My name is remus. I am a trans man and I love fanfiction. I am comfortable reading and rebloging fem!reader because personally, it does not upset me and it’s lot of great fan fiction and I just replaced the pronouns with he/him in my head 🩵
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i made (subtle) pride flag lock screens!!
lesbian // bisexual
trans // gay
free to use, please reblog if u save!
Remmick Vampire / FTM Reader | Sinners AU | Trans AU MasterList | Vampire AU Masterlist | MultiFandom MasterList | AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰
Warnings : Vampire mlm / Ftm Reader Insert / Southern Gothic AU / Bl00d & G0re / Hot Irish Remmick in the 80's / Car Sunk in Swamp / /Lost In The Woods AU / T0ngue Biting / Oneshot / First of the Mont ftm fic - late / Sp*t / Kissing / hurt and comfort? / 18+
Your fingers sank into the wet southern ground, and as the soil stained under your nails black, mixing with blood and magic.
You couldn’t help but feel as though the swamp that had taken your car, the murky alligator-swarming water, was trying to pull you back under with it.
Your clothes soaked to your skin just as close at it did from the humidity.
The cicadas screamed, the dark southern night swallowing you whole.
As the headlights to your car blinked with its last breath, like the last candle flickering out from the swamp, whatever hope you had at being saved went with it.
Those moss-covered trees swayed with the spirits more than any kind breeze.
What haunted them tonight, that was to be your fate.
The dirty water spoiled your white T-shirt and acid jeans, yanking the fabric over your head; a chill covered your flesh.
It wasn’t the temperature of the water, but moreover the knowledge that your scars in this far into the Deep South would be looked upon with hatred and violence.
But as the wet t dripped heavy in your hands, there was no placing it back on your shoulders.
A bit of blood leaked from a thick gash on your forehead, the impact of you hitting the steeringwheel before busting your car hood first into the hungry water.
You eyed your bumper as it stuck out like the last hand waiving at you from it’s watery grave.
Your shoes sloshed from the shifting weight of your uneasiness.
SNAP
You twist around wildly to pinpoint the noise, but all you can see is the darkness of an unforgiving wood. You’d been so far from a main road you might as well be asking the alligators for help.
So what was that?
You drop the T-shirt and take your first step forward.
Towards the noise, maybe?
But hopefully more towards any semblance of a way back. If it stormed or washed out any more, your tire tracks would be gone.
But for now, that was your best case to finding something.
And you aren’t going to wait out here to be ‘Deliverenced’ or ‘Chainsaw Massacured’ so you must walk into the belly of the beast.
The wet footsteps ring in your ears like firealarms.
You certainly weren’t stealthy in your little hike.
You had the paranoia that anyone alone in the middle of nowhere has.
The unmistakeable urge to turn, the goosepimply flesh on the back of your neck, and that seeking suspicion.
You are not alone.
But as your heel sunk into the moss, you tried to remember that this wasn’t that kind of story.
You weren’t the type who would have a sexy werewolf jump across the forest and devour you on the floor. Nor would Mr.Right come out in a scary mask and- oh damn you needed to get laid.
The point was, no Ted Bundy would be out here with you, and as so-forth, you needed to stop acting like the main character.
You ground your teeth just enough to try and starve the migraine that threatened from your cute little concussion.
The bit of blood dripping into your eyes, you push it away with the back of your dirty hand, but the blood droplets spring from your eyelashes.
You trip on a root older than you sticking out of the ground, you catch yourself only to hear a man speak;
“Easy there love, you don’t want another nasty bruise now do ya?” The irish accent was sultry, seductive and smooth. Like that spicy taste that hits the back of your throat with a bourbon. Still it was deepy and sinister, it clung to your naked shoulders as you twisted to look behind you.
Nothing.
“Hello?” Your voice cracks, nice. It’s so stupid, but what else do you say?
You twist back ready to ask who was there, when a figure stood three feet away - too close, too personal.
“Hello love,” The mans got a gas in the side of his arm, he smiles, there’s a strange light in his eyes.
It’s impossible not to notice, it burned as if two fireflies were fucking in his skull.
“Wh- Are you- you’re hurt.” You can’t decide on a thought, much less one sentence so you say three ontop of each other.
He doesn’t move, a nasty flow of blood moves down his arm.
“You don’t drive so good, you know that Darlin?” His accent is thicker as the stranger tries to force friendliness.
You don’t know why it’s off putting, somethings just…off.
Sort of reminds you of when a house has a secret wall, and you can sense the room is smaller. That sort of worked two way.
Being under his gaze was making you claustrophobic.
“Are you okay?” You questioned, in a state of shock yourself. As you two seemed to be having two very different conversations, two different reactions to the injuries at hand.
“You should look where you are going, not that it’s too bad now. What with you being so pretty.” The man’s teeth shine in the slender of moonlight like maggots wiggling, starved for the rot.
“I hit you?” Your voice is barley a whisper, yes shock must have settled in your skin.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lookin for ye.” His lips smacked gluttonously for a feast you weren’t privy to.
“We need to find help.” You pant, but you hadn’t a clue how to get any. The paper map you’d been working on was in your waterlogged car with the rest of your belongings.
The only thing in your pocket was a soggy pack of smokes, and a money clip with a ten in it. You were useless to both victims of this crash.
“You don’t seem the type to ask for it.” His smile faded with a sorrow for your hurt. Not the splitting of skin, no, that was juicy texture on the bone. No, his soulless eyes cut deep enough to see it, see you. The festering parts of you that you’d hoped no one would ever notice, growing the mold in your pitiful sadness.
Water drips from the back of your hair down your shoulder blades.
You gump, throat moving up and down, pulse thumping.
The stranger tracked every human thing you did.
“Names Remmick.” His hand shot out and you did not take it. The blood…it was me clear was all over him…not simply his open wound.
Some of it….even in the darkness….was clearly older than other bits.
You don’t move.
“Darlin, this is where ye shake me hand. Or else I’ll tend to get my heart broken. After all, yer not a boyo one finds by thee road every day.” He talks in riddles you can’t begin to break down enough to understand. Like Remmick was using folklore and satire you were too dumb to laugh along to.
“I’m not-“
“No, yet so much more than a simple boyo. I can smell it.” His nostrils flare and you are instantly startled.
If the blood and creepy vibes weren’t enough. He could…smell you?
“We should- should find some-“ you run out of lies. Run out of pleasantries. You should make a break for it.
Remmick stares, a dead one, sardines in a can type. The emptiness that only the swamp could create.
By the time you are thinking of your space plan he slaps his palms together to make your ears ring.
“Let’s, come on love. It’s dangerous times, best for two blokes to walk along side one another. Shoulders high, arm an arm, better than brothers. Eye maybe even hand in hand if ye get scared on thee way.” Remmick spins on his heel to be as he states, too close to your left.
Liked lovers in the moonlight. His shoulder brushed against yours.
He was…..something else.
“Since you won’t share yer name. Will you tell me wher? The irish man prodded, you stepped forward and it was as if he was a shadow. Matching each stride with your own, mimicking you. A tactic you’d only ever heard with psychology, manipulation, smoothing over whatever as to come.
“Why?’ Your dirty hand balls into a fist by your right.
“Never have I ever seen such a bonny boy so frightened.” Remmick laughed, and you did not.
“Where are you from?” You counter back just as quickly.
“Isn’t it clear sweetheart, I’m from the clover land, ol’ Ireland.” Remmicks stare as you slosh in the mud doesn’t waver from you.
You don’t know how to carry that string of conversation. Finding the end of it too abruptly, but Remmick isn’t done, oh not by a long shot.
“Were yee going home?” He tried again, and you bristled. The strange man made a humming noise of understanding.
“That tugs at me heart, a handsome fella like yerself, no kin, no one to lick yer wounds.” His eyes flickered up to the gash that was still bleeding.
You inhale sharply, the migraine having caught up with you.
The blaring concussion, the way the mosquitoes sat on your wet skin, or walking in the dark with a stranger was all reason to be on edge.
But all you could think about was how uneasy you found being near Remmick.
You missed the double meaning as he licked his lips at the sight of your bleeding forehead.
“I’m better this way.” The statement one you’d repeated long enough, but couldn’t find the effort to believe.
Remmick made a sad tisking noise, and you tried to walk faster. The pain in your body was screaming for a break. Now the faster walk was matched with the Irishman.
“Sure, but for who Darlin? Yer a fit fellar, ye must have a lover, no?” Remmick asked again, his forearm brushed yours. You tried not to bounce back in fear; why did that feel so good? Had you been so touched, starved that something so trivial could make you squirmy?
“I-” You tried to find a lie, anything to make it sound like someone over the dirty wet swamp might be waiting for you.
“Nah, but with that face?” The irishman whistled loud and long, his grin spreading pervertedly.
Your stomach tightened, your naked upper half feeling more exposed to Remmick now.
“Yer too young to be so sad boyo-”
“Stop calling me that, all of it. No nicknames, and I’m not-” You gruff out, ready to lose your cool. To pretend to be tough when Remmick places his bloody hand on the back of your neck and you just about jump out of your skin.
But you don’t pull away.
“Shhhh, little Darlin. You’ve fought so long and hard, don’t go hurt’n yerself any further.” He coo’s and you want to push him hard.
His arms are gorgeous, muscular and veiny; you inhale his scent. Unable to compare it to anything sold in a store. Remmick smelled of the earth.
The image of him fucking you in the woods flashed in your mind, you both completely nude. Covered in blood and mud, rutting with no moonlight, puncture wounds in your neck. Remmick's cock relentlessly hitting the spots inside of you as you lose yourself.
You blink back at him, and now you two are facing each other; you’ve stopped the hike, the Irishman is leaning in - kissing distance. The tire marks are long gone, whatever road far off in the distance.
“We stopped walking.” You state, your voice holds no emotion.
“It’s a beautiful night to enjoy such a stroll with such a fellar.” Remmick remarks, and you notice for the first time the spit turning to drool down his lips.
“Why do I feel like Little Red Ridinghood talking to you?” You don’t mean to play with him, but as his canines appear more prominent now. You’re unsure if that werewolf fantasy might actually be correct.
Remmick laughs good-naturedly at your question.
“Oh, now that’s a sweet ting to say! Does that make me Mr. Wolf den?” Remmick flirted strongly, his body radiating next to yours.
His nails feel longer now, but you can’t be sure, as her wraps the back of your neck carefully. You don’t feel like you can run, unsure if you really wanted to.
Remmick's eyes are hypnotizing now, the little light inside the only thing keeping you warm.
You swallow dryly, sweat mixing into your cut, making it burn.
Remmick leaned towards your face, making you hold your breath, the last bit of your brain shutting down, turning off the lights, and leaving.
“Do you want to see what big teeth I have, little red?” His spit is now down to his chin.
“I think the road is up ahead, just that way-” You point to the right, but he doesn’t so much as follow your words, much less your finger. You feel his other hand grab your bare hip, his nails long like knives knick your soft skin.
“You know, I could take away all that pain.” He tried to sell, and your hand awkwardly touched your forehead. But he quickly batted it away, not wanting you to touch it.
“No, no, not that pain, sweet boyo, the deep kind. I can bring ye home.” Remmicks heigh hovered over you now, the light of the moon dimmed.
The shadows grew seven inches, and the bugs stopped singing.
“I don’t have a home.” You admit, unsure if you ever did.
“Ye do now, Darlin.” He smiles, and you can’t find the lie.
“Are you a werewolf?” You squeak, and his hand moves down your neck; he laughs again. It’s melodious to you now, a song long forgotten.
“No, bonny boy, but we can play that? Ye like folklore, ghost stories, the boogeyman?” He teases, but his mouth moves to the right of your cheek. He’s whispering it into your ear.
A bit of his saliva drips onto your collarbone; you don’t wipe it away.
You nod, unable to articulate, your heart no longer beating for you. But matching a metronome of the conductor cradling you.
“Shhhh, listen to the night little Darlin. Can ye hear the song yet?” Remmick questioned, and you closed your eyes, not out of fear. But because you wanted to hear it, needed to hear it!
Remmick's mouth moved back to your lips; he kissed you tenderly.
Not angry, not possessive or forceful.
It was as if he was giving you a gift, the first of many.
But maybe that was dumb.
Maybe he was kissing you in front of the swamp as a warning to all the other creatures.
His boy was to come home now.
“Ye make me thirsty; it has been too long since I had a me a boy so grand. I promise ye, I’ll make it last.” Remmick says as he kisses your cheek, your lips down your jaw.
You gasp, then reach out and grab his shoulders, pulling him closer.
The man’s bloody body presses against yours. He’s all muscle, strong like a railroad track. His body is encompassing you, pulling you deeper into his embrace.
The Spanish moss-covered trees reach higher, trying to shield the moon from what was to happen.
You hiss as his kisses become open-mouth, saliva and tongue invading you. You can’t stop the moan, unsure if you were controlling any bit of your body anymore.
When your kisses grow more sure, you try to love him back, the way Remmick was already owning you.
Your tongue hit something sharp. Pulling back only for a millisecond before Remmick lunged forward.
Sucking on that tongue like an IV bag with a straw.
You let out a guttural noise, and Remmick growls, actually growls.
Your knees give out, eyes rolling back, and then Remmick bites down on your warm muscle.
The blood fills your mouth faster than you can swallow.
But all you feel is bliss, as the vampire sucks, with the promise.
No more pain, no more loneliness, a home forever.
Centuries of companionship.
Your eyes open wide, your body dying like a star, burning hotter and hotter, and then turning cold.
You are suddenly colder than the murky water you swam out of.
The soil under your nails feels like stories, and the world begins to buzz with a language you never spoke.
You die that night, in Remmick's arms.
But when you come to, the carnivorous beast kisses you as passionately as men only dream of. All muscle and hold cucooning you like bats.
And with that you become something new.
Covered in blood and swamp water, in the arms of a vampire.
Trans AU MasterList | Vampire AU Masterlist | MultiFandom MasterList | AO3 | My Stories MasterList | Tip Jar💰
my guy the dysmorphis comfort fic with Nanami was so fcking good and sweet, could you maybe do one with toji? he could be a bit freaky about it and get his ftm partner a strap-on and every time they feel like crap he lets them fck him and hes being so soft and sweet to his partner, comfotr and all. thnx if you write this, youre one lovely person and we all love ya.
I'LL BE YA' TOY
Toji Fushiguro x FTM!Reader - NSFW
Toji is an asshole, that's not a new fact. He gets what he wants, when he wants it. If there's another thing you know is that he excels at distractions. When he sees you begin to hide yourself, he refuses to let that happen.
═════════════════════
You open the wrecked door with an annoying squeak. Like nails on a chalk board, you grimace and make a beeline for the bedroom. The first thing Toji notices is that you stop looking at yourself.
You still catch your reflection when you pass the mirror, still glance down at yourself when you're changing, still tug at your shirt and adjust the fabric over places you've been thinking about too much.
He's sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you from beneath his messy black hair. "’Ya gonna keep doing that?"
You freeze. "Doing what?"
"Acting like the mirror ain't there."
You give him a tired look. You turn away again, and that's when Toji sighs. That low, tired sound of a man realizing you're about to be stubborn about something he already understands.
"Come here."
"I'm fine."
"Didn't ask."
You almost laugh. Toji catches your wrist the second you're close enough and gently pulls you between his knees. His hands settle around your hips. You look anywhere but at him.
"Hey." You finally meet his eyes. "What's going on?"
You swallow. "I don't like how I look." The words sit between you.
Toji doesn't immediately answer. His thumbs move slowly against your sides. "Today?"
You shake your head. "Recently."
His jaw tightens at the fact that you've been carrying this around without telling him. "How long?"
You shrug. "Don't know."
"Bullshit." He looks up at you. "You know how long."
You hesitate. "A few weeks."
Toji exhales through his nose. "Yeah." His hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer until you're standing against him.
"You've been staring at yourself and finding reasons to hate what you see."
You look down. "Pretty much."
"Dumbass." The word is so casual that you almost smile. Almost. Toji notices that too.
"There he is."
"What?"
"That face." You frown. "What face?"
"The one ya’ make when you're trying not to smile." You look away.
He grins. "Still cute."
Your expression immediately falls. "Don't." The grin disappears.
"Don't what?"
"Don't just say that because you're trying to make me feel better." Toji is quiet for a moment. Then his hands tighten around your waist.
"I'm not."
You look at him. He looks completely serious now.
"I've never been good at lying to make people feel better." That's true. Painfully true.
"So if I tell ya’ you're sexy, it's because I think you're sexy."
He pulls you down until you're sitting sideways across his lap. You instinctively try to adjust your shirt. His hand catches yours. "No."
You glance at him.
"Let it be."
"But—"
"Let it."
There's something different in his voice. Not demanding. No, it's a tone you recognize all too well. If it were for how good he is you would have ended it right then and there.
You let your hand fall. Toji looks at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he puts you on the bed and stands up.
“Wanna go get it, baby boy?” He murmurs, taking his shirt off without breaking eye contact.
“Toji–”
“I want my boyfriend in me. Ya’ gonna deny me that?” He chuckles, deep and heavy in his chest. His eyes follow your every move, lidded and now his hands massage your thighs. “Need me to get it for ya’, or ya finally got the courage to do it yourself?”
Toji
You shakes your head. If there’s one thing more powerful than dysphoria, is seeing Toji eat his own words. Any chance to put him in his place is worth it.
It’s hidden in one of your cabinets, black straps with the metallic ring in the middle. Did Toji buy it as a gag? You thought he did. That is, until you finally saw him under you, that stupid grin across his face and his pants under that gruff voice.
The vision of a man that much bigger than you beneath you did something you didn’t know was possible.
“Come here,” Toji calls you over. He doesn’t speak as he slowly moves to pull your shorts down, eyes never leaving yours.
You nod, helping him as you step out of the fabric and watch him pull the straps up your thighs. “So sexy,” he mumbles, moving his face to kiss the inside of your thighs, looking up at you from underneath the navy blue silicone between you both.
“I want ya’ above me, kay? Do it like the man ya’ are.” Toji says, already have stripped full himself, sliding back on the bed as he pulls you over him.
You’ve done this enough times with him that the prep is quick, Toji working himself easily as his mouth gets busy marking your neck. He’s snappy with it, feeling his teeth pierce your skin and leave deep bruises.
By the time you enter, Toji’s pulled his mouth off and holds the back of your neck tightly, forcing you to look into his eyes. “Fuck, babe.” He sighs, eyes staring at yours as you finally bottom out. “Ya’ so big. How the fuck I get so lucky?”
You chuckle, slowly letting yourself melt into the feeling of seeing him like this.
“Move ya’ arms,” Toji says, and before you can comprehend what that means, he moves to take your shirt off.
You try to cover yourself, but aren’t quick enough to stop Toji from sucking at your chest. “Fucking love ya’ pecs,” he murmurs, mixtures of groans in his words.
