemed to get the best of her.

She was also on her limit.

“Fine!” And then her voice wasn’t quiet and controlled anymore. Finally, she’s letting her mask fall, a part of Mizrak thought–

But then she grabbed the blade of Mizrak’s sword and brought it close to her own neck.

Her hand immediately bled. The tip of the blade made a tiny cut on the base of her neck, yet she didn’t flinch; she stared at Mizrak with pure anger and determination. More than that – she was challenging him.

“Cut my head off, then!” She growled in a way that took Mizrak by surprise. He… he didn’t expect her to talk like that at all, not with the way he saw her behave before. “Go on, do it if you’re so suspicious of me! I won’t die anyway, I don’t care. But many more people will die and they can’t heal the way I do, unless we do something about it! Or will you keep wasting time questioning me?!”

Mizrak didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Blood dripped from her palm to her forearm, staining the white sleeve of her blouse. The way she didn’t flinch away from pain was impressive, he had to admit. The way her gaze didn’t waver was also a bit impressive… Mizrak was as muscular as a bull. He was the one holding the sword… and she didn’t look that scared of him – at least, not anymore.

And yet… Mizrak didn’t want to trust her.

Because trusting her meant trusting Olrox and he didn’t want to trust Olrox.

Hell, he didn’t want to think about Olrox – but he was the reason she was there anyway. It was Olrox who told Mizrak about jewel stone girl’s existence in the first place. Yes, he delivered the news to Alucard, but back then, he thought she would be a hostage; he never expected that Alucard and the others would simply let her walk freely.

Mizrak didn’t want to admit that his problem wasn’t with her directly; his anger was towards the damned green eyed vampire. The coward green eyed vampire that could be fighting with them at that moment but that chose to run away to the New World instead. The coward that had the audacity to invite him; as if Mizrak would ever run away from his duties and his beliefs.

Mizrak didn’t want to think about Olrox because if he did, he’d have to admit that a tiny hidden part of him was also relieved that he was away from this chaos, away from the maniacal vampire that would hunt him down eventually.

So he focused on the girl in front of him instead, the anger and determination in her eyes, the way she told him to cut her head off as if it was nothing, the way her palm bled and she didn’t move away regardless – and Mizrak decided that she wasn’t Olrox after all, which meant he could give her a chance.

Mizrak pulled his sword away from her grip and let his arm fall to the side of his body. He looked down at her with a high chin and a tightened jaw. She seemed uneasy for a moment.

“...I will cut your head off if I notice you’re acting suspicious for a second,” he declared with severity. “What is your plan?”

She was visibly relieved.

The young woman held the scepter with both hands again. “This scepter can storage sunlight somehow. I… I can awaken it. But I’ll need a high place to make it more effective.”

Mizrak frowned. “You can enter any of these empty buildings and go upstairs–“

“A higher place. The highest point in the area.”

The black haired monk thought for some seconds. The highest point in the city…

He heard steps behind him, which immediately made him turn around and lift his sword defensively – but it was not necessary.

The three young soldiers from earlier came running around the corner. They were all visibly tired, holding swords now that their muskets were probably out of gunpowder. Were they running after Mizrak since that moment?

But they didn’t seem to care for Mizrak, actually.

“Mademoiselle!” The ginger one widened his eyes. The three of them were shocked to see her here.

“What are you doing here, Miss Ruby?!” The black haired one said. The third blond boy frowned.

“Who said you could address her by her name?!”

Oh. So Ruby is her name.

The three boys reached them, immediately offering to get Ruby to safety at the same time. She tried to calm them down – Henri, Charles and Jules were their names – while Mizrak looked around the street.

The highest point in the city…

Then, it hit him.

It was obvious. It was in the eye of the hurricane. Most vampires and night creatures were focused there. Erzsebet was also close by. Mizrak wasn’t sure if bringing Ruby there, so close to that crazy vampire, would be a good idea… but there was no better place.

He turned around.

“Soldiers,” he called with authority; the three boys immediately turned to him. Mizrak wasn’t wearing a Revolutionary uniform like them, but you’d have to be a fool to argue with him. “We will escort this lady to the Notre Dame. No questions asked, we don’t have time.”

They wanted to ask questions, but they turned to Ruby – and the look she gave them made them became puddles over her feet.

“Please. I need your help,” she asked with impatient sweetness.

They immediately straightened their backs and nodded.

“Yes, Mademoiselle!”

“Anything for you!”

Mizrak refrained from rolling his eyes and gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands again. His body was aching, his throat was burning, his heart was confused – but he still had a fight ahead of him, so he brushed all that aside.

“Let’s go.”

They ran.

Mizrak took the lead; Ruby was right behind him, while the three boys protected her from her sides and rear. Just around the corner, they faced the first group of enemies; the monk, once again, took the lead and attacked first. He managed to take down two vampires while the third one tried to approach from the sides. The blond boy, Jules, blocked his attack with the sword, while the black haired one, Charles, sliced his head off.

Although they were successful, both looked extremely distressed with what they had just done; their faces went pale, eyes widened. They probably had been facing their enemies from afar, not on melee combat. Mizrak was about to yell at them – not because he didn’t feel empathy for them, but because the battlefield was no place to freeze.

But Ruby surprised him once again.

“We have to keep going!” She rushed them in an impatient tone, breaking them out of their trance. She wasn’t shocked at all. She didn’t seem to have a lot of empathy for them, actually, as if death was too casual for her to care...

But regardless of her methods, it worked. Mizrak went back to running, not waiting for them to recover, and they followed shortly.

Another corner turned, another explosion; they met a group of soldiers running on the opposite direction. They gesticulated vehemently for them to go back.

“Retreat! There are monsters fighting back there! You’ll be trampled like ants!” They yelled.

Mizrak knew they were right and knew to ignore them. No man is ordinary with God, he repeated it in his head over and over again to convince himself, to push him forward. The group kept running tirelessly. Another cloaked vampire. They attacked.

No man is ordinary with God. His knees were heavy. His wrists ached. The muscles of his arms burned. Mizrak brushed all that aside.A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand; but no evil will come near you. The next enemy came. He raised his sword and attacked. The next enemy came, and the next. They turned on another corner. The boys behind him protected and attacked from the sides. Mizrak didn’t stop to look back, putting blind faith in them.

No man is ordinary with God.

Mizrak knew this entire battle was already burned into his soul. He would never forget the horrendous faces, the bloodshed, the pain in his body. They would haunt him forever. Yet, he didn’t stop to think about anything; how these vampires were stronger than him, that if he let his guard down for a second, he’d be killed. But he reminded himself: The Lord is my light and my salvation; of whom shall I be afraid?

So he just moved forward.

Finally, they reached the square in front of the gigantic cathedral. Without the protection of buildings on both sides, they would have no way to hide – and the square was infested of night creatures and vampires. For the first time, Mizrak stopped running and signaled for the ones behind him to halt, crossing his eyes through the open area.

The cathedral’s front doors were closed. Mizrak realized with confusion that the night creatures were fighting among themselves, but he decided there was no time to question that; if the beasts were too focused in killing each other, they hopefully wouldn’t notice them passing by, which could be an advantage. Mizrak gulped, his burning throat begged for water. His entire body ached. But no, there was no time to focus on any of that. The task ahead of them was difficult; they had to try anyway. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God–

A lightning slashed the sky.

The thunder that followed was stronger than any cannon; it made everything shake. Even the vampires and night creatures at the square looked up in confusion. There were no storm clouds in the sky, what could’ve caused that? One of Juste’s powers, maybe? But it felt different for some reason–

Another lightning. Mizrak was looking up this time.

It had a purplish color.

His heartbeat immediately increased, his eyes widened. He thought he saw a strange big shadow in between the tall buildings, it looked to be flying over the ceilings… was he going insane? He– He knew the color of that magic. His chest filled with unstoppable expectation and hope; was it… Was it who he thought it was–?!

Mizrak tightened his eyes and shook his head violently. No. No, you don’t have time for that. It’s not him. Don’t think of him. You have to cross that square.

The black haired monk looked back. Ruby also had a focused expression, analyzing what was in front of them, holding the scepter strongly. Although she was sweating, she didn’t look nearly as tired as the three boys or Mizrak himself. Did her healing ability also heal tiredness?

“Let’s take advantage of the distraction,” Mizrak said. She nodded. He looked ahead again and gripped the sword with both hands once more; his wrists and fingers hurt so much that Mizrak didn’t think he’d be able to stretch them for a while.

Mizrak took a deep breath.

No man is ordinary with God.

“Come on!”

They leaped into the square.

His heart throbbed faster than ever. His vision was focused on their destination. Growls, screams, flesh being pierced, shots, rumbles from the magical battle happening not far from there, more purple lightnings; chaos was what echoed from all directions, making his head ache. They avoided the spots of night creature fights without slowing their pace, moving as a single body. They were halfway there. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God. No man is ordinary with God…

“It’s her!”

Mizrak whipped his head to the side.

A cloaked vampire pointed towards them – towards Ruby – with a ferocious expression.

“It’s the woman the Vampire Messiah talked about!” He continued, drawing the attention of the vampires around him. “Whoever takes her will be rewarded!”

Fuck!

“Keep running!” Mizrak yelled looking over his shoulder. As if it was needed. For the first time, he saw fear plastered over Ruby’s face again.

The vampires chased them now.

We’re almost there we’re almost there we’re almost there keep running keep running keep running–

Finally finally finally– the group reached the central doors of the cathedral.

And they were locked.

Henri and Jules tried to push them open with the strength of their bodies, yet they didn’t move. Meanwhile, the vampires gathered around them. They were cornered.

Rage filled Mizrak’s heart.

These vampires – they would not enter the house of God. His wrists hurt his fingers hurt his arms hurt his breathing was difficult. It didn’t matter. As if he felt empowered by colossal building behind him, the earthly materialization of the Lord’s fearing size, Mizrak stood tall, taking a defensive position. They would not stain the cathedral with their presence or their filthy blood. Mizrak would be its defender despite his aching body.

For no man is ordinary with God.

Jules and Charles took their places by his sides while Ruby and Henri kept trying to push the doors open. Nine vampires against three tired humans.

Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then I will be confident.

The vampires attacked.

The three defended.

Everything became a blur of blood and pain and screams and grunts and growls. Mizrak slashed, blocked, crouched down, jumped; one enemy fell. He pushed Charles out of the way before he could be stabbed. The second enemy fell. Mizrak pierced a chest with his sword. The third fell. Jules and Charles worked together to kill one of them; Mizrak slashed one more neck. The fifth and the sixth. The seventh was taken down from behind – someone shot him from across the square, though he could not see who exactly was helping them.

A loud scratching noise behind them.

“It’s opened!” Ruby screamed; he turned briefly to see that they had burst the locks. Henri and her pushed the heavy doors open with their backs. “Quick, let’s get in!”

The three retreated with their backs still facing the cathedral, blades still held up; a slight breeze of relief hit Mizrak. The vampires wouldn’t follow them inside. They couldn’t step in, he was confident of that. No man is ordinary with God. The Lord had helped him achieve this, had held his hands, guided his blade towards victory.

An eighth enemy still stood. Mizrak stepped forward to face it.

“Come in, Mizrak!” Charles rushed him; Henri had entered, Jules too, and they were trying to pull Ruby in, but she seemed to refuse to until Mizrak joined them.

He looked ahead again. Blocked an attack, slashed another neck. There were vampires approaching from afar. He had to walk in to safety. Another purple lightning crossed the sky; Mizrak looked up for a moment, once more under the impression that he saw a strange huge shadow–

“MIZRAK!”

It was too late.

Mizrak didn’t have time to look back at Ruby.

Lacerating pain.

His body shook. His vision blurred. Strength left his legs.

Slowly, Mizrak looked down.

A dagger pierced through his stomach. A stain of blood grew larger over the cross on his uniform.

The ninth vampire.

Rage painted Mizrak’s vision in red; a scream erupted from within him while he raised his sword one last time, still carried by adrenaline, slashing the vampire’s torso and neck.

His enemy fell.

Mizrak couldn’t breathe properly anymore; a single tear slid down his cheek. He pressed his tightened fist over the wound, feeling his own warm blood drip down his clothes; the world twirled. The pain was nauseating. It was maddening.

It’s like he could hear Notre Dame’s bells ringing in his ears.

Mizrak… Mizrak was a step away from entering the cathedral.

Yet, he couldn’t walk anymore.

Freezing cold crept over his body. He fought and fought and fought in the name of the Lord; he prayed and prayed and prayed, tried to repent, tried to convince Emmanuel to repent before his death. He had cut ties with Olrox. He… he did everything.

No.

“Mizrak!” He heard Ruby’s voice again, but she sounded distant; he felt the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder, but he pushed her away with the little strength he still had.

“Get in, woman,” he groaned, feeling the taste of iron in his tongue. “You… you said you had a plan. I will… protect the entrance.”

He knew he couldn’t. She knew it, too, and still hesitated.

Mizrak refused to look at her.

“Get in, now!” He screamed.

After a few seconds, he heard steps behind him retreating – then, the sound of the heavy doors being closed again.

Another tear fell down Mizrak’s cheek.

His legs had no strength anymore. He fell to his knees.

He felt so, so cold. Not only the wound hurt, his entire body ached. He panted, the grip around the sword finally loosened.

A quiet sob escaped past his lips. Mizrak looked up. The statues of Kings of Judah seemed to be looking directly at him. Another purple lightning illuminated the sky, casting eerie shadows over their faces.

Angry faces. Judging faces.

Mizrak stood in front of the Portal of the Last Judgment – and he had just been judged.

Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God?

The tears were now unstoppable. Mizrak gripped the fabric of his uniform, his entire body trembled. How foolish, how presumptuous of him to think he’d keep these vampires away from the house of God when he was not allowed to get in; not anymore. That was the clear confirmation of all his worst suspicions, his most horrendous nightmares. What awaited him on the other side wasn’t Saint Peter’s welcoming words, wasn’t Virgin Mary’s motherly hug; what waited for him were the fires that would burn him eternally. What waited for him was the Devil that came to reap Emmanuel’s soul.

No immoral, impure or greedy person has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.

Finally, his body gave up. Mizrak laid on the cold floor, feeling all of his strength vanish and every centimeter of him shake in cold fear. It was so, so cold. It was so, so painful. It was so lonely and frightening.

God was not beside him anymore – and so, Mizrak became an ordinary man.

Another purple lightning. A shrilling bestial growl crossed the air. Mizrak was ordinary. Mizrak was impure. Mizrak was a sinner.

Mizrak wished, as death approached him like the freezing winds of North, that he could see Olrox again one last time.

And then – he didn’t wish for anything anymore.

Darkness.

The sound of the doors closing echoed within the gigantic cathedral like thunders.

Your fingers were shaking, the grip around the scepter wasn’t as determined as before. Mizrak… that wound would kill him, and there was nothing you could do. You begged for his help and you wouldn’t be able to help him in the end…

This has to work. It has to, no matter what, so his sacrifice won’t be in vain.

“Mademoiselle, we’re here. W-What do we do now?” Jules asked while he and Charles kept their backs leaning against the doors. The three of them were panting and sweating, you didn’t know how long it’d take for them to be completely exhausted.

“I need to climb the tower!” You said, looking around the great entrance hall of the cathedral, pushing your worry and guilt for Mizrak to the back of your mind. The noises of the outside battle were muffled, every small sound you produced echoed. The cathedral was, in a way, even more magnificent than the Louvre; it wasn’t as opulent, and that perhaps was what brought this chilling sense of greatness. The high vaulted ceiling made you feel small; the reflex of the stained glass on the floor being illuminated by the strange purple lightnings out there was somehow eerie. The place was dimly lit by candles.

You were surprised to notice that, at the very back of the cathedral, after rows and rows of wooden benches, there were people; knelt down in front of the great altar where hundreds of candles burned slowly. They were too far for you to even recognize any face, but they seemed surprised by your presence. They wore monk tunics. Oh… you understood. They refused to leave their temple even in the middle of a war. You could respect their courage and nobility.

One more group of people that would be dead soon if you didn’t succeed.

“I’ll stay here and hold the doors,” Jules spoke up. “You two, help her get up there!”

Charles and Henri nodded. “This way, Mademoiselle!” The redhead exclaimed, pointing toward the stairs that led to the north bell tower. You nodded.

The monks were fast approaching. Before turning around and following the two boys, you looked at them; “Please, help him barricade the doors!”

Luckily, no one wanted to argue – they understood the gravity of the situation. Before finally disappearing inside a corridor, you had time to see the group of monks dragging wooden benches toward the doors in order to lock it again.

And then, you were faced with hundreds of hundreds of steps to climb.

The spiral staircase was made of stone, just like the walls around you; it was a small passage, almost claustrophobic. You held some of your skirt and started your way up; Charles took the lead while Henri covered you from behind. The tower was humid and dark; there were small windows in regular gaps, but as the sun was hidden behind that maleficent shadow, it didn’t provide much light.

“We- We should’ve taken some candles…” You heard Henri complain through ragged breath behind you.

That’s when a new source of light appeared.

They hadn’t noticed it before because you weren’t in such a dark environment, but the inscriptions of the scepter had been glowing faintly for a while now, probably fueled by your fear and apprehension; its glow got a bit stronger after you saw Mizrak being stabbed. The object was slowly becoming warmer, too.

Charles looked behind his shoulder with a shocked expression.

“How–?”

“I don’t know. Let’s keep moving,” you rushed them.

They didn’t argue.

The three of you were panting, and the sound echoed within the tower. You didn’t dare to look out the small windows, trying to not get more desperate. There were so many corpses out there… how many of the men you helped yesterday, distributing uniforms or water or food, had already been killed? How many wives wouldn’t have their husbands back, or how many children would never see their fathers again?

Of course, all the volunteers were well aware of the possibility of dying. You can’t weave into war and expect no casualties. But that didn’t change the fact that there was a great imbalance in the scales; Erzsebet’s side had much more men, and a single vampire is worth ten regular humans, not to mention the night creatures – although, surprisingly, most of them seemed to be too busy trying to kill each other down there.

Finally, the stairs opened to another great hall. The large stained glass windows indicated that you had only arrived at the second level of the cathedral.

“That way!” Charles indicated another set of stairs that led to a mezzanine; from there, there was a door that seemed to lead up the tower.

Inside that door – more spiral stairs.

Your knees were starting to feel heavier and heavier; you felt sweat dripping down your entire body, gluing your blouse to your back. Your muscles seemed to burn and a sharp irritating pain tugged on the right side of your stomach. Yet, you didn’t stop for a moment, leaping two steps at time. Your discomfort was nothing compared to what Mizrak endured down there, these boys that had cuts and bruises on their bodies, or all the other soldiers that got hurt in battle.

May Annette and Richter be safe, you wished for the hundredth time. May that goddess leave Annette’s body soon.

You looked down briefly to the red string tied around your right wrist.

If anything happens, anything at all, untie this string. It’s what Alucard asked of you.

He’d probably be so angry and disappointed that you disobeyed him. But you refused to untie that; Alucard had his duty to comply, the same way Annette and Richter had theirs. It wouldn’t be fair to simply call him at that moment. Not only did you not want to interrupt them, there was a part of you – a proud part, perhaps? Since when were you proud of anything? – that wanted to accomplish this without them. You didn’t want to feel useless anymore.

If you didn’t succeed, it’d all be for nothing. You’d have put these three young men in danger, gotten Mizrak hurt – probably killed – and would bring even more trouble over Alucard’s shoulders.

It’s going to work. I know it will. Something inside me is sure of it.

Five minutes of unstoppable climbing and you saw the outside light again.

The balcony extended around the entire structure of the cathedral, crossing it over the main hall and going around the south tower as well; the north bell tower stood tall behind you. However, it was so narrow that more than two people wouldn’t be able to walk side by side comfortably. A refreshing gust of wind hit your body; you felt hot and drenched of sweat after so much running and climbing. You leaned on the stone guard rail, giving yourself a second to recover your breathing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It was tall. Unnervingly tall. You had a good view of most of the city from there – and it only made you feel more desperate.

Fire outbreaks peppered here and there; it was a complete and terrible chaos. From this distance, everyone looked like ants. The strange purple lightnings had stopped. You wondered what was causing these things; Richter’s magic was blue, and as far as you knew, he didn’t know how to fly to be the source of it. So what was that? And why did it make your stomach drop?

Was it part of Sekhmet’s power? She had told you to keep away; maybe, for some reason, her powers would make you feel ill like that?

Charles was also leaning over the guard rail, catching his breath, while Henri leaned his hands over his knees. They were probably already exhausted, much more than you after all that running and fighting. Your throat burned, desperately begging for water. You adjusted your grip on the scepter.

“Is… Is this… enough?” Henri asked, panting.

You looked around.

This height was decent – but not enough.

How you knew that? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t have time to question it. You decided to just follow your instincts.

You looked up to the top of the bell tower. It was imposing, scary. The stone gargoyles up there seemed to be gazing at you; it was like they didn’t like your presence. Well, they’d have to bear it.

You pointed up. “I need to get to the top.”

The two eyed each other. You couldn’t even be mad at them. Henri was ready to point the direction–

A hiss slashed the air.

You turned back to see that a vampire had climbed the tower, too, from outside; he jumped over the railing onto the balcony, right behind Henri.

You moved before your mouth could speak.

Repeating the movement you made with Mizrak, you pushed him out of the way with the scepter – but this time, you weren’t fast enough; the cloaked vampire’s sharp claws gnawed his right shoulder. Henri yelled in pain; blood splashed on your skirt.

The thought process behind your next action was fast.

You remembered how that vampire burned just by touching the scepter at the alley; you looked at how it was glowing – not as bright as it was at that time, and not as hot as well, but it was awakened anyway. Anger crossed your vision. You couldn’t do anything to help Mizrak; this time, you wouldn’t just stand and watch Henri get hurt.

You held the scepter with both hands. Putting all of your strength, you swung it towards the vampire.

The rays of the sun symbol were actually very sharp.

They slashed the vampire’s eyes; he screamed in agony, the spot where the scepter touched burned. It wasn’t enough to kill him, but he was certainly blind. His blood on the sun symbol boiled and evaporated in seconds.

While the man was completely disoriented, screaming in pain, Charles run towards him and pushed him over the stone railing.

You didn’t wait to see him hitting the ground.

“Henri!” You rushed towards him; the redhead boy gripped his shoulder, blood spilled from the wound.

Henri groaned. Charles put his good arm over his own shoulders. “Let’s get inside! There are more coming!”

You ran ahead this time and entered through a door that led to – sigh – more spiral stairs. They were even narrower this time, more claustrophobic. The two boys walked in and slammed the door shut; Charles took Henri’s sword and used it to lock it between the hinges. Someone tried to push it open and the two leaned their backs against it.

“Go, Mademoiselle!” Charles said. “We’ll hold them back!”

You hesitated for a second. Henri was hurt, both of them were tired. But would you have another chance if you stayed to help them?

So you turned and ran up.

You ignored how heavy your legs felt, how breathless you were, how your knees already wanted to fail you. The scepter was slowly but surely getting hotter as your desperation increased. You jumped two, three steps at once, trying to get there faster faster faster. You tripped and hit both knees on the edge of a step, immediately scratching both of them, but ignored it and kept climbing. Would they be able to fight down there? Would they survive? What if you left them behind to get killed? Would you be able to live with this guilt?

I have to make it. I have to make it. I have to make it.

Finally – a door appeared. You ran past it.

The very top of the bell tower.

The balcony was wider than on the level below you. The view was nauseating – you were so, so high up; you could see the Seine surrounding the cathedral on both ways, hundreds of ceilings as far as the eye could see. There were no taller buildings. Nothing that could hinder the power of the scepter.

You were shaking. You were panting. Your legs hurt. Strong wind played with your skirt and hair, it even felt that if you stood too close to the stone railing, it’d push you over the edge. Strange colorful explosions popped down there, but you couldn’t see what or who was causing it.

None of that mattered, not at that moment.

You walked to the middle point of the balcony and held the scepter with both hands once again. The inscriptions still glowed faintly, it was starting to feel uncomfortably hot.

A deep breath.

This is going to work. It will. It will.

You held it in front of you with the sun symbol pointed up at a close distance from your body. The chaos in the city extended up until where your eye could see. The sky still had that horrible red color, as if it was painted with blood.

Ruby. The same color of your delicious blood.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You didn’t know why you remembered this at that moment. Just the thought of that horrendous vampire made your stomach twirl. She, who treated you worse than an animal for longer than your brain could register; she who fed on your blood constantly as if you were but a meal. She who broke your very spirit to pieces until you became nothing but the compliant shell of a woman; empty, having no more strength to fight anymore. Because you fought her. You tried to push her away, to claw her face, to pull her hair; you tried so many times and failed so many times that you were too tired to keep trying.

She who made you lost who you truly were. Would you ever be able to retrieve it? Would you be able to find within yourself, in your memories, the person you really were before she called you Ruby that night?

Who was I before Ruby?

The inscriptions glowed a little brighter.

Your breath hitched when you realized that you could see her from up there.

Blocks and blocks away at some square – the source of the strange colorful lights you saw earlier; you couldn’t understand exactly what was happening, but recognized that blue fire… Richter’s fire. And then yellow lightning and red fire, too… A blue dragon flying over the buildings. All of that directed at her.

Erzsebet was but a dot in the distance, but you recognized that red hair.

A part of you – the part that was trained to fear – immediately shook, had the instinct to run inside the tower again and hide. What if she saw you there? She’d grab you and never let you go. She’d hurt you again and again and again until you forgot about everything; all the people you’ve met, all the things you discovered and experienced in these few days, and then you’d be just an empty shell again.

The other part of you felt angry.

Erzsebet was fighting against the people that took care of you, the first people that were ever kind to you, the people that treated you like an equal. She was hurting them the same way she hurt you so many times before.

You hated her.

You hated her with every fiber of your being.

It ignited your soul, set it on fire. That woman had to die. She had to die.

You used this hatred when you started to read the inscriptions on the scepter.

Alucard had advised you against it – but you knew at that moment it was the right thing to do. Once again, you could not understand what these words meant; but, while reading the moon book you felt disgusted and weak, now you felt stronger. Exhaustion completely vanished from your body, your scratched knees didn’t hurt anymore.

The scepter glowed brighter; brighter, brighter, brighter. The sun symbol started to shine. Not as bright as it did at the alley – so you kept reading.

It felt like you fell on a trance.

All the times Erzsebet drank your blood. All the times Drolta punished you. All the pain. All the humiliation. Being dragged from place to place, not having the right to even walk out of a room; all the humans you had to watch getting killed. That woman has to die. She has to die.

The golden glow of the scepter enveloped your body. The artifact was hot. It burned your palms. You were hot – that same devastating heat that cloistered around your heart came back. It burned as if you were thrown into the pit of a volcano.

The sun symbol was shining… but not nearly as bright as it did at the alley.

No.

This isn’t supposed to happen. What’s wrong?!

You kept reading, feeling despair mix with your hatred; the shine wasn’t enough to brighten the city, but it was enough to draw attention to you. Weren’t these the feelings that made the scepter awaken at that moment? Why was it acting different now?

The sun wasn’t shining that bright, but the burn in your heart didn’t ease. No, it was increasing. Not just your heart – soon, it felt that someone had thrown boiling oil over your skin. It burned burned burned burned burned; you wanted to drop that thing away, you wanted to scream in pain. Every muscle burned, every vein, every centimeter of your skin; it was unbearable, it was maddening, you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts anymore, you couldn’t keep your eyes open, your face distorted in a scowl of pain. Drop it! Throw it away! It hurts! IT HURTS!

“You will burn from inside out, ???.”

What?

Who said that?

You felt a hand touch your shoulder softly, but couldn’t open your eyes to see who it was.

Who– Who is it?