You throw your head back. You can’t even get upset or remember your discomfort with how much you love Toji’s tongue. For as filthy as a mouth he has, he sure knows how to use it.
His stamina has always been ridiculous, so when he notes you getting tired he helps out with his hand. “Ya’ close?” You nod, eyes watering as your hips slowly start to give out.
He pulls you in for a chest, hands snaking around to grab at your ass to keep you inside. It’s a snap of your hips with his hands for sure leaving red marks.
“Ya’ lasting longer than me,” he chuckles after finishing all over your stomach. You can’t even catch your breath as he flips you around onto the bed to finish you off.
With you both satisfied, you wipe the layer of sweat off your forehead and sits up on your palms. Toji helps with the strap, and tosses it on the floor to kiss you instead.
Now don’t get him wrong, it was miserable watching you cry because of the pain you were in. But when you were bleeding and couldn’t find any relief from medicine or a heating pad, you sought him out.
Warm tears would still be fresh in your eyes as you waddled your way into the bedroom, sprawling out on the bed. “S-Satoru..”
With a gentle smile, Satoru would always ask “What is it sweetheart?” Knowing damn well what was wrong. Crawling his lanky body over to you, every inch of your body screamed out for him.
“‘hurts so bad.” The words were so pitiful. Watery syllables coming out of your throat as you reached a hand out for Satoru’s neck.
Kissing your lips, you feel the itchy fabric of your shirt being pushed up. “Shh, let me make it better.” Slowly the man pushed his fingertips into your skin, massaging the swollen organs.
Immediate relief washed over you. Subconsciously a sigh puffed out of your lips grateful for the attention. On top of pressing his fingers into all the right places, Satoru followed suit with ginger kisses to your lower belly.
His lips were warm against your skin and unbelievably soft. As much as you loved having the attention of your husband, he loved being able to coddle you more. No one else on this planet experienced the slight furrow of your brows while you dozed off almost immediately.
He just did it for you. In the same way you would never fail to give him more and more reasons to crave your love.
“please, don’t stop.” The words burned in your throat as they came out in a sort of croak. “feels so much better ‘toru.” The longer Satoru had his hands on you the easier it was to drift off to sleep.
Without fail; anytime Satoru has his loving hands rubbing on you, it took all of 2 seconds to put you to bed. Even as your eyes fluttered shut and you went limp beneath your husband’s touch, he refused to stop. “Would never think of doing such a thing sweet girl.”
Kissing the bloated area of your torso, Satoru slowly took his hands off of you once he was for certain you were sound asleep. While you were out like a light, he’d take this chance to press his whole weight down ontop of you and burry his head against your chest.
So yes, Satoru did in fact like when that time of the month came around.
But it was souly for the fact that he knew in that moment that you truly wanted him and him alone.
tldr.: non-curse au, established relationship, fem presenting!reader, y/n + jjk men pairing, they forget your birthday and blow you off.
characters.: s. gojo, s. geto, n. kento, t. fushiguro, r. sukuna.
tags.: angst. and some suggestiveness (k. nanami), and pure fluff (k. nanami)
part 1 | part 2 | part 3
yn standing on business!!!!!!! do yall want a part 4 or is everyone satisfied? also thank you for all your love, seriously. also, u can suggest smau ideas in my asks and ill see if i can brainstorm something to feed yall. <3 FIRST GUY IS GOJO SATORU BTW!!!
SYNOPSIS — five years into a once loving marriage, you're staring down divorce papers and months of no contact. the big house echoes with silence and loneliness is gnawing at you, until your best friend drags you out for drinks. a handsome younger stranger buys you another round... but when the night ends, your feet carry you straight to the door of your almost-ex-husband's new apartment.
CONTENTS — ceo!gojo x reader, heavy angst, divorce, cheating but like not rly, substance use, oral (m and f receiving), rough sex, squirting, creampie, slapping, breeding kink, struggles with infertility, miscommunication, family problems
WC — 12.2k (not proofread)
IVYAPS — this has gone through like a million different versions and i dont feel like reading it over so i hope this makes sense, based on this song
m. list
The whiskey coasts down your throat with a deliberate burn, mirroring the ache in your chest you’ve felt for god knows how long.
You set the glass down on the scarred wooden bar a little too hard. The clink is louder than you intended for it to be, even in a crowded room full of voices. The stranger to your left glances over. Not long enough for you to really notice.
Instead, you stare at the amber ring the glass left on the bar, watching it spread and fade like every promise you and him ever made. Five years. A house that still smells faintly of his cologne in the closets you haven’t had the heart to empty. Divorce papers that sit unsigned on the kitchen island because neither of you could stand to be the one to sign first.
Shoko’s on your right, already on her fourth or maybe fifth drink, you’ve lost count. She’s leaning into the bar, elbows planted.
“Hey,” she says softly, sliding her empty shot glass toward the bartender. “Another round. Same for her.”
You open your mouth to protest, but the words dissolve before they form. Instead, you just nod, letting the bartender pour another without you asking.
Shoko turns to you fully now, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Can you at least act like you’re having fun?”
You laugh. It comes out as a short, bitter sound that accompanies a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Kind of hard when I’m getting divorced.”
“Then drink.”
You take a slower sip this time, letting the burn linger on your tongue. The bar is alive around you, but you feel strangely detached from it all. Sort of like you’re watching yourself from across the room.
You can almost go back to that version of yourself—the one five years younger and newly married. You’re tipsy, your weight slumped against your husband's body, his arm around your waist. The pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh where your shirt rides up.
You can almost feel it.
Across the room, someone laughs. You can feel the ghost of his chest shift beneath your cheek, laughing at a joke one of your friends must have cracked. As Shoko places her shot glass back on the countertop, you realize there’s nothing, snapping back to reality.
That's not him and that’s not you.
Your eyes peel away from the couple you were watching, fixing back on what’s in front of you.
You down the rest of your drink.
You should leave. You should tell Shoko you’re going home, crawl into the too big bed that still feels like his, and wait for the ache to dull again tomorrow.
Before you can, Shoko mutters something about seeing a pretty girl and makes herself scarce.
The stranger to your left shifts again, closer this time.
You catch a glimpse of him in your peripheral vision. He has dark hair, a sharp jawline, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal his forearms. Younger than you—maybe by nearly a decade. Handsome in the effortless way that makes your stomach twist and, funnily enough, the exact opposite of your husband—ex-husband.
He doesn’t speak at first. Just orders another drink of his own—something neat and expensive looking—and lets the silence sit between you.
You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze.
He smiles. “Rough night?”
You let out a laugh that’s half-sigh, half-exhale. “You could say that.”
He leans in a little closer, voice low enough that only you can hear it over the noise. “Want to tell me about it?”
He doesn’t push when you shake your head. He just nods once, like he expected that answer, and takes a slow sip of whatever liquid is in his glass. The ice clinks softly against the sides as he swirls the crystal cup before setting it back down on the plywood bar.
“Fair enough,” he says.
He turns his body toward you a little more, one elbow resting on the bar, the other hand loosely curled around his drink.
“I’m Hiromi,” he offers after a beat, large hand extended toward you.
Taking his hand, you give him your first name in return. He repeats it back once, letting it settle on his tongue like he’s tasting it. The sound of it in his mouth makes your pulse skip.
“Nice,” he murmurs. His eyes flick down to your empty glass, then back up to your face. “You look like you could use another one. Or maybe you’re trying to slow down?”
There’s a teasing edge to it, it’s unmistakable. He’s flirting, but he does it without overwhelming you.
You shrug, glancing at the bar. “Maybe one more. Then I’ll decide.”
He signals the bartender without breaking eye contact with you. Two fingers lifted, casually and demanding. Another drink for you, same as before. When it arrives, he pushes it towards you with the back of his knuckles, letting his fingers brush yours for half a second longer than necessary.
You slip into conversation with him easily, and even though it’s been years since you’ve tried to impress a man, it doesn’t seem as scary as you thought it would be.
The banter feels effortless, dangerous in how easy it is. You’re not drunk, not yet anyway, but the alcohol is loosening the knot in your chest.
He asks small, safe things: your favorite drink (you tell him it’s whiskey, obviously), the worst bar you’ve ever been to (to which, he counters with a story about a dive in Shinjuku that still makes him shudder), whether you’re a city person or secretly dreaming of the suburbs (you dodge that one, and he lets you).
He laughs when you fire a dry question back at him—something about why a man in a perfectly tailored shirt is drinking alone on a Thursday night.
“Because the alternative was paperwork. And I’d rather talk to you.”
It’s blatant. It’s also working.
You’re mid-sentence—something sarcastic about his terrible excuses—when Shoko appears at your elbow, swaying slightly, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.
She drapes an arm around your shoulders, heavier than usual. “Heyyy,” she drawls, voice thick with liquor. “You good?”
You turn to look at her, slumped over where her weight dips at your side. “You’re the one who’s had half the bar.”
She snorts, then glances past you at Hiromi. Her brows lift. “Oh. Hi.”
Hiromi just tips his head in polite acknowledgement.
Shoko squeezes your shoulder once, hard. “Listen. I’m… I’m gonna head out. Cab’s already coming. You—” She points a wobbly finger at you, “—text me when you get home. Or don’t. Whatever. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
You roll your eyes. “That list is terrifyingly short.”
“Exactly.” She grins, then leans in to whisper against your ear. “He’s hot for a guy... Don’t fuck it up.”
You shove her gently off you. “Go home, Shoko.”
She laughs, stumbles back a step, then blows you an exaggerated kiss. “Love you. Bye, mystery man.”
Hiromi raises his glass to her in farewell. “Night.”
She disappears into the crowd toward the exit, leaving you suddenly alone with him.
The noise of the bar rushes back in. Your fresh drink is still cold against your palm.
“So,” he says to break the ice that’s spread from the crystal atop the bar, eyes steady on you again. “Friend’s gone. No more safety net.”
You meet his gaze, your heart kicking hard against your ribs.
“Yeah,” you say. “No more safety net.”
He sets his glass down slowly.
“I apologize if I’m being too forward,” Hiromi says. There’s a new edge to it now. His thumb brushes the rim of his empty glass once, twice. “Do you want to get out of here?”
The question lands heavy in the space between you.
You feel the heat crawl up your neck. The bar noise fades and you know you should say no.
Instead your mouth moves before your brain catches up.
“…Yeah.”
The word feels foreign. You’re not even sure you mean it until it’s already out.
He just nods once and pulls out his phone. A few taps later, he pockets it again.
“Car’s three minutes out,” he says. “We can wait inside, or…”
You’re already sliding off the stool. “Outside.”
He follows without another word.
The night air hits you like a slap. The street is quieter here, just the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional burst of laughter spilling from the bar door behind you.
Hiromi steps close. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him. You turn toward him without really deciding to, and then his hand is on your jaw—gentle at first, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth like he’s asking permission.
You don’t pull away.
He kisses you.
It’s rushed and hungry. Rough in a way that makes your knees lock. His mouth is hot, demanding, teeth catching your bottom lip just hard enough to sting. One hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants it. The other finds your waist, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left for second thoughts.
It’s nothing like the way he used to kiss you.
Your husband—ex-husband, almost—kissed like he had all the time in the world. Slow. Like every brush of lips was something sacred he was afraid to break. Hiromi kisses like he’s trying to devour you. Like he wants to fill every empty thought inside you right now.
Your hands fist in the front of his shirt. You kiss him back just as hard. You’re desperate, angry at yourself for wanting it, for letting it feel good even for a second.
Headlights sweep across the street. A black car pulls up to the curb, engine purring.
Hiromi breaks the kiss first, breathing uneven against your mouth. His forehead rests against yours for half a heartbeat.
“Ready?” He murmurs.
You open your eyes.
And the ache slams back into your chest, sharper than before.
You step back, breaking contact.
“I—” Your voice cracks. You swallow hard. “I can’t do this.”
He doesn’t move. He watches you, expression unreadable in the dim streetlight.
“I’m sorry,” you say, and it comes out small. “I thought I could. I really did. But I—”
You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t have to.
Instead, you lean in one last time and press a brief, closed-mouth kiss to the corner of his lips. A goodbye more than anything else.
“Goodnight, Hiromi.”
You turn before he can answer.
The car door is still open. The driver glances back, expectant.
Hiromi stays where he is, hands in his pockets now, watching you.
He doesn’t call after you and he doesn’t try to change your mind. Just lets you go.
You slide into the backseat. Pull the door shut. Give the driver an address.
The car pulls away.
Through the tinted window, you watch Hiromi’s silhouette shrink in the rearview until the street curves and he’s gone.
Your fingers press to your lips. They still taste like whiskey and someone else’s want.
The tears are rolling down before you even realize they’re hot on your cheeks, blurring the streetlights into smeared halos through the car window.
The fog of your breath swirls into the air. You breathe in and out again, slower, trying to steady the tremor in your hands.
You fish the old access card from the bottom of your purse—the one you never quite got around to returning, the one that still works because neither of you remembered to deactivate it. The black plastic is worn smooth at the corners from years of use.
You press it to the reader beside the outdoor elevator. A soft beep, a green flash.
The doors open.
You step inside.
The mirrored walls throw your reflection back at you: mascara slightly smudged from earlier tears, lips still faintly swollen from the kiss, hair tousled by the wind and someone else’s fingers. You look like you almost did something reckless. You look like you’re about to do something even more reckless.
The elevator climbs the thirty-two floors in seconds. Your stomach drops the way it always did, even when you lived here.
You lean against the cool metal wall, close your eyes for a second, and let the memory flood in uninvited: coming home late from a long shift, him waiting with takeout and a half-smile that said I missed you. The way he’d pull you into the shower before you could even kick off your shoes, kissing the exhaustion off your skin like it was something he could fix.
The doors open onto the private foyer.
You step out.
The front door is ajar.
Your heart slams against your ribs so hard you’re sure he can hear it from wherever he is.
You could turn around.
The elevator is still open behind you. One step back, and you’re gone and no one would ever know you were here.
Instead, you push the door wider with your fingertips.
The apartment opens up in front of you—the same layout from when you started dating, same view of the Tokyo skyline glittering through floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city looks smaller from up here.ou always liked that, and right now, you wonder if he remembers that about you—if that’s why it’s still the same.
He’s on the couch.
His back is to you, slouched, one arm draped over the backrest, a glass of something dark resting on his knee. The TV is on but muted—some movie he doesn’t care about. His tie is loosened and sleeves rolled to the elbows.
He doesn’t turn at first.
Then he does—slowly, like he’s not sure he trusts what his peripheral vision is telling him.
His eyes find yours.
For a long second, neither of you moves.
You’re still tipsy enough that the room tilts faintly when you blink and your tongue feels loose.
“Hi,” you say. Your voice cracks on the single syllable.
He sets the glass down on the coffee table without looking away from you. You realize it’s chocolate milk.
“You’re drunk,” he says, not accusing.
“A little,” you admit. You take one step inside, then another. The door swings shut behind you with a soft click. “I… I was at a bar with Shoko. And then I—”
You stop.
What are you even going to say? I almost went home with someone else, and it made me realize I still want you?
He stands.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. Instead, his words strike you cold and you finally become aware of the temperature in the room.
“I know.”
He crosses the room in three long strides and stops just out of reach. Close enough that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne. Close enough to see the way his throat works when he swallows.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
You shrug.
The motion feels childish, like you’re ten years old again and caught somewhere you don’t belong.
Without answering, you bend and slip your shoes off one by one. The cool marble bites into the soles of your bare feet, grounding you just enough to keep the room from spinning. You flex your toes against the floor.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Your name slips off his tongue. He probably meant for it to sound stern and authoritative, but it comes out longing instead.
Or maybe you’re just hearing what you want to hear.
He exhales through his nose and turns away for a second like he needs the distance to breathe.
“Why are you here?” He repeats, quieter now.
“I don’t know, Satoru.”
The name feels too big in your mouth after so many months of silence.
He sighs, turns on his heel, and makes his way down the hall. That’s the direction of the kitchen.
You hear the soft clink of glass, the rush of the tap, ice cubes dropping into water.
When he comes back, he’s holding a tall glass. He presses it into your hand without touching your fingers.
You kind of wish he did.
“Drink,” he says. Not a request.
You take it, and the cold shocks your palm, sending a shiver down your spine when combined with the chill in the air. You sip once, twice.
He guides you, his head nudging in the direction toward the sectional.
You sink onto the leather.
He doesn’t sit beside you, taking the armchair across the coffee table instead, elbows on his knees and hands clasped so tight the knuckles turn white.
“You should go,” he says. “Whatever you need to say, you can say it to my lawyer. That’s what we agreed.”
The words land hard.
You stare at the water trembling in your glass.
“That’s all you’ve said to me in months,” you murmur.
He doesn’t even try to deny it.
You lift your eyes to his. They’re the same blue you used to drown in every morning.
“You used to know me better than anyone,” you say. The sentence cracks in the middle. “You used to know when I was lying to myself before I even opened my mouth. You used to know when I needed you to hold me even when I said I was fine. You used to—”
Your voice gives out. You swallow hard.
He flinches.
“Sober up,” he says. “You don’t mean any of this. I’ll get you something to eat and call you a car.”
The casualness of it cuts deep.
You stare up at him. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”
He doesn’t look at you as he walks toward the kitchen. “You’re drunk. You showed up unannounced at 2 a.m. What do you want me to do, exactly? Rewrite the last two years because you had a bad night?”
You push yourself to your feet. The room tilts once, then steadies. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t care.”
You follow him into the kitchen.
He opens the cupboard and pulls out a bag of pretzels. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m being realistic. You’re emotional. Tomorrow you’ll wake up hungover and embarrassed, and you’ll text your lawyer again. Same as always.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, nails digging into the skin of your biceps. “You really think that low of me?”
He pours the pretzels into a bowl.
“Say it,” you whisper. “Say you hate me. Say you resent me for whatever I did. Just stop acting like this is nothing.”
He slides the bowl across the counter to you. “I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”
“Satoru.” His name comes out cracked, pleading. “I just want to talk.”
“No.” The word is quiet, final, a door closing. He turns away, bracing both hands on the edge of the sink like he needs the support. “If you won’t leave, you can sleep in the guest room. If you still want to talk, we can talk tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
The promise of it hangs there like a threat.
You stare at the pretzels. Salt-dusted. Ordinary.
He doesn’t even like pretzels.
Satoru’s stash of snacks consisted of cookies and candy and various types of ice creams and mochi stacked in the freezer—until he met you. He met you, and you liked chips and pretzels and a lot of salt.
What if he kept them here for you?
You decide not to touch them. You’re deluding yourself.
You feel the sob build low in your chest. It’s slow at first, then it feels brutal. It rips out of you before you can swallow it back.
He doesn’t turn around.
“Why won’t you even look at me?” The words come out broken. “What did I do that was so unforgivable?”
His shoulders tense. The knuckles on the sink whiten once again.
“You didn’t do anything,” he says to the window, to the city lights beyond it.
Tears blur the bowl in front of you. You swipe at them angrily. “Why haven’t you signed the papers? Why do you still wear your ring if I’m so easy to ignore?”
He laughs once. “Because forgetting you would be the kindest thing I could do for both of us. And I’ve never been kind when it comes to you.”
You push off the counter, legs unsteady. “Then be cruel. Tell me to go. Tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me anything real.”
He finally turns.
“I can’t.”
You take a step closer. Then another. Until you’re close enough to see the tremor in his hands.
You reach out and rest your palm against his chest. His heart is racing beneath the thin cotton of his dress shirt, betraying every calm word he’s said.
He pries your hands away gently, the way he’s always been with you.
“I’m going to bed,” he steps away from you. “I trust you know where the guest room is.”
You nod, and he’s disappeared out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway.
Your mind wakes first, sluggishly, your body following reluctantly—limbs heavy, mouth dry, a dull throb behind your eyes. You pry your lids open, expecting the familiar flood of pale morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the house Satoru built for the two of you.
Instead, grey walls stare back at you. A single narrow window in the corner is swallowed by thick blackout blinds. The bed beneath you is too small and too firm, the sheets smelling faintly of someone else’s laundry detergent.
Right.
The night before crashes back in fragments.
Fuck. What have you done?
You curse Shoko in your head. She knows you have never made good decisions with alcohol in your system.
You wait for the regret to settle in, but instead you feel almost… relieved?
You roll out of the guest bed and pad barefoot across the cold floor. Sweat causes the fabric of your dress—the same one you wore out the previous night—to stick to your skin. Your fingers gently pry the clothing off of your body, adjusting as you make your way to the corner of the room.
The blinds are stubborn; you wrestle them open with a soft rattle.
A navy sky greets you. It’s not the bright afternoon sun you had been looking forward to.
What time is it?
Three steps back to the bed, you reach for your phone, but it’s dead on the nightstand. Of course it is.
Even if you had a charger on you, you were too upset after your conversation in the kitchen to remember to plug it in.
You slip into the hallway, following the faint glow of the living-room lamps. The wall clock reads 6:17 p.m. You’ve slept the entire day away.
What a waste.
Then you hear it—your name, soft, almost surprised or posed like a question, called from somewhere deeper in the apartment.
You follow the sound.
Satoru is standing in the open kitchen, still in the charcoal suit he must have worn to the office. Tie loosened, top button undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looks like he hasn’t slept either—hair messier than usual, shadows under his eyes darker than they were last night. He’s holding a glass of water.
You imagine he was about to bring it to you.
“Oh,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “You’re still here. I thought you would’ve left by now.”
The words sting more than they should and you realize you’re deluding yourself once again.
You shake your head slowly, attempting to go of any negative thoughts in the process. “I just woke up.”
He hums, almost non-chalant enough to make you wonder if this really was the man you married.
His lips wrap around the rim of the glass, taking a sip as you fiddle with your fingers.
He sets the glass down. “Hangover?”
You shake your head again. “I must’ve slept enough to avoid it.”
He nods once in response.
Then, nothing.
Silence with Satoru used to be something comforting to you. Something you now find yourself reminiscing in—the way his eyes would find yours, or how he could read you without you uttering a single word.
Now it feels almost tantalizing, almost cruel.
He used to be someone you could tell anything to, but now you’re at a loss for words—completely unsure how to break the silence.
The one thought slides through every crevice in your mind, and despite your better judgement—the part of you that knows bringing up the flaws in your marriage right now wouldn’t mend them—you let it seep through the tissue, until the words tremble at the tip of your tongue. They can barely hold themselves back from the fall.
“You finish work early?”
He looks up, his glossy blue eyes meeting yours.
It’s only for a brief moment. So quick, you would have missed it if you weren’t already looking at him.
His gaze averts back to the counter, lips pursing as if he’s bothered by the question.
“Nah,” he breathes in. “I usually leave the office by 5:30 if there’s no meetings.”
“Oh,” the sound falls more disheartened than you intended.
“We just signed off on the merger with Infinity Air,” he explains. “So…”
“Oh, congratulations.”
You always imagined the one thing that killed your marriage was the hours Satoru worked.
You knew what you were getting into when you first met him—the obnoxious, but dreamy business major in your ethics lecture, who you much later found out was the heir to one of Japan’s biggest airline companies: Gojo Aviation.
With graduating came responsibility, and Satoru had to step into his father’s shoes. Still, he always found his way back home before you finished the day at your internship.
It wasn’t until you were married for three years, and the incident occurred that you would get text messages from him apologizing for missing dinner, that he would make it up to you, that he missed you.
It only took a month or two for you to become accustomed to your new routine—falling asleep without him, waking up to his side of the bed slept-in but empty, hardly talking anymore.
There weren’t anymore messages apologizing or warnings of his absence before hand. It became normal.
If he wasn’t the same man who spent almost a decade doting on you, praising you, teaching you what it meant to really, really love someone, you would’ve thought he was cheating.
But he was Satoru, and from the moment he met you, he breathed for you—his heart beat for you.
It was almost ironic, how now that you were apart he seemed to be able to work regular hours. But you only hope that this is what fixes the two of you.
He mutters something incoherent in response—probably a thank you—before your mouth, once again, is moving quicker than your mind.
“Since when?”
Your curse yourself mentally.
“About…” his eyes flick up to the left as he trails off in thought. “About a month after we separated."
Oh. You decide not to pry. Maybe it’s a coincidence.
“Are you busy tonight?” You ignore the tremble in your voice. You’re not sure anymore if you’re hurt or nervous or maybe a bit of both.
He looks up at you through his white eyelashes. This time longer than a beat.
“…to talk,” you continue, quietly.
You’re picking at the skin by your fingernails. A nervous habit Satoru always hated.
“We can still do this through lawyers. I haven’t messaged mine yet, but—”
“No.” You cut him off, sharper than you mean to. “I was serious last night.. About talking. About fixing things.”
He opens his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but before the sound can form, the bedroom door behind him opens.
The bedroom that also used to be yours when you first moved into his apartment. The bedroom that was yours until you both moved out a year into marriage.
A woman steps out.
Utahime Iori.
You recognize her immediately—newest member of the executive board at Gojo Aviation, the one who’s been in every quarterly photo Satoru’s PR team blasts across LinkedIn—as the daughter of the vice-president of Infinity Air.
Her hair is damp from a shower, dark strands clinging to her neck. She’s wearing one of his hoodies—the oversized black one from university he used to let you steal when you both still lived in the dorms. It drowns her frame the same way it used to drown yours.
Your mouth falls open.
She smiles—small, polite, kind even. “Hi. I didn’t know you were here.”
You don’t smile back.
The air in the apartment thins to nothing.
Satoru’s shoulders go rigid. He doesn’t look at her. He looks at you.
“I—” Your voice is barely there. “I’m sorry. For coming over. For… everything.”
You turn before he can speak.
Your bag is still slung over the arm of the couch where you dropped it last night. You snatch it up, fingers shaking so badly the strap slips twice.
“Hey—wait,” his voice cracks behind you. “Wait, please—”
You don’t.
The front door is only ten steps away. You cross them, and even though you feel as though you’ve run out of oxygen, you make a break for the stairs—deciding running down thirty-two floors is better than waiting around for the elevator.
“Satoru,” Utahime says softly from somewhere behind him.
You can’t tell her tone of voice, and you’re not even sure you want to
You don’t look back.
The hall outside is too bright, too quiet.
You can hear your heart hammering in your chest, each beach only getting more desperate with your descent down.
You make it almost 10 floors before your legs give way, and your thighs meet the cool floor.
You press your forehead to the wall and let the tears come—silent at first, then choking, ugly sobs that echo in the small space.
He didn’t chase you. It was over—really over.
The Satoru you fell in love with would have followed you to the ends of the earth without you even asking.
The Satoru who fell out of love with you couldn’t even put his ego aside to follow you down a flight of stairs.
You often thought yourself a fool, but never as much as you have right now. You should’ve known he would move on. That he wouldn't wait around forever.
A divorce was to end a marriage. You had to face that it was over years ago, no matter how much you wanted it to be him.
The empty house is haunting.
Every wall, every piece of furniture, every atom in the house taunts you—mocks you even.
The ghost of a younger you—a happier you—lingers in every corner. You think it’s almost humiliating how deeply Satoru’s absence now affects you.
The house he’d gotten built from the ground up seems to agree with you, the way it still looks as lived in as it had 4 years ago.
After finally picking yourself up off the floor at your old apartment complex and calling a car home, you thought the hardest part would be leaving him behind.
But there was the threshold he once carried you over, the kitchen where he’d make you breakfast while you still slept, the nursery you both painted—a pastel yellow colour that would never be enjoyed by a child—, the living room where you’d make love to each other when you were too impatient to make it upstairs.
The whole space screams Satoru’s name.
It’s a museum full of memories—the good, the bad, the in-between. The throw blanket he draped over your shoulders that first winter you spent here, still folded on the couch arm. The framed photo on the entry console of the two of you laughing in the rain outside that tiny ramen place in Shibuya, the coffee mugs he insisted on buying in pairs because “we’re a set, aren’t we?”
It’s all proof he loved you once.
And— if anything—keeping his things here would only be proof you’ll love him forever.
And you can’t afford that kind of attachment anymore.
A sob rips through your throat. You press the heel of your hand to your mouth like you can trap the sound inside, but it’s already too late. The grief has teeth tonight.
You make your way up the stairs on legs that feel borrowed.
His closet is the first place you attack.
You yank open the double doors and the smell hits you like a fist—his cologne, his laundry detergent, the faint trace of skin that used to live against yours. You start pulling things off hangers without thought: the navy wool coat he wore on your last anniversary dinner where you hardly spoke, the soft grey cashmere sweater he’d let you steal when you were cold, the white button-downs still creased from the dry cleaner. You fold them roughly, no care for neatness, and shove them into the largest suitcase you can find from under the bed.
Next come the gifts.
The delicate silver bracelet he gave you for your birthday two years into saying, the one with the tiny engraved star because he said you were his destiny. The perfume he picked out in Paris that you only wore when you wanted him to lose his mind. The silk scarf he tied around your eyes once during a game that ended with your legs atop his shoulders, being pummeled into the mattress. You drop them into the suitcase one by one.
Your vision is blurred from your tears, and in all honesty, you have no idea what is going where.
You move to the nightstand onhis side. The book he never finished, spine cracked. The candle he’d light at night… because even past thirty he was still scared of the dark. The small velvet box containing the earrings he bought you “just because.” You hesitate only once—fingers brushing the lid—before you drop the whole thing in.
You’re crying steadily now, not like before. Silent rivers carving tracks down your cheeks, dripping onto the carpet. Your chest hurts like someone’s sitting on it and breathing feels optional.
You hate how much you still love him.
You hate how much it still feels like betrayal to pack him away.
A few minutes past midnight, the doorbell rings.
You freeze, suitcase half-zipped.
You aren’t expecting anyone. Shoko would’ve texted. Your parents live provinces away. The delivery guy doesn’t come this late.
You ignore it.
Thirty seconds later there’s sharp, insistent knocks on the front door.
You wipe your face with the sleeve of the hoodie you changed into—his hoodie, fuck—and drag yourself downstairs. Your reflection in the hallway mirror is a wreck: eyes swollen, nose red, cheeks blotchy. You look like grief personified.
You open the door anyway.
Satoru stands there.
He’s lost the suit, now clad in white T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, white hair mussed like he’s run his hands through it too many times.
He sees your face.
The moment stretches—two heartbeats, three—and whatever armor he walked here wearing cracks wide open. His expression melts.
The hard line of his mouth softens, his brows pinch, his eyes go liquid and the bright blue almost dulls like he’s looking at something fragile he’s terrified of breaking.
“Fuck,” he says. Instinctively, his calloused hands find your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest. His left leg kicks the door closed. “Oh, baby.”
You don’t reciprocate his actions right away. You just stand there, his hands cradling your head now.
“Fuck,” his voice is almost sympathetic… if you didn’t know any better. “I did this to you. Didn’t I?”
“Fuck you,” you say, but the sounds comes out muffled.
You almost feel like crying again. Instead, you bring your arms up around your head, hitting his chest repeatedly. Attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.
His grip around you only tightens, much to your frustration.
“It’s okay,” he coos. “Take it out on me, baby. I can take it.”
“Don’t call me that.” You manage to slip out from under him before you succumb to his touch. “Why are you here?”
“You wanted to talk.”
“Because…” you almost hesitate. But, what else do you have to lose. “I thought we could fix this.”
He hums. You know his mind is probably going a million kilometres an hour, and you finally look at his face.
His eyes are slightly red, his bottom lashes damp.
You swallow. Your throat is sandpaper.
“Have you been crying?” you ask. Flat.
His gaze leaves yours, fixating at a spot on the wall.
“Have you?”
Your shoulders slump. You avoid the question.
It’s a pretty obvious answer.
“Look,” he begins. His shoes flip off his feet, and he starts heading towards the living room, his long fingers wrapping gently around your wrist as he drags you behind him. “I’m ready to talk—to try and… I don’t know.. Fuck. Fix this?”
He sits down on the sofa. You take the seat across from him.
“No lawyers?”
“No, sweets,” he starts. His elbows are on his knees. “I’m going to lay everything on the table. I can’t hurt you ever again.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You don’t really believe him. Your eyes don't meet his.
It takes a few minutes before he speaks again, the silence stretching out between the two of you as he tries to collect his thoughts.
“Utahime…” he begins. Unsure. “Nothing happened.”
You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, but your eyes still don’t meet his. You’re afraid of how you might react if you do.
He exhales, sharp and frustrated, his head meeting his palms. His right hand drags farther, through his hair until it stands up in wild tufts.
“We went to check out some more cost-effective oil choices today,” he starts again, quieter, like he’s reciting facts to a jury instead of trying to reach the woman he married. “Some new supplier pitch in Yokohama. She spilled some on herself—literally, like half a sample vial down the front of her blouse. It was disgusting. She was only in Tokyo for the day, flying back tonight.”
You don’t look amused.
“She’s on the board, baby. I couldn’t let her go back to Kyoto like that.”
“Okay.” You’re not sure what more to say.
“I promise,” he starts again. Longing. “I was in the kitchen the whole time—you saw me. I didn’t step foot near the bedroom.”
He pauses, searching your profile for something—anything—that says you believe him.
You finally lift your eyes to his. They’re red-rimmed, glassy, exhausted.
“You let her wear your clothes,” you say. Your voice is small, but it cuts.
“I didn’t think,” he admits. Raw. “I wasn’t thinking about how it would look to you because I wasn’t expecting you to still be there. I was trying to be professional.”
You stay silent, but his expression is almost like it’s cutting through him.
“I know how it looked,” he says. “I know exactly how it looked. And I hate that I let it happen. I hate that I gave you even a second to think I’d moved on. I haven’t. I can’t.”
“You… can’t?”
“No,” he runs a hand through his hair again. “You could cheat on me, divorce me, never talk to me again—fuck.” His voice cracks on the curse. Almost sounds like he’ll cry again. “But, you’re the only woman for me.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.” His hand runs down his face. “If we go through with this, I’ll never marry anyone again. Moving on with someone else isn’t even an option.”
If.
So there is a chance to fix this.
You blink back a few tears, but you’re not sure if you ever did stop crying.
“Why’re we getting divorced, Satoru?”
His posture changes, his spine stiffening as the rest of his body stills. You’re not surprised when he doesn’t answer right away.
“You were the one who wanted one.”
“Satoru,” you whisper his name. “You said it was over for a while when I asked. So, why?”
He’s avoiding eye contact. He looks uncomfortable—almost small—which is so unlike him it makes your chest ache. Once again, he doesn’t answer. Your quick-witted, “always has something to say” husband, is at a loss for words.
“Was it the incident?” Your mouth curls downward and the memory rises up like bile. It was the worst thing you’ve ever gone through. “Did that make you stop loving me?”
The words have barely left your lips when he flinches—wide eyes snapping up from their usual position on the floor, fixating on your face. He looks horrified.
“No.” It’s the fastest response he’s given you all night. “No way. God—no. Baby, do you actually think that?”
He scoots forward in his seat, hands reaching out before he catches himself and drops them at his sides again.
“I—”
He stands up. Satoru’s always been better at thinking on his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I’m so fucking sorry. I never—never—thought that. I would never stop loving you because of that.”
You stare at him, throat tight. “Then, why? You started working late right after. You’d come home after I’d fall asleep waiting for you, leaving in the morning before I’d wake up. You stopped touching me. You stopped talking to me.”
You swallow, hoping the bob of your throat will pull back the tear in your chest as well.
“You stopped seeing me.”
He breaks.
The sound that leaves his throat is gut wrenching—a sob he tries to swallow but can’t. His knees buckle ever so slightly and he catches himself on the back of the couch, head dropping forward. Hot tears fall on the ashe flooring before he can stop them.
“I thought—” His voice is wrecked. “After my family found out… about the fertility stuff… they started pushing. I don’t know why an airline company needs an heir, but they really wanted one. Every dinner, every meeting, every phone call. They just wouldn’t let it go.”
He drags a shaky hand across his face, desperately swiping away at the tears.
“I thought if I just… gave them enough of my time, enough of my attention, they’d leave you alone. You were already going through so much. The doctors, the tests, the grief. I didn’t want them piling on top of that. I didn’t want them making it worse for you. So I stayed late. I took every meeting. I let them control me. I thought I was protecting you.”
He looks up at you then, eyes red.
“But we stopped talking. You stopped talking to me. And I thought… I thought you resented me. For not being able to be the husband I promised. For not being able to fix it. For not giving you the family we both wanted. I thought you were ashamed of me—of us. So I kept my distance. I thought if I stayed out of your way, you wouldn’t have to see me as a failure.”
You feel something inside you crack wide open.
“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Because I couldn’t have children. I thought you were embarrassed of me and that I wasn’t enough. So I started avoiding you too. Pulled away so you wouldn’t have to pretend. So you wouldn’t have to look at me and remember what I couldn’t give you.”
His face falls. And in a second he’s crossing the room over to you, kneeling in front of you as his arms engulf your body, crushing you to his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out against your hair.
You’d hug him back if you could.
“I’m so fucking sorry. I never stopped loving you, not once. Not even for a second. You’re still everything. Okay? You’re still all I want. Kids—or no kids.”
You let out a sob against him, but despite that you’re smiling.
“I just…” he continues. “I fucked up. I thought I was protecting you, but I ended up breaking us.”
You cling to him, fingers digging into the back of his shirt now that his grip on you has loosened.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” you mumble against him. “I thought if I let go first, it wouldn’t hurt as much when you finally did.”
He pulls back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the hot tears on your skin.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, voice finally steadying. “Not without you at least.”