Who is it?

The sounds of the battle down there– all gone.

It is tranquil. A soft breeze caresses your face. The scepter burns your palms.

She doesn’t back away.

“You’re always too angry, ???.” She continues in a soothing voice. Her touch on your shoulder is featherlight. “This won’t get you anywhere. Breathe slowly.”

You inhale. You exhale.

“This ritual isn’t meant to kill; it does not go well with hatred. This ritual exists to protect the ones you love. If you let anger take the lead, it will consume you; it will burn you. Love does not burn. Love warms up.”

Your frown softened.

Your tense members too.

It exists to protect.

You brushed the memories of Erzsebet and Drolta aside. It was hard – they were mostly all you knew. But you decided to focus on something else.

Annette’s encouraging words. Her strength and her kindness.

The moments Richter fought to protect you, the way you felt some sort of odd affection towards him.

The three boys that gave you the lily that was still safely stored in the pocket of your vest. Henri, Jules and Charles, who bravely helped you get to the cathedral. All the men you helped yesterday, all of them getting ready to fight to protect their families, to help defeat a force much stronger than them.

And…

Him.

His serene smiles. His soft touches. The way he respected and cared for you from the moment you first met; the way he never looked down on you, always talked to you as an equal. The way he was always willing to make you feel better. The way he showed kindness through small gestures. The warmth of his hug.

And there was something else, too. At that moment, other faces flashed in your mind – faces your mind didn’t remember, but your heart did. One of these faces was of the little boy you saw on your dream and many more.

All of these moments, all of these faces – though they weren’t much, though the bad experiences were far more, were enough to overwhelm them. Were enough to comfort you in the midst of so much pain.

And then – you weren’t burning anymore.

You just felt... warm.

This warmth consumed you. It eased your mind, your spirit, your soul. It strengthened you. There was no pain anymore, no hatred; the warmth in your heart extended to every corner of your body, expanded to your entire consciousness.

All that existed was light.

All that existed was sun.

All that existed was… love.

No one saw it coming.

Erzsebet’s servants didn’t see it coming. The night creatures didn’t see it coming. The soldiers didn’t see it coming. Alucard didn’t see it coming.

Out of nowhere, the sky started to get clear.

The white-haired vampire looked up; the eclipse was still very much intact. So what the hell was happening?

Then – it hit him.

His eyes widened. Alucard flew to the top of the nearest ceiling and looked around–

He had time to see a small dot shining atop of Notre Dame, probably two kilometers away from where he was.

The small dot grew larger. Larger. That light got brighter – so bright that he had to protect his eyes; so bright that for a moment, the sky wasn’t crimson red anymore. Goosebumps roamed his skin. That… that was pure power.

And then, he heard the screams.

Yells of agony all around the city. The vampires tried to run, tried to hide – but most of them didn’t have time to react; as soon as light hit their bodies, they burned. They fell to their knees, hollering in excruciating pain, until there was nothing left of them but a pile of ashes. The human soldiers looked around, confused at why that light didn’t harm them, only their enemies.

A strange feeling tugged at Alucard’s heart.

But he heard another scream – a scream of pure hatred this time that slashed the air of Paris.

It was Drolta.

She was flying like a cannonball towards the cathedral.

Alucard wouldn’t let her.

He gripped his sword with both hands; red glow enveloped his body. He sprinted over the ceilings of Paris on a beeline, so fast that glass windows shattered after his passage.

He got to the top of Notre Dame faster than her, standing on top of the stone railing – putting himself between Ruby and Drolta.

The night creature had a completely insane expression, maddened by rage; Alucard, on the other hand, stared at her with controlled anger.

When she was just meters away, Alucard slashed the air with his sword in a wide swing.

It produced a red energy shockwave that hit Drolta in the stomach with the force of a thousand tons.

She was sent flying back all the way she came from; she hit one, two, three, four buildings, destroying everything on her way.

That would keep her quiet for a while.

Alucard released his sword for a second, keeping it floating near his body, and turned around.

His eyes widened in shock and… admiration.

Ruby was levitating in the air, holding the scepter in front of her body with both hands; she had her eyes closed in a serene expression, almost as if she was asleep. Her hair was loose, it swayed behind her figure. A golden aura enveloped her body, but it still looked different than what happened to Annette in a way.

She looked beautiful.

The shine of the scepter was diminishing. So was the aura around her. Slowly, she started to get closer to the ground again. Alucard jumped from the railing onto the balcony; he extended his arms and took her before she could hit the floor.

Alucard knelt down with her cradled in his arms.

He put the scepter aside; it slid from her grip easily. Her eyes were still closed. The white-haired vampire pressed his hand on her forehead and neck; she felt warm, but not nearly as hot as she was that moment at the alley. In fact… there was a strange healthy aspect to her face. Her right sleeve was stained with blood, though he couldn’t see any injury.

She ran all the way from the tailor shop to the cathedral? Did she remember something? How did she know she’d be able to do this?

Alucard had so many questions – but all of that was brushed aside when Ruby frowned slightly and groaned; immediate relief washed over his body. She is awake.

She opened her eyes.

At first, Ruby looked at the sky with half lidded eyes. Then, she looked at him – and didn’t have much of a reaction. It was as if a part of her wasn’t really there. It made Alucard wonder if she was still under some sort of trance…

For a moment, Alucard thought that she wasn’t recognizing him.

And it surprisingly made him feel scared.

But she left a soft groan again.

“Did it… work…?” Ruby asked groggily.

Alucard almost sighed in relief.

“Yes.”

She looked down for a moment and saw the red string tied around his right wrist. That seemed to bring back more memories; Ruby immediately got more agitated.

“I’m sor–“

“Don’t you dare.” He interrupted her softly, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare…”

Alucard wasn’t planning on it, the same way he didn’t plan to hug her back then. But he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, he had to let his annoying mortal heart speak louder than reason. And at that moment, when adrenaline still pumped through his system, he let himself be carried again; he brought her closer to him again, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He let himself feel relief and content that she was safe, she was warm, she was in his arms. She had somehow managed to overcome her fear. She had somehow managed to destroy more than half of Erzsebet’s army on her own.

And Alucard felt proud of this human he barely even knew that well.

The heart works in mysterious ways, after all.

He leaned away again and looked down at her. Perhaps… perhaps if she wasn’t clearly dazed, affected by whatever powerful magic she just had unleashed… if she was in her right mind… perhaps Alucard would’ve let himself be carried by his stupid mortal heart again. Perhaps he wouldn’t have fought against his will to press his lips on hers.

But the battlefield was no place for it.

That would be irrational and Alucard had to be rational regardless of how he felt for her.

Alucard heard steps fast approaching. From the door beside him, two young soldiers emerged. They were clearly exhausted, one of them bled from the shoulder. Their eyes widened.

“Sir!” The black-haired one – the one that wasn’t bleeding – saluted him. “We’ll take care of her!”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to her!” The ginger one said, even though a frown of pain was plastered over his face.

Alucard narrowed his eyes… oh. He recognized these two from yesterday. They were some of the soldiers that flocked around her like pigeons after bread crumbs. They didn’t seem ill-intended, at least, so Alucard would have to trust them.

The vampire helped Ruby to sit, keeping his arm behind her back while the soldiers also approached. Yes, she was definitely groggy; she almost looked a bit drunk. He’d worry about that later.

A terrible feeling settled in his gut.

Alucard got up and looked ahead. There was a massive beam of red energy concentrated in the opposite part of the city; it made shivers run down his spine. It was Sekhmet’s power, and it immediately made him worry for Annette and Richter.

He stepped over the railing again and took the sword in his hand. He’d sort everything else out later. Right now, there was still a battle to be won.

And Alucard would not fail.

#alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #castlevania netflix #alucard #alucard castlevania #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #alucard x you #castlevania x reader

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leo-in-the-pitt · 2 months ago

Text

What's Next

This is Chapter 4 of the Beginning to End series !

Summary: You just started as a night shift attending but, one choice made the night you and Jack got engaged may change everything you had planned. But for better or worse?

Warnings: Pure fluff, pregnancy, 10k words of Jack being the sweetest man on the planet

WC 10.1k

What's Next

“I think we need to go buy some tests.”

Jack froze like a deer in headlights. “Shit.” His eyes widening as his jaw practically fell to the floor at the weight of your words. “No, we’re in a hospital, you can just get blood work done, it’s more accurate.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, your heart pounding hard against your ribs. “Jack, no. I love everyone here but, no. I don’t need any of them drawing my blood right now.”

“Let me do it.”

You blinked hard at him “Jack, what?”

“Let me draw your labs. I’m not waiting for you to pee on some stick when I can do this right now and get an answer. Right here, right now.”

You shook your head, already stepping towards the bathroom door. “No, Jack. No, no, no, no.” You tried to leave, but before you get around him, he moved fast, slipping in front of you and gently placing his hands on your arms to stop you.

“Hey, come on. I know you’re scared but so am I, okay? But if we do this now we’ll know we were getting ourselves into sooner rather than later.”

Felt as though there was a lump in your throat. You could feel his pulse through his fingertips where he touched your arms, grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel real. The light of the hospital bathroom buzzed faintly overhead, and the muffled sounds of monitors and voices outside the door reminded you where you were—and who you were trying not to be right now.

“You can’t just walk my blood over to the lab Jack.”, you said quietly. “Basically all of this hospital knows that we’re engaged, I don’t need them knowing that you got me pregnant too.”

Jack’s mouth twitched into something between a wince and a smirk. “Look, we’ve been together for over 2 years, obviously we’re having sex. That’s not going to be much of a surprise to anybody.”

“Okay yeah but, maybe I don’t want to know if I’m pregnant or not.”

He looked confused. “What do you mean you don’t want to know? If you’re pregnant, we have much bigger conversations and decisions that have to happen. And soon.”

“Jack, I don’t want to pee on some stick or get my blood drawn or — “ You took a deep breath. “anything. Please, just give me a second to process the fact that I might be pregnant right now. I could be growing your child right now and I don’t know how to feel about that yet.”

“Look, no matter what happens, you know that I’ll be right by your side right?” He tilted his head down he get a better look at you.

“I know Jack. I know. We should probably get out of here.” you said, glancing toward the door. “Before someone comes knocking.”

Like a cue from the universe itself. A knock on the door.

“Shit.” You whispered. “What do we do?”

The door handle jiggled.

“One second!” Jack yelled, just as you shouted, “In here!”

“Oh my fucking god Jack. They’re going to think we’re having sex in here or something!”

“Okay look you leave first, then I’’ll leave.”

“That’s worse,” you hissed. “Like you were tucking it back into your pants or something. We should just leave together. We’ve been in here too long already.”

Without waiting for his reply, you pulled the door open and walked out, your face burning as the hallway came into view. Too many eyes turned toward you. Nurses at the desk, a resident walking passed, even one of the janitors paused mid-mop. Your chest tightened. The hallway a spotlight.

Jack followed close behind. You could feel his presence at your back, steady and maybe a little sheepish.

Standing right outside the door was Dana.

“God I thought I was going to piss myself. Take it home next time kids.” She said jokingly.

Jack immediately lifted both palms like he was surrendering to the police. “My pants were on the whole time, I swear.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Jack, really?” You didn’t wait for a response. Just shook your head and walked away, almost breaking into a run.

Behind you, you could feel Dana and Jack exchanging awkward glances.

“You guys doing alright?” Dana asked softly, her usual teasing tone gone.

Jack’s voice was barely audible. “Um, ye—yeah. I think so. Ha—have a good shift, Dana.”

Moments later, you heard his footsteps speeding up behind you as he jogged to catch up.

You didn’t speak right away. Just kept walking, staring straight ahead, feeling everyone’s eyes start to drift back to their own work. Eventually.

Jack fell into step beside you, close enough that your arms brushed.

Neither of you said anything for a while. But in the quiet, in the closeness, something else passed between you.

A storm was coming. But at least, for now, you weren’t facing it alone.

“Can we just go please?” You practically begged him.

“Yeah come on.” He put his arm around you as you both walked to the car in silence.

The car radio the only sound filling the space between you two.

He missed the turn to the apartment.

“Jack, where are we going?” You shifted in your seat.

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Thought you wanted to buy some tests? You don’t have to take them yet but, at least the option will be there whenever you decide you’re ready. Okay?”

“That’s fine…” you slumped back down.

The drive felt eternal. Each streetlight turned red like it knew you needed more time. The silence between you grew heavier with every block, like gravity itself was trying to pull the truth closer.

Eventually, he pulled into the quiet parking lot of a 24-hour pharmacy. It was only 8am. You both go in slowly, not speaking, the air thick with the weight of what you might be walking toward.

Inside, the store was nearly empty. A single bored cashier scrolled on her phone behind the counter.

In a quiet corner, beneath flickering fluorescent lights, the two of you stood in front of a wall of pregnancy tests. So many options. Pink ones. Blue ones. Some boasting "99% accuracy." Others promising results "6 days before your missed period."

Your fingers were threaded together, but your palms were damp. The silence between you wasn’t comfortable anymore—it was stretched thin.

“Which ones are the most accurate?” you murmured, scanning the shelves with narrowed eyes.

“How am I supposed to know?” He was clearly overwhelmed.

“You’re the doctor here.” You snapped back at him.

“You’re also a doctor…” He sighed heavily.

“I don’t know. I don’t do this all the time Jack.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Neither do I.”

“Let’s just get the digital one. I don’t want to have to argue about if we see one or two lines.”

“God. What if it’s positive?” You felt your eyes begin to water.

Jack didn’t answer right away. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before gently resting his hand on your back. “Then we’ll figure it out babygirl. It’s sooner than we wanted, but—we’ll be okay.”

Your eyes flicked across the shelves again, avoiding his gaze. “We said we’d wait. We had a plan. Get married. Buy a house. Travel. Maybe in two, three years. This wasn’t supposed to happen now Jack.” You turned your head slowly toward him. He was already looking at you, his eyes filled with something warm and gentle. The tears spilled over despite your best effort.

“Plans change all the time.”

“How are you not scared?”

He smiled faintly. “Not scared? Babygirl, I’m terrified. But not at the possibility of becoming a dad. Not about starting a family with you. I’m scared of you feeling like I’m dragging you into something you’re not ready for.”

“You’re not.” You whispered. “Jack, you’re the only part I’m sure of.”

He put his arm around you. You lean into him and reached for the box on the shelf. “Maybe we should just buy a couple?” you murmured, lifting 2 more boxes. “Just to be sure?”

Your steps were slow, deliberate, as if the ground beneath you had suddenly become fragile.

The cashier didn’t look up from her phone until you placed the boxes on the counter. Her eyes flicked between you and Jack, then down at the pregnancy tests, then back again.

She didn’t say a word—just scanned them and bagged them with a blank expression that somehow felt merciful.

Back in the car, you sat in silence again. The bag sat in your lap like it might explode. Jack kept his eyes on the windshield, hands resting on the steering wheel even though the car was in park.

“So,” he said gently, “do you want to do this now or wait a little longer?”

You leaned your head back against the seat, closing your eyes and took a deep breath.

“I just need a little more time,” you said quietly. “Just one more day. To breathe. To pretend nothing’s different. Like nothing’s going to change.”

There was a long pause, the kind that says more than silence usually can.

“Okay,” he said finally. “One more day. But whatever that test says—I'm not going anywhere. No matter what you want to do. We'll face it together. Always. Until the end.”

You turned to look at him. He was already watching you.

And for the first time that morning, your breath didn’t feel so heavy. You didn’t feel alone.

————————————————————

The Next Morning

The apartment was still, silent in that fragile way it only ever was before the day truly began. Outside, the clouds had settled low and heavy, casting a soft gray hue through the blinds. Rain tapped gently on the windows around you.

Jack had gone out not long ago to get breakfast, coffee—something to do to distract himself from the possibility of you both becoming parents. You hadn’t told him yet that you were ready. Not really. But the moment the door clicked shut behind him, the stillness had grown too loud, the questions too sharp.

The unopened pregnancy tests sat in front of you on the coffee table, They stared back at you, innocent and terrifying all at once.

You couldn’t sit still.

You were pacing the living room now, arms folded, bare feet quiet against the floorboards, eyes flicking to the window every few seconds.

When you finally saw Jack’s car pull into the lot, your heart skipped a beat. He moved through the rain, hoodie already soaked, carrying a brown bag in one hand, the coffee tray in the other. The normalcy of it almost broke you.

The door creaked open, and there he was—dripping rainwater and bringing in the smell of fresh coffee. He kicked off his shoes and set everything down on the kitchen counter, glancing up at you with a soft smile.

You were standing still again, but everything in you was moving around you.

“Breakfast has arrived,” He looked into your eyes. He knew something was coming. “What happened?”

You swallowed hard. “I took them, Jack. The tests.”

His whole posture changed. “Wait, when? What’d they say?”

“I don’t know yet,” you said, quickly, almost breathless. “I took them maybe 20 seconds before you walked in. I just,I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want to sit here thinking about it anymore. I needed to know. I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you.”

He stepped closer, water still dripping from the hem of his sleeves. “No, no, it’s okay. I didn’t need to see you pee on a stick. I mean, I’m glad you did it. How long do they take? Three minutes, right?”

“Probably like a minute left.” You stood facing him, the air thick with tension.

“One more minute,” he whispered.

Your eyes glistened, tears not yet fallen, and in that moment, he reached out and wrapped his arms around you. Your body folded into his, cheek pressed to his chest, and his hand found the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.

“We’ll be okay, babygirl,” he murmured. His voice was steady, but his heartbeat was the opposite. It pounded against your ear.

You didn’t think about the rain anymore. You didn’t think about breakfast. The outside world, gone in an instant.

Thirty seconds.

He kissed the top of your head.

Twenty.

You closed your eyes, grounding yourself in the way he smelled—like rain and shampoo from his morning shower.

Ten.

You pulled back slowly. His arms stayed around you. “Should we go look?”

He nodded, taking a breath that sounded more like a gulp. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t let go of your hand.

Together, you walked through the apartment, slow steps across the cold wood floor. Each one felt like it carried the weight of an entire future.

The morning light had shifted slightly—gold now, warmer, filling the tiny bathroom. The test sat there, small and silent, the screen face-up.

Neither of you looked at it yet. You were still watching each other.

“Okay,” you said, voice soft, shakey. “Let’s look at the same time.”

He nodded, breath unsteady. “Three… two… one.”

Your eyes dropped to the test together.

Pregnant.

You didn’t breathe. Felt as if your heart stopped in that moment.

Jack stared at it, unmoving, then slowly looked back at you. His face was pure shock.

“I think we’re gonna have a baby,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes glued to the test. Not blinking.

“Jack…”

He looked up at you. Down at the test again. Then back up to you. “Are you- are you sure? Should we maybe take another one? Just to be sure? Don’t we have two more tests?”

“I already did,” you said, reaching out with a shaky hand to lift the box from the counter, taking out the other tests, reading them carefully. “I took all of them. They all say the same thing. Pregnant.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. And then, the corners of his lips curled upwards while his eyes lightened. “We’re gonna have a baby…I’m gonna be a dad?”

A slight laugh came out of you. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

He stepped forward and pulled you into him, lifting you off the floor just enough to spin you once in the tiny space. You laughed again, a real one this time, your tears began to fall onto his shoulders. He set you down gently, holding your face in his hands, kissing your lips.

“You’re gonna be a mom,” he whispered. “And you’re gonna be so amazing at it.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed and in love and terrified and full of something so much bigger than all of it. “We didn’t plan this,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “But plans change sometimes, and that’s okay.”

You put your head on his shoulder. “I’m scared,” you admitted.

“So am I,” he said. “But I’m more sure of you than I’ve ever been about anything.”

And with that, the storm outside faded to background noise.

And somehow, it felt like exactly where you were meant to be.

————————————————————

You both left the bathroom. The three tests still sitting on the bathroom counter.

The word sat between you like a fragile truth: Pregnant.

Jack held your hand as you walked back into the kitchen.

“I keep thinking I should be saying something,” he said softly, voice catching in his throat. “Something comforting. But all I can think about is how everything going to be changed.”

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” you whispered.

“I know.”

You stepped back against the kitchen counter. Head down, eyes staring at the tiled below.

“What do we do now?” you asked, your voice quieter than before, almost like you were afraid of the answer.

Jack didn’t speak for a moment. He just looked at you—the woman he was going to marry, the love of his life, now maybe the mother of his child.

“We eat breakfast,” he said finally, with a softness that made your chest ache. “And the we talk. We figure out the next step. One step at a time.”

“That’s your plan?”

“That’s the only one I’ve got right now, because if I start trying to plan out the next nine months, or twenty years, you’ll be taking me back to the ER.”

You exhaled, laughing through the tears. “Okay. Breakfast.”

“Come on. You’ve got a baby to feed now.”

The rain was still tapping lightly on the windows. Jack opened the brown bag, unwrapped a breakfast sandwich, setting it gently in front of you.

“Let’s go to the couch.”

You sat together on the couch, side by side. The world around you still at a stop.

Jack turned toward you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. “Are you okay?”

You chewed slowly, nodded once, then looked at him. “I think I will be. I’m still scared. I don’t think that’s going to go away for the rest of my life now. But I know I’m not alone.” You smiled softly at him.

“Never,” he said. “You’ll never be alone in this. Or anything for that matter.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder. For a few minutes, you just sat there in silence, the rain against the window the only sound.

And then, quietly you murmured, “I don’t even know where to start Jack.”

Jack’s hand found yours again, squeezing gently.

“Look, we just need to talk. About everything. And anything. You can’t shut me out. Tell me what you need, when you need it. You’re carrying my child now. Whatever you need, I’m there. I just need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. Okay?”

You nodded gently. Your hand lightly on your stomach—instinctively, like it was already a habit.

His eyes followed the movement, and he reached over to rest his hand gently over yours.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice quiet but steady. “Do you think maybe this is what was supposed to happen? I mean nothing we ever planned went our way. Maybe this is just what the universe has planned next for us.”

You looked at him for a long time. Saying nothing while thinking everything.

“Maybe,” you whispered. “Maybe this was exactly how the rest of our lives was meant to begin.”

————————————————————

Business as Usual

A baby wasn’t going to stop you from going to work. Not even Jack breathing down your neck any chance he got.

He watched you like a hawk ever since you saw that one little word of the test a week ago.

“Hey babygirl, how are you guys doing?”

You looked to the left and right, ensuring no one was close enough to hear the words that just came out of his mouth. “Jack I told you to stop saying that. Someone is going to hear you.”

“Sorry, just a habit already I guess. You excited for later?”

Your first OB appointment. Jack pulled some strings. Afterall, he has gained some respect since delivering multiple babies himself in the ED. One call, and you had a visit with the best attending OB in the hospital.

“Nervous, excited. Everything really. Mostly want to know how far along I am. Want to know which time it was.”

Jack gave you that half-smirk he always did when he was trying not to look too proud of himself.

“Well, you’ll know soon. He is the best OB around. He’s calm under pressure and blunt as hell. You’ll like him.”

“Well let’s hope he can keep a secret. You’ve been ready to tell everybody and anybody all week.

Jack raised both hands. “I’m just excited. Sue me.”

You paused, the soft echo of nurse chatter coming closer to you two. You could feel the weight of the night dragging—the long hours, the fake smiles, the secret growing inside of you.

“Just keep it cool, okay?” you said, your voice quieter now. “I haven’t wrapped my own head around it.”

Jack’s expression softened. “You don’t have to do this alone. Whatever happens today, I’ve got you.”

That stopped you.

You turned to look at him. Really look.

“I know,” you said.

The office was on the other side of the hospital. You two would need to find a way to sneak upstairs without anybody seeing which direction you had gone. And day shift was a lot busier than your regular nights.

“Just pretend you’re going to the bathroom in the corner. I’ll sneak over there to get you and we’ll go through the back.”

“Not going to work but, fine.”

You left first, avoiding anybody at all cost. He soon followed without stopping to talk to anybody. But Jack didn’t need to open his mouth to be seen.

“Where are those two going?” Langdon nodded over to Dana across the nurses station.

“No idea. Been acting weird all week since I caught them in the bathroom together.”

“That’s what the on call rooms are for.” Dana shot him a side eye that could be felt throughout the entire ER. “Or so I’ve heard.”

————————————————————

First Appointment

The walk to the OB floor felt longer than usual. Jack stood beside you, unusually quiet, hands stuffed in his pockets. Maybe he finally sensed how real this was starting to feel.

You glanced up at him. “You know we’re going to have to do this a lot right?”

He scoffed. “Good, I’ve gotta get my steps in. Besides, I’ve seen enough ultrasounds—I want to know if I’ve still got the eye for it.”

“Jack,” you warned, giving him a sideways glare.

“What? I’m just saying.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Soft pastel prints of sleepy newborns lined the walls.

You wrapped your arms across your stomach, unsure if you were protecting something or hiding it.

At the front desk, the nurse glanced between you and Jack when he gave your name.

“He’s with me,” you said quickly. She didn’t ask questions.

A few minutes later, you were in an exam room. Cold paper crinkling beneath you. The hum of a fetal monitor you weren't sure would pick anything up yet.

The nurse comes in, takes your vitals, and then leaves. You both sit quietly for a few minutes until the doctor enters.

“Wait, it’s a HIPAA violation for them to say that they saw us up here right?”

“Yeah of course, just calm down nobody saw us. And even if they did, let them talk. This is between us for now and it’s going to stay that way until we decide otherwise.”

Then came the knock.

The doctor entered like he owned the hospital—smart blue eyes, white coat already half open, clipboard in hand. He looked up and smiled politely.

“You must be the ED doc.”

Jack grinned. “Guilty.”

He raised an eyebrow. “He better not have promised anything I can’t deliver.”

You spoke for the first time in several minutes. “I just want to know what’s going on. How far I am. And that everything’s okay so far.”

His face softened. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do today.”

The screen came to life. Cold gel. Wand pressed just below your pelvis. Jacks hand never leaving yours. And then—There it was.

A flicker. A rhythm.

Jack leaned forward, lips parting like he wasn’t sure how to breathe. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your own breath until it came out in a shaky laugh.

He pointed. “There’s the heartbeat. Measuring about…seven weeks. Everything looks good so far.” His eyes bounced around the screen.

You felt your eyes sting.

Seven weeks.

Jack whispered, “Holy shit…”

You didn’t say anything. Not yet.

But you squeezed his hand tight.

“I told you...”

Jack lightly laughed.

“Were we taking bets on how far along you are?”

“Something like that.”

“Was there a special occasion 7 weeks ago if I may ask?”

You said nothing. Just held up your left hand to show your engagement ring.

“Ah. That’ll do it. Trust me your not the first, definitely won’t be the last. Everything’s right on track so far. Take as long as you need in here. They’ll schedule your next appointment up front.”

After the doctor leaves the room, Jack leans back in the chair, arms crossed, clearly trying to hide his pride.

"So, seven weeks, huh? You hear that?”

You said nothing just shook your head at him as you sat up straight. “All because you couldn’t control yourself.”

Jack let out a laugh for the whole office to hear. “Well you did technically tell me to put a baby inside of you that night. Not like we’ve been doing anything to avoid this anyway.”

“I didn’t think it would actually happen though. Jack you literally finished inside of me once and now I’m going to have to push a baby out of me.”

“What can I say, I’ve got strong swimmers. You’re officially on the clock though.”

"It’s real now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it’s real. And I have to say, I’m glad I didn’t mess that one up." He grins, trying to lighten the moment.

You smile at him, but there's something deeper in your gaze. “You’ve been a mess this week. But I’m glad you’re here."

His smile fades slightly as he meets your eyes. “You know, I’m not going anywhere, right?

"I know." You reach out, giving his hand a small squeeze. “You've made that pretty clear." You said as you looked down at your ring.

You started the walk back out. Once the elevator doors shut, he turned to you.