A wet, shaky laugh escapes you.
He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he’s been starving for you.
“Can I come home now, baby?” he asks, closing his eyes.
You nod, bring your hands up to cup his face in return.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Come home.”
The words barely leave your mouth before his lips find yours.
It starts soft, like he’s testing whether this is real or if he’ll wake up alone again.
But the second your fingers slide into his hair and tug gently, something in him breaks open. The kiss turns hungry, desperate, all teeth and tongue and months of longing. Suddenly his hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt to press hot palms to bare skin, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left.
You gasp into his mouth when he lifts you without warning, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He walks backward, never breaking the kiss, navigating the hallway by memory alone. You feel the wall at your back for a second. His body pins you there while he kisses you deeper, slower.
“Bedroom,” you manage to breathe against his lips.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
He carries you the rest of the way, kicking the half-open door wider with his foot. The room is dim, lit only by the hallway light spilling in, and the open suitcase on the floor catches his eye immediately.
He stops short, still holding you up, and lets out a soft, startled laugh against your mouth.
You pull back just enough to follow his gaze.
“Oh,” you say, cheeks heating. “I… was kind of in the middle of packing your stuff.”
He laughs again. “You were doing a shit job of it,” he murmurs, nodding at the suitcase. “You packed my favorite sweater. The one you always steal.”
“I was going to burn it,” you lie, lips twitching despite yourself.
“Liar.” He kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Shut up,” you mutter. You tug at his shirt, impatient now. “Put me down.”
He does—slowly, letting you slide down his body until your feet touch the floor. Then he’s backing you toward the bed, hands already working the hem of your hoodie up and over your head. It hits the suitcase with a soft thud.
You push his shirt up next, palms greedy against the warm, familiar planes of his chest, the faint scars you’ve traced a thousand times. He helps you yank it off, tossing it somewhere behind him—probably onto the growing pile of things you were supposed to be getting rid of.
When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, he follows you down, catching himself on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.
He pauses there, hovering just above you, blue eyes searching yours.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he says quietly.
You reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer until your lips brush his.
“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper.
His lips find yours again, softer this time but just as urgent. It’s slow and deep, your tongues sliding together in a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans against your mouth.
He breaks away only long enough to breathe your name.
Your hands cup his face in response, pulling him back down to you.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, the hinge of your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your head back instinctively, giving him more access, and he takes it greedily. Open-mouthed kisses trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing lightly, then soothing with his tongue.
His lips drag their way across your collarbone, down toward the valley between your breasts. He pauses there, nose brushing your skin, inhaling like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before cupping them gently, reverently. He kisses one nipple, then the other, slow swirls of his tongue until they harden under the wet heat of his mouth.
You arch into him, a soft whimper escaping before you can stop it.
“Missed the sounds you make,” he murmurs. “Missed every single one.”
He keeps going.
“Toru…” you mumble.
He kisses down the soft plane of your stomach, lingering over the faint scar from the surgery years ago—the one that changed everything. He presses his lips there deliberately.
Your breath catches.
He looks up at you then, holding your gaze as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down your legs. You lift your hips to help him; he tosses the fabric somewhere behind him without looking.
Then he settles between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open, hands sliding under your hips to lift you just enough that he can get the angle he wants.
“Give me all of you, baby,” he says, placing a kiss on the fleshy part of your thigh.
Then another, on the other side.
His breath is hot over where you need him most. You squirm, your hips lifting toward him—he backs away and you whine in response.
“Patience, sweets,” he murmurs against your inner thigh. “Been touching myself to the thought of this pussy for over a year now. Gonna take my time.”
You shake your head, pushing yourself into the pillow behind you.
“Please,” you plead. Your hands come up, attempting to push him downwards.
“Use your words, sweets,” he resists. “What do you want?”
“You.”
Under normal circumstances, he would’ve teased you more. But that was all it took for him to place a soft, wet kiss on your clit.
Then his tongue licks a sow strip up your center.
Your back lifts off the bed as a broken moan tears out of you.
His hands move to lightly grip your wrists, bringing them down to the base of your stomach as his head inches away from you.
“Spread yourself open for me, m’kay?” he says, breath ghosting against your folds.
You nod, your fingers finding your pussy and pulling apart.
His arms hook back under your legs, and his mouth is back on you.
He groans at the taste of you, like he’s finally getting something he’s been starving for. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you as he dives in properly—lips closing around your clit, sucking gently, then harder, tongue flicking in relentless circles.
He alternates between slow licks and quick, fluttering flicks against your clit.
He slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right. He remembers the exact spot that makes your head go empty.
You clench around his digits, and he moans in response, the vibrations driving you closer to the edge.
“Satoru—” Your voice cracks on his name.
He keeps working you with his mouth and fingers until your thighs are trembling around his head and your hips are grinding against his face without shame.
“That’s it,” he says. It comes out muffled, his mouth against your pussy. “Ride my face.”
Your hands move from their earlier position, once again finding their way threaded into his hair.
“Satoru,” you breathe. “So close.”
“Cum for me,” he rasps against you, voice wrecked. “Please, baby. Let me feel you. Let me have this.”
That undoes you.
You cum hard, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair to pull him up.
He crawls back up your body, kissing every inch of skin he passes, until he’s hovering over you again. His lips are shiny, chin wet, eyes glassy.
He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You break the kiss first, breathing hard, and push at his shoulders.
“My turn,” you murmur.
He blinks. “Baby—”
You don’t let him finish. You hook a leg around his and roll, flipping him onto his back beneath you. The mattress dips under his weight; he lands with a soft huff of surprise, white hair fanning across the pillow.
He looks up at you.
“You don’t have to—” he starts,one hand coming up like he’s going to stop you.
You lean down and kiss him quiet. When you pull back, you press your palm to his lips.
“Shut up, Satoru.”
He exhales a shaky laugh against hand. “Bossy,” he tries to say but it comes out muffled.
You smile and slide down his body.
You take your time, mirroring the way he did with you. His hands fist the sheets when you drag your mouth over his chest, tongue circling one flat nipple, then the other. He hisses, hips jerking once.
Lower.
You trace the faint lines of muscle on his stomach with open-mouthed kisses, feeling the way he tenses under your lips. When you reach his hips, you slow even more. You place teasing licks along the sensitive skin, teeth grazing.
He’s hard—painfully so—curved up against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip, already leaking. You wrap your fingers around him, slow stroke from base to head, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the bead of precum. He groans, head tipping back into the pillow.
“Fuck—baby—”
You don’t answer with words.
You lean down and take him into your mouth—slow at first, just the head, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. His hips buck; you press a hand to his thigh to hold him still. Then you sink lower, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you slide back up, tongue pressing flat along the underside.
He curses, fingers threading into your hair.
You set a rhythm. Sucking him deep, then pulling back to tease the tip with flicks of your tongue.
Every time you take him to the back of your throat, he makes a sound that goes straight between your legs: moans, pleas, your name broken into syllables.
“Look at me,” you murmur against him, pulling off just long enough to speak. Your lips are swollen, shiny with spit and him.
His eyes snap to yours. He looks wrecked—completely at your mercy.
You hold his gaze as you take him deep again until your nose brushes his pelvis. His whole body locks up; a tremor runs through him.
“Fuck—fuck—sweetheart—”
You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again. You pull back, stroking the bottom half of him with your hand while your tongue works the head in quick, filthy circles. Then you sink down once more, faster this time.
His breathing turns ragged. The hand in your hair tightens.
“I’m—baby, I’m close—”
You take him deeper, letting him feel every slide of your tongue, every suction.
When he cums, your name is torn out of him like a confession.
Hot cum spills over your tongue; you swallow everything, milking him through it until he’s shaking and oversensitive.
You pull off slowly, pressing one last soft kiss to the head before crawling back up his body.
He’s panting, flushed from chest to cheeks/
You settle over him, straddling his hips, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you down until your chests are pressed together.
He kisses you—slow and tasting himself on your tongue without hesitation.
When he pulls back, his voice is wrecked. “You’re gonna kill me one day,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I’m gonna die happy.”
You laugh and rest your forehead against his.
“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
He rolls you under him again in one fluid motion, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other drags down the center of your body. His mouth follows the path: biting kisses along your throat, sucking into the soft skin below your collarbone.
You’re gasping his name, begging for more.
“Say it again,” he says. “Tell me I’m home.”
“You’re home,” you breathe. “You’re so fucking home.”
He places a soft kiss under your breast, letting his mouth linger for a second before something in him snaps.
He releases your wrists only to flip you onto your stomach in a single rough movement. You barely have time to brace on your forearms before he’s yanking your hips up, knees spread wide, ass in the air. One big hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping your chest pinned to the mattress while the other spreads you open—fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, holding you exactly where he wants.
“Look at you,” he mutters. “Still dripping for me. Still so fucking wet after I already ate you out.”
You whimper, pushing back against his palm. “Satoru—please—”
He doesn’t tease this time. You feel the head of his cock rub against your folds.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Then, he lines himself up and slams into you, no warning. The stretch burns so good your vision whites out for a second. You cry out, but the sound comes out muffled into the sheets.
He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He pulls almost all the way out and thrusts back in harder, setting a rhythm with the way the headboard slams against the wall.
“Fuck, so tight,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Missed this pussy so much. Missed my pussy so much.”
His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in the roots of your hair. He yanks your head back enough to arch your back deeper, changing the angle so he hits that spot inside you with every stroke.
You scream, nails clawing at the sheets.
“That’s it,” he pants, hips snapping forward. “Scream for me, baby. Let the whole fucking neighbourhood know how good you feel.”
He reaches around, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, messy circles while he fucks into you. The dual sensation is too much; your thighs shake, your whole body locks up.
“Gonna cum,” you gasp, voice cracking. “Satoru—fuck—I’m—”
“Cum baby.” His teeth graze the shell of your ear. “Cum all over my cock. Milk me. Show me how much you missed this dick.”
Before you can say anything else, your vision spots black, a gush of wet heat soaking his thighs as you convulse around him. He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it until you’re oversensitive and whimpering and trying to crawl away.
He doesn’t let you.
He flips you onto your back again, hooks your legs over his shoulders, folds you in half until your knees are by your ears. The new angle is devastating and you can feel the pull in your hamstrings—he bottoms out so deep you swear you feel him in your throat.
“Look at me,” he orders.
Your eyes flutter open.
He slows and it feels almost torturous. Long, dragging thrusts that let you feel every thick inch sliding in and out of you.
“Say you’re mine,” he demands, thumb pressing hard against your clit again, rubbing it in small circles.
“I’m yours,” you sob, small tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. “Always yours. Only yours.”
He groans and picks up speed again, pounding into you so hard the bedframe creaks like it might break.
“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll feel me for days. Gonna mark you inside and out so you never forget who you belong to.”
“Yes—please—Satoru—”
He slams in one last time and cums with a relieving moan. His hot, thick cum floods inside of you, triggering another smaller orgasm that has you clenching even harder around him,
He keeps rocking into you through both your highs, smearing everything between you.
He collapses half on top of you, still inside, cock still twitching. His forehead drops to yours.
You’re both shaking.
He presses his lips to yours.
“More?” he whispers against your lips.
You nod, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
“Please.”
He rolls you both once more—still half inside you—until you’re straddling his hips again. His hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow circles over the sensitive skin.
You brace your palms on his chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath your fingers, and start to move.
Slow rolls of your hips at first, grinding down so he feels you clenching around him. He’s already thickening again, stretching you open.
“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back into the pillow. “Just like that, baby. Use me.”
You pick up the pace—lifting and dropping. Your thighs burn, but you keep going.
His hands slide up to grip your waist, guiding you harder and deeper, until you’re bouncing on him with wet, filthy slaps of skin on skin.
He watches you the whole time—eyes flicking between your face, your tits swaying with every thrust, the way your stomach tenses when you grind your clit against his pelvis.
“Gotta be dreaming,” he pants, voice wrecked but teasing. “Gonna wake up tomorrow and you’ll be gone again. Just me, alone, jerking off to the memory of this—”
You stop moving.
He knows he’s in trouble.
“Too soon?” he tries to laugh it off.
His eyes widen for half a second before you rear back and slap him across the face. Not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough that the sound is present.
The room goes still. And you realize what you’ve done.
Then his cock twitches violently inside you.
He turns back slowly, eyes blown black, pupils swallowing the blue. His tongue darts out, licking the corner of his mouth like he’s tasting the sting.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice dropping an octave. “Do that again.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Heat floods your core.
You slap him once more—lighter this time. His hips buck up hard, making you gasp.
“Harder,” he growls, fingers digging into your hips so tight that he won’t be the only one with bruises tomorrow. “Fucking mark me, baby. Make sure I know this is real.”
You do.
Another slap. His moan is broken. His cock throbs inside you, leaking steadily now.
You lean down, bracing one hand beside his head, the other gripping his jaw to force his eyes on yours.
“This is real,” you hiss, rolling your hips. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m not waking up alone. You’re gonna cum inside me again, and tomorrow we’re seeing our lawyers and telling them this—the divorce—is not happening.”
Satoru nods, surging up, arms banding around your waist, flipping you so you’re still on top but he’s sitting up now. You’re chest to chest, mouths crashing together in a messy, desperate kiss. He thrusts up into you hard, using his grip on your hips to slam you down onto every brutal stroke.
You claw at his shoulders, nails leaving red trails down his back. He bites your bottom lip hard enough to sting.
“Gonna fill you up again,” he pants against your mouth. “Gonna stuff you so full you’ll be leaking me for days. Gonna breed this pretty pussy until you can’t think about anything but me inside you.”.
You grind down harder, clit rubbing against him with every thrust.
“Cum with me,” you beg.
He buries his face in your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin there as he slams up one last time.
He cums with a choked groan, hot and thick, pulsing inside you in long, endless spurts. The sensation tips you over—your orgasm crashes through you, walls fluttering and squeezing around him, milking every drop while you shake and sob his name into his shoulder.
He doesn’t pull out.
He holds you there, still seated deep, arms locked around you
You stay like that until your breathing evens out and the room smells like sex.
Eventually, you slump onto him, falling asleep.
It’s a little over two months later, and you feel like you can breathe again.
You’re barefoot in the kitchen, still in the pajamas you put on last night—shorts and an oversized shirt that was Satoru’s in college.
The clock on the wall reads 2:17 p.m., and your breakfast (which is really just iced coffee and a cinnamon bun from Satoru’s stash in the fridge) sits hardly touched on the island. Sunlight pours in through the floor-to-cieling windows, warming the room naturally.
The divorce papers were shredded and burned in the backyard a week after you and Satoru got back together. He moved back in the next night.
Your marriage has never felt stronger. Sure, the scars of the past are still there, but you both talk until one in the morning, fuck until three, and fall asleep tangeled in eachothers limbs like no time had passed at all.
You’re so caught up in it all that you don’t hear the front door open or his briefcase hit the floor.
You don’t hear his footsteps as his long legs carry him through the house. Not until his arms are suddenly around your waist and you’re being lifted clean off the ground in a spin that makes you shriek and dissolve into helpless giggles.
“Hey! Toru—put me down.”
Instead, you feel the cold of the countertop against the backs of your thighs as he places you down and settles between your legs. His face finds the crook of your neck/
“Missed you,” he mumbles against your skin.
His arms stay looped around, chin hooked over your shoulder as your hands find their place on his back.
You twist just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You’re home early.”
“Left after my meetings,” he says, pulling back to look at your face. His hands slide down and still when they reach your thighs. “Kept thinking about you in these little shorts. Made it hard to stay focused.”
You roll your eyes, but you feel the heat creep up your cheeks anyway.
He goes quiet for a second. His hold on you tightens, and you can feel the shift in his energy before he even speaks.
“Hey,” he moves back a smidge. “Can we talk about something?”
You use the space to slide off the counter.
“You’re not thinking of divorcing me again, are you?”
He chuckles in defense, hands cupping your face, and his lips planting a small, wet kiss on your forehead. “No, baby. Never.”
His expression returns serious.
“I know we talked about it. About… kids. Or not having them. About it just being us…” He trails off.
You nod slowly, pressing your back up against the counter. “We did. And I meant it. I’m happy, Satoru. Really happy.”
“I know,” he swallows. “I know you are—and I am too. But… there’s something I need to ask you. And I’ve been thinking about it for a while.
He takes your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles.
“One of my mechanics, Toji, got sick a while back.”
His eyes start to wander. He’s nervous.
You realize. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
He nods, jaw tight. “He was a good guy.” He’s silent for a few seconds before continuing. “But, he came from a really bad family. He left behind a kid, and I’ve been visiting him at the group home they placed him in.”
He pauses, eyes flicking down to where your fingers are laced with his.
“I can’t leave him there. Not with the family that’s trying to get custody just so they can collect whatever benefits come with him. He’s… he’s a good kid, baby. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s thoughtful. He loves animals. Reads too much. Reminds me of—” He stops, laughs once. “Reminds me of myself, a little.”
You squeeze his hands. “Satoru…”
“I know we said no kids,” he continues quickly, like he’s afraid you’ll stop him. “I know we were okay with it being just us, but I also know how badly you wanted to be a mother. And if you say no—if this is too much, too soon—I’ll respect it and I’ll figure something else out. But… I can’t stop thinking about him. And I can’t stop thinking about what it would look like if he had a real home. With us. With you.”
He finally meets your eyes again.
“I want to take him in. I want us to take him in. If you’ll have him. If you’ll have this.”
Tears prick your eyes, but they’re good ones this time.
You step closer, rise on your toes, and kiss him.
“Yes,” you whisper against his lips. “Yes. Let’s take him in.”
His breath catches. His arms tighten around you like he’s afraid you’ll take it back.
“You mean it?”
“I mean it.” You pull back just enough to see his face. “I want to meet him.”
Satoru exhales—shaky and relieved—and drops his forehead to yours.
“Thank you,” he says, voice thick. “God—baby—thank you.”
You smile through the tears. “When can we meet him?”
“Tomorrow?” he asks, almost shy. “I told him I might bring someone special. He… he didn’t say much, but he didn’t say no.”
You laugh softly, brushing your thumbs under his eyes where they’re suspiciously shiny.
“Tomorrow,” you agree. “Bring him home.”
He kisses you again and when he pulls back he’s smiling.
“I love you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“I love you too.”
The conference room at the law firm smells funky.
You sit at the long polished table with Satoru on your left, Megumi on your right. The boy is quiet as always—dark hair falling into his eyes, hands folded in his lap, school uniform still on because he insisted on coming straight from class. He hasn’t said much since you picked him up, but every now and then his knee bumps yours under the table.
Satoru’s hand rests on the back of your chair, thumb brushing slow circles against your shoulder blade through your blouse. He’s in a charcoal suit today.
Megumi’s file sits open in front of the empty chair across from you.
The door opens.
You look up.
And your stomach drops.