"So, what’s the next step? Do I need to start buying baby stuff yet?"

"Maybe wait until we get past the first trimester? But you’re right, we should probably start thinking about it. I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, you’ve got the doctor on speed dial now. And I started looking where to buy a crib.”

Rolling your eyes, “Of course you did.”

Back at the apartment, a familiar sense of calm falls over you as the door clicks shut behind you.

"I’m still trying to process everything."

He follows you in, kicking off his shoes and rubbing his face.

"Same here. You know, I’ve seen so many ultrasounds, but that one—seeing it flicker like that—there’s something about it, right? Its different when it’s real."

Sitting down on the couch, your hands resting gently over your stomach.

"It’s like it’s not just a picture anymore. It’s a baby. Our baby. It feels like everything changed in an instant."

He sits beside you, glancing at your hand over your stomach, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You’re right. Everything is different now. And I’m not saying it’s all going to be easy, but I think we’re going to be okay."

"I think we’re already figuring it out."

"I’m in this with you. Whatever comes next—every moment of it—I’m here."

"You sure about that? You know this is going to get crazy, right?"

"I’ve seen the chaos in the ER. I’m sure. You’re going to be a great mom. And me? I’m going to be an even better dad."

“Jack, what about the wedding? We’re supposed to go look at venues next week but, I don’t know if I want a big wedding now.” You glance down at your stomach. “You know with the baby and all?”

“So we’ll do something smal, intimate. I’ll take you to the courthouse and marry you right now if you really want.”

“Maybe not that small.” You laughed. “Maybe a dozen of our closet friends. The most important people in our lives, the ones that brought us together.”

“You tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

———————————————————————

One Month Later

Making your way through the ER, trying to act normal. The usual chaos of the hospital surrounds you, but it feels quieter today. You catch Jack’s eye across the room, and he gives you a wink. You smile back, heart racing for a different reason now.

As he approaches you, his voice drops low. "You okay?"

You glance around, ensuring nobody's listening before giving a small nod. "Yeah, just tired. But I’m okay. It feels weird not saying anything yet."

"Yeah. But we’ve got time. We don’t have to rush. You’ll tell the world when you’re ready. Just one more week until the first trimester is over. And you can tell whoever you want to tell. You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you both."

Feeling the weight of his words, you step closer to him, allowing the brief moment of connection to ground you in the middle of the chaos.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"Probably lose your mind. Good thing I’m here to keep it together for you."

"Yeah. Good thing."

———————————————————————

13 Weeks Down

You sit with a cup of coffee in your hands, feeling the weight of the decision you’ve been avoiding. It’s time. Jack's been saying you should do it, and now you know you can't hide it forever. The quiet hum of the lounge is filled with your thoughts as you look around at your coworkers.

He leans in, “So, you’re gonna do it, right?"

Raises an eyebrow at him, trying not to give away the nerves creeping up your spine. "You’re not making this any easier."

"You’re the one who wanted to wait. Now you’re just stalling."

Glances at the clock, taking a deep breath before standing up. Your hands are a little clammy, but you press on. You’re doing this. It's time.

You walk into the break room, where a few coworkers are hanging out, sipping on their drinks. Langdon, Dana, Mel all chatting.

Langdon looks up from his phone as you enter. “There she is. How’s the baby-making project going?"

You freeze for a second, biting your lip. You can hear Jack’s voice in your head telling you not to hide anymore. You take a step forward, giving him a look before turning to the others.

“What’d you just say?”

“Well you guys were locked in the bathroom together a couple weeks ago. Figure that was the whole idea.”

"Actually, that’s a - that’s what I wanted to talk about."

Pauses mid-bite, eyebrow raising as she studies you closely. “Are you serious right now? You’re pregnant?" Said Dana.

You nod, a small, shaky laugh escaping you. "Yeah, I am. Thirteen weeks actually.” Your hand going up to rest on your stomach.

His eyes widen as a grin spreads across his face. “Well, hell. Congratulations kid! You know I’ve got all kinds of dad jokes ready to go for you." Langdon jumped out of his seat coming over to give you a hug.

Mel looks at you, her expression softening. "You’re really pregnant. Wow. You okay? That’s a lot to take in at work.”

Slightly chuckling, trying to hide the nerves. "Yeah, well, a little bit of a secret for the last couple of weeks. But I wanted to share it with all of you."

"Don’t worry, we won’t make it weird. Besides, I’ve seen the baby fever in the ER. It was only a matter of time before one of us jumped in."

Jack steps into the conversation, his usual cocky demeanor returning. “Hey, don’t act like you didn’t know. She’s been glowing. You know the signs. Not like we were trying but we also weren’t not trying, if you know what I mean.”

Dana tilts her head, eyes narrowing with a smile. “Huh surprised you kept quiet for this long Jack.”

Shrugs, hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say a word.”

“Yeah except for saying “how are you guys doing?” when it was only her around.”

“I told you you were too loud. But really thanks, you guys. It’s a lot, and yeah, it feels like everything is changing. But I’m glad you’re all supportive. I’m still figuring it out, but I wanted you to know."

“Alright so I can’t keep that a secret forever. So, what’s the plan? Are you telling anyone else yet?" Said Mel excitedly as she sat back down.

Glances around, your stomach flipping just slightly at the thought of telling the rest of the hospital. “Well we’re heading to Robby’s office next, just wanting to tell you all before anyone left for the night.”

Jack leaned against the doorframe. “He’s gonna be mad he wasn’t first to find out.”

Langdon looking like he’s got an idea brewing in his head say, “Well, now that we know, when do we get the reveal party? You know we’re going to throw one, right?"

Laughs softly, shaking your head.

"Wait, what about the wedding?”

"Well we actually want to keep it small, maybe a dozen or so people. Probably soon actually. So maybe now’s a good time to pick out outfits.”

The walk over to Robby’s office was silent. Jack was taking the lead on this one.

“Hey brother! You heading out of here soon?”

“Stupid bureaucratic bullshit to wrap up first.” He glanced up at you both. “Why do you both look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you saw a ghost.”

“Well, we’ve a- kind of have some news to tell you. Pretty big news actually.”

Robby looked over to you. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

You smiled. “How’d you know?”

He started to get up from behind the desk. “Been doing this long enough to tell. Come here you guys.”

He hugged you first. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

Then he turned to Jack, pulling him into a hug too.

“Brother, I’m happy for you. You deserve this. All of it.” With his hand on both of your shoulders, he said, “That kids lucky to have you both.”

“Thanks man, means a whole lot coming from you.”

“Not to ruin the mood but, the wedding?”

As you walk through the ER, feeling lighter, you catch Jack’s eye again. This time, there’s a quiet reassurance in his expression.

"So, how was that? You feel okay?”

Sighs, smiling softly. “Better than I thought actually. I was scared, but they’re all in. Just feel a lot better about everything now"

Leans in slightly, a knowing look on his face. “Told you. You’re never alone in this."

Smiling as you walk side-by-side. “I know that now.”

Jack chuckled. “Yeah, the wedding. We’re thinking small. Couple close friends really.”

“Probably sometime soon,” you added. “Before everything gets too crazy.”

Robby smirked. “So you’re telling me you’re going to try and pull off a wedding and prepare for a baby? That’s some serious multitasking.”

“You act like we haven’t worked in this ER for years,” Jack shot back with a grin.

“Fair,” Robby said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just don’t expect me to wear a tux. I’m not sweating through one of those things in a park somewhere.”

You laughed. “Noted. No tux. You’ll be lucky if we even go as formal as khakis.”

Robby leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, still smiling. “I mean it, though—whatever you need, I’m here. Baby stuff, wedding stuff, moral support when the hormones kick in and Jack starts crying about everything little thing.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I don’t cry man.”

You nudged him playfully. “We’ll take all the help we can get.”

Robby pushed off the desk. “Then consider this my official offer to be whatever you need during the next couple months.”

Jack gave him a look then glanced over at you and took a deep breath. “We really do appreciate it, brother.”

As you two walked out of the office, finger intertwined, you turned to Jack. “What happened to asking him to officiate our wedding?”

“Next time.”

———————————————————————

Planning

The next morning, the two of you sat on the couch, takeout containers scattered on the coffee table, your laptop balanced between you.

“So,” Jack said, stretching an arm behind your shoulders, “Do we want to get married before you start showing or after?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I won’t look as good with a baby bump?”

He smirked. “The opposite actually. People won’t be able to look away.”

You laughed, nudging him. “Nice save. I think before. I mean always wanted a fall wedding anyway and its the middle of October so why not do this as soon as we possibly can?”

He grinned. “Perfect timing. Fall leaves, crisp air, soft sweaters—you in a dress and me not sweating through a shirt for once.”

You chuckled. “I’m not making any promises about the weather.”

Jack clicked something on the screen. “Okay, so venue, you really want to ask Robby and Collin’s if we can use their backyard?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “She’s already got the twinkle lights and fire pit. It’s cozy and it feels like us.”

He nodded. “And we get built-in charm from the trees turning.”

You reached over and jotted something in the computer. “Add extra blankets. Maybe a hot chocolate bar?”

Jack looked impressed. “That’s dangerously festive.”

“It is October Jack, almost Halloween. Just nothing scary” you said with a grin.

He laughed. “Food?”

“I’m sure we could find a caterer on short notice. But something seasonal—gourmet grilled cheese, tomato soup, maybe even apple cider donuts.”

Jack let out a happy sigh. “Marrying you just keeps getting better.”

You bumped his shoulder. “What about the ceremony? You still want Robby to officiate?”

“Yeah,” he said, without hesitation. “He’s got the right mix of sarcastic and sentimental. I’ll talk to him when we go back to work.”

“You could just call him now, stop procrastinating. You missed your chance last time.”

“Alright, let’s just finish this, then I’ll call.”

You were quiet for a moment, listening to the wind brush the windows. Then Jack asked, “What are you thinking for your dress?”

“Something simple I guess. I don’t know I just always imagined some type of fairy tale wedding in my head. Just going to scale it down into something less magical now.”

“You are magical,” he said, leaning over to kiss your temple. “I’ll wear whatever matches your vibe. Just not a tux.”

“Deal,” you said with a laugh. “And no heels for me. I’m not falling in the grass.”

“God, I love you,” he said, dead serious.

You looked over at him, your heart full. “I love you too.”

He tapped the laptop, eyes back on the screen. “Okay, so: backyard, hot chocolate, donuts, and Robby’s officiating. That’s basically everything.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“We’re gonna pull off the coziest, most chaotic October wedding ever aren’t we?’

He smiled down at you. “And our kid’s going to hear about it every fall for the rest of their life.”

“Now call Robby.”

Jack had his phone on speaker, resting on the coffee table between you, laptop closed now that most of the planning was done.

“Is this a medical emergency?” Robby’s voice came through, dry and unmistakably tired. “Because if it is, I’m hanging up.”

Jack smirked. “Nope. No emergencies. Just your favorite engaged couple calling with an exciting proposition.”

There was a beat of silence. “If this is a weird sex thing, I’m hanging up faster.”

“It’s not a sex thing, Robby.”

“Good. Because I’m not that kind of friend. What’s going on?”

You could hear Collin’s laughing in the background.

Jack leaned forward. “We’ve got the wedding mostly planned. We’re aiming for 2 weeks from now actually. Uh- wanted to know if we could borrow your backyard?”

“And we want you to officiate,” you added, watching Jack’s face light up as you said it.

There was a longer pause this time.

“And I want you to be my best man.”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Jack said. “We want someone who knows us. Who’s been through a lot with us. And honestly, someone who won’t turn the whole ceremony into a cheesy rom-com script.”

Robby was quiet for a moment. “Well… shit.”

You smiled. “That a yes?”

“That’s a hell yes to all of it.” he said, voice softer now. “You sure you want me standing up there?”

“We couldn’t picture anyone else,” you said.

“You’ve seen us at our worst,” Jack added. “It makes sense you’d be the one to see us at our best too.”

There was a brief pause before Robby spoke again, and this time, you could hear the emotion just beneath his usual sarcasm.

“I’d be honored. Just tell me what to wear and what not to say.”

“Something warm, and please don’t lead with a joke about our sex life,” Jack said.

“No promises.”

You all laughed, and for a moment it was just easy—friends on a call, something steady and joyful settling into place.

Robby cleared his throat. “Alright. Guess I better start writing something. This kid’s going to want to hear the story someday, right?”

You looked at Jack, who was already looking at you.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “They will.”

After talking for a few minutes, you two hung up.

“Now call Langdon.”

“Why am I calling Langdon?”

“Because he’s obviously going to be your maid of honor.”

“First of all, it’s man of honor, and fine I’ll call him.”

Langdon picked up before the first ring even finished. “Hello my favorite night shift attending.”

“Lang,” you said with a laugh, “Jacks right next to me.”

Jack muffled his face in a pillow, chuckling. Langdon exhaled loudly. “Okay, okay. You’re still my favorite. But what’s up? What can I do for you guys?”

You smiled. “I want you to be my man of honor at the wedding in 2 weeks.”

Silence. Which, for Langdon, was a rare and powerful thing.

“NO. Stop. Are you serious?”

“Very,” you said. “You’ve been in my corner since day one. You’ve heard every doubt, every freak-out, every detail of this whole thing. You held my hand during too many of my bad moments. And I want you to walk me down the aisle.”

There was a sniff on the other end.

“Langdon?” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’M FINE,” Langdon said, clearly not fine. “I’m just—ugh. Damn it. Why’d you have to make this emotional? I was already picturing myself in navy linen and now I’m crying on my couch in pajamas.”

You smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

“It’s the biggest yes I’ve ever said without a ring involved,” he managed, voice thick.

“God. You guys are gonna ruin my mascara that day.”

Jack leaned in. “At least it’ll be waterproof, right?”

Langdon scoffed. “Please.”

You all laughed again, and for the second time in an hour, something clicked into place—another piece of your heart, chosen and confirmed.

“I love you both,” Langdon said, softer now. “Thanks for making me part of this.”

“You always were,” you said.

After a few more minutes of chatter and enthusiastic wedding suggestions, Langdon did bring up matching socks to Jack, you hung up.

Jack looked over at you. “Feeling good?”

You nodded. “Feeling really damn good.”

The circle was forming. And with each call, the day felt a little more real, a little more beautiful, and a lot more yours.

———————————————————————

The Day Before

The night before the wedding, everything felt like it was humming with anticipation—quiet, yet brimming with energy. You both had decided to spend the night and Robby and Collin’s place but, on opposite sides of the house. Though the last few hours had been filled with final touches, decorations, and excited chatter from your friends who’d gathered around to help, there was a peacefulness to it all.

It was just you now, sitting in bed, the soft glow of the lamp warming the room.

Jack had already gone to bed—he was giving you your space to unwind, but there had been something he wanted you to have before the morning came.

You heard the soft creak of the door behind you.

“Hey,” Jack’s voice, low and careful. “You still awake?”

“Barely,” you answered with a soft smile, catching his reflection in the mirror. He was standing in the doorway, holding something in his hand.

“What’s that?” you asked.

He stepped closer, looking almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure how to present it. “It’s the note I shoved back in my pocket the day I proposed to you.”

You sat up higher in bed, taking in the sight of him—his silver hair a little messy, his eyes still bright despite the late hour. He had a nervous energy about him, the kind you hadn’t seen in a while.

“What’s in it?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, sensing the significance of the moment.

Jack held up a folded piece of paper, the edges frayed. “I- I actually wrote it right after we met. It’s from when I realized how I felt about you. My therapist wanted me to write down my feelings. I just turned them into a letter.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. "What do you mean? Why didn’t you ever tell me about it?"

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” he said with a little chuckle. “It’s just, I thought maybe it would be something you'd want to read now. I don’t know. Couldn’t give you this in the beginning. You would’ve thought I was crazy.”

He placed the note in your hands and stepped back, giving you space. His gaze never left you as you carefully unfolded it.

The writing was messy, a little rushed, but it was undeniably Jack—the thoughts were raw, honest, and vulnerable in a way you hadn't expected.

Dear You,

I don’t know if you remember the weather that day, or any of the cases you worked or saw. But I can recall every single moment from that initial day. The day that changed everything.

It was a Monday—though in the ER, days of the week don’t mean much. Everything was loud, alarms blaring, overhead pages, a trauma code already in motion. I had just finished his night shift, brain running on caffeine and muscle memory.

Your hair pulled back in a messy braid, eyes locked onto Robby giving the same speech he does to every group of interns.You weren’t trying to be noticed. You stayed to the back of the group. You kept quiet, letting everybody else do all the talking. But something about you made everything in me stop all at once. You smiled at something someone said — a quiet laugh, the kind people save for inside their own mind — and I remember thinking, God, I hope she does that again.

We barely spoke that first day. Just enough for me to hear your voice, just enough for me to wonder how someone I’d never met could already feel so familiar. I didn’t know your name yet. Didn’t know your story, your laugh, your quirks. I didn’t know you were the kind of person who would stay after a code just to make sure your team was okay. That you’d memorize every nurse’s birthday. That you’d carry every loss quietly, but feel every win like it mattered. I told you that your excitement to be here would be short-lived but, just as you always do, you proved me wrong.

I didn’t fall in love with you all at once. It was slow. I fell more in love every time you called me out when I needed it, and every time you stood next to me when I didn’t deserve it. Every time we passed off patients like a well-rehearsed dance. Every time your shoulder brushed mine at the nurse’s station and it meant more than it should have.

I fell in love with the way you carry your strength—quiet, unshakable. And the way you let yourself fall apart when no one else is looking, trusting me enough to see it. I didn’t realize how deep I was until I couldn’t imagine walking into a trauma bay and not looking for you first. Until every shift without you felt off.

And now, here we are. One night before we promise each other everything. But I think, in a way, I promised you a long time ago. In that first look. In that first nod. In all the moments in between.I don’t need vows to tell you I love you.I’ve been loving you this whole time.

But that day, it’s funny to think we were strangers that morning. Because now I can’t remember what it feels like not to know you. And maybe you didn’t notice anything. Maybe for you, it was just your last medical school rotation. But for me? It was the beginning of the rest of my life.

So, thank you for choosing this hospital. For being exactly who you are, without knowing you were changing someone else’s life just by being in the building.

I think my heart knew you before I did. And it’s been choosing you every single second, minute, and hour ever since. And it will, until the end.

Love,

Dr. Jack Abbott

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers over the handwriting. The words felt like a reflection of everything you’d come to understand about Jack over the years—his deep, unwavering certainty that what you shared was fate.

“I had no idea you wrote this,” you said, voice full of wonder.

Jack shrugged, the smile on his lips softening. “I didn’t want to forget it. And, uh- when I was trying to think of the right words for tomorrow, I thought this was a good place to start.”

Your heart squeezed as you stood, crossing the short distance between you and him.

You kissed him softly, tenderly, before pulling away just enough to look up at him.

“I think you’ve more than proved it,” you whispered, your hands resting on his chest.

Jack’s hand came up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I meant every word, you know. Still do. I’m still here. And I always will be.”

You rested your forehead against his, eyes closing as a sense of peace washed over you. The weight of the moment, the years that had passed, the future waiting for you both—it all felt perfect.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He smiled again, pulling you in closer. “And I love you.”

You leaned into him, your heart full, your mind racing with everything you’d already been through together. And tomorrow, when you stood in front of everyone, ready to promise forever, this was only the beginning.

“Stay”

He pulled his head back. “What?”

“I don’t care about all the superstitions about seeing each other before I walk down the aisle. I want you to stay with me tonight. Please.”

Jack stepped closer, like he still wasn’t sure if you meant it. “You sure?”

You nodded.

A pause. Then the softest smile broke across his face.

“Of course I’ll stay with you tonight.”

You lay there in silence for a while, your hand finding his under the sheets.

“You know,” you whispered, “I remember the first time I saw you, too.”

He turned slightly, his breath brushing your hair. “Yeah?”

You smiled into the dark. “You looked exhausted. Like you’d carried the whole ER on your back all night. But you still paused just long enough to see me. No one else did but, you stopped.”

Jack kissed your forehead, and it felt like everything in the world slowed.

“I guess I’ve been stopping for you ever since,” he murmured.

And together, in that borrowed room, you drifted into sleep—not alone, not apart. Just together.

Exactly where you were always meant to be.

———————————————————————

The Wedding Day

The backyard was glowing from the upstairs window. Collins, Mel, and Dana had all helped you get ready.

Twinkle lights were strung between trees with fiery orange leaves, flickering gently as dusk settled in. The scent of hot chocolate, and woodsmoke hung in the air, mingling with laughter and the soft rustle of shoes over fallen leaves.

You stood in front of the mirror in your dress, the one that you tried on first. You took a deep breath, admiring the way the fabric fell around you, the intricate lace that made the whole thing feel just a little bit magical.

The room had been full of movement and chatter just moments ago. Collins fussing with your veil like she was prepping a sterile field, Mel fixing a rogue strand of hair with the same focus she’d use to suture a laceration, and Dana kneeling at your feet, carefully adjusting the hem of your dress as if it were something sacred.

“You know,” Dana had said with a half-smile as she fastened your bracelet, “this might be the first time I’ve seen your hands not in gloves.”

Mel snorted, still holding a bobby pin between her teeth. “I’m just impressed we got her to sit still for more than three minutes.”

“You try keeping someone still when she’s about to marry Jack,” Collins said, adjusting the veil one last time. “Man looked like he was going to pass out when I saw him downstairs this morning.”

They laughed—and so did you—but there was something underneath it. A shared understanding. These women had been with you through the long nights, the traumas you never talked about, the break room breakdowns and post-shift breakfasts. They knew what it meant for someone like you to find someone like him.

Mel came to your side and offered you a tissue, dabbing the corner of her own eyes with a teasing, “If you cry now, I swear we’re redoing the whole face.”

You laughed—really laughed—and felt the nerves shift. Not disappear, just settle. Like everything else today, you didn’t need perfection. You just needed to be present.

Dana glanced out the window. “Lights are on. They’re ready.”

“Are you?” Collins asked.

You turned back to your reflection—three women behind you, leaves glowing outside the window, and the promise of him waiting just beyond it all.

“I am,” you said, voice strong and sure. “I really, really am.”

They left you so you could have moment to process before going downstairs.

Behind you, no bridesmaids, just Langdon, dressed in a navy suit with a matching pocket square.

But it was Robby who stood next to you, his eyes soft, his hands steady as he helped you adjust your veil.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, looking you over one last time.

You smiled, a little nervous, a little excited. “I think I am.”

The air felt charged with expectation, and even though you hadn’t seen Jack yet, you could feel him nearby, his presence comforting.

Robby handed you a small, folded piece of paper. “You’ll need this.”

You glanced at it, unsure. “What’s this?”

“It’s the vows you wrote,” Robby said, his voice teasing but affectionate. “Since you were about to forget these upstairs.”

You laughed softly, tucking the note into the pocket of your dress. The warmth of his hand on your arm steadied you. “Thanks, Robby. For everything.”

He gave a rare, soft smile. “Always.”

Outside, you could hear conversation, the last-minute adjustments being made. Your heart raced as you took one more breath, finally feeling the full weight of the moment.

The music shifted, the soft notes of your song playing through the speakers as you took your first step toward the door. You looked at Langdon, who gave you an exaggerated thumbs up, and smiled back.

Then, you stepped into the dwindling sunlight.

Jack stood at the altar, his back straight, his smile crooked as he turned to look at you.

The crowd was still, waiting.

The soft rustle of the wind in the trees was the only sound as you walked toward him, every step feeling like it was in sync with your heartbeat.

You locked eyes with him the moment you stepped into view, and it was like time slowed down. His expression was soft, full of love, of awe. You could see the way his lips twitched as he tried not to smile too widely, his eyes welling up just before his tears started to fall.

You took the final steps to stand beside him, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it in his. He squeezed your fingers, grounding you.

Robby cleared his throat before speaking in his usual dry tone, but you could hear the emotion behind it.

“We’re gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of two extraordinary people. Their journey together has been nothing short of remarkable. It has been filled with laughter, tears, challenges, and triumphs. But today is the moment where you commit to each other in front of the people who love you, to continue building a future together, hand in hand.”

You could feel Jack’s hand tighten around yours, and you turned to him, meeting his gaze.

He glanced between the two of you. “Jack, you once told me you weren’t the marrying type. And then, one night after a shift, you started talking about someone. And you didn’t stop talking about her. For months. I don’t even think you noticed. That was when I knew—this wasn’t just a crush. It was a shift. A reroute. A knowing.”

Then he turned to you, eyes soft. “And you. You always knew who you were. But Jack helped you rest in who you were. You didn’t shrink. You expanded. He made space—and you filled it. With grace, stubbornness, and that exact tone of voice that can make an intern cry and a surgeon back down.”

More laughter.

“But seriously,” Robby said, quieter now. “What you two have, it’s rare. You’ve already seen more life and loss than most couples do in a lifetime. You’ve seen each other covered in blood, exhausted, snappy, sleepless. And yet, you chose softness. You chose coming back. Over and over again.”

“Since you’ll be reading your vows to each other at a later time in private, I guess we can get to the most important part of the day.”

“Jack,” Robby said, turning to him. “Do you take her to be your partner in life, in love, and in all things, to cherish her, to support her, and to continue growing with her every day, no matter what the future holds?”

Jack took a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with emotion as he said, “I do.”

Robby turned to you. “And do you take Jack to be your partner in life, to laugh with him, to comfort him, and to support him, even when it’s hard? To love him fiercely, just as he loves you?”

You felt your chest tighten, but you smiled, nodding as your voice came out a little shaky but clear. “I do.”

Robby smiled, a little choked up himself. “Then, by the power vested in me by the internet, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the bride.”

The moment Jack leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, everything felt like it fell into place.

The cheers from your friends and family around you filled the air, but you barely heard them.

The world, for that moment, was just the two of you—together, as it had always been meant to be.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and you could feel his heart racing in the same rhythm as yours. The crowd was still cheering, but it was as if you were in your own little world.

Jack whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, “I love you. You were worth the wait.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread

through you. “I love you too. And I always will.”

———————————————————————

After the Ceremony

The reception was everything you could have hoped for. Filled with laughter, stories shared, and friends and family gathered together. There were toasts, dancing, and endless smiles, but underneath it all, the knowledge that you had just taken the first official step of a lifetime together.

Later, as the night wound down and the last of the guests trickled out, Jack found you outside under the stars, admiring what you two had pulled off in just two weeks. He took your hand, pulling you into his arms as you both gazed at the sky.

“I think this was the perfect day,” you whispered. Jack kissed your temple, holding you a little tighter. “It’s only the beginning.”

Your heart knew that everything, all the love and promises, had led to this perfect moment. You had found your person. And together, you would face whatever came next.

And somewhere just beneath the joy and laughter, a tiny flutter in your belly reminded you: the best part was still on the way.

———————————————————————

Hope yall enjoyed this one! Pretty sappy. Think in the next chapter were gonna see how the pregnancy hormones kick in. Don't know, Jack might have a little bit of a pregnancy kink, who knows.

Let me now what you think down below please!

#the pitt #dr jack abbot #dr langdon #frank langdon #jack abbot fanfic #ao3 #dr robinavitch #jack abbot x reader #dr robby #jack abbot x you #jack abbot #micheal robinavitch #hbo max #robby robinavitch #heather collins #dr melissa king #mel king

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celestie0 · 1 year ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.5 these feelings are hard to find

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 5/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 10.4k

a/n. aaaa this chapter took me a while because i was having some pretty bad writer's block. i seriously can't believe it crossed over 10k words, i very poorly planned how much i wanted to get done by this chapter, but i didn't feel like splitting it into two so oh wellll. hope you enjoy! pls excuse any typos we all live on a floating rock.

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

“I really don’t understand why I’m here…” you’re grumbling as you, Mina and Todo make your way up the pavement of the driveway leading to the house party. You glance to your right where Mina and Todo are holding hands, arms swinging as they keep pace together.

It was finally Friday after a particularly long and stressful week, so you were extremely excited to just spend the rest of the night relaxing at home. You had already poured yourself a glass of wine when you returned from your evening class and were sitting on the couch with a blanket on, scrolling through Netflix, when Mina approached you while she was talking to Todo on the phone. She mentioned something about an SAE party tonight that she wanted you to come along for and Todo said he’d extend his other invite to you. When you politely declined, Mina slumped down on the couch and told Todo she had no interest in going unless you also came. And then Todo was bribing you with a hundred bucks. Easiest hundred bucks you’ve ever made.

“Don’t be a downer. You’re here because I think you’ve been working hard and you need to relax a bit,” Mina chirps, now clinging onto Todo’s arm, “and there’s no better way to relax than getting drunk.”

“I could be getting drunk at home,” you mumble to yourself, the night you were imagining for yourself all day being very different from where you find yourself now.

The guy that was bouncing for tonight’s party was scanning people’s phones and engaging in some small talk before allowing people inside. He was pretty handsome and you wondered if there was some sort of requirement written in the rules to the SAE fraternity that they must be good-looking to join.

“Hello, my brother,” Todo says as he approaches, smacking him so hard on the back in greeting that the man stumbles over slightly and sends an irritated glare Todo’s way before he regains his balance.

“Hey, big guy, are these your invites?” He gestures towards you and Mina, his eyes landing on yours and lingering for a moment. You blink at him.

“Yes, this here’s my lovely lady, and this here’s my lovely lady’s friend,” Todo says with a faux suave that only makes you narrow your eyes at him. The man at the entrance sighs and nods before stepping out of the way and motioning the three of you towards the entrance.

The minute you enter, you immediately realize that this party felt very different from the one you were at last week. It was slightly less crowded, but there were still plenty of people bustling around the large expanse of the ground floor with loud rap music that practically shook the walls. It was dark, much more edgy, with the only source of light being the sporadic flashing of lights over by the DJ’s booth. You felt disoriented from the atmosphere, and the smell of weed and alcohol only further dazed you.

“This is insane,” you barely hear Mina say beside you over the music as she looks around the expansive interior of the house. In between the brief flickering lights that lit up people’s faces, you register that Todo is grinning at her as though he was entirely satisfied by her reaction.

You only make it a few steps inside, trailing behind Mina and Todo, before feeling the need to excuse yourself to get away from the intense environment for a second. “Hey, I think I’m going to use the restroom real quick. Todo, do you have any idea where it is?” You feel like you’re shouting just to be heard.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “There are some downstairs but they probably have lines. You could try upstairs.”

You give him an appreciative nod and head over to the base of the staircase at the right, glancing up before making your ascent. There didn’t seem to be anyone else upstairs, which surprised you, but you figured you were just in luck and began to walk up step by step until reaching the top. The music downstairs begins to sound muffled as you turn around the railing post and make your way to the left into the narrow hallway likely leading towards the bedrooms. There's a white door somewhere in the middle of the hallway that could only be either a closet or a bathroom. You wrap your hand around the cold metal door handle and twist, satisfied that it wasn’t locked.

The mumbling noises of people inside doesn’t register in your mind until you’ve already cracked the door open half-way, and your entire body recoils in the immediate rush of embarrassment washing over you as you take in the sight of two people, a man and a woman, getting handsy with one another in the bathroom.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” is all you manage to squeak out, blinking dumbly at the scene.

You’re quick to avert your gaze and about to close the door, incredibly mortified by what’s just happened, when the familiar silhouette in front of you causes you to freeze. You slowly lift your line of sight from the bathroom floor until Gojo Satoru is looking you straight in the eye from where he has a girl on the bathroom counter clinging to his shirt.

“I…” you stutter, face feeling immediately hot as you let go of the door handle and look away from his shocked face. “Sorry,” you say again, this time barely above a whisper, before turning on your heel and making your way down the hallway in such a hurry that you don’t even realize you’re going the wrong way. You hear a feminine voice echo something in the bathroom like what the fuck are you doing?, and then there’s footsteps following after you that sound faster than your own. Ignoring the call of your name, you practically storm into one of the bedrooms, entirely relieved that it was empty, and can only take a couple of steps inside before a hand grabs at your wrist. A chill runs down your spine from the contact.

“Wait, y/n,” Gojo says behind you from where he’s followed you inside, sounding like he’s out of breath. His hand is still holding onto you, keeping you still and you can feel the roughness of his calluses against your skin. When you turn around to face him, he’s close to you and you see his chest is heaving, his hair is disheveled, his shirt is wrinkled at the front and there’s a crease in his brow.

Your eyes don’t stay on his for long before you’re looking away from him again. “I’m…I’m really sorry, that was really awkward,” you say with a forced laugh and an attempt to wiggle yourself free of his grip but he’s unrelenting. The image of his fingers sliding up that girl’s top was still burned in your vision and no amount of excessive blinking at the carpet beneath your feet seemed to make it disappear.

“No, I’m sorry, I was supposed to lock…” his trails off and you notice there’s a rough quality to his voice, “that was just-, we were just-”

You finally brave yourself to look up at him and he somehow seems closer than before, his face just inches away from yours and his eyes briefly flickering to your lips before he meets your gaze with a tense expression on his face. You haven’t seen him look so flustered before, and you’ve certainly never heard him struggle this much to find his words either.

His other hand rubs the back of his neck as he closes his eyes in what looks like frustration, then takes a deep breath to seemingly calm himself down before speaking again. “She’s…We’re just friends,” is all he manages to say.

There’s a silence between the two of you as you blink at him and he stares at you, his thumb pressing into the skin of where his hand was still wrapped around your wrist. You try really hard to bite back the words you’re about to say, but no amount of willpower could’ve helped you. Your chin tips up, looking at him more decisively, and his gaze is flickering to your mouth again. “Just friends…can’t say I’ve ever tried to get my friends naked in the bathroom at a party before.” You didn’t understand why your tone came off so hostile, but it felt good to criticize his choice of words for some reason.

His lips press together, gaze narrowing slightly and eyebrows furrowing further at your words. He leans in closer to the point where your senses were entirely occupied by him and it was impossible to think of anything else. “Well, you weren’t supposed to see that.” His eyes are contrite but his tone is vexed.

You relax your body language and use your other hand to forcefully slide his hand off of your wrist, encountering some resistance from him before he acquiesces. Your skin tingles from the absence of his touch and you take a step backwards away from him. His posture straightens slightly, eyes continuing to dart across the features of your face and wide in anticipation as though he was patiently waiting for you to say something that would put him at ease.

“It’s fine,” you say, trying your best to keep your voice as level as possible, “I accidentally walked in on something I shouldn’t have. You don’t owe me any sort of explanation for it.” Gojo seems to tense up even further at your words, his expression briefly contorting into one of confusion before it reverts to concern again.

You walk around him towards the bedroom door and see him in your periphery watching every step you take until you eventually exit the room. This time, you don’t hear his footsteps pursuing you from behind. It’s only when you make it past the bathroom, not even daring to take a look inside of it, and about halfway down the hallway that you unsteadily let out the breath you were holding in. Your hand takes its place over your chest in a flimsy attempt to calm your heart down as you quickly make your way down the stairs. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach and you knew you just had to get as far away from here as possible.

You’re barely able to spot Mina from where she stood with Todo in a corner near the backyard screen door, and briefly notice that Nanami, Geto, as well as a few of their other teammates were clustered there too. You politely acknowledge their pleasant greetings to you as you approach Mina, pulling her to the side.

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?” She asks, stumbling a little bit and you let go of her sleeve.

“I’m going to go home, not feeling well, I think I just got my period,” you easily come up with a lie, “Nobara says she’ll pick me up.” In truth, you were planning on just calling an Uber for home, but you knew that Mina wouldn’t let you go home by yourself. You didn’t want your confusing and heightened emotions ruining her night.

“Wait, are you sure? I’ll come with you,” she’s quick to say, taking a step towards you but you shake your head.

“No, it’s fine, stay here with Todo,” you demand, “and call me if you need me to pick you up. I’ll let you know when I’m home.” You give her a little hug and she’s standing there confused before hesitantly nodding, and then you make your way to the door. The loud music, flashing lights, and blurred faces around you were so intensely stimulating that when the cold air from outside finally hit your skin, you felt like you were human again.

The Uber comes by in less than ten minutes as you wait for it on the sidewalk. The driver drops you off at the entrance of your apartment complex and the biting chill of the air has you wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the elevator to take you upstairs. Glancing down at your phone to check the time, you see a message from Mina asking if you were home yet. You also see that it’s nearly one in the morning.

Finally making your way inside your apartment, you lock the door behind you and text Mina that you’re home, then slide down with your back against the front door until you’re sitting on the floor. The heat inside was so comforting that you just spent a moment to warm yourself up and just breathe.

Memories of your conversation with Gojo from just half an hour ago instantly come to the forefront of your mind and you’re shutting your eyes to try and repel the thoughts away. Still so embarrassed that you walked in on him making out with someone, your brain decides to mortify you even further by asking what if you had walked in a few moments later instead? What would you have seen then?

You squish your cheeks between your hands defeatedly before letting out a sigh and drawing your legs in towards you, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn’t understand why you were so affected by what you saw. You’ve only met Gojo twice, and you knew even before you met him that he was that kind of person. He had a reputation of being involved with a lot of women, so his rather eager desire to explain himself to you just puzzled you even further.

Standing up, you head over to your bed and flop down on it. Your wrist still burns with the memory of the heat of his hand, and all you can see behind the lids of your eyes when you close them is the sight of him so close to you, stealing glances at your lips.

Somewhere along the night as you drifted in and out of sleep, Mina called to let you know that she was on her way home. When you hear her open the bedroom door and set her purse down on the nightstand near her bed, your body finally convinces you that it’s okay to rest, and that’s exactly what you do.

---

The weekend is over in the blink of an eye, simply not enough time to mope around in bed, and you’re walking out of your last class of the day on Monday. You check your phone pretty much every other minute to see if Gojo has sent you any messages regarding their new practice schedule for the week, which you’re sure he’s received by now, but there’s nothing. The last messages sent between the two of you were before the party on Friday, and an uneasy feeling has been settling in. You spent most of last week appreciating how helpful he was being so far, but you didn’t even consider the possibility that he could rescind his help at any time too.

You head over to the Department of Communication & Journalism building, making your way up the stairs until you reach the graduate division floor and walk down the hallway to Room 212. As you make your entry, a toasty and rich scent overtakes your senses.

“Ah, y/n, hello! So good to see you, thanks for coming by. I missed seeing you last week,” you hear Utahime say as she sets down a cup of coffee for you on the conference table in the middle of the room.

“Sorry, I was just…very mentally occupied last week,” you admit to her, setting your tote bag down on one of the chairs before taking the seat where the cup of coffee was placed, the fragrance instantly waking you up as you take a sip. “Thank you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, thank you, just working through my thesis,” she says with a sigh and takes the seat next to you. “Just a few more months…just a few more months, and I’m free!”

You smile at her and watch as she pulls out her laptop, the start-up noise chiming before she starts clicking away at the million tabs that were open. “Did you receive the email I sent you for the newsletter shots?” You ask.

Utahime was a 4th-year graduate student in journalism and was also the head of the school’s newsletter. She has so graciously allowed for Film Club photography shout-outs in every monthly issue for the past couple of years.

She nods. “I did,” she says, resting her elbow on the table and tapping her index finger to her chin, “how come I didn’t see any of your photos in there, though?”

You sigh, sulking your shoulders slightly as you peer down into the brown liquid of your cup and watch the steam evaporate. “I didn’t really take great pictures this month.”

“Aw, well are you working on anything right now?” She returns to clicking away at tabs.

“Yeah, I’ll be taking film photos out on the field of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni next week. It’s for an assignment,” you tell her and watch as her face lights up.

“That’s wonderful! That’s a pretty big gig, they usually only let professionals out on the field. How were you able to secure that?” Utahime asks you as she tips her head to the side.

“Ah…let’s just say I have some sort of deal with one of their players?” You say. Your heart drops a little when you remember the lack of communication from Gojo as of recently, wondering if he was able to get that referee permission for you.

“Which one?” Utahime asks with a teasing smile, leaning over to nudge you with her elbow.

“Gojo Satoru,” you say and then she’s pulling away from you and rolling her eyes, an annoyed look making its way onto her face. You let out a small laugh at her behavior. “Okay, well now I’m curious.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she peers beyond the window of the room. “I was his TA when he was just a wee-little freshman. He was always showing up late to class and trying to flirt his way out of completing assignments,” she grumbles, “is he still a little brat?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking way harder about her question than she had probably intended. “I don’t know…I don’t really know him all that well.” You look down at your hands. Despite the fact that you’ve only known Gojo for a short while, for some reason you felt like you did know him well. You knew the kinds of things that made him smile, you knew the look in his eyes when he was deep in thought about something. You knew what the heat from his body felt like, what the fragrance of his clothes smelled like.

Utahime is silent for a moment as she studies you. “Hmm,” she’s humming next to you, “well, tell you what, send me your photos when you’re done with them. If they’re good, I’ll use your photos for the sports recap in the newsletter instead of the professional ones we get sent from the school. I can compensate you for them as well.”

Your eyes widen as you look at her, jaw dropping a bit as you blink in disbelief. “Utahime…you would do that for me?”

She gives you a smile and a wink. “Of course, talent helps talent. And it’s my newsletter, I can do whatever I want with it. Besides, you want to get into the school’s film graduate program, right? I’m sure it would look great on your application that you’ve had some of your portfolio published to the school’s official reports. The photos have to be good, though.” She points a finger at you and gives you a strict look.

You feel tears prickle in your eyes from her words, so overwhelmingly grateful for her support, and can barely whisper out a thank you before she’s rushing over to the other table to grab a tissue box and set it in front of you.

“Gosh, why do all my undergrads cry in my presence?” she complains as she pulls out a tissue and hands it to you.

You dab it to your eye. “Because you have such wholesome mom energy.”

You say goodbye to Utahime after discussing a few more things and then leave the room. You check your phone and your heart skips a beat when you see Gojo’s name in your notifications.

|| 1:43PM Gojo Satoru: Hey, just wanted to let you know I was able to get that referee permission for you for next week

You let out a tiny gasp when you read his words then clutch your phone to your chest in relief. Utahime’s offer of the prospect of getting published in the school’s newsletter gave you a large sense of purpose, and you felt like it was time to take this assignment of yours extremely seriously to secure the opportunity. And Gojo was the one with the power to help you do that.

|| 1:52PM You: thank you so much, i really don’t know how to repay you

You sigh as you make your way to the stairs, grateful that you were getting some communication from him. The big game on the 28th was next Thursday, and you really needed to practice taking photos with your film camera. You open Instagram again to ask him for his practice schedule, but you see that he had sent you another message.

|| 1:54PM Gojo Satoru: No need to repay me, consider us even. Also sorry for the late notice, but we’re having a formal practice match in about an hour with one of the teams we played against earlier in the season. Do you want to come by?

After reading his message, you quickly shuffle your tote bag open and peer inside to see that you did indeed bring your film camera with you to campus today. Excited, you type out a response.

|| 1:55PM You: yes! i’ll hesd over right now

|| 1:55PM You: *head over

|| 1:55PM You: lol

You see little bubbles indicating typing in the left side corner.

|| 1:55PM Gojo Satoru: Meet me by the art sculpture, I’ll walk you over

You blink at the message for a few seconds, starting to type out a message before deleting it, and doing that a couple more times over. When someone tries to shuffle around you from behind, you notice you were standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs so you step away and lean against the wall. You press your lips together in consideration as you realize that today would be the first time you’re going to see Gojo again after that awkward interaction that you had with him at the party last Friday, and you were really not sure how you were going to feel having to be alone with him again.

|| 1:57PM You: that’s okay, i don’t want to trouble you

His response is instant.

|| 1:57PM Gojo Satoru: Just meet me there

Once you’ve made your way across campus, you spot Gojo sitting on the concrete barrier surrounding the art sculpture by the fields practically right in front of the please do not sit on the concrete barrier sign. His head is turned away from the direction you were approaching from, arms crossed at his chest and one of his legs impatiently bouncing up and down. You notice he’s wearing the school’s colors, a teal blue shirt and gray shorts that had some highlights of a sunset yellow, as well as gray athletic soccer shin socks and cleats. He looks so ridiculously sports boyfriend that you have to shake your head to try and physically fight the effect of how attracted you were to him.

He must’ve heard you approaching as you crossed the street towards him since he turned his head in your direction. He’s wearing a black sports headband across his forehead that’s pushing the hair up out of his face and you’re startled by the intensity of his blue eyes on you. When he stands up, his arms fall to his side, making you sad that you could no longer shamelessly stare at the way his biceps flexed when he had his arms crossed.

“Hey,” he says simply, staying perfectly still where he stood.

There was only one way to dissolve an awkward situation, and that was to pretend like it never happened in the first place. You tip your head to the side, giving him a curious look before skipping right on up to him. “Hello, there,” you cheerfully say. He looks at you with a borderline annoyed expression.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he comments, his voice sounding deeper than usual. Almost tired.

“Yes, very good mood,” you chirp as you walk past him, “I just got a very good offer.”

The sound of the bottom of his cleats on the sidewalk follow after you as you head in the direction of the softball batting cages. It's not long before he emerges at your side in your periphery. “What kind of offer?” You can tell from his tone that he was trying to restrain his curiosity.

“Oh, you’ll see,” you say as you look up at him and smile. He gives you an irritated expression due to your lack of transparency but you continue to skip forward until you’ve made it to stairs that lead up to the grassy hills.

Gojo’s about a step’s distance behind you as you lightly frolic across the land, your heavy tote bag bumping against your hip with every jump. You feel something fly out of it which halts you in your gleeful stride and look behind to where your bluetooth laptop mouse has fallen onto the grass right in front of Gojo. He’s sighing before crouching down to pick it up, then takes a step towards you and extends it out to you. When you glance up at him, he’s not looking at you and his face is hard to read.

You grab the mouse from him, fingertips brushing against the skin of his palm, and he ever-so-slightly shivers at the touch. His gaze finally meets yours.

With a sigh, you toss your computer mouse back into your bag. “I’m trying really hard to not feel awkward around you right now, but you’re making it pretty difficult.” You were so used to feeling like he has the upper edge of conversation when you’re with him, but now you felt like you were the one with the power.

He raises an eyebrow at you and when you look at his hands, you notice he was apprehensively cracking his knuckles with his thumbs. “Maybe you wouldn’t feel awkward if you actually stayed to talk last Friday.”

You cross your arms across your chest, disliking his tone. “Stayed to talk? About what? How not close you are with your ‘friends’?”

He tips his head up to the sky and closes his eyes, his brow furrowing like he was entirely frustrated by you, before he looks back down at you again. “If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine, but what’s with you always running away whenever I try to talk to you?”

“I wasn’t feeling well that night,” you mumble to him as you turn away and continue to walk towards the practice field. It was the truth, you weren’t feeling well that night, and it was because seeing him kissing another girl made your stomach drop to the core of the Earth. But that wasn’t something you were going to admit to him. It wasn’t even something you were ready to admit to yourself. “Also, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that I don’t care to believe you.”

“But why don’t you care?” he’s asking you, his voice sounding desperate now as he makes his way to your side again. He’s looking at you but you’re looking straight ahead.

You roll your eyes, continuing to march forwards. “Not everyone cares about your love life, Satoru. Contrary to what you might think.”

He jogs ahead a few steps, now walking backwards in front of you and you narrow your eyes at him. His tongue is poking at the inside of his cheek and then there’s a boyish grin on his face. “Say that again.”

“Say what again?” you ask.

“My name,” he says.

You almost roll your eyes out of your head when you see his amused expression. “I seriously can’t believe this right now,” you’re muttering under your breath and walk past him down the large hill leading to the practice field, his gaze on you burning through your skin until you’re rubbing at your cheek with the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to physically wipe the blush away.

The practice field was much more crowded and busy than it was during the first practice you went to last week. Looking across to the other side, you see a group of men huddled near one of the benches, all of them wearing maroon-colored shirts with black shorts that have gold stripes running down the side of them. None of them were wearing jerseys, but you assumed they were wearing their school colors as some sort of distinguishing clothing that would help them during the practice match.

“Satoru! Where the hell have you been?” You flinch upon hearing Coach Yaga’s stern voice nearby and you look over to where he had his arms crossed and glaring at Gojo through his thick sunglasses.

Gojo walks past you towards the benches and gives Coach Yaga a salute. “Sorry, sir, personal business.” He then makes his way over to the rest of his teammates that were huddled on this side of the field. There were a few tables located on the sidelines that had refillable water stations, bottles of Gatorade, towels and all sorts of other athletic gear. You walk up to one of the tables and fix the settings on your film camera before taking a snapshot of the items laid out on it.

The atmosphere is light since this wasn’t an official match and so you spend some time fidgeting with your camera before they get started. You can only imagine how tense it must be during a proper tournament game at the actual stadium off-campus, the thought of thousands of people spectating from stands sending a shiver down your spine. Athletes were of a whole different breed, despite how wholesome and down-to-earth most of the UTokyo soccer players you’ve met so far were.

Eventually, Coach Yaga and the other coach from the opposing school blow their whistles, both acting as referees for the match, and the players scatter themselves across the field. You notice Gojo is at the center of the circle in the middle, his foot on top of the ball as he scans his eyes across the field to each of the players with a focused look in his eyes. He draws his foot back, and just when you think he’s about to kick it forwards to where he was looking, the back of his heel makes contact with the ball instead and it’s sent swiftly behind him towards Geto. Instantly, all the players begin to move across the field, some of the offensive opposing side charging towards Geto as he shuffles the ball between his feet before kicking it way ahead of him to another one of their teammates. You bring your camera up to your face and take a snapshot when one of the opposing team’s defenders makes an attempt to steal the ball.

The play continues further, both teams playing a push-and-pull with the ball. Gojo makes an attempt at a goal before the opposing team’s goalie lunges for the ball that was flying in the air straight towards the net, catching it in his arms and then crashing down onto the ground. Somewhere along the intense match, the coaches call half-time and you’re shocked by how fast the first half went by.

Some of the players retreat to the benches to quench their thirst and wipe the perspiration off their faces with their towels, while others remain on the green expanse to pace around while catching their breath. Your attention is drawn to Gojo who stood at the center with his hands on his hips and breathing visibly heavily. He leisurely shuffles the ball between his feet with an innate rhythm before passing it off towards Geto who stood a few feet away from him. Gojo pulled his headband off of his face, his hair falling over his forehead onto the sheen layer of sweat above his eyes. With each breath, his chest rises and falls, lips parted in a display of exertion, and then he grabs at the hem of his shirt to lift it to his face, exposing his toned torso, as he wipes away the sweat at his temples. Your eyes widen at the sight, almost entranced as a wave of arousal suddenly consumes you, before he releases his grip on the fabric and it falls back down. He pushes his hair back up out of his face with one of his hands, the other securing the headband back onto his forehead with a snap, and the muscles of his arms tense fluidly with every motion.

You quickly look away from him, afraid he'll catch you staring, and blink at the grass as you notice the fast beating of your heart. Coach Yaga's whistle blows, causing you to look back up again. Players were making their way back onto the field and Gojo found his position at the center again. His eyes darted across the field, making their way onto the faces of each player, and then they eventually landed on you. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards slightly into a small smile before he's looking back down at the ball by his feet. And then they start the kickoff.

UTokyo ends up winning 3-1, and by the end of the match the sun is starting to set, painting the sky beautiful hues of purple and orange. You lean over to pick your things up off the grass as the players make their final retreat to the benches, and you gently place your film camera back into its case when Gojo’s voice next to you makes you jump.

“Hey. Please don’t run off,” he says. When you turned to look at him, he was still breathing a bit fast and he had a flushed, almost serene, look across his face. “Give me your phone.” He extends his open palm out to you.

“My phone?” You ask him, reaching for where it was located in your back pocket and pulling it out. He nods without any further explanation. You place it in his palm and he’s tapping away at it before handing it back to you. When you look down, you notice he gave a random number a call.

“That’s my number. Save it,” he says. You blink at him. His expression is soft for a moment and then he’s turning around and away from you, heading over to where his teammates were crowded around one of the tables and giving each other pats on the back.

You tip your head to the side to watch him as a couple of his teammates sling their arm around his neck and smack his chest, masculine laughter and jokes filling the air. You can’t help but smile before you pick up your things and start making your way up the hill away from the field, back towards the heart of campus.

---

The following days of the week where you don’t see Gojo play soccer seems like a waste, because why weren’t you spending every single day of your life watching him play soccer? You sigh to yourself at the question as you use clothing pins to hang up the film photos you took up onto a wall in your school’s photo lab. You finished developing the photos from Monday’s practice match, only to realize that you accidentally took them on one of your black-and-white rolls instead of full-color. You step back to take a look at all the images you had clipped onto the string pinned to the walls, snapping a shot of the collage with your phone, before pulling them all back down and stuffing them into a Manila folder.

The only time the photo lab wasn’t bustling with other film & photography majors was usually after sunset, but by the time you finished having dinner with one of your friends on campus, you had made it there around 7PM. By the time you leave and make it to your parked car, it’s pitch black outside. As you step inside your car and turn the key to ignite the engine, the windshield wipers automatically swiping as the control lights inside come to life, the clock on your dashboard reads 10:37PM.

The GPS for some reason prompts you to take an alternative route back to your apartment that avoids the freeway in an attempt to save you from twenty minutes of traffic, and you consider what to do for a moment before the exhaustion in your bones convinces you to take the allegedly faster way home.

As you begin to head in the unfamiliar direction, the excitement you had to make it home as soon as possible slowly starts to dwindle more and more as the streets morph from well-lit and bustling with people to dark and surrounded by trees instead. What used to be a three-lane street turned into one, and you count the seconds between every passing car you see coming by in the opposite direction. You’re worried when your counting makes it past sixty seconds.

You turn your music up in your car to distract yourself from the fear of driving down the secluded and dark road. There was a slight fog settling up ahead in front of you to where you could only see clearly about thirty feet ahead. You spot something on the road, blinking rapidly to focus your vision, and then your eyes widen when you realize what it was. Rocks.

You’re instantly swerving your car to the side, attempting to deftly avoid the scattered rocks but unfortunately you drive over a few of them, causing your tire to pop and you let out a scream when you lose handle on your car. One of the rocks flies up and hits your windshield, cracking the glass, and suddenly you’re driving up over the curb to the right before you finally regain control of your car and swerve back onto the road, slamming on the brakes.

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your body, and you grip onto the steering wheel while you try to regain your breath. Your windshield had a large crack in it, large enough to where the cold air from outside was whistling its way inside your car, and you were slanted in your seat due to the punctured tire at the front. As you took deep breaths, you noticed how alone you were on a dimly lit street where you hadn’t seen a single car in more than five minutes, fear and anxiety surging through your body. Your hands reach for your phone, shakily turning it on and exhaling in relief when you see that you have reception, then call the emergency telephone line.

“Hello, how can we help you?” a feminine voice on the other end of the line says.

“Hi, um,” you say, voice sounding shaky, “I just got a flat tire on Musashi road, about five miles from the Main Street intersection. I don’t have a spare on me, and my windshield is cracked too…could you send roadside assistance?”

“Yes, absolutely,” the woman says kindly and begins to take down some information from you. “Thank you, ma’am. Unfortunately, there has been a big accident on the freeway, so many of the tow-trucks and officers have been dispatched to that area. It may take about an hour for help to arrive. Are you able to call someone to come stay with you as you wait?”