Hiromi Higuruma steps in, briefcase in one hand, tablet in the other. He’s in a sharp navy suit, glasses perched on his nose, hair neatly combed back the way it was that night in the bar. He hasn’t changed much.
He pauses when he sees you.
Just for a second.
Long enough for recognition to flicker across his face, quick and private, before his expression smooths into professional neutrality.
“Good afternoon,” he says, voice calm and even. “I’m Higuruma. I’ll be handling your finalization today.”
He sets his things down, takes the seat across from you, and opens the file.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo,” he says, voice calm and measured. “And this must be Megumi.”
Megumi gives a small nod.
“Everything’s in order. The home study cleared last month, the background checks are complete, guardianship papers from the state are signed off. We’re just here to execute the consent forms, witness the affidavits, and file with the court. Should be straightforward.”
Hiromi clears his throat and slides the first document toward Satoru.
“If you’ll both review and sign where highlighted. Megumi—” He softens his tone, addressing the boy directly. “You don’t have to sign anything today. But the court will want to speak with you next week. Just to make sure this is what you want.”
Megumi looks up at him, then at you, then at Satoru.
“I want to stay,” he says quietly, looking down like he doesn’t want to admit it.
“Yeah,” Satoru says. “We want that too, kid.”
You squeeze Megumi’s hand. He squeezes back.
Hiromi nods once, expression unreadable, and passes you the next set of papers.
The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of legalese and signatures. Satoru signs with his usual flourish. You sign with careful, deliberate strokes. Megumi watches everything with wide eyes.
When the last page is done, Hiromi gathers the documents and stands.
“I’ll file these this afternoon,” he says. “You should receive confirmation from the court within ten business days. Congratulations.”
He hesitates, then looks at you again.
“It’s good to see you again,” he says quietly.
You press your lips into a thin smile and bid him farewell. Then Hiromi is gone, the door closing softly behind him.
Satoru exhales, then pushes his own chair back, rising.
“So,” he says, grin sliding back into place. “Ice cream to celebrate? Or straight to the arcade?”
Megumi rolls his eyes, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
“Ice cream first,” he decides.
You laugh, standing, scoping Megumi up from his seat beside you.
“Ice cream first,” you agree.
And the three of you walk out of the lawyer’s office together. As a family.
EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT
ok so i basically wrote the majority of this on a plane on my phone, i tried to fix most of the typos and stuff but i got lazy el oh el! ive been working on this for like more than a month so i rlyyyy hope u guys liked it :p this is also based on the song by zayne okay bye
⠀⠀⠀— fem!reader x husband!nanami, fluff with suggestive themes, bro loves his wife.
⟢ 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: hi loviesss:33 this is quite rushed m sorry.. its not my usual number of texts but i need to give u guys smth!! im really busy lately and ill only get busier but ill try to post each two days <33 LOVE U ALL THANK U FOR THE SUPPORT AND 800 FOLLOWERS!! im beyond grateful and feel sosososo loved🥹🥹
Heartbroken and destroyed, you’re set on never seeing that stupid white haired boy ever again. Gojo makes that impossible.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: WOW WOW WOW! I've been out of town so im sooo sorry for taking so long to update and leaving u guys hanging! i was not expecting that much engagement AT ALL SO THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH! but im also super duper nervous bc im not crazy about this one :') so a little nervous it might not meet expectations</3. Also might have lied about a different ending- we shall see but i took so long with this i didn't want to make u guys wait any longer so sorry if it wasnt what you wanted! also hope you guys don't think reader is too big of a cry baby, she's just sad and in love:(
warnings: angst and heartbreak, comfort, happy ending (eye roll jkjk), reader and gojo not taking care of them selves, self neglect for sure, cursing, mentions of throw up and alcohol, um um, reader and gojo basically just existing and hating life
Part 1 here
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
For weeks, the old but familiar cycle repeated. The dreaded feeling that you would never be able to shake off seemed to follow you wherever you went, no matter what path you followed in life, no matter who you met.
You stayed cooped up in your apartment, finding a temporary solace in the four walls. They wouldn't speak, wouldn't judge you for wallowing in your emotions and crying yourself sick.
The ache in your heart never seemed to subside. It was persistent, constantly reminding you of everything you tried so hard to forget.
You so badly wanted to prove to yourself that you were stronger than this, wanted to walk into class the following week with your head held high and pretend that you were just fine- even if it was just pretend.
But you couldn't.
Everything felt so incredibly difficult and brutal. Time taunted you, moving in slow motion yet simultaneously in the blink of an eye, sunrises transitioning into sunsets while you spent your days in bed drained of energy and dreaming of cerulean blue eyes.
Body, mind and soul feeling as if they were weighed down with cinder blocks and you were drowning.
Your heart had been completely shattered, broken into a million fragments and the idea of healing felt akin to finding a needle in a hay sack. Hopeless. Futile. Impossible. A puzzle with too many missing pieces.
Your mind was the worst, the temporary comfort exactly that. No where felt safe, the four walls turning into nothing but a tool to only make you feel more suffocated.
You could go anywhere to escape gojo, but you could never escape yourself.
Never escape the way you replayed the words he spoke to his friends, the way he looked at you, the way he cried, or the way he told you that he was in love with you.
Everytime you shut your eyes, his would find you.
You started skipping your classes after that, started skipping everything actually. Daily little walks to clear your mind, little coffee pick me ups, meals- it all ended. You were a shell of a person now, unable to put back together your own pieces.
No. Gojo had really taken a toll on you, really pushed you past a limit you didn't know existed.
And the worst part of it all was that you were still in love with him, still missed him and the way he'd distract you in class or grab your hand just to drag you somewhere while you playfully put up a fight. The way his stupid blue eyes seemed to light up at you just the way yours did at him. The way he made you feel.
And it was brutal, unnecessarily ruthless the way your mind plagued you when you thought of his lips and the night he kissed you. So cool, yet boyish and slightly clumsy as if gojo too was nervous, as if he truly didn't want to mess it up.
But each time your mind cursed you with a perfect little memory, it was shut down with the images from that night.
You had stumbled home after, purely driven by your grief induced rage, vision blurred from the tears that were constantly filling your eyes and painting your cheeks.
But arriving home to your lonely apartment was no better. Throwing up alone snotty, sweaty, and gross was absolutely horrible- and ignoring the messages and phone calls that bombarded your phone was nearly impossible.
The alcohol settled further into your bones and your drunkenness multiplied but you didn't have the guts to block him just yet- torturing yourself further when you began to listen to the voicemails he left while you desperately clung to the sides of your toilet sobbing and hurling.
You ignored them of course, sloppily brushing your teeth and crawling on top of your sheets, drunkenly throwing off your clothes but not caring to wash the make up off your face or the gravel fully out of your palms.
Then you proceeded to sob so hard you had to throw up again until finally you cried yourself to sleep. And when you woke up with swollen eyes, a scratchy throat and a pounding headache, praying with all your might that it was a nightmare, you realized it wasn't, your sober self having to go through the entire cycle again of processing what had happened, the heart break, the humiliation- everything.
You were slow to block his number, tormenting yourself the few days after that night as you religiously watched his texts flood in, spamming you with apologies and this and that and the ways he would change and loved you and wanted you and it was masochistic and everything you never hoped for and why couldn't you tear your eyes away? Why did knowing what he had done to you make it no less harder to think about him?
Being vulnerable and desperate with a visceral want to be loved angered you far more than he ever could.
And still, you let yourself think of him lovingly and kindly, and there, because god you would be a liar if you said you didn't miss him and everything he was, and the way he smelled and smiled and existed.
And still, losing Satoru felt like the only light in your life had been snuffed out, and you didn't care if it was pathetic because it was so undeniably painful and true and ignoring that fact would be a lie through gritting teeth.
You wanted to hate him. You knew you couldn't.
And amongst your tears of self loathing and hatred, you cursed the way you loved so loudly and deeply. The most twisted thing of it all.
With him blocked, your phone was dead silent. The quiet was loud.
You weren't sure how long you stayed in bed after that. Always exhausted as soon as you woke up feeling void of life that the white haired boy had given you. merely reduced to an organism that could only breathe.
But with timing and the world so happily on your side, you were gifted with finals and exams during your period of heartbreak, the ultimate stake in your heart. Your grades had already plummeted from your lack of attendance and half assed assignments and despite spending the last few weeks wallowing in your self pity instead of studying, you knew the least you could do was at least show up to the final exams- even if he would be there.
Rubbing your eyes with a sniffle, you forced your body to move, willing every deteriorated muscle to act. to put on clothes that weren't pajamas and to try and behave like a normal functioning being.
There was no motivation, but a small determination to take a step out of your apartment for the first time in who knows when.
You'd walk to the library, distract yourself with studying- spend the remainder of the week drowning yourself in work to pass your finals just enough so that you'd still pass all your classes and when that was over, you’d let yourself suffocate in the thought of him all over again, but for now- you had to do this.
Throwing on a hoodie that was not his- why would he have given you so many t-shirts and hoodies if you were just a bet, was he just expecting to ask for them back after he pranked you?- you begrudgingly readied yourself to the bare minimum, yanking the door open to begin your dreaded walk.
Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, your eyes landed on a handful of envelopes that laid on your doormat- slightly dirtied and weathered and you wondered just how long they'd been sitting there.
You shakily exhaled, nerves bubbling in your throat as trembling fingers picked up a total of at least five envelopes, all bare save for your name simply written in the middle of each, all in different handwriting. You looked around, retreating back into your apartment to hastily rip them open, curiosity getting the better of you as you were unsure of what person (multiple people?) you knew who were writing you letters and leaving them at your door step.
You pulled out the first letter, concentration written on your face as you scanned it over, not reading the content yet but just staring in pure confusion and then-
Your jaw felt slightly slack, eyes widening. You opened the next, and the next and the next, words unread but eyes falling on all the separate letters from Gojo and his friends and frat brothers. All written lengthy apologies from Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Fushiguro, a couple other names you didn't know but must have been involved with the bet.
Your fingers clutched the papers, catching certain paragraphs and biting your lip to once again hold tears back.
-didn't even know who you were and we did that to you. Guess thats why we felt like we could do it, as fucked up as that sounds. Gojo’s making us all write these apology letters to you and I hate saying sorry, but I am- we are all sorry. We’re just a bunch of assholes who thought it would be fun to fuck around with him and I guess you too, so yeah. Im sorry for being a part of it and hurting you, even if ive never talked to you. And wow that sounds really bad. Also, Gojo was telling the truth even though he lied at the party, another brother really did grab your gifts from him to throw it away, but tbh those cookies looked really good so I was gonna grab the container after anyways but asshole gojo got to it first. What type of cookies were those? Do you think-
You rolled your eyes automatically, hurriedly glancing away from sukuna’s letter to skim fushiguros.
-frat pres is so fucking annoying and gojos up there too. Sorry for hurting your feelings, we really did just want to fuck around and did think it was funny but damn I actually feel bad. So I'm sorry for that. It wasn't as funny as we thought. Think you could forgive his annoying ass and make some more cookies? Fucker grabbed the container before-
Then geto’s.
-Y/n I'm sorry that I was kind to your face and then let this happen behind your back. And not just let it happen but participated. You have always been a very nice girl and we took advantage of who you were for a laugh, and I swear to you that no one is laughing. You didn't deserve any of that and we don't deserve any of your kindness or forgiveness. I know I have no right to say, but Ive never seen Satoru like this and ive known him for years. I promise you that the bet was not his idea, that he shouldn't have gone along with it of course but none of us were thinking, we didn't know that you would be you-
You angrily huffed, tossing the letters onto your counter and refusing to read the rest of them and certainly not Gojos. Why did it matter if it wasn't his idea? Okay so what if he didn't throw your things out and was planning on getting them after, he still- you slammed your eyes shut, throat beginning to burn as tears welled up in your eyes.
He still did it, still said all that shit in front of everybody. Still lied to your face even when he was supposedly in love with you.
“Fuck you gojo,” you whispered to yourself, annoyingly wiping away the wetness in your eyes with the back of your palm. His letter remained unopened on the counter practically begging for you to read it and like every action did now, it took everything in you to leave it and walk out the door
The trek to the library was uneventful, slow and quiet as you pushed forward with anger in your veins. Your face was concealed by your overly large hood and headphones, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk.
“Y/n.”
You froze on instinct, ice shooting through your veins as your body betrayed you, the entrance of the library laid just up ahead taunting and laughing.
Prickles of heat stabbed alongside your neck and the saliva in your mouth grew sticky and gelatinous, hard to swallow as you attempted to focus on breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth.
“y/n,” the familiar tone that you had once loved, spoke the syllables of your name so softly, so light you hoped you had imagined it. So much emotion laced through and over and around the word that you never wanted to hear it again.
But that would be too easy on you, a too great display of mercy casted onto you by the universe.
You braced yourself, slowly turning and unintentionally, your mouth gaped, gaze landing on a very disheveled sick looking gojo who looked every bit like a heartbroken boy. You clearly weren't the only one skipping meals.
The words landed in an instant without thought, claws out, nails sharp.
“Leave me alone,” you spat, making your break for the library but his hand caught your wrist in a gentle but firm hold, electricity shooting up your arm and you screamed to yourself to ignore it, that it wasn't what you thought.
“Please, please y/n, I know i don't deserve it but just give me a minute-”
“For what? Think you can get in my pants that quick and win your stupid bet? I don't want anything to do with you.” The words burned as you spewed the hate and spat venom, so unlike you and it only served to anger you more. You didn't feel any better being mean to him, didn't feel good or victorious watching the features on his pretty and now sunken in face contort into hurt.
Fuck, it only hurt you more. Only made you want to take it back. Teeth tore into your bottom lip, eyes diverting anywhere but at him. But you didn't move. Let him grip you and hold your wrist, and you hated the familiarity and comfort that came with the touch. You were pitiful.
“How did you even know I'd be here?” the question flew from your lips before you could properly think about it, eyes focusing on the bob of his throat as he swallowed.
“I.. I didn't. You haven't been in lecture a-and I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by showing up at y-yours.. I’ve just been,” Gojo glanced away for a brief second, pale skin flushing a pretty pink. “I’ve been waiting outside the library everyday in case… in case you'd come.”
Your mouth opened, then shut, unable to find the words to respond to his unexpected statement you only thought could be a bluff. Another lie just to get you to forgive him. “For what, three weeks?”
He nodded, hesitant and shy, as if the fact might annoy you, looking anything but like the notorious campus fratboy and instead so childish. “Im so sorry y/n. Please, can we talk? Do you want coffee? I'm so sorry, I miss- I miss you so much, I feel like i c-cant function with out you and I meant it, I'm so in love with you-”
“Gojo.” You stopped him, fingers curling in on themselves to painfully dig into your palms, to try and ground yourself with anything but what could only be deceitful words.
His voice was breaking, hoarse and gravely as if he'd been crying too, rambling the words out like he knew you were about to leave him and he only had a few seconds to say what he needed to but he couldn't- there wasn't enough time to for him to tell you how sorry he was, not enough hours in this lifetime for him to prove how guilty he felt, or how desperately he begged to take it all back. He was a mess, and anybody could see. He knew it wasnt about him and his feelings, knew and deserved the pain he felt after what he did to you, but fuck he couldn't eat. Couldn't do much more than you.
He kept spamming your number with texts, hoping the green would turn to blue, kept ringing your number. Kept going to lecture in case there was a chance he might see you. But fuck if he didn't look and feel like shit.
“Don't. say. that-”
“But it's true y/n, i love you, i cant stop thinking about you, I wish i could take it all back, It wasn't a bet anymore it was real- it was all real,” Gojo spoke voice shaking and adamant, the first sign of his old spark making a display.
If there was anything he was unyielding about, it was his attempt at making it known to you that his love for you was real. “Y-you don't need to love me back thats-thats okay, just know I love you. I love you-”
“Stop saying that!” You seethed, eyes watering as he kept repeating the phrase that made you feel physically ill, like you might just vomit if he spoke the lie again. It didn't matter. None of it mattered if he loved you and you loved him, it didn't matter anymore. You shook off his grip that you had forgotten was on you, abruptly turning to make your way inside as you kept your head down, praying your tears wouldn't fall just yet.
“Did you get the letters?” He called out from behind you.
You paused, refusing to turn, grinding your molars, feeling like shit and thinking of a final blow that could hurt him. You wanted him to hurt. You didn't want to hurt him. You wanted him to hurt. You didn't want to hurt him. Who was this person you were becoming?
“Fuck your letters. It's basic empathy that you all feel bad. You'll never come close to understanding how I feel,” and in the reflection of the building's glass windows, you watched the way his shoulders slumped, the way his head dropped to his chest in defeat, ruffled white hair strewn all over the place.
For once, the bright boy looked exceptionally dull, clad in a now too big black hoodie and sweats, radiant blue eyes fizzed out into a soft blue, pale undereyes now decorated with large purple bags.
You bit your tongue wanting nothing more than to tell him you didn't mean it, that you did- but not quite like that. Wanted to run your fingers through his hair and undercut, over his sharp and perfect features and accept his apology, get some food in him and make sure he got a proper night's rest.
Your chin wobbled, lips trembling, mind deceiving you and urging you to just turn back and look at him. There was nothing you wanted more than to give in, every synapse firing telling you to just do it.
you sped forward before your body could betray you once more, beelining it to the women's restroom where you could freely sob, heart breaking all over again as you hurt the boy you loved back. Knowing he deserved it did nothing to soothe you. You loved him too much.
Gojo respected your distance. For the time being at the library.
When you walked out hours later, sun long gone and campus streetlights projecting soft yellow glows as the quiet hum of the outdoors enveloped you, you felt somewhat successful. At least you had tried.
You would have sped walked home, if not for the familiar head of hair that poked out from under a black hood. Gojo, on the bench, outside the library.
You scoffed lightly to yourself, preparing to book it past him before he noticed it was you, but what didn't go unnoticed by him? He was always oddly infuriatingly attentive to everything, which would have been great if.. Well.
“W-wait, y/n! Are you- are you hungry, did you eat? You were in there for hours and-”
His voice was a catalyst to your anger. You spun to face him, ready to chew him out, patience long gone. Gojo, bothersome and persistent and maddening and beautiful, already walking towards you, already there.
“Really Gojo? Haven't you done enough? Was lying to my face not enough that you have to keep following me around and messing with me? I don't- I don't care okay? I just want you to leave me alone, please. What don't you get? Your game is over, so please, stop doing this, the prize cannot be that good,” Your edge was sharp and frustrated, emotions bubbling over like a perfectly planned volcanic eruption as the words stumbled out of you.