“Oh…” You press your lips together in thought. “Yes, I should be able to.” After working out a bit more logistics with the woman on the other line, you hang up and then you’re scrolling through your contacts. You first call Mina’s line, which goes straight to voicemail, and then you remember that she was out of town for tonight and half of tomorrow visiting her family. You call Nobara, who also doesn’t pick up, and then a couple of your other friends who go straight to voicemail as well. You start to panic slightly before calling your friend Maki who lives two hours away.

“Hello?” You hear her voice say when she picks up.

“Maki! Oh my gosh, thank you for picking up,” you say to her through the phone, your hand on your chest as you sigh. You explain your situation to her and she’s instantly providing you with soothing words.

“Is there no one that can come stay with you? I feel awful that I’m so far away,” she says.

“It’s okay, they said that help will be here in maybe fifty minutes now…I just really wanted to talk to someone,” you say, peering out into the darkness of the night. You’re still shocked you haven’t seen a single car drive by in the past ten minutes. You pull your phone from your face to check the time and see a notification on your phone that says 5% battery remaining. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Maki asks worriedly.

“My phone is running out of battery…” you say with a defeated tone. Your anxiety starts to rise in your chest again. “I don’t know if I can stay on the line.” You scroll through your contacts again, finger halting the screen when your eyes land on another name. “I…I think I have someone else I can try calling.”

“Good, try that. I don’t want you to be stuck out there with a dead phone and a flat tire. Let me know if this person doesn’t pick up, okay?” She’s saying to you and you send her your location before hanging up.

You’re breathing heavily from fear when a particularly harsh gust of wind pushes more cold air through the crack of your windshield. Pulling your phone from your face, you click on the name in your contacts and bring your phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, almost a third time before you hear a click and then a voice.

“Y/n?” Gojo’s voice calls out, sounding surprised.

Hearing his voice immediately causes a wave of relief to wash over you and you lay back in your seat, having to muffle the abrupt sob that threatens to erupt from the tightness in your throat. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks.

“Mm…no,” you admit to him, sniffling slightly and swiping at the stray tear that rolls down your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. “I’m just a bit scared right now.” Your voice cracks towards the end of your sentence and you silently berate yourself for not mustering enough emotional strength at the moment.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his voice starting to sound uneasy.

“I was driving down this road, it was dark, I couldn’t really see much…but I ended up driving over these rocks and my tire punctured. I called for roadside assistance and they said it would take about an hour for help to arrive,” you ramble, “I tried calling Mina, and some of my other friends to come and wait with me, but-” You run out of breath to finish your sentence and you’re sniffling again.

“Send me your location, I’m heading over right now,” he says and you hear what sounds like keys jingling in the background along with some other shuffling noises, “can you stay on the line?”

You pull your phone from your ear and see that you’re at 3% now before sending him your location. “No…my phone is running out of battery.”

He’s silent for a second on the other end. “It says I’ll be there in twelve minutes. Just…hang tight, okay? Make sure your doors are locked.”

You nod before remembering that he can’t see you, so you say I will. He’s hesitant to hang up on you but when your phone flashes from 3% to 2%, you tell him you don’t have much of a choice and then he’s giving you another word of caution before reluctantly hanging up. You’re all alone to your thoughts in your car again, shaking from the anxiety and blinking tears away.

The twelve-minute wait felt so long, and eventually Gojo texts you that he’s one minute away when your phone is at 1% battery. You see headlights approaching behind your car in your rearview mirror, the first sight of another human being you’ve seen in probably the past thirty minutes stepping out of the driver’s seat and you immediately recognize his silhouette. He walks up to the passenger side door and tips his head down so he’s visible through the window. At the sight of him, you finally release the breath you were holding in before opening your car door and stepping outside. You both look at each other across the top of your car and you notice him letting out a deep breath of his own as his shoulders relax at the sight of you.

He makes his way wordlessly around the front of your car to you and he’s studying your face intently. You look away from him when you realize he could probably tell that your eyes were puffy and that you had been crying. From your periphery, you see the back of his hand reach out when he’s right in front of you, hesitating slightly before it briefly brushes against your cheek, dabbing at a tear that you must’ve missed. His hand is warm against your skin and the sudden desire to hug him consumes every single fiber of your being, but when you look up at him, the soft expression on his face renders you still.

“Thank you for coming,” you’re whispering to him.

He lets out a short comical exhale through his nose. “I wasn’t going to not come. What kind of person do you think I am?”

You shiver as another gust of wind passes through, crossing your arms across yourself. Gojo slips the jacket he was wearing off, revealing a beige sweater underneath, and then he’s circling around you to place it over your back. It’s cozy and it smells like him.

You’re about to voice your concern for him but his voice behind you cuts you off. “I run warm, don’t worry.”

He walks around to the front of your car, bending over to the side to assess the flat tire at the front, his hands shoved into his pockets. You pull his jacket around you tighter. “Damn, the tread on your tires is horrendous. No wonder. You should really check on them more often.” He straightens himself up and peers at the crack across your windshield. “And that’s definitely not gonna be cheap to fix.”

You sigh in annoyance, his casual tone causing your eye to twitch slightly, but when you noticed your heart was calm and your breathing was normal again, you looked at him with the realization that him just being here managed to soothe you.

He looks back over at you with a considerate expression. “Do you want to sit in my car? It’s chilly out here.”

You press your lips together before shaking your head. “I feel like I need the fresh air.”

Gojo’s walking over to the patch of grass on the pavement at the side of the road and sits down on the curb. He pats the spot next to him with an awaiting look on his face and you make your way to him, sitting to his left. He looks down at the distance you’ve put between the two of you, almost three feet, and he’s sighing before scootching closer to you. “Don’t be greedy with your body heat. I said I run warm, not that I’m a furnace.”

His shoulder brushes against yours and his knee bumps against your thigh as he gets comfortable. You bring your legs closer to you and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin on top of your knee. Gojo was leaning back onto his outstretched arms behind him, legs extended in front as he tipped his head back up to look at the sky. You look over at him. His gaze slowly shifts from one point in the sky to the other, and you wonder what he’s mapping with his eyes.

“Thank you for getting the referee permission for me,” you say, realizing you never thanked him in person. “I’m excited to take photos out on the field next week.”

“Sure thing, my freaky little photographer. I’m sure you are,” he chimes.

You stick your bottom lip out in an annoyed pout. “So, we’re even now.”

He looks over at you and smiles. His blue eyes were a bit darker underneath the starry sky with less light to reflect off of them, and the quality made them look gentle. “No, you’ve gotta make sure Mina stays interested in Todo.”

You can tell he’s just joking, but you respond as if he’s serious anyways. “That was never part of the agreement,” you say, “besides, I don’t really think that’s necessary. She seems to be pretty taken with him already.”

He laughs. “And you’re not worried about that?”

“What’s there to worry about?” You ask.

“I don’t know, the fact they hit it off so fast?” He shrugs and you feel the friction of the movement against your shoulder.

“Hmm, no. Mina’s a smart girl, she’s good at sniffing out those red flags,” you say assuredly before lifting a suspicious eyebrow at him, “should I be worried? He's your friend. Enlighten me.”

Gojo shakes his head musingly at your concern. “Todo’s a good guy,” he says in a soft voice.

“He’s not on the soccer team, right? I didn’t see him the past couple of times I was on the field,” you say with realization.

“Nah, he’s just a mad lad I met in my freshman year econ class. We’ve been friends ever since,” he says, swaying his knee from side to side. “He’s the one that got me to join the frat.”

You two are silent for a moment, listening to the noise of the wind through the trees and crickets chirping in the distance. The previous anxiety you had from the night completely dissipated into peacefulness instead, and the man beside you was responsible for that shift.

“Can you tell me what that offer was that you were so excited about earlier this week?” he asks.

You look up to the sky briefly, trying to remember what he was talking about. “Oh. I might be able to publish the photos I take of the game next week to the sports recap in the school newsletter,” you say.

He turns his head to look at you, eyes widened. “Woah, seriously? That’s so cool. Can you make sure I look hot?”

You roll your eyes and go back to resting your chin on your knees. “Sure.”

A comfortable silence settles before he’s speaking again. “What inspired you to be a film photographer?” He’s turning his body so he’s facing you a bit more directly.

“Well, the end goal is film movie making…but my professor says that it’s important to understand the art of film photography before that,” you say, twiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “He says that ‘if a filmmaker cannot master the single frame shot, then how can they possibly put together a film composed of a million of them’?”

Gojo is humming beside you and nodding in agreement. He turns away from you to face forward again and he starts tapping his foot on the pavement of the road. “Huh. That’s kind of similar to something coach says during drills.”

You glance over at him, a little surprised. He continues to stare forward with a somewhat innocent expression on his face, and then you can practically see the moment another question pops up into his head.

“Why don’t you make your Instagram public? Your photos would probably get a lot more views or likes that way,” he says in an excited tone, like he’s cracked some code.

You let out a small laugh and bury your face into your knees, your voice sounding muffled when you speak. “I did have it public for a while. Until a troll spammed a bunch of hate comments on my posts and I quickly switched it to private after that.” Saying it out loud, you felt a bit silly. You’re apprehensive as you say the next few words. “I guess I’m scared that I’m not good enough to be acknowledged or successful, and that somehow other people will see that truth before I can.”

“Oh come on, y/n,” he’s saying beside you, gently nudging your arm with his elbow. The contact causes your breath to catch in your throat. “You just have to go for it. You can’t accomplish anything if you don’t face your fears.” When you watch those words leave his mouth, you notice he now has a thoughtful expression as he stares ahead to the other side of the road.

Another beat of silence goes by. “Why did you start playing soccer?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a long time as he blinks, to the point where you’re unsure if he even heard your question, but then he finally answers. “My dad used to play in college. He introduced me to the sport when I was younger and I fell in love with it.” Your perk up slightly and tip your head to the side in curiosity. He’s looking down at his lap now.

“That’s really wonderful, Satoru. Was he also center forward in college?” When you ask him this, you don’t miss the way his eyebrows pinch together for a split second before his expression relaxes again.

“Yeah, he was,” he responds, “he got injured in his last year, though. Never got to play after that.” There’s an inflection at the end of his sentence that makes you think he’s about to say more but he doesn’t.

Your face softens when you see him stare down at the curb with a slightly troubled expression. In a moment of tenacity, you place your hand on his thigh and his eyes widen when he sees the movement before he’s looking over at you.

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you,” you say softly, your hand reaching up to brush a few strands of his hair away from his eyes. Both of you are shocked at the intimate gesture and you’re quick to withdraw your hand.

Your faces are close, his side still pressed against yours, and neither of you break eye contact. You take a moment to study the handsome features of his face and your heart aches a little. The cold air has you licking your lips and Gojo’s eyes dart to them, gaze lingering, and you blink slowly when he leans forward slightly. Blue eyes find yours again and he stills himself, searching your face for something, and when he doesn’t see it he continues to lean forward and you lean towards him too. And then his lips press against yours, so chaste and so light that it’s possible you could have imagined it, but just when you feel his warm hand cup your face and he’s about to deepen the kiss, a loud honking noise startles the two of you and you both jump, pulling away from one another. You see Gojo’s face illuminated with bright golden lighting as he winces and holds up one of his hands in front of his face to shield himself from being blinded by it.

You turn your head to the left towards the source of the light and see a tow truck approaching. “Hey! Is this the flat and windshield crack?” you hear the driver shout out from where his head was stuck out the window.

You’re speechless, cheeks feeling flushed from the realization that Gojo had just kissed you, and you turn to look at him. He silently stands up with a weary exhale and a calm expression on his face and then shoves his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it is.” He makes his way over to the tow truck and you hear him make conversation with the driver as well as the man in the passenger seat. You’re still sitting stunned on the curb, bringing your fingers up to gently touch your lips that were still searing from earlier. Gojo’s suddenly standing in front of you and you’re staring at his legs before you tip your head back up to look at him.

“Do you have any valuables in your car?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of your car.

“Ah…my phone and my tote bag,” you say. He crouches down in front of you, earnest eyes level with yours, and his hand reaches into the pocket of his jacket where you had stashed your keys. He removes only your car key from the ring, handing the set of other keys back to you, and then he’s unlocking your car to get your stuff out of it.

You remain on the curb, watching as Gojo handles the entire interaction with the tow truck helpers. When they’ve successfully anchored your car to the tow truck and one of the men comes around to shake Gojo’s hand, you see him reach into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing the man some cash. You stand up in a bit of a panic and head over.

The tow truck is already pulling away with your car from the curb when you make it in front of Gojo. He hands you a business card with the towing company information on it and then looks down at you with a mild demeanor, letting out a long exhale. “Ready to go home? You’ve had a long night.”

Exhaustion suddenly consumes your entire being and you hesitantly nod.

The interior of Gojo’s car is nice. It’s clean, smells like him and pine, with nice leather seats that have warmers. You’re still wearing his jacket, clenching it tightly around you, as he inputs your apartment address into his GPS and starts to drive you home.

Neither of you say a word to one another during the ride. You watch his hand tighten its grip at the top of the steering wheel occasionally as he drives. He turns his car into the entrance of your apartment complex and parks in the loading zone. You watch as he makes his way out of the car to the passenger side door, opening it for you. You step outside and thank him.

“It’s okay, I’ll head inside from here,” you say, already feeling like you’ve caused him enough trouble. You abruptly remember that Mina isn’t home and the realization that you’ll be all alone tonight creates a hollow feeling in your chest.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Come on,” he says, walking past you to make his way to the elevator and pressing the up button. It dings before immediately opening and he walks inside like he’s the one that lives here. He places a hand out to hold the door sensors when he sees that you don’t follow him inside. You jump out of the mild trance you were in and quickly rush in before he withdraws his hand and the elevator door shuts.

“Which floor?” He asks, finger hovering over the control pad. You tell him three.

Once you reach the third floor, you step out into the hallway and he follows suit. Your apartment was just seven units down towards the right and the two of you eventually made it to the door. You turn around to look up at him. His expression becomes slightly distressed and when you don’t say anything to him, he shoves his hands further into his pockets and sways back and forth slightly.

“Alright, mission accomplished, I got you home,” he says with a forced jovial tone, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. You notice he does that when he seems nervous about something.

Your mind recalls the kiss from earlier, the feeling of Gojo’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed up against you in the cold, the tender way his hand held your face still so he could have more of you, only for it to be cut short. Your heart is beating fast in your chest and your cheeks flush with warmth. He’s looking down at you intently and you’re looking up at him pensively.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Not yet.

Your hands reach into your tote bag to pull out the keys to your apartment. “Yes, home.” He watches you jingle the metal in your hands. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he says and he takes a step back. Turning around, you push your key into the keyhole with shaking hands, turning it, and open the door to your apartment, letting yourself inside. You look at him from the entryway with the door still ajar.

“Good night, take it easy,” he says to you.

“Thanks, you too.” And then he’s out of your sight as you shut the door.

You lean back against the front door, letting out a sigh and biting down on your lip, the thumping of your heart pertinent throughout your entire body. There was a lingering truth to all of the emotions that you’ve been having recently. It followed you in the early hours of the morning, it followed you as you tried to fall asleep at night, it was present in the silence, lurking in the dark, and it was there with you tonight for every second that he was by your side.

You had feelings for Gojo Satoru.

a/n. thanks sooo much for reading and i hope you enjoyed aaa idk this week felt off for my writing for some reason but i heavily edited it so i hope it came out okay in the end.

➸ take me to chapter six!

tag list: @who-can-touch-my-boob @getitsatoru

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godmadeaterribleerror · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I have heard the unanimous pro-long chapter response, and present you with 9.3k words of plot progression and 10k words of banter, backstory, and a secret third thing. Enjoy! Chapter Title is from Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 19k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben makes a choice, and you try something new. Self-inflicted starvation and unhealthy contraceptives.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, light smut, pining

Read on A03!

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

The sun had long risen into the sky before Ben moved from her side. He hadn’t slept, only watched her chest rise and fall in smooth movements and failed to smother the thing in his chest—how it would've been content there forever—before realizing he needed to piss, and no amount of stupid, confusing fucking feelings could make him hold it longer.

After, instead of returning to the bed, Ben left her room and made his way down to the kitchen. He put the coffee on, roughly spreading something called “strawberry cream cheese” She’d introduced him to across a bagel—it was almost as good as crack, and given that the CIA was full of uptight pussies who wouldn’t buy him the real shit, it had to do—as he waited for it to brew. When it finished, Ben poured half into a mug—leaving the rest for Her to find—before dropping himself at the counter.

He ate in silence, listening to Her heartbeat upstairs, and thought once more about Butcher’s offer. Homelander’s offer. He’d wanted to tell Her, ask for whatever inevitable fucking opinion she would have about how he should answer. She was good at it, this planning and thinking shit, and Ben had yet to see her falter at any useless moral hurdles. He’d figured out Her hard line—no innocents—but when it came to the opposition, she didn’t pull punches. Metaphorical punches. Despite Ben’s best efforts, She was still far more fucking bark than bite.

He hadn’t mentioned it though, because she’d shut down and it suddenly hadn’t felt that fucking important anymore. And now, after the shitshow last night, Ben wasn’t going to. He could make the fucking call himself, because he was a grown ass fucking man. Because Ben was more than damn capable of meeting with Homelander and coming out unscathed.

It wasn’t because Ben fucking knew She’d tell him to do it, and then bitch at him until she’d weaseled her way into the meeting.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want Her anywhere fucking near the meeting and the star-spangled pussy in attendance.

So—when he heard Her start to shuffle in her room, moving around for a few minutes before the door opened and she made her way downstairs—Ben decided he’d figure it out, call Butcher by his own goddamn self, and She wouldn’t have to know anything about it until well fucking after.

“Morning, Pretty Boy.” She mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen and trying to blink herself awake.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Ben tried—and failed—not to smile at her less-than-ladylike demeanor and let out a low chuckle as She ran fully into the counter with a yelp. “Sleep well?” He knew She had, but he enjoyed her still-sleepy scowl too much not to ask.

“Fuck off.” She grumbled, and he laughed.

“Welcome back, bitch.”

“Cunt,” she mumbled half-heartedly, rubbing her eyes. “Coffee?”

Ben pointed to the pot, and She let out a satisfied noise that made the Thing in his chest fucking whine like a pussy.

“All for me?” She asked with a slack smile at Ben.

“All for you,” he grumbled. “But it’s getting cold, and I’m not making you fucking more.”

She shrugged, grabbing a mug from the shelves. “Any news from the Boys?”

“Nope,” Ben watched Her pour the coffee, and something squeezed around his ribs as the lie left him. “They fucking benched us until they figure out what to do with the news.”

“About what Firecracker said?” She said softly, staring down at her now full mug.

Ben grunted an affirmation, She let out a sad little sigh, and the damn fucking Thing wanted to grab her again. “Maybe Butcher will finally fucking use the information the red-haired broad gave him, and it’ll get shit moving again.”

She frowned at him, and her heart skipped a single beat. “You mean Ashley?”

“Sure,” Ben said with an eye roll. “There’s a lot of fucking people, Sunshine. I can’t be expected to remember every pussy idiot I meet.”

She let out a low laugh, and the Thing was insufferably fucking pleased. “Fair enough.”

Ben waited for Her to share whatever thoughts he’d been certain she’d have about Ashley and the information, but She only sat at his side, looking up at him with a small smile. The Thing in Ben’s chest was starting to be fucking problem, because it was so goddamn satisfied that She was talking to him again it didn’t want to push her for answers. Ben only barely managed to overpower it and ask, “The fuck you think is taking that pussy so long?”

She raised her brows. “Which pussy are we talking about now?”

“Butcher. And the information.” He didn’t miss the slightest increase in Her heart rate, despite her bored shrug.

“Dunno.” Before Ben could ask more questions, she continued. “Does everyone know I’m awake?”

“No,” Ben scowled. “How would I have fucking told them?”

She let out a hum. “Touché.” She stood once more, taking her mug with her. “I’m gonna go call Annie and get changed, I’ll meet you back here after.”

“Get changed?” Ben grabbed Her arm before she could leave his side. “For fucking what?”

“Training.” She grinned down at him. “I’m going to kick your fucking ass for calling me a ‘goddamn idiot’ while I was crying.”

“I got you to stop fucking wallowing. And fucking stayed with you all goddamn night like you begged me to.” Ben jabbed, and Her smile grew.

She leaned forward, holding his gaze with her own.

“I’ve never begged you for anything, Pretty Boy. It’s going to take a fucking miracle for me to start now.” The Thing roared so loud at her words that Ben’s grip grew slack, and She pulled her arm away. “This will take twenty minutes, and then I’m going to wipe the floor with your fucking face.”

She left the room, leaving Ben in the kitchen, alone, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. He almost stood from the counter, ready to march after Her and demand some sort of fucking elaboration—he wasn’t even sure for what, just that She wasn’t fucking allowed to say shit like that and walk away—but Ben had barely shifted before he realized his dick was fucking hard, and chasing after Her was no longer an option.

Ben had twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to take care of his boner, figure out how to smother the Thing for good, and get his fucking shit in order. She was just another woman, just another pretty face. He’d gotten hard-ons from a lot less and jerked himself off a lot faster. This was no fucking different. She was no fucking different. Just another fucking pretty face.

Beautiful, the Thing reminded him. She’s not just pretty. She’s beautiful.

If his boner wasn’t starting to be fucking painful, Ben would’ve spent the entire twenty minutes trying to figure out how to make the Thing shut the fuck up.

He made his way upstairs, steps faltering outside Her door as he listened to her move around inside like a fucking creep.

“I’m fine,” she was saying to someone, probably fucking Starlight or Cocksucker. It hadn’t escaped Ben how they were the only fuckers who really ever asked Her. “I promise. Don’t worry about me, Annie, I’m really okay.”

Ben scowled at the door, almost forgetting about his angry hard-on as the memory of Her curled up, shaking with despair less than twelve hours ago, flashed in his head.

“Are you sure?” Starlight’s voice was slightly static. “Because if you need a break from Soldier Boy to deal with this we can figure something out.”

Ben was going to kill the bitch, consequences be fucking damned. He was only fucking seconds away from barging into the room, from giving Starlight a descriptive warning of how he was going to fuck her face up so much Cocksucker left her, when he heard Her sharp, quick answer.

“No.” Her voice sounded almost panicked. “I’m staying here. I don’t need a break from Ben. Please, I’m good, he’s good, everything is fine. I don’t want-“ She cut herself off slightly, and Ben heard the flutter of her heart. “It’s good here. Ben’s good. Don’t worry about us.”

Ben’s good, Her voice echoed in his head, and the Thing was pounding against him. Ben’s good.

He needed to fucking move before he barged into Her room and demanded to know what the fuck she meant by Ben’s good. He needed to take care of himself before She saw him, and he had to come up with a lie about why he was standing outside her door with a boner.

Ben barely managed not to slam his door behind him—an action he knew She’d hear and barge in to demand what was making him so pissy—and dropped onto his bed, practically ripping his own pants and underwear off. He closed his eyes, took a strong breath, and began to fucking his fist with rough abandon. It just had to be fucking fast, he just had to find fucking relief before She came looking for him.

The Thing had other plans. The Thing wanted to take its time, to listen to Her heartbeat only doors away, and to imagine her there, how her heartbeat would race as he fucked her. The Thing was offering Ben countless fantasies to choose from. Her under him as he fucked her stupid. Her on his lap, tits bouncing as he slammed up into her. Her on her knees, mouth wide open, drool falling down her chin, his hand in her hair. In every one She moaned and whined, but the one that made him almost feral, made his hand move faster along his length than Ben had thought possible, was the one where She was up against his wall, legs around his waist, begging.

Ben, a phantom of Her voice moaned into his ear. Please.

This feel like a fucking miracle, Sunshine? Ben’s own voice growled through his head. I feel fucking good?

“Ben?” Her voice, her real voice, sounded from outside his door, and Ben bucked up into his fist. “You in there?”

“I’m-“ He bit down a groan. “I’m busy, Sunshine.” Then, just to keep Her there, maybe hear her voice again, he called out again. “What?”

“Can I come in?”

“No!” He shouted, struggling to come up with a fucking reason for Her not to come in, an effort not made any damn easier by the Thing practically straining for Her. “I’m- fuck. ” Ben swore under his breath, feeling real damn thankful she didn’t have supe-hearing. “I’m fucking changing!”

“Oh,” Her voice had an edge Ben didn’t understand, but her heart stammered into a faster pace, and the Thing grabbed onto the sound and dragged him closer to the edge. “The call went faster than I thought. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.” Even as her tone returned to its usual amused droll, her heart didn’t slow. “Get fucking ready, Pretty Boy. I’m going to make you regret being born.”

Ben bit down another groan. He was so fucking close, just a little fucking further- “I’ll make you fucking beg, Sunshine.” The words were low, through gritted teeth as he hovered on that edge- He didn’t even fully mean for Her to hear-

“I’d like to see you try, Ben.” She said, and that fucking did it. Her words, her heartbeat, her tone as she drawled his name, the smug grin Ben could see fucking perfectly in his head—they all grabbed him and yanked him over.

“ Brat,” he grunted as his relief burst from him, finding every fucking surface in the room.

“Cunt,” She pushed back, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was the Thing simply making him a fucking idiot or not, but the edge in her voice sounded fucking breathy. Her heart fucking faltered. For a very long second, Ben waited fucking pathetically for her to say something more, praying like a goddamn pussy for Her to burst into the room and fulfill all those fantasies still lingering in his head, but her heart faded down the hall with her steps, and Ben was left with only himself and his mess.

It took Ben ten minutes to clean up and change, but it felt like a fucking hour. Though his body was satiated, the Thing was hungry. He had given it a taste of something he didn’t want to fucking think about, and now it wanted more. Ben didn’t fucking get it, couldn’t fucking understand why it was—he was—being so fucking pathetic about this. He wasn’t a fucking uptight choir boy, he’d jerked off probably more times than She’d even had sex. He’d had sex more times than any other fucker in history. He’d done things that would make Butcher blush, and those memories had fueled his drive more than enough since he’d been awake. He wouldn’t fucking lie and say She’d never made appearances in theses types of thoughts before—Ben was a red-blooded man with eyes, and he wasn’t going to feel fucking guilty about it—but they’d been brief, and they hadn’t left him reeling like a goddamn fucking pussy. Like he was now.

He had to fucking get it together.

When he arrived down in the kitchen, having done a very careful inspection of himself for any lingering evidence, Ben found Her stuffing her face with the bagel he’d left behind, looking up with wide eyes as he entered the room.

“Sorry-“ She roughly swallowed, and that didn’t fucking help Ben at all. “But you should know better than to leave food just out.”

“There’s a whole fucking fridge full of the stuff behind you, Sunshine,” he grunted, moving around the counter. “Could’ve fucking used it.”

She shrugged, licking her fingers clean, and there was no fucking way she wasn’t doing this to him on purpose. “You’ll get over it.” She gave him a toothy smile. “Ready to have your ass handed to you on a silver fucking platter?”

Ben smirked, leaning down to Her eye level. “I’m going to fucking make you cry, brat.”

There it was again. That fucking falter. And something flashed in Her eyes, barely fast enough for Ben to catch before she blinked and it was gone, Her gaze holding his with a steel glare.

“Fucking bring it, Pretty Boy.”

He laughed, rising to his full height as she stood from the counter. “Aren’t you mighty fucking cocky for someone who’s only hit me twice.”

“Thrice. I’ve hit you thrice.” Her words were muttered with a pretty frown as she walked toward the dining room—they had long repurposed it into a mock training area—and Ben grinned as he followed her.

“Twice, Sunshine. I don’t count the hit where you fucking cheated.”

She snorted. “Oh, shove it up your ass, Pretty Boy. Like you’ve never cheated before.”

“I’ve never gotten caught,” Ben said smugly. “Big fucking difference.”

She turned as they stopped in the center of the room, raising her fists to the defensive stance he’d taught her. “Somehow,” She smirked. “I really doubt that.”

Ben moved to match Her, shrugging as he did so. “Doesn’t matter what you believe, Sunshine. Truths the truth.”

“I’m going to burn your whole beard off this time, cunt.”

“Fucking try it, brat.” Her heart faltered again, and Ben decided—as long as She kept up that fucking reaction—he was going to keep calling her that until she physically made him stop. “I’ll put the TV on that fucking reality channel you hate and break the damn remote.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You hate E! more than I do. I just hate the ads, you hate everything about it.”

“All the tits are fucking fake,” Ben muttered and She snorted. “And so are the fucking-“

“Asses?” She finished his sentence with an eye roll. “Yeah, I’m sure fake tits and BBLs really hurt your refined, feminist sensibilities.”

“What the fuck is a BBL?”

“Brazilian Butt Lift.”

“You can’t just fucking say shit-“

“Jesus, it’s a plastic surgery, and it’s pretty self-descriptive. Actually, you’d probably like them.”

“Fuck no, I like it fucking natural, I have no interest in fucking something that’s not-“

“Totally real and able to enjoy it. I’ve heard the sales pitch, Pretty Boy.” She gave him a slack, taunting smile. “Are you going to keep stalling, or put your money where your mouth is?”

Ben winked at Her. “I’ll put my mouth and my money wherever I fucking want, Sunshine.”

She met his cocky smirk with one of her own. “Prove it.”

By the end of it, both of them agreeing after two grueling hours to shower, fucking eat something, and spend the remainder of the night at the TV—She had made some amazingly graphic threats about what she’d do if he broke the remote while she heated dinner—Ben was more torn by his goddamn fucking feelings then he’d ever been in his life. There was pride coursing through him, She’d hit him five more times and only two of the punches had been cheating, there was the Thing in his chest, pounding in excitement like a fucking pussy at the simple goddamn idea of sitting next to her while they ate, and there was the hunger, low in his gut and straining against his pants, looping the image of Her all sweaty and flushed from exertion around and around his head.

He was very fucking thankful that Her own eagerness to get into the shower made her leave the room fast enough not to notice anything, and decided to take a very long, very cold shower himself to get a goddamn fucking grip before this became a problem.

It worked well—Ben made it through their returned ritual of dinner and TV without even a fucking hiccup, even fucking managed to sling his arm over the back of the couch without thinking about it was coincidentally hanging over Her—until a little after midnight when She’d fucking asked him to stay in her room again.

“I- um,” Her voice had started quieter than usual, not fully looking at Ben as she spoke. “I’m feeling better, really. But, uh, if you’d be okay with it-”

“Sunshine,” he’d nudged Her with his shoulder, and when she’d turned her pretty face, cast in only the glow of the TV light, towards him, the Thing rumbled. “Stop pussyfooting and-”

“Say what I mean?” She’d finished his sentence with a small smile. That was something she really needed to stop fucking doing. “Stay in my room tonight. Just until I fall asleep. If you want.” She’d watched him carefully as she tacked on the end.

Ben had given Her a smirk, and decided to feed the Thing just a little. “Beg.”

“Fuck you,” She’d snorted, but there was no anger in her words, so Ben pushed a little further.

“I’m serious, Sunshine. You really want me there? Beg. ”

“I’ll cut off your dick, cunt.” She’d glowered.

He’d shrugged. “Have it your way, brat.”

“ Fucking asshole,” She’d muttered under her breath, heart stumbling for only a second before she’d fully turning her body towards Ben. She’d fluttered her eyelashes sarcastically, giving him a simpering smile, her voice sickly sweet. “Please, Ben. Please, grace me with your holy presence so that I may have six hours of sleep that are not plagued by nightmares. Please, sir, do me the kindness of not making me wake up screaming from memories of being fucking tortured.”

Ben grunted, forcing a smile onto his face as the Thing howled. “Of course, Sunshine. All you had to do was ask.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling herself off the couch. “I need to shit, I’ll see you in my room in five.”

Ben let himself dwell for a second after She left, trying to push the sound of her voice, however mocking, say please, Ben and sir and the image of her fake pouting at him as light flickered across her face. Through an inhuman—even for Ben—amount of self-restraint, he managed to pull his shit all the way together and push it deep, deep down for the Thing to follow before making his way up the stairs.

When he entered Her room, she was already sitting on the bed, covers pulled over her body, on the same side as the previous night. Ben started to walk carefully over to the empty half of the mattress, but she sat up a little, pointing behind him.

“Lights.” She explained, a slightly apologetic look on her face. “Please.”

“Only because you fucking said please,” Ben grumbled, and flicked the little switch on the wall before making his way to Her side. He’d barely kicked his legs up onto the mattress when She closed her eyes, and her heartbeat began to slow into a peaceful steady rate.

He wasn’t sure how, but Ben slept as well, and when the nightmare—one of his more frequent ones about a man in a lab coat tears out his heart, holding it up for the world to see, and echoes of laughter carving into Ben’s head—caught him, he woke in a cold sweat and felt Her curled fully into his side, his arm holding her there. His breathing steadied quickly, and it dawned on him that there hadn’t been any drums. There still weren’t. He looked down at Her, tucked against his torso, and didn’t move until sunrise.

Another week passed, and Ben was getting a lot fucking worse at controlling the Thing in his chest. She still had no idea—Ben was an amazing fucking actor like that—and he had no fucking intention of clueing her in. Because there wasn’t anything for Her to know. He wasn’t keeping it a secret, because the Thing wasn’t anything, not really, so he’d just be telling her he thought she was pretty. Which was a fucking stupid thing to do, because Ben wasn’t a pussy teenager who’d just discovered what women were. She was pretty, but he’d met hundreds, thousands, of pretty women.

Not pretty, the Thing would grumble. Beautiful.

Ben had met fucking beautiful women too. This wasn’t something important.

Was Ben jerking off more times than he had since maybe even before Russia? Sure. But it was just a fucking coincidence. His sex drive was back, fucking alert the media and call the cops. Was he not using porn, just the Thing and its conjured images? Yes, but nobody would fucking give him internet access and he’d suck Butcher to completion before he asked Her to give him porn. Because he’d never fucking hear the end of it, not because She’d probably know how to see what he’d watch, and have questions about why all the models looked like her. The images were getting Ben’s engine going just fine, and delivering him to where he needed to be goddamn well. Images that were of soft bodies that looked like hers and sharp eyes that were always amused. Images that went hand in hand with imagined sounds of a familiar voice moaning and whimpering his name, his real name, as he muttered filth to his empty room. Nobody had even called him Ben during sex in almost 75 years. Everyone, from Crimson Countess to long-faceless supes at Herogasm, had called him Soldier Boy. But She always called him Ben and his mind had, against his fucking will, decided that She would probably call him Ben if he got to have her how he wanted.

And fuck, had his fucking brain taken that and ran with it. Ben had run through so many fucking fantasies he had favorites. There was the one where he knelt before her on his bed and She gripped his hair as she begged, the one where he pinned Her hands above her head during training with one hand and used the other to make her moan, the one where She walked into his room and dropped to her knees for him with that taunting smile, and the one where they were on the couch and he pulled Her onto his lap and fucked her until she burst into flames.

None of this was helped by their new habit of him sleeping in Her bed, or the fact that he was actually sleeping when he did so. It wasn’t helped by her being more insistent on training than ever before, making their usual physical contact increase by fucking tenfold. It wasn’t helped by how Ben couldn’t stop talking to Her because she was still insufferably fucking open and stupidly fucking funny and he wanted an excuse make Her call him a cunt so he could call her a brat, and he got to listen to the little sound her heart made every fucking time.

The worst part, though, was that he’d been fucking wrong. Really fucking wrong. She wasn’t pretty or beautiful, she was fucking perfect, and it was going to make him go insane. Lately, when he looked at her, it was like staring at the goddamn sun. It made the Thing reel just to fucking see Her now, and he was too much of a fucking pussy to fight it because She was perfect.

You’ve never met a perfect woman before , the Thing whispered smugly. You’ve never met a perfect anything.

Fine. That was fucking true. But it didn’t change that the Thing didn’t fucking mean jack fucking shit. So he didn’t have to tell her.

In the mess of the Thing and Her and trying to kill the Thing before it made him a fucking pussy who could only think about Her, Ben still hadn’t given Butcher an answer about Homelander’s offer. He didn’t even really fucking have one yet. There had been no improvement in the cycle of Homelander can fuck right off to Homelander had hurt Her and Ben wanted to hurt him to She would tell Ben to go all the way back to Homelander can fuck right off. If anything it had worsened, leaving Ben right in the same shit position he’d started.

He was wading around in that very loop now, having woken up two hours before Her and made his way downstairs. Though, once again against his will, Ben had spent the first hour watching Her sleep, dragged into a trance by her heartbeat and her relaxed, beautiful face.

Perfect. The Thing had reminded Ben. Her perfect face.

He’d told it to shut the fuck up, and stomped—quietly, Ben had no interest in waking Her up—out of Her room and down the hall to his own. He’d made himself cum quickly, a fantasy of Her bent over and whining into a pillow fueling him, before moving downstairs to watch TV and wait for Her to wake up like a fucking lost puppy dog.

But Ben did wait—reminding himself that it didn’t mean anything because what else could he even fucking do—as one of the better sitcoms She’d shown him playing in a forgotten buzz as Ben’s thoughts began the useless fucking loop. Ben was so fucking focused on the Homelander had hurt Her and Ben wanted to hurt Him part that he missed the sounds of Her waking up, only barely noticing when her heartbeat grew closer as she walked down the stairs.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Ben called over his shoulder just as She reached the bottom, padding over to drop on the couch next to him.

“Hi.” She mumbled, squinting at the TV. “Oh, this is a good one.”

He glanced back at the screen, where two of the characters were screaming into a walkie talkie in a closet. Ben only grunted, watching Her lean back from the corner of his eye.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked so casually, Ben wasn’t sure he heard her right.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“You’re being weird. You didn’t make coffee, and when I came down the stairs you looked deep in thought. It’s concerning.”

Ben rolled his eyes and swatted at Her arm. “Fuck off, brat.” Her heart did the thing, and he had to fight a smile. “I was just watching the fucking show.”

She hummed, giving him an unconvinced look. “Fine, you cunt. Don’t tell me.”

“If this is about you wanting coffee, Sunshine, you’ve got a pair of working arms and a matching set of fucking legs. Do it your goddamn self.”

“It’s not about coffee,” She mumbled, though Ben didn’t miss her slight pout. “I just wanted to…” She trailed off, and Ben looked at her fully.

What a fucking lapse in his quickly vanishing judgment that was.

The morning light through the room made all of Her perfect features fucking glow, and her stupid lips that had been haunting Ben’s every damn thought were puffy from sleep. He wanted to touch them.

“Ben?” Her voice jarred him out of his stupid fucking brain. “Why are you holding Butcher’s sunglasses?”

Ben glanced down and realized that he’d been turning the cheap, knock-off, Soldier Boy sunglass that were the wrong fucking color around in his hand. He’d forgotten to give them to Her completely when she’d first woken up and been all sad, as fucking sunglasses had been lower on his priority list than the fucking Homelander offer. Then, when She had finally started fucking talking to him again, he had found himself rarely in his room—Ben had been keeping the sunglasses on his dresser—except to quickly pull his dick in any spare time he could find. When he’d cleaned up his mess from that very activity this morning, Ben had noticed them collecting dust and shoved them into his pocket to finally fucking move them from his room. One less thing to do a shitty job of cleaning.

“Butcher told me these were yours.” Ben frowned at her. “Asshole said you dropped them on your way to Firecracker’s stage.”

She gave the sunglasses a dirty look. “Of course he did. Fucking asshole.”

“What, are they fucking modern sunglasses that are going to start telling me all your deepest secrets?” Ben looked between the accessory to where She sat, still glowering at it. “Is it a damn bomb?”

“No, Butcher’s just a dick.”” She muttered, though the bitterness was gone from her tone and her lips twitched as her eyes returned to his. “He was going to use them as a part of his dogshit disguise and I told him not to. Because it would blow our cover. Your cover. Then I blew the whole fucking plan, and he’s fucking rubbing it my face.”

“You didn’t blow it, your stupid plan fucking worked, Sunshine. It’s not a great insult.”

“It didn’t work. Not well enough.” The sadness was creeping back into Her eyes, and the Thing was clawing at him.

“Butcher’s an ass,” Ben tossed the sunglasses into Her lap, and she scrambled to catch them. “That tea-rimming dick couldn’t have done any fucking better than you did.”

“Thanks, Ben.” She gave him a small smile, her voice so painfully fucking genuine it made Ben want to throw himself off a cliff. The Thing was whining, fucking whining like a little fucking bitch, as She held the sunglasses up to the light. “Thoughts on the change of your color scheme.”

Ben snorted. “Fucking blue. The weak pussy man’s fucking green.”

She laughed, a real laugh that made the Thing slam against Ben’s lungs. “That’s a much stronger and more negative opinion about blue than I expected from America’s Number One Patriot.”

“If I had any fucking say in it,” Ben grumbled. “Our flag would be red, white, and green.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Like Italy?”

“Fuck no, not like fucking Italy-“ He shot Her a glare as she started to giggle. “Shut the fuck up, Sunshine. Blue is fucking stupid, green is a lot fucking better, and you fucking know it.”

“Hm,” She smothered her laughter and gave him a smirk. “You do look very good in it.”

The Thing loved that. Fuck, Ben loved that too. He did look fucking good in green, he looked good all the damn time. That didn’t stop the Thing—and him, if someone wanted to be a real fucking asshole about specifics—from wanting to, needing to, know what other colors She thought he looked good in. But she had moved on, rubbing the lenses with her shirt before placing the sunglasses on her nose and giving Ben a wide, unrestrained smile.

“How do I look? Like a douchebag?” She asked, pushing them down her nose to look at him over the rim.

Ben snorted. “I don’t think you could look like a douchebag if you fucking tried, Sunshine.”

She giggled, and relaxed fully into the cushions, turning to lean against the armrests and kicking her feet up so they pressed against Ben’s leg. “Jury’s out on that, Pretty Boy.”

Ben watched her settle, watching the TV through the sunglasses and mouthing along to the lines of the show with a comfortable smile, and his brain flashed back to the place he’d left the cycle. Homelander had hurt Her, and Ben wanted to hurt him.

He had his fucking answer for Butcher.

That night, sitting at Her side and moving more carefully he had ever bothered to in his fucking life, Ben reached across Her body and took the small, weird phone from her bed stand.

The next half hour involved a lot of cursing under his breath, rage building bigger and bigger into Ben until he almost threw the fucking “phone” across the room. In almost any other circumstance he would’ve shoved the damned thing before Her, and she would’ve showed him all the stupid fucking ways in which it worked. But he couldn’t for this, because She’d have fucking questions about what he wanted her phone for, and he’d try and refuse to answer them, and then She’d figure out a fucking way to trick him into telling her. The whole point of his careful movements and silent anger was that he could fire the gun himself before She could insist on doing it with him.

Eventually Ben figured out what open with Face ID meant, leading to him spending another two minutes trying to hold the phone in front of Her face in a way that the stupid fucking thing deemed acceptable. By the grace of a god Ben didn’t believe in, he was saved from another grueling endeavor of trying to figure out how to call someone on a flat piece of fucking glass by the phone buzzing in his hand—something that made him almost crack it in half out of pure vigilance—and the screen showing a weird fucking banner that top that read:

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Need a week.

Ben tapped on the banner, and felt immense satisfaction as it brought him to a screen of little bubbles, a keyboard sitting readily at the bottom. One letter at a time, Ben typed out call me, before pausing and adding Her name at the end.

The phone began to buzz angrily as the words Call From, William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever paired with a photo of an old Wanted photo of Butcher consumed the screen. Ben was incredibly grateful She was asleep, as he dropped the fucking thing onto the his lap in shock—though he’d recovered quickly and any sane motherfucker would’ve done the same if a block of metal started fucking buzzing—and She would certainly not have let him hear the end of it had she seen. He stood carefully but quickly from the bed, looking back as She shuffled slightly. When he saw her settled once more, heartbeat just as steady as when She always slept, he pushed out into the hall and hit the little green button that better fucking do what he thought it would.

“Oi,” Butcher’s voice sounded quietly from the phone, saying Her name with a tone of annoyance. “Soldier Boy rub off on you so hard you forgot how bloody phones work?” The man made a sound like he was laughing to himself. “Actually, don’t fucking answer that. I don’t want to know what freaky shit you two get up to.”

“Guess again,” Ben spoke against the screen, trying at the same time to figure out how to make Butcher louder. He noticed a button labeled speaker, slammed his thumb against it, and almost dropped the phone as Butcher’s voice blasted against his ears.

“Well, if it ain’t the ancient cunt himself. Does the missus know you took her phone?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Ben froze, swearing under his breath, as Her voice sounded from behind him. Ignoring Butcher’s mocking laughter echoing in the hall, he turned slowly to find Her right at his chest, eyes bleary but still managing to glare with all her usual, sharp venom. “Hello, Sunshine. Good fucking morning to you too.”

“You as well.” She snapped, and Ben scoffed, silently enjoying the way Her nose scrunched as she corrected him and hating the way he didn’t want to throw Her against a wall. “And it’s fucking 3am.” She yanked her phone from Ben’s grip, scowling at him as she spoke. “Butcher, I’m going to put you on hold for a second, Ben and I need to talk.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Butcher’s voice sneered, and She rolled her eyes before pressing something on the screen. “I’ll just bloody wait here then, not like I have anything important to do.”

“I can still hear him.” Ben pointed out as Butcher began to hum through the speakers.

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Pretty Boy. He won’t hear it when I beat your fucking ass.”

“I stay with you all night, again, and this is how you show me fucking gratitude?”

“You fucking stole my phone to call Butcher.” She said flatly. “You don’t even know how to use it.”

“I figured it out, Sunshine. I’m not a fucking idiot pussy.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular fucking Einstein, using a smartphone in 21st century.” She jeered. “Now tell me why you needed to call Butcher so bad you decided to steal my phone about it, before I melt your fucking face. ”

“Take your best fucking shot, Sunshine, this is between me and the brit.”

She sighed. “Have it your way. Butcher?” She tapped the phone, holding Ben’s glare. “Any ideas about what Ben was calling you for?”

“Why do you ask, Love? Soldier Boy not willing to share his intentions with me to his Sunshine? ” Butcher mocked, and Her scowled turned down to the phone.

“Butcher.” Her voice was cool, and Ben could see the gnawing of her lip just as well as he could hear it. “You and Ben get one minute to grow bigger balls and tell me right now, or I will cut off the tiny ones you have.”

“Sorry, but Ben -“ Butcher’s voice said his name in a way that made Ben want to cut out the man’s tongue. “Didn’t get round to telling me his bloody self, so I ain’t got a clue.”

“Give me a guess.” She said coldly.

“Can’t, Love. I don’t have the faintest idea.”

A sound of frustration escaped Her throat, and Ben watched her grip on the phone tighten. “Butcher, I don’t know where this sudden loyalty to Ben came from, but you better lose it and find an idea real fucking fast before I leave Ben here so I can come and kill you.”

Any sleep was gone from Her eyes, smoke had begun to curl off of her body, and Ben was starting to worry she was going to break the skin in her mouth. Maybe She’d let us look at it if she does, the Thing whispered. And we could touch her lips.

Ben had to get himself under fucking control. If he wasn’t so focused on Her mouth like a whipped pussy, he would’ve been able to grab the phone back and break it before Butcher caved and told Her.

“Well, it might have something to do with our little chat while you were taking bloody five. That it, Gov? You finally got a fucking answer for me?”

She looked up at Ben, eyes flaring. “What little chat? ”

“None of your business, Sunshine,” Ben snapped, and Butcher made a huffed laugh through the phone.

“Don’t think she sees it that way, Mate.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Butcher.” Ben growled, and Her glare somehow grew so sharp Ben could feel it.

“What little chat, Butcher. What answer does Ben need to give you.” She hissed.

“Homelander and Sage gave us a little offer to have a nice and peaceful chat.” Butcher drawled, and Her eyes shot down to the phone, mouth falling open. “I’ve been waitin two bloody weeks for Soldier Boy to let me know if he’ll grace us with his presence.”

Her eyes returned to Ben, jaw clenched, and the carpet at her feet started to blacken. “I’m going to have to call you back, Butcher.”

“If you two have angry sex, tell me, because Hughie will owe me a tenner and-“ Butcher’s voice was cut off as She hung up, not once looking away from Ben.

“Homelander and Sage offered us a meeting? And you didn’t think that was important enough to share with the class?” Her voice was level, words measured, and heart steady. Ben hadn’t seen Her like this since those first weeks, and he hadn’t missed it one fucking bit.

“They offered me a meeting, Sunshine.” Ben snapped. “You’re not invited.”

“I go where you go, Pretty Boy.” Her words pushed through gritted teeth. “So unless they’re coming here, I’m going with you.”

“You seem real confident I wasn’t about to tell Butcher to shove the offer up where the sun don’t fucking shine.” Ben glared down at her, and She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “You would’ve woken me up so you could have an audience. You didn’t want me to know.”

“Not everything is about you, Sunshine.” Ben growled, most of his anger now angled at how fucking correct she was.

“Really? Because you stealing my phone and very purposefully not telling me about the meeting feels like it might be about me just a little!”

“Well, if you would give me a fucking phone of my own-“

“That not the fucking point, Ben! Why didn’t you fucking tell me about this!” She yelled, the room becoming thick with smoke.

“I don’t have to fucking tell you everything! You’re not my goddamn partner!”

Her heart stuttered, face dropping into a scowl, and Ben felt something start to eat at him in his chest.

“Fine.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, and it made the Thing turn his blood to lead and squeeze his chest tightly. “Whatever.” She threw the phone at him, and Ben had hardly caught it when She turned and walked back into the room, door slamming behind her.

Ben almost moved to follow Her, lurching forward to push after her and insist she fucking listen to him, that he hadn’t fucking told her for a damn good fucking reason, but the phone started to buzz again, this time displaying Call From, Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions along with a photo of MM flipping off the camera. Ben glanced to the door, hearing Her heart moving faster by the second as her breath became short and shaky, and hit the red button.

He’d barely made it a step when the phone started buzzing again, MM calling once more. Growling in frustration, Ben pressed the red button again, only from it to buzz with a series of those fucking banners.

Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions

Fucking pick up.

Butcher said you and Soldier Boy were fighting.

If you don’t fucking pick up right now I’m driving over and yelling at you.

Or I’m sending Annie.

Ben glowered in disbelief at the phone, stone-like, hot rage filling through him. How fucking dare they even fucking think that Ben might fucking hurt her like fucking Homelander when that’s exactly what he was trying to fucking avoid-

This time, when the phone rang, Ben slammed the green button.

MM’s voice, sharp with relief, said Her name through the speaker. “Fucking hell, pick up the first time, you were going to give me a goddamn heart attack-“

“What the fuck is your problem.” Ben snapped, and the line fell so silent Ben thought it had dropped.“

After what must have been a fucking eternity, MM spoke, his voice firm and cold. “Soldier Boy, put Her on the phone right fucking now.”

“She’s not talking to me,” Ben said, ignoring the way the Thing became pained at his words.

“I swear to fucking God, if you don’t put her on right fucking now I’ll knock out myself and ship you back to Russia. If you fucking laid one disgusting hand on her-“

“I didn’t fucking touch her.“ Ben growled, the drums falling into rhythm with his fury. “I am not fucking Homelander.”

“You think I’m just going to fucking trust you about that? Butcher said you had a fight, and now you’re picking up her phone. If it walks like a Soldier Boy, talks like a Soldier Boy, then you fucking hurt her.”

“ I didn’t fucking hurt her! ” Ben roared at the phone, and Butcher’s voice came, muffled, through the speaker.

“Is that him? Give me the fucking phone, I need to talk to the cunt.”

“No,” MM’s voice was distant now, shouting at Butcher. “I need to make sure this motherfucker didn’t-“

“She can’t die Mate, she’s bloody fine. Give me the fucking phone.” There were sounds of shuffling, and when Butcher spoke again his voice was loud and crisp. “Stuck in the rotten bloody dog house, eh Gov?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben snapped. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I mean, if you start to hurt her might as well fucking be-“

“Fucking watch it, Butcher.” Ben hissed. “The only person in danger right now is your fucking pussy ass.”

“Well, aren’t we touchy.” Butcher sneered.

“You want your fucking answer or not?” Ben glanced back at the door, where She had become suspiciously quiet. The only sign of life Ben had to grasp was her uneven heartbeat, and even that was soft.

Butcher sighed dramatically through the phone. “If you want to suck all the bleedin fun out of it, fine. What’s it gonna be, Soldier Boy? Am I telling Homelander and Sage to find a wood chipper to stick their asses and heads in?”

“I’m in.” Ben said shortly, firmly. “Come and get me when it’s ready.”

“That’ll be in,” there was a slight pause before Butcher continued. “Eight hours.”

“Eight hours?” Ben repeated with a frown. “You pussies think you can get everything ready in eight fucking hours?”

“We’ve been ready for a week, Gov.” Butcher’s voice sounded fucking smug, and Ben wished he could punch the man through the phone. “Let’s just say I had a good feeling about your answer.”

“Fine. Eight hours. But if you’re not here on time, I’m not fucking going.” Ben didn’t wait for Butcher’s snarking, bitch-mouthed questions or mockery before he hung up, finally marching over to Her door and pushing it open.

She wasn’t on the bed. Or the floor. Or on the tacky armchair. Or at the shitty desk. She wasn’t in the room at all, and Ben’s heart fucking stopped, the drums building and building. He was fucking seconds away from tearing the whole damn room apart when he noticed the bathroom door hanging open, the lights off but the fans humming filling the room in time with taps of Moon River, both covering her already faint heartbeat.

“Sunshine?” He grunted, and heard Her heart stutter. “I have your phone.”

She didn’t answer, and Ben took a few steps closer to the door, abandoning the phone on Her bed.

“I know you’re in there,” he said Her name carefully. “I can fucking hear you.”

Still nothing. The Thing was grabbing Ben so tight he had to think to breathe.

“Are you still fucking pissed at me about the meeting?” He snapped, trying to fight the Thing and get Her just fucking acknowledge him. “Because if that’s what the fucking silent treatment is about, I don’t-“

Something cluttered in the bathroom, and She appeared at the door. Her eyes were red, face drawn in an angry scowl, and even from his place a few feet away, Ben could feel the heat off of her. But what made the Thing start to claw, feral and fucking desperate, at Ben’s ribs, was that She didn’t look angry or violent. She didn’t even look sad and broken. She just looked empty.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” She said flatly, watching Ben with hollow eyes. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I just don’t want to talk to you.”

“You’re being fucking dramatic-“

“Am I?” She shrugged. “What a fucking inconvenience.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Ben’s voice was rising, and he couldn’t fucking stop it, especially as She didn’t even flinch. “It’s not like I fucking laid hands on you!”

She let out a low, humorless laugh. “Yeah, sure. Good work, Ben. Real white horse moment, you didn’t beat me up.”

“That’s not what I fucking meant and you damn know it.”

“Maybe.” She sighed again. “Are you done?”

“Not until you fucking tell me what you’re fucking problem is-“

“Why should I?” She said flatly, looking away from him. “We don’t have to tell each other everything.”

Ben stared at Her as she still didn’t meet his eyes, her words—his words—echoing through his head, the Thing twisting in his throat. “Is that what you’re being so fucking bitchy about? That I didn’t fucking tell you about one goddamn thing?”