“Yes,” the words tore from him just as frustrated, just as hopeless, hands running through his white strands in an attempt to ground himself, to gather his thoughts. “Yes, the bet- the game whatever- it's all over- been over, and yes,” he pleaded, hands reaching out towards you but you quickly stepped back avoiding his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashed across his face. “Yes, I've done enough- but I can't, I won't stop telling you i love you, please believe me-”
Rage fizzed up inside of you, bringing your palms up to shove at his chest, just as you had done that night. It was infuriating, it was aggravating, being taunted by something- someone you wanted so bad yet couldn't have, by someone who was so close yet needed to be kept at arms length.
“Ugh! You don't love me Gojo!” You spoke over him, ignoring the persistent nod of his head as the words I do Im so in love you I do tumbled from his clearly overbitten red lips. “You don't- don't do what you did to someone you like, let alone love!” your voice broke, staring at him incredulously. “I liked you so much. Don't you get that?” The end of the sentence wasn't hastily spewed anymore, it was slow but urgent, a plea for him to understand the severity at which he hurt you.
“Y-you guys purposefully picked me, because- because you knew that i was a loner and had no friends o-or whatever, and still, you dragged me along, made me- made me fall in lo-” a choked noise cut you off and you whipped your head to the side to break eye contact, not wanting him to see the pain you were in, not wanting to be weak before him. It felt like a humiliation ritual all over again.
You inhaled a deep breath, swallowing to ease the tightness of your throat, to blink back the wetness in your eyes. “Each day you saw me, you went back to your friends and knew what you were doing, while the entire time, I thought- I thought I was just lucky, that finally- maybe I deserved something good, t-that maybe I did deserve someone as good as you.”
Gojo stayed silent absorbing your words, street lights reflecting in the glossiness of his eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly, jaw muscle twitching every second. For once, he didn't interrupt you, just listened to the damage he knew he had done.
“And then I was so excited to see you- I didn't care if it was a party or if your friends were there I just- I just wanted to see you,” you sighed, briefly shutting your eyes to work up the courage to say what made you feel so sick, so unwanted. “And then there you were in front of everybody, b-because, again, you're someone! Everyone wants to be near you! And you just-” your breath hitched as you relived the scene, could physically feel your heart plummet all over again and the shudder that racked through your body as you pictured him standing there.
Your shoulders dropped as you loudly exhaled, unable to say the words aloud that replayed in your head and kept you up at night. “Everybody wants to be around you, or talk to you, o-or be friends with you Gojo. You don't know what it's like to have never had that, and then to hear the guy you lo- the guy you like- speak so…” you groaned, hands momentarily covering your eyes and throwing your head back in embarrassment. “Like I'm just- just this thing, like I don't have actual feelings, I just,” you paused before finally meeting his eyes again, all wide and starry, glassy and beautiful with tears. “I just can't get it out of my head.”
Silence hung around the both of you as the two of you stood mere feet away, imperfect yet perfect reflections of the other. Both completely hurt and devastated, both torn and beaten down for the same reasons yet not at all. It would be easy to forgive and forget, so easy. Especially when he stood with all his glory looking so unwell and defeated but of course, so frustratingly perfect even at the worst times. Even when he was wrong and felt so right..
Your tongue ran along the back of your teeth, poking the inside of your cheek as you waited, unsure for what.
“I am so sorry, y/n,” he whispered, a tear breaking tension and dropping down his cheek.
You sniffled, nodded, staring.
“I know,” you whispered, and walked by him, stifling the sobs that threatened to burst out of you
When you woke the next morning, you were once again faced with the fact that you would not be spared from the clutches of gojo who was seemingly intent on making it very clear that getting over him would be the most difficult task. ever.
There were dozens of flowers outside your door, a sign of gojo's unfortunate persistence and dedication. You cursed him, convincing yourself that you were bringing them inside for just a moment before you'd shove them in the trash.
But they were spider lilys, your favorite and so hard to find.
You racked your brain for how he knew, chalking it up to a lucky guess. but then your memory, ever so cruel, reminded you. Flashed you the thought of how you had once told him in an off handed random conversation months ago…
and he had just… remembered?
You rolled your eyes, willing the thought away, willing him out of your head and somewhere far far away, but your hands were already moving, already filling a vase- several vases with water. He didn't have to know you kept them. They were just flowers. Just your favorites.
It didn't mean anything, and it certainly didn't mean you were any closer to forgiving him.
Gojo didn't show at the library for the remainder of the week. Not that you noticed. Not that you cared.
More goodies had mysteriously shown up on your doorstep, ranging from coffee with the words “I love you,” written in sharpie on the plastic or breakfast from your favorite diner (more apologies written on the bag that you refused to read) to the matcha dragon jellycat with a pink bow on the head, that you had absolutely no idea how he knew you'd been wanting- or how he was able to get his hands on it considering it'd been sold out for months.
You kept it of course, not wanting to punish the stuffed animal for his actions, but your forgiveness would not be bought. You were surprised he at least had the composure and maturity to not bang on your door.
It was the last night before finals, and it was just your luck that it was pouring furiously as you stepped out of the library at two in the morning. You worriedly stood under the awning in almost pitch black darkness, the campus streetlights doing little to nothing to illuminate what would be a horrible walk back as you watched every single tree bend over backwards from the sheer amount of wind force.
You groaned, nervously chewing on your thumb nail as you racked your brain on what you could possibly do, so past exhausted and wanting nothing more than to call it quits and climb into your bed.
“Hey.”
You gasped, eyebrows shooting up your forehead and whipping around to see what potential threat might be facing you, surprisingly visibly relaxing when your eyes landed on none other than gojo. Of course.
A hand raised to clutch the fabric over your heart, exhaling in relief when you realized you weren't about to get kidnapped.
“Holy shit you scared me,” you breathed, moreso to yourself than him, fear catching you off guard for a moment that you didn't immediately curse at him. You didn't say more, letting the thunder and pitter patter of the rain fill the heavy silence, didn't ask what he was doing there.
Gojo stood awkward, almost out of place. Hand in his pocket and other lightly gripping around the handle of an umbrella that went clearly unused by him. Damp strands of snow white hair stuck to his forehead and wet clothes clung to his body. He looked so pretty just standing under the awnings flickering lights, eyes somewhat unfocused but glued on you, and you had to force yourself to look away, could practically feel the blush creeping up your neck at how pretty he looked.
It seemed as if your body would continue to betray you.
“Can I take you home?” He asked softly, cerulean eyes filled with a glimmer of hope shining at you.
“Nope. It's fine, I can wait. I'm sure it'll be done soon.” blunt and final. Gojo's heart raced at the lack of venom as if it was a sign. Sure you were uninterested, but you didn't immediately tell him to leave you alone. It meant absolutely nothing, yet to him it meant everything- meant light at the end of a tunnel, a stray getting a taste of food after having been starved. His heart raced in his chest, words catching in his throat. He could play it cool, not beg, not repeat himself over and over again like he'd been doing, just try to do enough yet not too much to just get you with him for a few minutes one more time.
“It's after 2 y/n, we've got our final tomorrow and it's pouring. I know you're tired, just let me take you home. Please.”
You rolled your eyes to yourself, exhaling and contemplating his words in your head, cursing every upper power for their unwillingness to toss you a bone.
Do you suffer for the ten minute car ride and get home and go to sleep, or wait here for lord knows how long to just sprint home, maybe get caught in the rain anyways with all your papers and laptop in your bag in the pitch black- you groaned quietly. It was a no brainer.
“This means nothing. I'm serious, Gojo.”
The smallest of smiles creeped on his features, the corner of his lips turning up ever so slightly, and along with one of the prettiest grins you've ever seen came the embarrassingly increasing pounding of your broken heart. You regretted it as soon as he stepped closer, hating the way he made you fluster even after shattering your heart.
“Come on, I'm parked this way,” and right away his free hand reached for the strap of your bag, tugging it down your arm and slinging it over his shoulder, opening the umbrella and positioning it directly over your head before guiding you out into the rain. You opened your mouth in protest, but he was too fast, ultimately deciding to just keep your mouth shut to get it all over with.
The two of you sped walked in the rain, dodging puddles to the best of your abilities and your heart ached painfully at what could have been. The moment was mocking, undeniably sweet.
An unintentional squeal shot out of your mouth when a particular violent gush of wind suddenly sent the umbrella inside out, both of you getting momentarily soaked- or well, mainly just you. Gojo didn't fit under, choosing to just hold it over you and was already looking like he had jumped in a pool.
You couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter that rolled out of you watching gojo curse and spew apologies at you getting wet as he frantically tried to fix the umbrella. His curses turned into chuckles and as soon as it was fixed, the laughter died down into awkward silence, your cheeks burning and a new wave of sadness crashing as the two of you walked side by side. You knew this was a bad idea.
He opened the passenger side of his far too fancy car, a small murmured “thank you,” reluctantly falling past your lips as you watched him run to his side, blasting the heater once situated. For a beat, you both said nothing, sitting in the idling car while a tsunami stormed around you.
He cleared his throat. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good, that's good.” He spoke too fast, sounded too eager. The car stayed parked, Gojo flexing his fingers in his lap, adams apple bobbing as he nervously swallowed. Fuck was he neverous? He didn't want to fuck this up- okay well he was already so past that, he didn't want to fuck things up more, which surely by now would just be impossible. He's just missed you so, so much, still pathetically texting your number everyday incase he wasnt blocked anymore, racking his brain for any other way to show you he's sorry and means it, that he-
“Gojo.”
“Yes?” He's immediately swiveling his head towards you, thoughts interrupted, eyes wide and mouth gaped at what you might say. The yes sounds more like a plea than anything, a beg for you to talk. You spoke to him and it didn't sound like you were going to curse him, what is it what is it what is it??
“Take me home.”
His shoulders deflated, embarrassment creeping up his neck and hope now a mere fleeting thought. What was he thinking?
“Right! Um- yes sorry, of course, my bad,” He mentally cursed at how awkward he was acting and fuck if it didn't sting, but it was everything and more that he deserved.
No music, no talking, just the white noise of the rain and occasional clap of thunder, mixed in with the heat blasting from the vents. He parked outside your apartment building, mustering the courage to try and speak before you could escape. He had ten minutes to think, to scrounge up anything and suddenly his mind was entirely blank except for just you. Just you looking far too pretty exhausted and wet at two am, sitting in his car, right in front of him. Was this real? Was he imagining you?
You spoke first, already unbuckling your seatbelt, eyes staring straight through the windshield. “No more flowers. No more gifts. No more anything. This-” you motioned between yourself and gojo. “Whatever this is- was- no more. Done. Thank you for driving me home, but no more.”
The words burned as you forced them out, every thought in your mind telling you nononono.
“T-theyre from uh, they're not just from me, from the guys too, I'm telling you y/n, I’m sorry- we are all really sorry,” Gojo whispered, entire body turned towards you in case he'd be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of your eyes. You were so close, yet so far away, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“I don't care who they're from, that's-thats not the point, okay?” Your voice raised, tone laced with frustration and annoyance. How could you possibly get over him if he was just so damn persistent? Why did he have to try so fucking hard? “Just leave me alone-”
“I cant y/n, I cant. I- I tried, I've tried to respect your words and give you distance but I can't okay?” He knew he was being pathetic, but he just didn't have it in him to care anymore.
“I physically fucking hurt, and I know, It will never compare to how you feel- to what I did to you but fuck-” his features were contorted into a pained look that you had never seen before, never wanted to see in the first place.
You faced him, regret taking hold of every action and thought as you could practically feel the want to give in increase more and more. The look of distraught, the anguish, everything that should have never touched him completely coated him and you had to dig your fingers into your pants to keep from reaching out. You internally begged for him to stop, to just stop fucking speaking, to stop making you think and think and think. But when has Gojo ever stopped??
“I can't stop thinking about you, you're my first thought in the morning and last thought at n-night- I.. I cant function without you and I miss you so so much, just please- please you're all I think about and I mean it when i say it was real, it was all real- Fuck, it never and i mean it never felt like a joke or some bet, I knew I was fucked as soon as I started talking to you- I liked you and and I fucking love you- like theres, theres this physical constricting in my chest when I think about you, when I think about how much I love you and- and,” Gojos head dropped to his chest, voice cracking and fingers curling into the fabric near his chest as if he was experiencing that ache, spewing the words so hastily he could only pray he was making sense.
He inhaled a deep breath, some lousy attempt at collecting his thoughts, raising his head to find your eyes on him, wide and glossy, nostrils flaring from the intensity of your breathing.
You were so beyond overwhelmed, unsure of what to do, what to say, if you should zone him out or listen, but it hurt and it hurt so much that you knew no amount of lying to yourself or to him would numb the agonizing ache in your chest.
“You don't have to love me. You don't have to forgive me, but please, just let me try. Ill spend the rest of my life making it up to you, but fuck Y/N, i have never felt this before. W-When I look at you- m-my brain just does this, this weird numbing thing like its just a buzz, l-like i cant think at all, I just- i just see you and,” he frustratingly ran his fingers through his wet strands, fingers pulling and tugging on the edge as anxiety and exasperation coursed through him.
“Fuck im just so in love with you,” his voice broke, pitch uneven and scratchy.
A tear streaked down his pale skin, and you sharply inhaled to hide your own. You could try to be strong, try to deny what you felt for him and pretend like you didn't need him, but you weren't exempt from the ache in your heart at his admission, couldn't just let his words roll off you like they didn't mean anything, when they meant everything, couldn't ignore the way he loved you when you loved him.
The entire situation was so fucked, such a dumb fucking cliche.
“I-I know my letter wasn't enough, that an explanation or guilt won't fix anything, that gifts don't mean anything” you stayed silent, didn't tell him you hadn't actually read his letter yet, that you couldn't. “but-but I just- I just need you- need to try to fix what I fucked up. You're so, so perfect,” he whispered the last sentence to himself, gaze dropping.
He was the one who did all of this, but you wouldn't be the only one to suffer.
You shakily breathed, praying your voice didn't come out as broken and fragile as you were, that he wouldn't be able to see your tell. So many things you wanted to say, wanted to ask. You couldn't open that door, desperately wishing you could find closure in disclosure.
“Thanks for the ride, gojo.” a faint whisper, the only response you gifted him. You slammed open the door, grabbing your bag and running out into the rain towards your apartment building, thankful that it was so loud it hid your cries and wails. You didn't turn around, knowing you'd only go back at the sight of him falling apart, knowing the exact feeling of something that was so in reach completely and helplessly fall through your hands. It was torturous watching what used to be your ray of sunshine completely lose its spark and turn into something so hurt and defeated. Two sides of the same coin. What perfect reflections of each other.
The class was quiet when you arrived bright and early the next morning, murmurs and whispers of questions floating around students silently panicking as they anticipated the material on the exam. Sleep was futile, mind filled with endless thoughts of gojo, and when you finally drifted off into the lull between consciousness and sleep, your dreams taunted you of him. Showed you small glimpses of a hand held in yours, messy white hair splayed on your lap, a pretty smile that made your mind go dumb. You didn't need to see his face to know it was him.
When you woke, eyes wet and sadness heavy in your chest, you couldn't have cared less about your exam, only wanting it to be over so you could resume rotting in your heartbreak.
But of course, Gojo being Gojo through and through, you found a coffee placed at your usual spot in lecture, “good luck, you're going to ace this!” and a heart once again written sloppily in his handwriting. Huffing, you discreetly scanned the room, finding his ruffled locks on the opposite side alone, looking equally as shitty and unwell. You rolled your eyes to yourself, blocking him out and eager to get the exam over with.
You half expected Gojo to storm after you once the exam was over, dismissing the small part of you that almost wished he had. No you didn't.
Slamming open your apartment door and throwing off your bag, the action happened before you could even second guess, fingers whipping out your phone to quickly unblock his contact telling yourself it was just to look, just to get a small peak.
You'll just block it after again, just one quick look wouldn't hurt right?
Your jaw dropped, hundreds of texts flooding your phone as you watched every single one pop up one after another after another- approximately over four weeks worth and Jesus, he was really not lying when he told you still texted your number, still spammed it.
Texts from that night, good morning texts, ‘i love you’s,’ ‘im sorry’s,’ a photo of your digimon keychain on his back pack and then of a digimon shirt and poster in his room with the caption “I love digimon so much I love your keychain”, your sticky note on his wall mirror, a photo of the empty cookies “so fucking good, let the guys have only one except for the fuck face that tossed em”, a photo of the exact frat member that tossed them with evident bruising on his face, “I didn't do it fushiguro and kuna did swear- they loved the cookies btw”, photos of flowers that reminded him of you, just more and more texts spilling his guts, telling you he loved you.
Holy shit.
You gritted your teeth. You should have never unblocked him, mind filled with so many thoughts and nothing at once you weren't sure if you were processing anything. You definitely weren't breathing.
Fuck it.
Phone carelessly tossed somewhere, you moved to tear open his letter, harshly biting your lip in anticipation, eyes widening at the multiple pages he had written and two smaller pieces of rectangular paper falling out that you paid no mind to yet.
You scanned the letter first, eyes rapidly going through each line only managing to digest certain sentences.