Something flashed in Her eyes, and even though it was a bone-chilling rage, Ben felt something unwind deep in his gut that she wasn’t just fucking vacant.

“You didn’t just not tell me about one thing, you fucking lied to me.” Something in Her voice snapped. “You said you hadn’t heard from Butcher! You said we were fucking benched, when it was just fucking me! When Butcher had told you about Homelander’s stupid fucking offer and not me!” Her voice was climbing to a raw, broken scream. “You said you wouldn’t fucking lie.” Her words were choked. “ You fucking lied, Ben. ”

In his life, Ben had been an asshole a damn lot, and though he’d never managed to be bothered by it—he wasn’t a fucking emotional pussy and it wasn’t his goddamn fault that everyone else was—it hadn’t stopped people from screaming at him, calling him every foul name in the English language, and wishing pain upon him both to his face and behind closed doors. This was, for some fucking reason Ben didn’t want to even spare a thought to, worse then all of that in every fucking way imaginable. Her silent sobs that she seemed to be trying to push down her throat, Her refusal to fully look at him for more than a second, Her voice as she screamed at him so fucking shattered and anguished.

He shouldn’t fucking care. It wasn’t a big fucking deal, it had been one little lie. Fuck, it hadn't even been a damn lie, just an omission. She was being fucking dramatic.

You hurt Her. The Thing hissed at him. You promised you wouldn’t hurt Her, and you did.

No, he fucking didn’t. He hadn’t laid a single finger on her.

People don’t act like that if they’re not hurt.

He hadn’t fucking hurt Her. If anything, She was fucking hurting him with her broken eyes and sobs.

The Thing was trying to burst out of him. She’s broken because you hurt her. Because she trusted you, and you lied.

It was her own damn fault, then. Ben wouldn’t even fucking trust himself, and he certainly hadn’t forced Her to.

But she did. The Thing growled. For some fucking reason, She trusted you. And you fucking hurt her. Like fucking Homelander.

That was it. Ben wasn’t like fucking Homelander. He hadn’t fucking hurt her. But she was still fucking crying, backing away from him into the shadows as he just stood there like a fucking dickless asshole.

So, against all of his better judgment, Ben let the Thing win. Once. Never fucking again, but right now he just needed Her to stop fucking hurting, and if the Thing could make him fix this, then Ben would let it win just fucking once.

He took a step towards Her, and something wrapped around his lungs released as She let Ben wrap her shaking body into his arms, let him pull her head against his chest and keep her there. They stood there, Ben holding Her until her breathing steadied and body cooled. When—after what was either a second or a year—she whispered, her voice carried into and through Ben’s body.

“I’m sorry-“ She started, but he pulled back to look down at her, and she cut herself off as she met his gaze.

“Don’t be. You were…” the words struggled out of him, the Thing pushing them up. “Not wrong.”

She gave a shaky laugh, and that carried through Ben too. “I was still being a bitch. You’re right, we don’t have to tell each other everything-“

“No.” He cut Her off fully this time, and she blinked up at him, eyes wide and pretty. Ben swallowed, forcing himself to stop starting like a pathetic asshole and just fucking talk. “I told you I had nothing to hide. I fucking meant it.”

She tilted her head at him, watching him with a look he didn’t understand. “Then why did you lie?”

Her voice was soft, and the Thing was making an awfully fucking convincing argument to never let her go.

“I didn’t lie.” Ben grunted, and was met with a flat look and a pinch on his arm.

“Ben.”

He rolled his eyes, grip around Her tightening. “I didn’t fucking lie, Sunshine. I just-“

“Omitted the truth?” She gave him a small smile, and the Thing jumped. “That’s a form of lying, Pretty Boy.”

“Well, I knew you’d have a fucking opinion about this like you do for every damn thing, and maybe I just didn’t want fucking to hear it.”

“Hm,” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you think I’d say?”

“To go.” He stared ahead as he spoke, silently hoping She’d, for once in her fucking life, be satisfied with his answer.

He should’ve known a lot damn better by now.

“That it?”

Ben’s gaze dropped back down to Her, loathing how the light of the dawn was pushing through the curtains, casting her face in soft light that fit her stupid fucking perfect face so well. Ben loathed even more that she wasn’t scowling at him, wasn’t even glaring, just watching with an amused, gentle look of I don’t believe you, Ben. You’re a fucking shit liar, and it’s funny you think you’re not.

Ben wanted to tell Her that, no, he was actually an amazing fucking liar. He’d managed to jerk himself off multiple times a day for the past week and she had no fucking clue.

Instead, he rolled his eyes at Her, trying to imitate that boring, amused tone of Hers that always made him fucking insane. “You would’ve fucking tried to go as well. And that’s only happening over my dead fucking body.”

She gave a small, fake annoyed huff. “That’s not fair. You can’t die.”

“I’m serious.” Ben frowned. “Homelander’s going to be there. You’re not fucking going, Sunshine.”

She blinked at him with that same look from before, confusing the fucking hell out him. “But-“

“No.” Ben forced himself to pull away from Her, snarling in his head at the Thing’s whining as he did so. “End of fucking discussion. This isn’t like Firecracker, where Homelander might be there. He will be. You’re not fucking going.”

She frowned, arms folding across her chest in a way that pushed her tits forward-

Ben swore at himself. This was getting fucking ridiculous.

“You’re not my boss, Ben. If I want to go, I’m going.”

“Sunshine, I don’t know if you recently went deaf-“ Ben ignored her scoff. “Or are just suddenly very fucking stupid, but you keep somehow missing the part where Homelander is going to be there.”

“I can fucking hear you, cunt, I just-“

“Are being a fucking brat on purpose? I don’t even think you fucking want to go, I think you just don’t like me being fucking right.”

Her lips pursed and the gnawing began, but She remained silent as she glared up at him. Ben felt both a rush of triumph and a breath of weird fucking relief from the Thing.

“How about this, Sunshine. They’ll be here in a little more than seven hours. You convince them to let you go, I won’t fight it. But-“ Ben lowered his tone, making it clear as fucking day that he was being goddamn serious. “If they say no, you stay here without any fucking dramatics.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded, and extended her hand. “Deal.”

Ben snorted. “You want to fucking shake on it?”

“Want to prove you’re the noble fucking asshole gentleman you’re always bragging about being?” She nodded down to her hand. “Fucking shake on it, Pretty Boy.”

Ben winked at Her. “I’m no fucking gentleman, Sunshine. Thought your pretty little head would’ve figured that out by now.”

She only glared. “If you don’t shake my hand right fucking now, I’m fulfilling my promise about melting off your face and then going to the meeting by myself.”

“Brat,” Ben muttered, and the Thing fucking purred in goddamn satisfaction as he heard her heart did that little roll. It still didn’t fucking mean anything worth mentioning, Ben decided. It just meant She wasn’t that mad at him anymore, and that was why the relief was fucking consuming him. Because She was back to her normal self, getting on every last fucking nerve of his without any damn tears.

“Cunt.” She flexed her hand, and, frowning, Ben gave Her a firm shake. A smile split across Her face, and though her eyes were still red and tired, there was no hint of that emptiness remaining. “Lovely. I look forward to attending the meeting.”

Ben found it adorable that She believed he would’ve even fucking offered the deal if he thought a single goddamn member of her team would let her go. They had trained like normal, Ben changing into his suit afterward—because there was no fucking way Butcher was making him go in goddamn sweats—and they had spent the remaining hours leading up to the meeting on the couch, watching TV in what would have been uneasy silence, had it not been for Her leaning into his side with an ease of someone who had done it a million times. Ben somehow managed to stay still, both shutting the Thing up with inner, vulgar threats, and exerting an impressive amount of stealth in concealing his boner, which had returned with a vengeance Ben didn’t fucking appreciate. And—as he had predicted—when Butcher arrived with the French Prick and Kimiko, there was universal agreement that She wasn’t allowed to be in attendance.

“This is fucking bullshit!” She yelled at Butcher, giving his chest a firm shove. Ben was a little impressed the man didn’t topple over or cower in fear, but Butcher would never get to fucking know it.

“Sorry, Love, but Soldier Boy’s right. You’d just be a bloody problem that we ain’t got time to deal with.” Butcher turned to Ben, giving a sweeping gesture to the door. “After you, Gov.”

“How are you going to control Ben, huh?!” Her voice was desperate, and the Thing wanted to hold her again, despite Ben’s annoyance at Her apparent lack of fucking faith in him. “What if he goes rogue? And I’m not there to stop him?!”

“Fuck you too, Sunshine.” Ben muttered, and She shot him a glare.

“Shut up, this isn’t about you.”

He snorted, and She stuck her tongue out at him.

“You cunts can stand here and eye-fuck each other as long as you bloody please, but when Soldier Boy finally gets off and we go, you’re staying here, Love.”

“But what if-“

The French Prick said Her name smoothly. “Do not worry, madame. The CIA gave me enough of their gas to knock out all of Espagne, and I mixed with my own cocktail of fun, so if the connard goes nuclear-“ The French Prick gave Ben a smirk. “I will knock his arse to sleep before he can even say oops.”

Ben glowered at the French Prick, the drums sounding distantly. He could fucking control himself, this was goddamn unnecessary, and he fucking doubted their pussy fucking gas would even damn work on him. But She was starting to look like she might just run out door and chase the van they’d brought all the way to wherever Butcher had planned the meeting, so Ben clenched his fists and ignored the approaching rhythm.

“Let’s just get this fucking over it.” He grunted, pushing around Butcher to the door.

“That’s more bloody like it,” Butcher smirked. “Let get this fucking show on the damn road, Gov.”

Ben glanced back once before he stepped outside, half hoping to see Her watching him—even if it was with an angry glare of when you get back I’m going to cut your dick off—but found Her exchanging those weird fucking gestures with Kimiko, her face cast in a shadow so he couldn’t read it.

Kimiko eventually turned, walking past Ben and through the door, and his eyes met Hers.

Don’t fucking die, Pretty Boy. Her frown told him.

The Thing wanted to stay there. It didn’t want to bring Her, even it wasn’t that fucking stupid. But it was roaring around in him just the fucking anticipation of leaving Her.

“Don’t fucking miss me too much, Sunshine.” Ben said, adding a wink before he turned.

He didn’t miss her sharp exhale, or her mumbled words, before the door closed between them. “I’ll try.”

Because Butcher was out to fucking get him, the something that had been set up to hold Ben was just the van—improved by a deadbolt Ben was pretty fucking sure he could snap in half without a thought—along Kimiko glaring at him and the French Prick holding a can of gas. For the first half hour, Butcher humming something Ben didn’t recognize—but was still certain was off-key and tempo—was the only sound aside from the engine. Ben broke after deciding that, if Kimiko and the French Prick kept doing those fucking gestures at each other, he’d have to take his bets with the gas and kill them both.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ben grunted, and they both turned to look at him.

“ Que? ” The French Prick looked him up and down wearily.

Ben mimed their gestures. “The fuck is that.”

“Monsieur Soldier Boy-“ The French Prick was cut off as Kimiko hit his arm, gesturing aggressively when his attention turned to her. “ Mon Coeur, there is no harm in him knowing.”

“Knowing what?” Ben scowled, and Kimiko glared at him, continuing her movements as the French Prick shook his head.

“She does not want me to tell you,” the French Prick frowned, beginning to gesture himself. “Although, Madame Anomaly-“

“Don’t call her that.” Ben snapped.

The French Prick blinked, and Kimiko, frowned, doing more gestures that involved a lot of fucking pointing at Ben.

“ Mon Coeur, please, it’ll make it easier.” Kimiko rolled her eyes, but sat back with a huff. The French Pricks attention returned to Ben. “This is how she speaks.”

“Yeah, I fucking figured that out myself.” Ben said with an eye roll. “Why is she a fucking mute?”

Kimiko flipped Ben off, and he glared at her as the French Prick sighed. “Her parents were killed, right before her eyes. She has said no words since.”

“Oh.” Ben frowned, narrowing his eyes as he looked between them. “Fine.”

Kimiko let out another huff, gesturing to the French Prick once more.

“ Non, she could not come instead. Homelander is too big of a threat to her.” The Thing started to push against him as Ben realized they were talking about Her. “Mon Couer, she would not have just stayed in the van -“

Ben cut the French Prick off, saying Her name harshly. “Does she know?” He mimed the gestures again, and decided to pretend for Kimiko’s sake he didn’t see her eye roll. “I’ve seen her fucking waving her hands at you, so don’t fucking lie to me.”

“ Oui,” the French Prick said, sounding more tired by the fucking second. “When she joined us, she insisted we teach her.”

“Of course she did.” Ben grumbled. She was too damn kind for her own fucking good. One day it was going to get Her fucking killed.

The Thing didn’t like that thought, rearing against his throat, and Ben could almost fucking hear her response.

Me being kind is a lot less likely to get me killed than being a dick to everyone all the fucking time is, Pretty Boy. You should follow my example.

Maybe he would, Ben smiled to himself. Not to be kind, that was fucking stupid, but because if he followed Her he would be able to save her dumbass when he was proven right. Plus, he liked watching Her walk. She always moved with such fucking purpose, her hips doing a little sway and her hair bouncing, it was really fucking hot.

The French Prick coughed, opening his mouth to say something and snapping Ben out of his thoughts.

“How much longer until we’re there?” Ben said before the French Prick had gotten a syllable out, having no interest in whatever had been about to be said, especially—if his suspicion was correct—about Her.

“Almost there, Gov.” Butcher called from the front.

“And there fucking is?”

“FBSA HQ.”

Ben was going to take Butcher’s asshole and bend him until it was next to his mouth, and Butcher had to swallow his own fucking shit forever. “Fucking words, you dickfaced pussy.”

Butcher snorted. “Federal Bureau of Supe Affairs. You ain’t thick enough to not get HQ by your bloody self.”

“You let them choose it?” Ben scowled at the back of Butcher’s head. “Or man the fuck up and this is your fucking pick?”

“Compromise, Mate.” Butcher grinned, toothy and mocking, in the rearview mirror. “We wanted somewhere public, they wanted somewhere private. Government property is the middle ground.”

“Fucking pussy.” Ben muttered under his breath, and as Butcher laughed coldly, the van came to a halt.

“Let’s get a bloody move on.” Butcher stood from his seat. “Lot of shit to do and not much fuckin time to get it done.”

At the request of the building’s security—some fucking pussy shit about not inciting a panic by having Soldier Boy walk into the lobby of a government building—Ben was herded through a back entrance, Butcher leading them through the flickering halls and up the elevator as the French Prick and Kimiko walked a pace behind, the French Prick gripping the gas like a pussy with a fucking lifeline.

When they entered the meeting room, a fucking insane amount of floors up and through a goddamn stupid amount of doors, Homelander was pacing back and forth before a floor-to-ceiling window as Sage and another woman—one Ben didn’t recognize in shiny fucking pantsuit with long black hair—sat on the far side of a conference table.

“Oi!” Butcher reached to his back, pulling out a gun and aiming it at the pantsuit lady. “She wasn’t on the fucking guess list.”

“Neither were they,” Sage said cooly, inclining her head towards Kimiko and the French Prick. “So we all broke a promise, and it’s even.”

“And put that away, William.” Homelander said, giving Butcher a large smile and a dismissive wave. “You look ridiculous. Vicky here will pop your brains before you even switch off the safety.”

“Don’t call me Vicky,” the woman’s voice was tense, giving Homelander weary side-eye. “But he is right, Butcher. You know that won’t hurt any of us.”

“Maybe.” Butcher sneered. “But I’m a man of science, I’d like to bloody see for myself.”

“Just sit down so we can get this over with,” Sage ordered, looking over her shoulder to where Homelander still stood, chest puffed and hands on hips. “Homelander, that means you as well.”

Homelander glared down at Sage before turning his gaze to Butcher, and then Ben.

He looked fucking pathetic, just as fucking weak as Ben remembered. Still wearing a fucking cape like a pussy, still strutting around like a goddamn toddler, looking fucking desperate for fucking approval. The only difference—something Ben wasn’t sure was new from their last meeting or something he saw because of Her—was the edge in Homelander’s eyes. The pussyfucker had looked psychotic, eyes too fucking blue and smile too fucking wide, but there was something crazed behind his movements. Something a lot more fucking careless. A lot more fucking dangerous.

“Soldier Boy.” Homelander said, voice level as that same insanity glinted in his eyes.

Ben kept his voice level as he responded, fighting every instinct to slam the weak pussies head into the glass of the window. “Homelander.”

“Can you both just sit down?” Sage said, exasperated as she looked between them. “The longer you measure your dicks at each other, the longer this goes.”

Homelander didn’t move, so Ben didn’t either.

“Fine,” Sage rolled her eyes. “Stand the whole time for all I fucking care.” She leaned forwards, clasping her hands on the table. “We asked you here to-“

“Who the fuck is she.“ Ben pointed at the pantsuit lady, who nobody had thought to fucking clue him in on the identity of.

“Victoria Neuman, Vice President of the United States.” The woman said, giving Ben a cool smile. “I believe you tried to kill me a month ago.”

Ben frowned. “Head-popper.”

Neuman sighed. “Yeah, sure. Head-popper.”

"How’d you even get away from your security cunts?” Butcher mused, eyeing Neuman. “Vought put them on payroll?”

She turned her frown to Butcher. “As you know, the secret service is a lot more inept than the public is led to believe. They think I ate bad seafood last night, and am pushing it out in a restroom three floors down.”

“Well, don’t I feel just peachy about having them protecting this great nation against threats.” Butcher jeered, and Neuman narrowed her eyes.

“You blew up my rally, Butcher. That was literally political terrorism.”

Butcher shrugged. “That particular firework show wasn’t mine, Popper.”

Homelander gave a toothy grin, walking forward to stand at the edge of the table. “It was her, wasn’t it?” He looked down at Sage. “I fucking told you, didn’t I? I said that it reminded me of her, and you said it wasn’t. Well I was fucking right.” The last words came out hissed through teeth, his smile never breaking.

Ben wanted to tear it off his face. The Thing was in favor of that plan.

“I said it wasn’t because, at the time, I thought she was dead. Like you’d told me she was.” Sage frowned.

Homelander shrugged, dropping into one of the seats and gripping the armrests. “How was I supposed to know she survived the fire? Those fucking scientists didn’t put down that she’d developed fire powers.”

“You said she combusted.”

“And caused the fire!” Homelander rolled his eyes. “It was a perfectly rational train of thought! She takes the fourth V shot, fire starts, she’s gone!” His face fell, body tensing as his eyes narrowed at Butcher across the table. “I didn’t think William had stooped to kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” Butcher laughed in disbelief. “You think I kidnapped her?”

Homelander sighed dramatically, gesturing his gloved hands as he spoke. “You kidnapped Soldier Boy! Twice!”

“Nobody kidnaps me.” Ben growled, taking the seat next to Butcher. “I’m here because I fucking want to be.”

“Yeah,” Sage interjected. “And the can of gas is just… decoration?” Her attention turned to the French Prick. “Enflurane?”

“ Oui,” the French Prick looked fucking proud of himself as he answered. “Combined with Agent Orange and mustard gas.”

Neuman gave the French prick a stare of shocked disgust. “Frenchie, how did you get your hands on Agent Orange?!“

“I made my own, Madame Neuman. With a little extra kick.”

Ben glared at Butcher. “That shit better staying in the fucking can.”

“You stay in line, and we’ll all pretend it’s not even bloody there.”

“ Stay in line? ” Homelander scoffed. “You let them talk to you like that? When you could squash each one like a fly? ”

“Stay on topic.” Sage warned. “We have an actual reason for being here, and I would like to get to it.”

“I second that,” Neuman raised her hand. “I want to go home.”

“Nobody’s fucking making you be here, Popper.” Butcher sneered at her. “You can leave whenever you bloody feel like it.”

Neuman ignored him with an ease, and Ben liked her a little more.

“We asked you here,” Sage began. “To talk. About the Anomaly. And Soldier Boy.”

“Yeah, I bloody figured.” Butcher said casually, face painfully bored. “What about them?”

“Your plans. Specifically with her. I want to know them.” Sage watched Butcher carefully as she spoke, gaze flicking to Ben only once.

Butcher laughed, loudly. “Oh, that all? Could this not have been a damn email I’d fucking delete?”

“I’m serious, Butcher.” Sage didn’t waver, pressing forward. “I’m curious what your plans are with the Anomaly. She’s not exactly stable. I want to know exactly how you plan on keeping her under control, especially after Firecracker.”

The Thing roared, and Ben didn’t fucking mind it at all. Images of Her curled on her bed, of Her sobbing in arms, of Her looking fucking afraid and hopeless flashed in Ben’s eyes. Her screams, broken and painful, longing for fucking death, echoed in his ears. Ben’s own hands had become fists under the table, and the only thing keeping him from slamming them across Sage’s face was Her voice in his head. Fucking diplomacy, Ben. This is why you needed me here.

Homelander started to speak, and Ben remained fully fucking confident in not bringing Her. Damn ghost of her voice could whine all it wanted, but the real Her was miles away, and fucking safe.

“You know not to touch her, right?” Homelander asked, looking between Butcher, Ben, the French Prick, and Kimiko. “She’ll tell you to, say it’s to heal you, but she’s actually poking around in your fucking brains. Well,” his eyes stopped on Kimiko with a frown. “If you have a functional one.”

Kimiko glared at him, and the French Prick rested a hand atop her leg. “I would not make her mad,” the French Prick said carefully. “She has a remarkably functional brain, and has grown quite fond of the Anomaly.”

Homelander let out laugh, strained and forceful. “Of course she has,” he said Her name with a lilting, bright tone, and the Thing started clawing and bellowing inside Ben. “A lot more than just a pretty face, isn’t she? Crafty little thing, could charm a slug.” His attention returned to Butcher. “She sang for you yet? That’s how she works her little fucking spell. Sinks her claws into you until to giving her fucking everything. ” The last words were spat out, and Homelander wasn’t smiling anymore.

The Thing was howling, but Ben pushed it down, teeth were grinding so tightly he might break them.

“You think you gave her everything? ” Butcher sneered at Homelander, giving a taunting chuckle. “Mate, she goes cuckoo at just the mention of your name.”

“So, you know she can’t control herself?” Sage ignored Homelander’s glare—his mouth had opened to respond to Butcher—as she cut him off. “And yet you enable her anyways? Why?”

“Listen, Sister. If you brought us here just to ask questions about the Anomaly, you’ve only wasted your own bloody time. We ain’t ‘sharing our plans’ with you.” Butcher scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“I am smart,” Sage’s voice remained level. “I can’t be blamed for you not cooperating.”

“You just asked us for our fucking plans, Lady. If that had been our war strategy against the Nazi’s, we’d have fucking lost.” Ben interjected, and Sage raised her brows at him.

“Maybe.” Was all Sage said, and a chill ran through Ben.

“That it, then? Cause we’ll be on our fucking way.” Butcher started to stand, and Sage raised her hand to stop him.

“What about Soldier Boy, then,” Sage asked as if Ben wasn’t right fucking there. “He has debilitating PTSD, and has proven to be a liability. Even if you get a shot, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to fully control his blast.”

“Who says that’s what we’re planning?” Butcher snapped. “If it was, we’d just fucking do it now, wouldn’t we?”

“No.” Sage smiled. “Because you’re smarter than that, Butcher. Not by much, but you are.”

“Is she healthy?” Homelander said suddenly, leaning forward. “Is she eating? Or still starving herself just to fucking spite me?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ben growled, the Thing was roaring inside him.

Homelander rolled his eyes. “When she’d get all mournful about her old, stupid, boring life that I saved her from, she’d starve herself. Wouldn’t fucking eat anything I brought her, even cake! Just to make me mad!” He sighed. “I used to have to force her to eat, cause she was fucking useless when she would throw those little tantrums. When we started V, she was doing it so much the third shot didn’t take! She made me waste it! ”

Ben wasn’t sure if it was the Thing or just his own rage coursing through him. It was like steel, burning steel through his blood that wanted to kill Homelander, moving into Ben’s head and blinding him to any possible issues with that idea. He didn’t fucking care. All Ben could feel was fucking fury, white and cold fury at Homelander’s words. All that was in his head were thoughts of Her carefree and bloodless, of the life she’d told him about, and of Her shrinking into nothing as it was pulled away from Her.

She hadn’t fucking told Ben about the food. She’d eaten less after Firecracker, but she’d still eaten. Homelander said he’d had to force food into Her.

Looking at Butcher, the French Prick, and Kimiko—all wearing similar expressions of horrified, shocked anger—Ben had a feeling She hadn’t told them about it either.

“I thought I’d wasted the fourth shot too,” Homelander continued, and Ben didn’t know if he hadn’t noticed the cold shift in the room, or just didn’t give a shit. “Oh, I was mad about that. Wasn’t I?” He turned to Neuman and Sage, but pressed on before they could speak. “I mean, neither of you were there, but I was. I was so mad. I thought I’d lost her, too. It was awful.”

“I’m sure it was really bloody hard for you,” Butcher grunted, and Homelander rolled his eyes.

“I know you’re being sarcastic William, but it was. You have no clue what it’s like to lose someone like that!”

Butcher’s jaw clenched. “I might have a fucking idea.”

“Oh, because of Becca? She was fun, believe me, I know.” Homelander laughed, and Ben had never seen Butcher’s knuckles so white before, heard his heart beat so fast. “But she was mortal. Human.” Homelander said the word with disgust, face twisting in a sneer.

“The Anomaly was human too,” Neuman said softy, and Homelander scowled at her.

“I fixed that. Now she’s almost as strong as me. Almost as strong as you!” Homelander gestured at Ben, and Ben started fantasizing about ripping his hand off. “I would be open to a custody agreement, you know. You get Ryan for a week, I get her at the same time, we switch back.”

“Not a fucking chance in hell,” Ben growled, and Homelander sighed.

“She’ll come back to me eventually. She needs me to help her, and when she realizes that I’m the only one who can, she’ll come back.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, cunt.” Butcher said coldly. “She might have a slightly different memory of your time together. Are we fuckin done here?” Butcher turned to Sage, who hummed.

“Sure.” Sage didn’t look at Butcher, and Ben realized she was watching him. Her eyes were scanning Ben, sending a crawling feeling along his skin. “Good luck controlling him,” Sage nodded towards Ben. “And the Anomaly.”

“We’ll manage.” Butcher stood, the French Prick and Kimiko following his lead.

“I look forward to seeing whatever terrible plans you’ve made.” Sage smiled, still watching Ben.

“I’m sure you fuckin are.” Butcher sneered, kicking the legs of Ben’s chair. “Up and at ‘em, Gov. Waste of our bloody time.”

Ben stood, moving from the table. Butcher was, for once in his damn life, right. This had been a complete waste of their fucking time, Sage had asked them here just to fuck with their heads, and all these fucking pussies hadn’t even given Ben an opportunity to get any blood on his suit-

“You know,” Homelander said, just before Butcher could open the door. “I never really understood Helen of Troy. I mean, launching a thousand ships with a face?” He laughed. “Fucking ridiculous. Then, I met her, and I got it.”

The Thing was scraping against Ben’s ribs, and his vision was lined with red as Homelander continued.

“She may have betrayed me, like Helen betrayed Menelaus, letting Paris take her, but I forgive her. I want her to come home.” He gave Butcher a wide, toothy, chilling smile. “Tell her I’m going to make sure she comes home soon.”

Ben was going to kill him. Now. The French Prick’s gas wouldn’t fucking stop him, because nothing fucking could. He was going to rip Homelander’s spine from his back and bash his head against the table until his brains leaked from his ears. He didn’t have his shield, or a gun, and there were no drums, but Ben didn’t fucking need any of it. He was going to kill Homelander with his bare fucking hands.