-so embarrassingly insecure that i never had any real friends, people that only used me for my family's status or wealth or just to get something out of me ever since i was kid. I didn't think anybody would actually want anything to do with me unless i had something to give-
-got to college and it was the same. Felt like no liked me for me. Always felt like i was left out of a joke or just didn't understand, thought i was weird and just had really bad social cues or something like that. Joined the frat for some brotherly “love” and it only got worse from there. I hated it, but i had something along the lines of friends for once and i had never had that before and wow this is really embarrassing-
-they were all assholes and at first i was just playing along. It was fun to feel like I fit in. it was never anything bad, never hurt anyone until you, never made any sorts of bets about anything, i swear. I'm only mentioning this because I know you'd never want anyone to go through this. You're so selfless, so kind-
-frat president came up with the idea of the bet and i gave in and i don't say that placing the blame on him or on anyone else. It's 100% all my fault and I never should have accepted it. When he brought it up, almost the entire frat was in the room and they all looked at me like if i didn't agree id be the loser i used to be. There's nothing I wouldn't give to take this back. To be looked at like a loser or nobody again if it meant I could have you back. I didn't think, didn't know who you were yet, which is not an excuse at all. It just made it easier to say yes when i didn't know-
-kuna and fushiguro didn't give a fuck. Are they assholes? Absolutely. But at least they are to everybody. Geto was against it all but we didn't care enough clearly to stop, we just kept playing along with the pres just because we could. Just because he could. Honestly don't even know what the prize was, I just accepted it that day. I didn't think about it.-
-he wanted to see if i could get you in bed with me, being the campus fuckboy and all. I know there's no reason for you to believe me at all, no reason to take my word for it. But I never would have gone that far. You think I'm lying and you have every right to, but I never. Never would have done that to you. Im a disgusting idiot, but not that evil-
-started to like you. Started to fall in love with you. Frat president was weirdly on our asses about it (yeah weird, fushiguros, kuna, and geto too?? Me i get, but i think he knew i was insecure and wanted to fit in, knew i had actually started to get along with those few guys and wanted to fuck me over even more having us all wrapped up in it, and dumbly enough i played along- we all did) and everytime i looked a little too happy or giddy or genuine after being with you he’d remind me of the bet. Remind me it wasn't real. I know, I am the biggest pussy ever. What kind of guy takes shit from someone like that? Who even cares?-
-dates were real. You were real. To me. I could nerd out with you and you'd laugh, join in with me even on the dumb things I liked that you didn't know existed. Just listen to me and watch me like I deserved your attention, like I deserved you and how good you were. And then I'd go back to the house and I was furious. Too pussy to officially end the bet to his face but knew I'd only keep going back to you. I never would've stopped once it was technically over because you werent some fuck ass bet to me, you were everything. I'd be so mad and accidentally end up taking it out on you, being rude and indifferent so that maybe you would get fed up with me and end whatever we had going on. That you realized I was never worth your time or good enough for you, but you never did. You kept looking at me like I meant something, kept giving me more chances than I ever deserved. And I took advantage of all of it. I wanted you so bad.-
-realized i turned into one of those assholes i always hated. Had no one to humble or put me in my place anymore and I hated what I saw in the mirror. Used to shit on people like me then i turned into one of the most vile people ever-
-but fuck i couldn't stay away from you. Told myself I'd end things with you just so that in some twisted way I could protect you from me, from the people I hung around. Anything but actually change huh?-
-they felt pretty shitty too so made them all write apology letters to you. I promised I wouldn't read them so if they're ass then I am really sorry about that. Told them to use their big boy brains and that maybe I'd let them try one of your cookies. I really did get them back-
-worst thing I've ever done in my life. Watching you look at me like that in the hall way gutted me and i stood there like some fucking cocky asshole but all i could think about was how were too good for me. Too kind, too genuine. Literally the personification of sunshine. I felt sick, thought it i was cold enough you might tell me to fuck off but you didn't. You never did and i hate myself-
-a brother threw them in the trash when i got back from class, i swear, all the guys saw, i swear. Said i was looking a little too happy, a little too old to be excited over the coolest fucking digimon keychain ive ever seen in my life. I was gonna grab them as soon as he left but then prep for the party started and this and that and i was gonna wait until after the party. I didn't care if there was junk all over it, I was gonna grab the keychain and the cookies (still in the container okay so it was fine, I'm not that gross and they looked amazing) and end the bet with him.-
-didn't even realize how much time had gone by. Every moment was so real and genuine with you all i wanted was you-
-that fucking night. I invited you of course I did and naturally, was shitting bricks. Prettiest girl I'd ever laid my eyes on was coming to our party and I was so excited. Didn't think of the bet, just wanted you there, wanted to see you. Frat pres kept handing me drinks, passing me blunts, and i didn't say no. just kept drinking and smoking and was so fucked up. Got in front of them and he started riling me up, started shit talking the gifts you got me and how funny the idea was. Everybody looked at me and like the desperate loser I am, started spewing shit, started spewing hate. Just wanted to make everybody laugh just to feel fucking better about myself for a split second. Just to feel like i fit right in with them-
-saw you. Saw how beautiful and out of this world you looked even while you cried. I am a coward. I'm pathetic. I knew i was fucking it up, but the moment i saw you. Fuck. I would do anything to take it back. To tell him to fuck off that i didn't care. To be a man and tell him i loved you, fuck his bet or whatever. That all of this was real. I know it doesn't matter. I know I deserve to feel this when I know it's nothing in comparison to what I did to you. I know i will never understand-
-want nothing to do with me. I completely get it. I'm not saying this so you take pity on me, believe me, but I know how cowardly I am. Know how I'm anything but a man. That i did something disgusting and horrible to the girl I love, the girl I was falling in love with. I hate that this is what it took for me to snap out of it. Came in after you left and absolutely trashed the place, kicked everyone out (may or may not be getting kicked out the frat next sem but i don't care), grabbed your gifts from the trash. Made the guys write those letters a couple days later after I went off on my friends (they went off on me too, don't you worry), and then the pres stilllll had some shit to say. Guys felt so bad they uh gave him some love taps-
-don't expect you to ever forgive me. Don't expect you to ever fall in love with me back. Just need you to know how perfect you are. How your kindness kept me going on the darkest of days, how you were literally a breath of fresh air that made me think that maybe things would be okay. You never hesitated to be there and every morning I woke up happy knowing I'd get to see you. I will be sorry for the rest of my life. Every day I wish I could take it back. None of it was worth it. I only want you. I only love you-
-had the best thing that's ever happened to me right in front of me. It felt like I had it all when I was with you. The prettiest girl I'd ever seen with a heart of gold liked me. Didn't want anything from me. And in return I betrayed your trust. Lied to your face. Not only royally fucked myself over but ruined the best part of me. Hate that i will be the reason for all your insecurities-
-mentioned the aquarium night event that had been sold out for a few months that you said would be a dream to go to. I got you two tickets (not for me don't worry) for the end of the month once finals are over since you said you'd be here over winter break. When you go, if, check out the biggest tank in the back with the whale shark. I know you'll look beautiful. Are beautiful. I love you.
The letter was tightly clutched in between your fingers, knuckles white from the grip, tear drops splattered over the sloppy pencil marks, smudges all over from where gojo had continuously erased and rewritten, erased and rewritten. tiny hiccups fell from your mouth.
You hated him you hated him you hated him.
You loved him you loved him you loved him.
Your breath hitched, momentarily discarding the letter to inspect the two fallen tickets. A special one night event gala with inclusive drinks and food, behind the scenes tour where guests could even pet certain animals. Not only had the tickets been sold out for months, but they were way beyond out of your budget.
With trembling lips and shaky hands, you sobbed.
Gojo quite literally spat out his drink when three days later a notification popped up. From you. In the midst of scrambling to properly hold his phone, he somehow managed to fling it, frantically tripping over his own feet, knocking over his drink and sending his desk chair tumbling.
Hi. Can we talk
He wasn't blocked anymore?? You texted him? You wanted to talk??
He tried to focus, tried to think of a response that wasn't so desperate or needy. He failed to do both.
Hi yes of course. im free now. Or whenever you are free of course, just let me know!
Your bubble popped up, his heart spasmed in his chest, breath heavy as he awaited your response.
It went away and his shoulders dropped. Then it popped up and he sat up. Gone.
He groaned, tossing the device and covering his face with his palms. He fucked up again.
An hour later, there was a knock on the door down stairs, then voices mingling. Then-
“Gojo! Your girl is here!” It was Kuna’s voice.
gojo furrowed his eyebrows. His.. girl?
He stumbled up, sprinting down the stairs so fast he jumped down the last four, heart lodged in his throat as he eagerly popped up next to sukuna, eyes widening once they landed on you.
You.
In all your glory clad and comfy and so fucking cute in a swetashirt that was far too big - fuck was that his?- hair slightly messy but purposeful, lip caught in between your teeth. He froze, jaw dropped, eyes stuck on you like he'd never seen a woman in his life. Like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. His breath caught.
“Hi,” you spoke softly, cheeks warm and fingers fiddling with the hem of your- his hoodie.
He rubbed his eyes, unsure if he was dreaming or not. He thought of you so much that the idea that he was hallucinating you at this point was very plausible, that maybe you were a figment of his imagination-
Sukuna elbowed him, a grunt leaving gojos lips, murmuring “weirdo” before turning away.
“H-Hi,” his voice cracked, clearing his throat before trying again. “I mean, Hey.”
You rolled your eyes, playfully. Playfully.
She rolled her eyes at me playfully this time. She just-- she-
His mind was short circuiting.
“This Friday is the aquarium night event. Pick me up at 8.”
And just like that you turned on your heel. Didn't wait for a response, an emotion, nothing. But he understood perfectly fine. This was his last shot.
He spun on his feet, unsure of whether or not he should run after you or if he just made you up. He yelled out to sukuna who only smirked.
“Was she real??”
Those three days passed agonizingly slowly, yet all too fast. Gojo anxiously stood outside your door, palms sweaty and hands tugging at the neck of his collar to breathe. The biggest bouquet of flowers at the store clutched in his grip with an unintentional deadly vice, his best tux ironed to obsessive perfection (admittedly the first time he's ever ironed, he didn't even own one, asking every guy in the frat until one of his brothers mom offered to lend him one).
He spoke out loud quietly to himself, hand hovering over the door in a closed fist working up the courage to knock. “You got this, don't fuck this up, don't fuck this up even more, don't-”
Right under his fist the door swung open, both yours and gojos eyes widening equally in surprise. His cheeks flushed, opening his mouth to speak but the words died down in his throat as his eyes scanned you over. Like a moth to a flame he couldn't stop looking, eyes leaving a wake of goosebumps on your flesh everywhere they traced. Your cheeks burned.
He wasnt breathing, wasnt blinking, wasnt thinking- mind doing that brrrr numbing noise when he would see you but fuck.
You were stunning. The prettiest fucking thing that had ever blessed his eyes. Standing before him, just as shy, just as taken aback. The floor length gown you opted a blessing and a curse, hugging you so perfectly that gojo concluded that it quite literally had to be made for you. You were taller in your heels, hair done perfectly, makeup gracing your features and only accentuating your natural beauty. Oh he was so royally, completely, entirely, fucked.
He was embarrassingly nervous to be standing before you, to stand by your side when you looked like that. Fuck you were so out of his league.
You cleared your throat and for the first time, he blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts- or more so lack of.
“You look… you look stunning,” he finally spoke, watching as your gaze dropped to the floor, the tiniest of smiles making his heart thump.
“Thank you. You look very nice too.”
He beamed, exhaling, reminding himself to breathe. He must've died. Must've died and he was at the gates of heaven and fuck he didn't care if he was about to get turned away, at least he got to see you standing right in front of him and hed be damned if he didn't treat it like the best gift he had ever gotten.
He snapped back into reality, far too enthusiastically thrusting out his arm holding the flowers.
“I-I got you flowers.” say something else you idiot. “The, the prettiest ones in the store f-for the prettiest girl.” oh my god not that.
Gojo wanted to cringe, physically recoil at how fucking dumb he sounded.
You let out a small breathy laugh- he missed that sound so much- gently taking them from his grasp to put them in another vase, not paying attention to the way your fingers accidentally brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity up his arms and through his body like a machine getting a much needed reboot. He was pathetic, so so pathetic and it was his greatest honor.
You came back, the pink red blush softly painted on your cheeks made him want to bite his fist and he wasnt sure if it was cuteness aggression or the fact you just looked so fucking edible.
“Ready.”
The two of you slowly strolled through the aquarium, arm laced through his while you admired the animals and he admired you. It was laughable how obvious he was, eyes unable to stray. Hundreds of couples flowed and ebbed around you, an overwhelming amount of waiters offering food and more food and champagne every thirty seconds. The tension was painful, you and gojo downing two flutes each as soon as entering the event.
Small talk at first was difficult, Gojo rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment when he asked if he mentioned how beautiful you looked for the umpteenth time that night. You smiled, blushed, but the tiny inklings of doubt and fear circulated in your head, questioning if he really meant it this time.
You both lingered around tanks, drinking more and more flutes of champagne, becoming more and more relaxed as the night continued. Jokes started flowing easier, hearts forming in gojos eyes when you threw your head back to laugh when he accidentally knocked over an entire serving platter from a waiter's hand.
This was the iconic fratboy?? Making a fool of himself?
He would've cringed, scowled at himself if it weren't for the way you looked, finally allowing your guard to loosen and the champagne to take hold, poking fun at him and asking if this was his first time out in public. He stupidly grinned, teeth and all, cheeks burning pink.
The night only got better from there. Gojo gleamed as a worker introduced you to penguins, whipping out his phone to take photos of you smiling and laughing. Then you were petting a sting ray- a photo of you quietly squeaking when you touched the slimy creature. Later on a photo of you gasping as you pet a dolphin, stars in your eyes and amazement unmasked. You with a sea otter “awwing,” you backing away from gators, you pointing at the big bellied sea lions, you-
“Thank you Gojo. For the tickets, I- I really don't know how you got them, and the price, I don't know what to say.”
The tank was cold beneath your touch, finger feathers lightly tracing the glass that housed colorful jelly fish. The room was dark, save for the glow of the bright sea creatures that reflected in your eyes. You couldn't look away from them. Gojo couldn't look away from you.
The response was immediate, without a doubt. “Don't say thank you. I-..” he swallowed. He didn't know what else to say, knowing sorry would never be enough.
“Sukuna said he was sorry when I went by. Said what he did was pussy shit. When I agreed and said I didn't forgive him, he smirked and said good.” You stayed facing the tank, voice tight and blunt, but not unkind. Purely factual.
Gojo slumped, hands shoving into his pockets, preparing himself for you to end everything for once and for all. His saliva was thick, relaxed state leaving him and anxiousness creeping in. He stupidly hoped for something more, knowing he didn't deserve it from the start. But knowing never made handling the truth any easier.
Silence hung heavy in the air.
Gojo cleared his throat, quiet and nervous. He chewed on his bottom lip, fingers playing with a loose thread in his pocket. “I know you're sick of me saying it. But i am so sorry y/n. I wish I could take it back, but I know I can't." He itched for another glass of champagne. “Im just,” gojo huffed an airy laugh that was more so a sigh of disbelief. “Just so thankful, that you- that you let me come with you tonight. A-and see you.”
A faint hum was your only response.
“C-can i show you something?” he whispered.
You turned, hair framing your face perfectly from where your hands had run through it throughout the night, eyes shiny but bright, and gojo could feel his heart stop, or maybe it was just beating so fast that there was no separation of a beat. “Okay.”
Before he could overthink it and more than ready to accept the sting of rejection, he quickly but hesitantly brought his hand towards yours, lacing his large one in yours. Tears almost welled in his eyes when you didn't pull away. “Come on.”
“Holy shit,” the words came out unintentionally, eyes wide in awe and jaw slack once your eyes landed on the aquarium's new massive whale shark as it freely swam inside the gigantic tank, other fishes and creatures accompanying it in its rounds.
Gojos palm was embarrassingly sweaty in yours and he felt unsteady on his legs as if he was standing on unsolid ground. Maybe this was stupid, so stupid and you'd hate it. He was starting to regret it.
A worker near the tank spoke into a mic, excited and grinning big. “-Our newest edition! Everybody meet y/n the whale shark!”
You gasped in equal joy and shock, a genuine smile appearing on your face for what felt like, no it quite literally was, the first time in over a month. You spoke aloud, maybe to yourself, maybe to gojo.
“Hah! That is so funny that they named it that- what are the odds??”
As soon as the words left your mouth, your eyebrows were already furrowing, body already turning to gojo who looked ghastly and sick on his feet, hand rubbing the back of his neck and skin flushed the brightest you'd ever seen it. He had mentioned wanting you to check it out in the letter, wanted to show you now, looked so nervous… why would he be so..?
“Gojo?”
He didn't look at you, mouth straight and eyes forward. He hummed, but the pitch was too high, too anxious as if he was awaiting some sort of reaction. How would that even work…?
“Gojo…” His eyes scanned the room, fluttered left and right awkwardly, anywhere but you. Your heart stopped, hairs standing on the back of your neck, of your arms, mouth suddenly dry as if you hadn't been drinking the entire night.
“Gojo you didn't…” and he was facing you suddenly, eyes wild, tugging you closer and grabbing both of your hands to hold in his, thumbs swiping back and forth not to soothe you but an anxious tick to soothe himself.
“Fuck, I know it was dumb wasnt it? God- I knew it was stupid, b-but I wasn't thinking, or I was, and I just thought, just thought-” You cut him off, pieces fully falling into place and jaw dropping in unadulterated shock.
“You named a whale shark after me???”
He let go of your hands to pace, fingers curling into tight fists. “Fuck I know, why would I do that? I thought maybe a star named after you would be cool? But-but I just- you know, y-you love the aquarium and I had been researching and saw they were rescuing a whale shark that didn't have a name yet- so i emailed and called and came in and donated, and- and, okay basically maybe begged, but hey, at least I get a plaque now right? Well you get a plaque, I put the donation in your name-”
Your jaw was on the floor, watching the most nonchalant notorious cool fratboy who was known for just that be anything but, frantically pace and throw his hands all over the place as he rambled on and on and on about how he named an entire whale shark after you.
You blinked hard, again and again, wondering when you'd wake up, wondering when gojo would snap his fingers in front of your face and tell you you were just day dreaming. You couldn't believe what you were hearing.
“You named a whale shark after me…”
At once he stopped, turning to you completely exasperated and arms finally falling by his side in defeat as if you'd hate the idea and chew him out for it, as if you could ever hate the idea. He named a fucking whale shark after you.
“Yes.”
Immediately, like all things gojo seemed to be best at making you do, your eyes filled to the brim with tears. His hands found your cheeks, thumbs moving to swipe under your waterline as he panicked. “No, no, no, wait- don't cry, that bad huh? Fuck, it was supposed to make you happy-”
Your fingers tightly gripped his wrists, biting your lip to stifle and quiet your cries thankful the worker and surrounding couples had moved along. “I… I am, that does make me happy.”
Like a weight that had been lifted from his chest for the first time in weeks, Gojo physically relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief. He gently pulled the two of you closer to the tank, eyes solely interested in you as if there wasn't a gigantic whale shark swimming right next to him, as if you were the only thing worth watching, as if he didn't want to blink in case he might miss something.
You sniffled, small laugh hiccuping out of you. “That is s-so silly..” he was nodding along with your words, palms resuming their once rightful place on your cheeks and now the only thing running through his mind was that if he was ever so lucky to be gifted another chance that he would never take it for granted ever again in his life, never take you for granted.
“I am so in love with you Y/n, you have no idea.”
His mouth frowned at the slightest flash of sadness in your eyes, corners crinkling as more tears silently streamed down your cheeks. “Ill keep showing you I'm sorry for as long as you let me and god im fucking sorry. You are the best thing thats happened to me and i know none of its enough, none of it compares to how i hurt and destroyed your trust in me, b-but fuck I love you,” he spoke softly, yet urgent and severe and he hated the inkling of hope that sprinkled in his chest, the fear and pain that came along with thinking he might not be so hopeless after all. It only made it worse.
“I..” his heart seized in his chest as he waited for you to finish. “I don't forgive you gojo.” and he felt his heart crack, felt everything in him completely ache and throb and the tightness of his throat burned so painfully he wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold back the sob that threatened to leave him. He licked his lips, nodding his head to your response and dropping his hands, tears readying to leave his own. The worst of it all was understanding, was agreeing with your decision.
“Y-yeah, yeah-” It’s all he could whisper, all he could muster. But then a hand reached out for his own, fingers lacing through his once more. He wanted to yank it out, not out of spite, not to be rude, but he was on the cusp of shattering. Didn't want you to see him wail like a toddler in the aquarium, figured you weren't vengeful enough to want to watch it though you had every right to be.