The only thing that saved Homelander were the next words he spoke. “And, like Menelaus, I’ll do anything to bring her back to me.”

Ben had left Her at the safe house. Alone. The Thing had told him not to and he’d ignored it and now she was alone all by her fucking self and there was no one there to keep her safe-

I’m a grown ass woman, Ben, Her voice echoed in his head. I will handle my goddamn self.

Doesn’t fucking matter, the Thing snapped. She’s alone. They called you here so she’d fucking be alone.

Ben turned, almost pulling the door off its hinges as he opened it. “Let’s fucking go.” He grunted to Butcher, and if the man was surprised by Ben’s sudden movement, he didn’t show it.

“Aye aye, Gov.” Butcher shrugged, and as Ben marched down the hall he heard Butcher say one last thing before following. “We’ll see you all in bloody hell.”

Ben’s body was rigid. His hand had dropped into his suits’ pocket, gripping the crumpled piece of paper in it might suddenly make Her fucking appear. Nobody spoke until they returned to the van, and the Thing wouldn’t stop hissing in his ear.

She’s alone. She’s not safe. Homelander might already know where she is, and she’ll freeze. She’ll see him and freeze and he’ll lock her up again.

“Frenchie,” Butcher’s terse words were barely audible over the ringing in Ben’s ears. “Check the cams.”

That got Ben’s attention, the Thing falling silent as he asked, “Cams?”

“Monitors,” Butcher grunted. “All around the house.” He raised his brows at Ben, the smirk on his face slightly strained. “You didn’t think we just left you two alone together with blind fuckin faith?”

“Butcher,” the French Prick held up a flat piece of glass that reminded Ben of Her phone. “She is in the kitchen, all is well.”

Ben didn’t bother to ask before he grabbed the fucking thing out of the French Prick’s hands. He narrowed his eyes as he examined it, the display filled with high angled videos of the safe house. The living room, completely empty and the TV off. The dining room, furniture shoved to the side with a few scorch marks on the floor. The entrance hall, lights off and Her boots near the door.

The kitchen, where She was moving around in the same clothes he’d left her in. Talking to someone they couldn't see.

Ben’s blood ran cold, and the Thing was spinning in his gut.

“I can’t fucking hear her.” Ben snapped, looking up at the French Prick. “She’s talking to someone. Who the fuck is she talking to.”

“The audio’s off, Mate.” Butcher rolled his eyes, giving Ben an amused look that, in any other scenario, would’ve resulted in a loss of his sight privileges.

“Turn it on.” Ben ordered, and the French Prick glanced at Butcher uncertainty. Butcher only shrugged.

“Don’t make no bloody difference to me. Whatever keeps the cunt from exploding.”

The French Prick nodded, and tried to grab the device from Ben with no success.

“Fucking watch it,” Ben growled, gripping the glass block—Her—tightly.

“I cannot give you sound if you will not let me touch the screen, Soldier Boy. S’il te plaît.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“He’s fucking saying please, Gov.” Butcher gave Ben a bored look. “Give Frenchie the damn tablet, or you don’t get to fucking hear Sunshine.”

Ben hated the way Butcher said Sunshine, drawling with a snipe in his voice. But he hated—the Thing hated—not knowing what She was saying just a fucking fraction more, so Ben shoved the “tablet” into the French Pricks hands.

“Fix it.” He glared at French Prick, who nodded nervously and started tapping the glass in quick movements.

The audio sounded suddenly through the van, a lot louder than Ben had expected. Even Butcher’s heart stuttered as Her voice filled the small space. The Thing fell quiet, desperate to hear what She was saying, who she was saying it to, if she sounded afraid or in pain.

She didn’t. She wasn’t even talking to anyone. Ben watched Butcher’s jaw drop, the French Prick’s eyes widen, and Kimiko’s head shoot up as they all realized what they were hearing at the same time he did.

She was singing.

Her voice was clear, and controlled, and powerful. It rolled like wind, hitting every high and dipping to every low, holding long notes with a vengeful strength. It moved into Ben’s bones, ran through his blood. The Thing sighed in fucking content at the sound, and Ben didn’t fucking blame it. It sounded like honey and silk and the sun. It felt good.

“She said she couldn’t bloody sing.” Ben looked up at Butcher, whose voice was cold and face was drawn into frown. “That sounds like she can fucking sing.”

Ben grunted. She had said she couldn’t sing. She’d described her singing as hell-like. This wasn’t fucking hell-like by a million goddamn miles.

“Maybe she had a reason,” the French Prick reasoned, but his voice was unsteady, unsure. “It would be a very strange thing to lie about, non? ”

Kimiko slapped the French Prick, gesturing something that made his eyes grow even fucking wider.

“ Mon Coeur, why wouldn’t she tell us though?”

More fucking silent gestures. Ben’s patience snapped.

“What the fuck is she saying?” He demanded, and the French Prick looked back at him wearily.

“She remembers something Homelander said.” The French Prick glanced back at Kimiko. “He, ah, he asked if she had sung for us. Said that was how she ‘worked her spell’. Kimiko believes that she does not sing because of Homelander.”

“Mate, she’s singing right bloody now.” Butcher sneered, and Kimiko glared at him, making more aggressive gestures.

“She says that she does not know people are watching.” The French Prick said carefully. “And that it does not matter, because it is not our business anyway. Because we are spying on her, and she would tell us if it really mattered.”

She would, the Thing rumbled inside of Ben, still satiated by Her voice. She doesn’t lie to us.

She fucking might have, though. As strange a lie as it was, it was still a goddamn lie she had told him, countless times, that she couldn’t sing. Ben glanced down at the tablet, trying to see Her face, figure out what she was fucking thinking.

She wasn’t in the kitchen, and something sharp tore through Ben.

“Where the fuck did she go?” He snapped at the French Prick, who looked down with a frown and began to press the screen once more.

“Ah,” his eyes narrowed, flitting across the display. “Likely the bathroom? She is not gone, as we can still hear her. She has just moved.”

Something occurred to Ben, tearing through his brain as it settled between torn comfort at Her safety and anger at her lie. “Are there cameras all over the house?” He asked, suddenly aware of his own heartbeat.

“Nah, Gov.” Butcher gave him another amused look. “We got audio everywhere, but no cameras in the bedrooms or bathrooms. We ain’t fucking creeps.”

Ben grunted in acknowledgement, his own heart fading into the background once more. They hadn’t seen his new habits. They didn’t know, and they wouldn’t tell Her.

You should tell Her, the Thing mumbled, somehow being less fucking helpful than ever before.

He wasn’t going to fucking tell Her. He didn’t fucking have to. In fact, as Her voice continued to flow like goddamn wine through the van, he was going to have a fucking chat with her when they got back. It didn't matter that her voice was just one more way in which she was perfect. She’d fucking lied.

But what made Ben even angrier than Her lie was that, no matter how fucking hard he tried, he wasn’t able to stop wanting to get back to her. That the Thing wasn’t angry, but had started to imagine how She’d sound if he had her singing and moaning at the same time. Ben couldn’t force the image of Her, using this same smooth voice against his ear as his fucked her, stopping every time her voice faltered, until she was a perfect mess of beautiful sounds under him

He wasn’t able to stop the feeling creeping through him that, even if She had lied, even if her reasoning was fucking shit, he wouldn’t stop sleeping peacefully in her bed.

———-

You hated Ben. You hated his smug smile and perfect face. You hated his strong body and pretty eyes. You hated his stupid deep voice that rumbled through you and his laugh that echoed in your head. You hated how he wasn’t here right now, so you could yell at him and not have this worry eating you alive. You hated that he’d left you for his own, fucked up, noble reasons, because when you’d hugged him you’d felt that concrete resolve running through him, and realized it was protectiveness. You hated how that revelation made you miss him more.

You hated that, if he wasn’t back by nightfall, you weren’t certain you’d fucking sleep. Because you’d made a huge mistake, let the desperate feeling in your head win, and asked Ben to sleep in your bed. It had felt so important at the time, because everything had been loud and your mind had been shattering, and he’d been quiet and firm. You had felt like a hurricane was eating you, and Ben had been an island that wrapped around your heart and chased away the storm. One night, you had told yourself. One night to chase away the screams.

Then he’d started calling you brat, and it made you feel warm and soft. He’d laughed when you’d punch his jaw with a fist wrapped in flames, and you’d felt his pride rush through you. He’d draped his arm around your shoulders, and you’d felt safe. And you’d started to get sleepy, and his hand had brushed your arm, and the feeling in your head had started singing. So you had caved to it again, and asked him to sit with you again. You’d even given him an out, just until you fell asleep, because the feeling in your head had been desperate. So desperate that when Ben told you to beg, you had. You had sucked it up—ignored how the request also made you feel warm—and begged. When he’d agreed, the feeling in your head had let out a long sigh of relief, even though you’d reminded yourself he’d probably return to his room once you were soundly under.

But he hadn’t. He’d stayed. He’d slept. You had woken up, feeling something heavy on around you. Your heart had felt so peaceful, so calm, and when you’d opened your eyes you’d realized Ben’s were closed. After you’d decided that he was actually asleep, you’d noticed that the heavy thing was his arm, holding you against him. And that made the feeling in your head start to ache. Then you’d noticed that Ben snored. Loudly. It was a deep, lulling sound that had wrapped around you, and pulled you right back into sleep’s hold.

The next night, you’d been tearing your insides apart, trying to fight the feeling in your head from grabbing your tongue and making you ask him to sleep in your bed again, when he’d look at you in the glow of the TV and solved the problem for you.

“It’s late.” He’d said, and you’d scoffed.

“Really?” Your voice had been sarcastic, and you’d given him a fake, wide-eyed look of disbelief. “I thought the Sun had just decided to take fifteen.” “Shut up, brat.” He’d smirked back at you, and your whole body had done a little flip under your skin, the feeling in your head spreading everywhere. “You’re tired.”

He hadn’t been asking. He’d been telling. And been entirely correct in a way that made the Feeling very happy and you very annoyed. “No, I’m not. Cunt.” Your protest had sounded weak, especially given that you’d almost immediately yawned after saying it.

“Sunshine, you look like shit.” You’d frowned at him, and he’d rolled his eyes as he continued. “Pretty shit, but shit.”

The Feeling liked being called pretty. You were caught up on the shit aspect. “You don’t look any better,” you’d grumbled. It wasn’t true, he looked so good it made you violent, but he didn’t have to know that.

Ben had winked. “Sure, Sunshine. Just try not to pass out on the couch. I don’t want sit here all night, but there’s no fucking way I’m carrying you up the stairs.”

It had taken a moment to notice his implication, and when you had the Feeling become heavy. “You’re sleeping in my bed again?”

He hadn’t looked at you when he’d answered with a shrug. “Sure.”

And that was that. He’d started to spend the night in your bed, you’d started to sleep eight hours instead of four, and he’d started to sleep three instead of zero.

Overall it might not have been a mistake, just a very productive arrangement, if it hadn’t made the feeling big. If it hadn’t started to feel so instinctual and easy that, now that there was even the prospect of him not being here by nightfall, you felt wired. The Feeling was electric, and was making you miss him, and you were going to go insane.

Don’t fucking miss me too much, Sunshine. Ben’s last words before he’d left mocked you, and you wanted him to come back so you could punch him for jinxing you like that. He’d been gone for barely an hour, and the Feeling was all across you, missing him.

You were alone, without him for the first time in almost two months, and all you could do was miss his stupid face and safe touch. This was not a long-term, sustainable way of life. You’re still productive—You do laundry, yours and Ben’s, and you wash dishes, and you swap out Ben’s empty, pine-scented body wash for a full one that was under the cupboard—but the whole time you’re just missing him.

You reasoned that it wasn’t actually Ben himself that was clawing at you. You just hadn’t really been alone—or at least alone without fearing for your life every waking second—since before Homelander took you. And at that point, if you had felt this antsy, jumping feeling of uselessness, you’d been able to go for a walk. Call a friend. Go to a coffee shop.

Now it was just you, the safe house, and plague-like thoughts of Ben.

Just you. Nobody else. Nobody even near you.

You could sing. Nobody was here, so you could sing.

It started slow. You hummed Moon River, feeling out what happened.

Fractured memories began to surround you. The kitchen of the safe house faded into the background, and you were standing in a hazy version of your childhood bedroom. You felt something soft in your hands, and looked down to see your baby blanket your hands. When you looked back up, your mother was before you. Smiling, her face so much softer than it ever was outside of hazy, warped fantasies of childhood. You could feel a breeze coming from somewhere, and when you turned your gaze to the ceiling, it was gone. Instead a vast night sky hung over your head, complete with stars and a moon that was far too large, glowing brightly. By the time you reached the end of the song, soft instrumentals had begun to fill the space.

You’d never done that before. Though you’d also never really tried. You hadn’t test yourself since you’d realized what singing did, right after the third shot of V.

You chose a different song. Another one your mother had loved, another one she used to make you sing at chandelier light and champagne filled parties. Then, suddenly, you were there. In a gaudy, marble ballroom, your skin itching from lace that was too revealing, your mother smiling, the senator on her arm, visible through the faceless crowd. When you turned your head, Violet was at your side, and you could feel your baby sister’s grip on your hand. She wasn’t looking at you though. Violet was watching one of the senator's largest donors through the crowd, frowning as he moved toward your mother. As he pointed at you.

Suddenly Violet was gone, and you were on a stage. Velvet carpet below you, light’s blinding your view of the crowd’s vulture-like gaze. Your skin itched—just like it had at thirteen—but you realized you could hear the instrumentals.

What else could you do? A little voice asked. This might be your only chance to find out.

So you sang. For the whole day.

You sang an older rock song your Dad loved, one that took you to a mold-filled apartment in Boston where the paint on the walls peeled and the bricks around the code-breaking fireplace cracked. You learned you could do drums.

You hummed a classical piece that your nerdy brother, Henry, used to make you listen to. That took you to your grandparent’s house, an old film with a now-familiar playing in the background as thin, old faces that always scowled watched you from far, far above. You learned you just do full orchestral, from woodwinds to strings to the cannon at the end.

You sang a pop song that Alexa, your other sister, had made you learn the choreography to, and that made you feel light and bubbly, the world around you turning into a glittery fever dream and the ground vanishing from your feet. You learned it didn’t have to be memories.

You still couldn’t control it, not in the slightest. You tried to see how small you could make the effects, but the most you could figure out was that the shorter the song, the less appeared. A fast run through of some nursery rhymes resulted in only brief aberrations of sheep and rain, gone in seconds. A full run through of an album threw you into a dreamscape, and by the end of it you realized it was less the song, and more you. If the song made you think of grand things, grand things surrounded you. If the song reminded you of the past, memories flooded the world.

If the song reminded you of Ben, he was there.

That one was an accidental discovery. You’d gotten tired, realized you’d become sweaty from dancing with the music, and gotten in the shower. You’d started to hum a slower song, a romantic song with long notes and soft piano, and expected the water to fill with phantom rose petals and hearts to draw on steamed glass.

You’d frozen in surprise when you’d felt hands on your body, resting on your hips, and turned to find Ben standing above you, watching you with a smirk. Looking—feeling—very, very real.

Your voice had died in your throat, heat creeping through your body, and Ben had vanished before you. That would have been bad enough, and mortification covering you might stay there for the rest of your life. Unfortunately for you, the Feeling wasn’t embarrassed. The Feeling was needy, and just an absolute bitch that grabbed your jaw, and made you start singing again.

Ben reappeared, and this time his hands didn’t just rest on your hips. They moved. Everywhere. Along your breasts, taunting, down to your ass, squeezing, and against your waist, hold you firmly as his head dropped to yours. Fake-Ben kissed you, and you were reduced to desperate humming to keep him intact. Had it not been for the Feeling, forcefully keeping your voice alive, you’d have moaned and the whole thing would’ve disappeared. By some miracle, you keep your voice semi-steady, and Fake-Ben stayed. He kissed you deeper, beard soft against your skin, grip growing tighter as your hands wrapped around his neck. His mouth dropped from your own to rest at your neck, still kissing as one hand started to knead against your skin, the other dropping between your legs. Resting his palm right against you, drawing back to his full height with a smug, crooked smile as he started to rub. Smile growing as one finger teased your folds, the pushed into you, the base of his hand still grinding against that sensitive spot. Going and going and going-

You learned that, in both a gift and very cruel twist of fate, Fake-Ben could give you very real orgasms.

This was a very unproductive discovery for the Feeling, who wanted you to sing forever. The Feeling didn’t care about who heard, the Feeling just wanted that to happen over and over again until you died. You, still aching, desperate, and dazed, were a very susceptible subject to the Feeling, who was making a lot of very good points.

Right up until you heard the door slam downstairs, and Ben—real Ben—was roaring your name.

You heard his heavy steps move up the stairs, and there was a pounding at your bedroom door. Ben yelled your name again, his voice sharp and angry. “I know you’re in there, Sunshine! I can hear your fucking heart!”

Swearing under your breath, you scrambled out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body as you stumbled to open the door. Not once had Ben’s banging ceased, meaning that when you finally twisted the knob, he almost fell onto you from momentum. Though you managed to dodge his body, your shoulder brushed and a bolt of molten anger twisted through your gut and into your chest.

You stared at each for a second after Ben regained his balance.

“You’re back.” You said stupidly.

“You were showering.” He responded. Stupidity seemed to be going around.

“Uh, I didn’t think you’d be back for another few hours.” You mumbled, unsure if the guilt in your voice was from your misestimation of time or the Feeling pushing you to lean forward and touch him.

Ben’s eyes narrowed, and his voice turned harsh. “Clearly.”

“Clearly?” You repeated with a frown. “It’s just a shower-“

“Did you know, Sunshine, that Butcher filled the house with cameras?” Ben asked with a scowl.

You could feel yourself pale. “What?”

“Cameras. Everywhere but the bedrooms and bathrooms. To keep an eye on us. With audio.”

“Audio…” Your eyes widened, and something heavy dropped on your chest. “ Audio?”

Ben was watching you with that dissecting gaze, one you hadn’t been on the receiving end of since the beginning. “Audio.” His face twisted into a sneer. “I was under the impression, Sunshine, that you couldn’t fucking sing.”

There were two options here. One, double down. Lie through your teeth and stand your ground until it was pulled from under you. Two, come clean. Apologize a lot, try and feel out what Ben knew and what he didn’t, and apologize some more.

You were in favor of the first. The Feeling was in favor of the second.

“I- um, I didn’t mean- whatever you saw-”

“Why did you lie?” Ben cut you off before you could even figure out what you had been trying to say. “About singing? Was it because of Homelander?”

The heavy thing was sitting in your lungs. The Feeling was spinning through you, and fire was crawling under your skin. “Homelander?”

“Did he make you sing for him? Is that why you don’t?”

You stared at him with a slack jaw, the fire filling up in your ears. “What- How-“ Your eyes narrowed as the fire drowned out the Feeling. “I’ve never told anyone that, Ben. Not Butcher, not Annie or MM. Definitely not you.”

“Well,” he spat. “That's two fucking lies then.”

Stand your ground it was. “That’s not a fucking lie, dick-for-brains. It’s a goddamn-“

“ Omission?” He gave you a mocking, taut smile. “An omission is a lie, Sunshine.”

The Feeling was loud again, spinning at the fact that he actually listened to your words. Fortunately your fury at him using those words against you was bigger. “Shut the fuck up, Pretty Boy. This isn’t the same as you purposefully hiding something important.”

“How the fuck not?” Ben snapped. “If this is because of Homelander, I need to fucking know-“

“ Why?!” You shout, pushing his chest. “How the fuck is this something you need to know?”

“So I can fix-“

“Fix it?” You laugh. “We agreed not to fucking fix each other, remember? You don’t get to come in a heal my music hangup when you won’t let me anywhere fucking near your PTSD!”

“I don’t fucking have shell shock, like some fucking-” He growled, and you rolled your eyes.

“For fucks sake, you do! Any fucking idiot would take one look at you and go ‘yeah, that cunt has PTSD’! You’re just too much of a fucking pussy to do anything about it!”

“Well, any fucking idiot you look at you and know that Homelander fucking twisted your brains, Sunshine.” He roared. “You know what he fucking told us?!”

“What, that I’m an ungrateful slut who doesn’t deserve him, but he’ll love me anyways?” You hiss, echoing words long locked away in the back of your head. “That he’ll keep me close, because nobody else gets to have me? That he’d rather I die than leave him?”

Something very deep inside you was pulling apart. Something became frayed when Ben started at you with that one fucking look you can’t read as he spoke.

“That you fucking starved yourself. That he had to force you to eat.” Ben’s fists curled. “You didn’t fucking share that, Sunshine.”

You stumbled back like he’d punched you. It was hard to breathe, and all you could see was white light. The thing deep inside you snapped, and your legs gave out, falling back onto the mattress. Bright lights. Cold eyes. Fire and pain. Pain and exhaustion and hunger. So much hunger, but you couldn’t break. You’d let the hunger kill you before you broke. This was all you had, one last, desperate protest to keep yourself somewhat intact.

But you were so tired. And a cold hand was gripping your jaw, tugging it open until mush began to fall into your throat. No, no, no, you can’t lose, you can’t. This hunger is the last thing standing in his path-

Something wrapped around you, firm and warm, and that tugging on your heart returned.

He can’t win, if he wins then you’ll never leave. You’ll never leave anyway, but at least you’ll fall by your own hand and not his-

Something deep and soothing was in your ear, a voice edged with bloody concern. Almost desperate. Saying your name, again and again.

You can’t break, you can’t break -

The voice was humming. Moon River. Reaching into your head and slowing it, grounding the fire running through you, pulling the flames back into you. You blinked, breathing still quick and short but no longer impossible, and saw Ben staring at you. Felt his hands rubbing against your skin in small circles.

“Back with me, Sunshine?” Ben asked quietly, and you nodded.

“I burned your face.” You mumbled.

He just shrugged. “You burn, I burn.”

The Feeling was back, and with the soothing of his touch, you managed to speak. “Mini-Homelanders.” The words caught in your throat, only a little, but Ben frowned at you all the same.

“Mini-Homelanders?”

You nodded. “I told you he wanted to make mini-homelanders. That was the reason he took me in the first place.”

Ben said your name firmly. “You don’t have to do this right fucking now-“

“No, I do.” You take a deep breath. “Or I won’t do it at all.”

“Sunshine-“

You pushed on, the words falling out of you once you’d gained a pace. “He found out about Ryan, and wanted more children. I was just in the worst place at the worst time, singing at a Vought fundraiser, and that was it. I woke up in a cell the next day. When I realized what was happening, I fought, but this was a year before he started the V experiments so I didn’t stand a fucking chance. I tried to find smaller ways to fuck with him. I tried to kill myself so many times they started chaining my hands to the wall. I remembered for a psych class in college that eating disorders can lead to infertility, so I did that. Eventually Homelander noticed, and didn’t take kindly to it.” You take a full, stuttering inhale. “I haven’t done it since I escaped.”

You felt something deep and wailful against your heart as Ben spoke careful words. “What about-“ he coughed slightly, and the thing against your heart grew strained. “Suicide. Has that-“

“Once,” you whisper. “Right after.”

“Oh.” He took a deep sigh of his own. “Sunshine I-“

“Don’t apologize,” you say as something desperate runs through you. “Please.”

He frowns, but nods. “Ok.”

You’re silent, sitting on your bed and watching each other from long minutes before you speak.

“You’re getting better at this.” You attempt a smile.

His brows furrow. “Better at what?”

“Dealing with me.”

“I’m not ‘dealing with you’, Sunshine.” Ben grumbled. “I’m-“

“Fixing me?” Your smile feels a bit more real. “Does that mean I get to fix you?”

He’s silent, and you’re prepared to back track. It had been a shitty joke, and you didn’t want to keep fighting. You didn’t think you could. The Feeling was keeping you on the ground by a thread, and your heart was flipping and stretching in ways that hurt-

“What would you do?” Ben grunted, and you blinked at him.

“Wha-”

“ If I had Shell Shock. PTSD. What would you do.”

“I’d heal it,” you say softly. “It would probably just be us sitting together, and I’d hold your arm, and heal it.” You frown to yourself. “It might take time, I’ve never used this power like this before, not for something this intense. I’d essentially be re-writing the neuron pathways of your brain, so depending on how deep they go it could take just one day or… a lot longer.”

“Would it hurt you.” Ben frowns at you, saying his question in that way where he’s not really asking.

You answer anyway. “I don’t think so. It’s not like I can take your memories, I’d just be fixing how they are in your head. How they affect you now.”

Ben stares at you, and you can feel that resolve running over something louder and strained you don’t really understand. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Fine.”

“Fine? Fine like you’ll let me-“

“Yeah, Sunshine. Fine.” Ben looks you up and down, and you feel a weird flash of heat and hunger. “You’re tired.”

He’s doing the question that’s not a question thing again, but you are tired, you’re exhausted, so you can’t even be that mad at him.

You nod, humming in affirmation, and Ben stands suddenly, not looking at you as he moves out of your view.

“Go to the bathroom.” He says, and when turn his back is to yours.

“What? Why?”

“You burned off your towel.” Heat rushes through as you realize he’s right. “You always keep your clothes in the bathroom when you shower. Go change.”

Another wave of heat settles into you, the Feeling rolling around in it as it does. You stand and shuffle to the bathroom, Ben remaining in his spot, and you change into the shirt and shorts you had indeed left by the sink.

When you exit, now fully decent, Ben’s suit is laying on your dresser—traded for a pair of sweats and shirt he must have found in the laundry basket—and he’s still staring at your wall like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You lay a hand on his arm, and are almost knocked over by the sudden thirst that runs through you. The Feeling is whining and insatiable. Then Ben looks down at you, and you think you might fall over. The Feeling wanted to grab him, your heart was howling, and his eyes were like a drug -

“We ready for bed?” Ben says, and you have to swallow to be able to answer.

“Uh, yeah.” You blink at Ben, his words echoing in your head, and realize that the hot fury in your stomach—his stomach—is gone. “You’re not mad at me? Even after I-“

“Omitted a truth?” Ben gave you a loose smile, and the Feeling squirmed. “I’m calling it even, Sunshine. Now let’s get you bed, you look like you’re about to fucking collapse.”

You were, but not because of fatigue. And Ben didn’t have to know that, especially because he would probably just laugh and you’d be left alone with the Feeling.

“I might have those kinds of nightmares,” you whisper, touching his chest. Offering another out. “If I do, I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. Badly.”

“I’ll get over it.” He says, and that’s it. You both move to the bed, taking your unspoken places on each side of the mattress, and you’re ready to go through the motions. You fall asleep and he moves you against him, he falls asleep second and you wake up to watch him for a while before returning to sleep once more.

But Ben doesn’t remain tensely upright at your side. When you lie down, he does as well. Then, before you’ve even really processed the first new thing, Ben pulls you fully against him, arms around your body as your head rests on his chest. You don’t say anything—the Feeling is pleased and you’re a little afraid he’ll vanish if you even speak—so you take the folds of his shirt in your hands, and press your face deep into his shirt. He smells like coffee and gunpowder and pine trees, his heart is steady, and he’s warm.

You decided it—the Feeling, the shower, the grip on your heart when he touches you—was because he was safe. From you. You could not hurt him, he was the only person in the world you really couldn’t hurt, so that’s why you caved, and let him hold you. Nothing more, nothing less.

You felt alive with Ben because, by completely coincidental fate, you could be.

You had no nightmares when you slept in his arms because Ben wasn’t having any, and his own peace ran into yours.

The Feeling was quiet because your heart was beating in time with the world, and it felt good.

This felt… good.

End Note: Everyone say a very big thank you to @acciditties for single handedly removing our “no beta” tag as we earn our “smut” tag. Also, if If you thought their pining was bad this chapter, think again! These two are about to ignore their emotions at an Olympic level!

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