‘B-but... that doesnt mean that one day I wont…I just- I need time, but I think, maybe… I'd be willing to try…” you breathed, gaze flickering back to him, to the floor, to the whale shark he fucking named after you, back to bright blue eyes that looked at you as if you were the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs.
A tear dropped down his cheek and he felt his body restart. Felt every function in his body like a car being hot wired and suddenly he was working all over again, electricity shooting through every single muscle, tendon, organ.
A squeal left your lips, strong arms suddenly wrapped fully around your middle as you were snatched up and spun around, hands braced against his shoulder as broken fits of laughter flew out of you.
He was in disbelief, he was in awe, he was dreaming, he was everything you weren't and you were everything he wasn't and he was excited, so hopeful, peppering your cheeks and face with kisses as if he just won the lottery- no, no this was better, this was so much better.
“Satoru, stop!” but you were giggling, you were giggling and gently pushing him back, but at the first syllable of his name that you hadn't said in so long, he just couldn't find it in himself to physically peel himself away. You were everything and more and satoru gojo was the greediest man alive.
You could hear the smile on his face. The intensity at which he spoke, the genuineness in his words and actions.
“Fuck- I love you I love you I love you, you wont regret this, youre gonna be my wife and ill make it up to you every single day from now on, thank you thank you-” the words slightly muffled as he continued planting delicate kisses over your face.
You wouldn't kiss him just yet, despite wanting nothing more than to feel his soft ones against yours.
Baby steps.
You laughed, shy but not fearful, eyebrows shooting up your forehead at his admission and eagerness. “Lets start with one day at a time, yeah?”
Gojo finally pulled back, palms finding their now rightful place on your warmed cheeks, tucking the fallen hair behind your ears. He bit his lip, grinning so wide his face hurt.
summary: damian wayne has a soft spot only for you, and those who dare to think you are his weakness and try to exploit it by kidnapping you? they will only meet their end through his hands, and his undying devotion to you alone.
pairing: damian wayne x reader
content/tw: brief mentions of kidnapping/violence/blood, slight angst, much comfort, unhinged & devoted damian
Damian has reserved his softest spot only for you. The warmth in his smiles that belong only to you, the unravelling of his iron walls in your presence, his quiet devotion.
He's shown a side to you that no one else has ever seen, and that version of him has been around you for too long that you forget.
That Damian Wayne can be terrifying.
He hasn't spotted you, wrapped tight in your bindings. Your heart races under your two-day tee, arms long gone numb from the cut-off blood circulation to your fingers.
You should feel an immense sense of relief. It's just... you've never seen him like this. Barely disjointed from the shadows, he moves with a terrifying precision, and the thuds of fallen bodies left in his footsteps makes you flinch. Now, you understand why the very sight of his silhouette forces criminals to retreat.
"Where is she?" His voice shakes the room, every syllable twisted into something dark and unrestrained, unaware that you were able to see or hear him.
"S-Spare me." The only remaining thug is on his knees, voice trembling so hard that it's hard to separate his words from the chattering of his teeth. Damian lifts his blade to press against his neck, forcing the thug to meet the blank slits of his domino mask.
"Useless." Damian spats, glowering with unrestrained hatred. "If you wish for a painless death, you will lead me to her or I shall tear it out of you."
"She's on the second floor of the warehouse, on the canopy." The thug stammers, palms clambering against the concrete, tears pooling dots into the blood spilled on Damian's katana. "Please, I don't want to die."
Damian's restraint darkens into something nearly monstrous. What he has contained for years has never been forgotten, buried training drilled into him over and over that has taught him all the ways to end one's life. His blood lust drips off of him as he digs the blade deeper into the thug's wallowed skin.
"Then you should've been smarter to know not to take what's mine."
You clamp your eyes shut at the sound of a scream that never finished.
Shuddering, it takes you long, dragged seconds before you open your eyes, only to find Damian has already grappled himself to land before you. The silence is heavy, and the darkness in his gaze hasn't lifted.
If anything, the sight of you bounded nearly drives him insane. He lands harshly before you on his knees, tearing the tape that seals your lips with such gentle care to hurt you as little as possible, even if his hands are coated with blood that didn't belong to him.
Your sobs tear out of you, finally able to breathe.
"Beloved." His voice breaks, and he pulls you into his arms.
His entire body is shaking. From afar, he had seemed almost inhumane, cold and ruthless like the weapon he once told you of in stories. It was only now, in his embrace, that you feel the tremors in his fingers as his hands caress your hair. Not from adrenaline, but pure, unadulterated fear that you had been taken from him. That he hadn't known where you were, if you were alive, for two days.
"I will find them." He mutters, deranged. "Every single one of them. I will make them pay."
"Damian." Even trying to say his name is a challenge, your body forcefully undergoing shock tremors. "I want to go home."
He obeys your command immediately, using his katana to slash through the bindings of your arms. It doesn't even come close to harming the hair on your arms with his preciseness. You still can't wrap your mind around how easily his body is trained to know the difference between a harmless cut and the final decision to a person's life.
He doesn't even bother trying to let you stand, hoisting you into a bridal-carry. His hand shifts your head to be buried into the crook of his neck, shielding your gaze from the bloodshed that he's caused.
You don't need to ask.
The two of you will be the only ones to leave this room alive.
The silence is more petrifying than the screams that echoed in the warehouse when he made his arrival. Without his voice to ground you, you feel you're only one heavy blink away from your nightmares, from being trapped in that warehouse again.
Covered from your shoulders all the way to your toes in a blanket bundle he's meticulously wrapped, you watch as he parades back and forth in your shared bedroom, double-checking the doors, windows, fire-escape, only to start the routine all over again.
It's impossible to not notice—that he's avoiding you. Whether on purpose or out of survival mode, he has refused to calm down since he carried you back home, eyes unconvinced of your safety even as his gaze frequently flickers back to confirm you were really sitting on the bed that he laid you in.
Finally, after his hair has gone through enough torture from his fingers to form its own tangled mess, you called out to him. "Dami?"
He freezes, as if the very sound of your voice renders him incapable of functioning. He snaps out of his stupor, coming over to you with a barely concealed fright.
"What is it?" He interrogates, already analysing every twitch in your expression. "I had already run the poison diagnosis as well as the X-ray, but we can never be sure. Shall we head to the Cave again?"
You shake your head, although his worry finally spouts a weaker smile out of you. "Physically, I'm fine. Mentally..."
His expression cracks, and his weight sinks the bed slightly as he sits beside you. Closer now, you see the extensive eyebags under the green of his eyes, and the dry cracks in his lips from having bitten them too strongly.
"Dami... are you okay?" You ask gently.
His Adam's apple bobs up and down, and he averts his gaze. "I should be the one asking you that."
He sucks in a breath, eyes still trained on the window. "I've failed you."
Your brows furrow. "That's not true."
He shakes his head, and when he turns his head, you see tears rimming his eyes, caught between his lower lashes. "I swore my life to protect you, hayati."
"When I couldn't find you—" His voice catches along the cracks, his gaze drowned with guilt. "—my heart stopped. I couldn't breathe—I didn't dare sleep or eat, not till I had you in my arms again."
"...I had never been so afraid."
His admission leaves you breathless. He blinks harshly, staining his cheeks with tears before he roughly wipes them away. "It is selfish of me to remind you of this." He mutters. "Sleep. I shall guard."
"Dami." You cut him off. "I do not want you to punish yourself."
His jaw ticks, and his lips quirk into a cruel smile directed on himself. "You are not my punisher. I am."
"No." Your tone switches, growing stern. "I don't want you to punish yourself, not now—because I need you."
Whatever darkness has kept him away from you, it seems he's finally snapped out of it. Duty-bound as he is, Damian will never turn away when you ask for his presence.
"You saved me." You remind him, hands coming up from under the blanket to grip his. His warmth bleeds into your cold fingers, which have been trembling since the rescue. "I counted on you for that, and you rescued me. You have fulfilled your promise."
"Now, I don't want you to be a blade, or a protector." You break, eyes pleading him to listen. "I want you, Dami."
His chest heaves, and he stares at you helplessly. It must be difficult of him to put it to rest. His blade. His protective instincts to hover while you rested, his instincts hyper-intensified now that his anxieties have been proved right since your abduction. Yet, when it came to you, there isn't a single plea that won't go unanswered.
His arms gently hoist you into his lap, and you both tumble back onto the bed, buried under the sheets. Tugging you closer to his chest, he isn't satisfied till he's practically sealed all the gaps left between you and him. His fingers thread through your hair, shaking and adoring.
"Did they try to harm you?" His desperate plea thrums against your skin, even though he's already checked every inch of your skin, run through all your vital signs.
"No, they were reckless." You confess. "But not that stupid. They knew for me to be a bargaining chip, I had to be unharmed."
"Were you afraid?" He asks quietly.
For a moment, his question puzzles you. It is only when you meet his gaze and face his vulnerability, do you realise he wasn't implying the abduction.
"Of you?" You whisper.
He nods slightly, even as his jaw clenches tight in his admission.
"You have never..." He swallows. "Seen me that way. I must've seem like a monster."
Your gaze softens. "Never."
His surprise is barely concealed as he looks at you.
"Truly?" He whispers, almost disbelieving. Yet, there was a fragile, tender hope despite his walls. "I wasn't in control of myself. I only had you in my sights."
"Dami, you went through hell to find me." You answer. "Your Father told me while you were looking over the details of my scan, of just how far you went to track me down. No monster would look after me the way you do."
Pressing one hand to his chest, your voice is steady. "A monster wouldn't have a heart like yours. Seeing that side of you doesn't change anything. You're still the Damian I know, the Damian I love."
At your reassurance, Damian's mask practically collapses, revealing that inner fright he must've held onto since your return, as he falls into you, a huge sigh of relief leaving his lips.
"I love you." He mutters into the crown of your head, pressing a soft, trembling kiss after. "My life, hayati."
"I will protect you." He swears, gripping you so tightly that even Death himself won't be able to tear you out of his grasp. "I swear, I won't fail again."
Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You're so tired, but only now in his arms, do you feel safe enough to close your eyes. If you didn't have the weight of his arms, you're terrified you'll drift back into the small confinements in the darkness of your vision, or feel the itching burn of the wrappings around your wrists.
"Dami..." Your voice softens, its edge lost to exhaustion. "Will you hold me... till I fall asleep?"
You feel movement in his arms, only for one of his hands to reach your chin, lifting your half-lidded gaze to meet his. There, centered in your vision as you blink, is your Damian.
Tender in his fragility shown only to you, and unyielding in his devotion.
"Even then." He promises. "I won't let you go."
"...I love you, Damian." You whisper.
His eyes soften, a comforting sight before you feel your eyes shut as his fingers thread through your hair in a soothing pattern, finally calming the thundering in your chest.
"There are no phrases in all the languages to convey the meaning of your existence to me." He murmurs, his voice a low purr near your ear, a comforting mantra that reminds you that your protector is holding you close in his arms, far from danger. "Those who try to harm you, they do not deserve to roam this Earth."
"I will protect you." He whispers, a repeating promise not only to you but for himself. "For as long as fate allows me to remain by your side, that is my purpose."
"Sleep, my love." He soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Tomorrow will be kinder on us. I will make sure of it."
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
PT2 to my neglected beta!reader x toxic 141 (excluding simon), gn!reader
WC: 7.7k part 1 here
Simon thought Johnny was bad enough getting into his head and convincing him to indulge in an actual friendship for once. It didn't help either that getting along with Kyle was as easy as making a remark and laughing together over it. The team created a perfect dynamic, almost unstoppable.
Then came you.
You were always hanging around them, fitting in easily, practically always smiling at his jokes even on missions. Maybe a snide remark back here or there, but it was never more— always balanced. He supposed it was in your nature, as a beta and all, to be perfectly in between like that. Not that Simon was the one to pay much mind to societal matters like that anyway— the battlefield was very different to social gatherings, and the only language he knew was that of violence. It wasn't like he couldn't get by either; it felt like everyone grew up with that small talk ingrained in them from the start. The weather, the latest mission, annoying recruits, the bloody royal family if he really had to.
So, when he started to notice the change around you, he decided to stay out of it. It was plain obvious you felt disappointed when Johnny got an omega, Simon felt a little pang even if he didn't want to. But he didn't know what that feeling meant, and he sure as hell wasn't going to call you out on it. So, he didn't.
Then it was Kyle, and your scent only grew even more sour. Still, you didn't show it on the outside, so he chose not to comment on it again. He probably never would’ve really— after all, who wants to be ‘comforted’ by someone who can't even fix himself?
When the Sergeants hung out, you were no longer in their little circle, always off somewhere else. He asked Johnny once, why you hadn't gone to watch a movie with them, only for him to just blink at Simon. “Oh— them? Guess we kinda just forgot to invite them. We’re not that close, an’ we got an omega ‘n all now.”
Is that what happens? When an alpha gets an omega? They forget everything they ever knew and just.. lock in on that? Still, Johnnys relationship with him never changed, not like he did with you. Something was wrong about all of this but what was he supposed to do, force the Scot to hang out with you again? This wasnt bloody nursery, besides, matters like this meant nothing with the weight of the nation placed on the team. Well, rather on the four alphas, since he soon learnt you were being taken off their shared missions too. For the first time, he faltered during the briefing with Price.
“You’re not bringing them for this one?” He heard about you being taken off of Johnny’s but this was a whole team mission with your file not in it.
“We have to spread resources efficiently. Technically we dont need them anymore, with two mated alphas. They’ll be placed with the extraction team.”
Ghost wasn't stupid, he knew that part of the reason for you being on the team was because of the regulation effects of having a beta on an all alpha team– it’s the same bias that got him into the SAS anyway. Omega’s never got this high in ranks either. But that’s exactly it, it’s meant to be a part of the reason not enough to throw you off an op.
“When we need to go solo, they’ll be on that op. It’s not that bad, Ghost.” Price reassures him, and all he can do is sigh and nod along. He already anticipated how your scent would tighten upon the news, a hint of sadness seeping in. This time he couldn't help himself– this was something he knew. So, he immediately secured your place the second he received orders of his mission, stationed beside him like you belonged. He’d always been able to recognise the change in scent, from the smallest degree, something that was forced into him at a young age. This time, it was clear you were much happier like this, beside one of the 141, on a mission, doing something.
That he could definitely relate to. He’s no stranger to feeling out of control when he can't contribute to an objective.
Having you beside him had a much better effect than he perceived anyway. Not only were you skilled and efficient, but he felt he just worked better beside you. And so he decided to set up a trip to the pub— give you a chance to hang out with Kyle and Johnny too. He was convinced that they had just gotten to in their heads with their new omegas– a honeymoon phase he supposes.
He kicked himself for not saying more at that fiasco, not forcing Johnny to regret those cruel comments in the moment. But you had already retreated back to your barracks at the end of the night, and he was left staring at your closed door with a chest aching with regret he hasnt felt since he was far smaller. The next day he hounded Johnny until he went to apologise to you, listening from the other side of the door in hopes that’d be enough. Still, he had figured you might’ve still been annoyed after yesterday, wouldn't even blame you really, but instead the acceptance was one of a prey who stopped fighting. It didn't satisfy the wound in his heart even for a second.
“Why have you denied my team for the next mission?” He stands before Price’s desk, an anger boiling in his chest that he hasn't felt for years. He swore to himself he wouldnt let his happen again.
“You know I'm mated, Simon–”
“But i’m not.” His palms press on the desk as he stares at his Captain, the man who gave him a reason to keep going ever since this force had started. But he cant defend this, not when he’s taking away your purpose. “Price..”
“If i dont do it now, they’ll force my hand later. It’s a better opportunity for them to work with other teams too–”
“Bullshit.” He knows there’s no more arguing when Price gives him that look. It’s not like you’d be happy in your new omega team– he wouldn't be surprised if you grew envious of them from how their existence had thrown you out of the entire team. He knows something violent would burst if it happened to him.
————-
There’s a heavy haze on your mind when you try to blink your eyes open, like it’s muddling all your thoughts into one. You’re extremely hungry.
A small groan escapes you and when you finally open your eyes, it’s like they’re forced to droop. You can feel dried stains on your cheeks which explains why your eyes feel tired themselves. What happened?
There’s a small rumble behind you, startling you but you hardly have control of your body right now so there’s not much you can do but blink in confusion. The last thing you remember is training for the mission with the team, and by the pain rippling across your body, something must’ve happened during it. Still, your chest doesnt pump with fear, in fact you feel calm, like your body is well aware that you’re safe wherever you are.
Again, you try to move, inhaling a sharp breath as you force yourself onto your back. The pain is instant and you have to breathe out slowly as if you dont feel like there’s tears across your arms. When you finally sober up, you stop scrunching your eyes so tight and finally notice the weight next to you. Or rather.. around you.
“W-what the—?”
———
He had woken up to the feeling of you shuffling beneath his arm, but the muffled pained sound is what made his eyes snap open. It takes him a few moments to realise the predicament he had found— or rather put himself— in last night. One arm draped across your stomach protectively with his nose pressed as close to you as he could manage.
“You’re up early.” He glances at the clock behind you, sat on the dresser, the early time of eight am flashing beside ‘Saturday’. Even though he knows he should be questioning why he’s even doing this, his body feels strangely at ease. It’s even better than the day after a successful op.
“Lieutenant.. why are we in bed?” You croak out, trying to sit up from the embarrassment of it all but his arm tightens to keep you from going too far. It startles you, against his intentions, leaving you even more confused than before. “Wasnt i on a mission..? And— and there was a hostage.. is she alright? Did anyone else get seriously hurt—”
“Mission went sideways ‘cause of a bomb strapped to a hostage, everyone’s out alright. You got the brunt of the damage saving them, the rest of them are already going home safe.”
His alpha isnt as fiery as he remembers it the night prior, the ache in his chest now a warm thrum with you so close. Still, you look uncomfortable, and that hurts his alpha more than being away from you. So he pulls away, letting you sit yourself upright against the headboard.
You take a long breath of relief at his words of reassurance, and he can only assume it’s your own instinctive need to keep others safe. “And how I ended up here..?”
“You had surgery to remove shrapnel and a stray bullet that skimmed you. When you woke, the anaesthesia had you terrified, flailing about like a fish outta water.” He murmurs, gesturing towards the bandages peeking out from the hospital gown you still wore. It had ridden up in the night and now showed the gauze and bandages wrapped around your middle. There were some on your calves as well and the way you wince he supposes you realised about the one on your back.
“They called me in to help stabilise you— figured you’d recognise me. You did, calmed down a bit and then..” He trails off for a moment and you look up at him curiously, watching as he leans back against the headboard. He pauses, unsure whether to tell you about what you had confessed to him in your drugged state. “Jus’ started crying… not sure what about.” He swallows and then glances back down to you. “And well, y’know how we’d get, when another got injured”
They’ve always had their fair share of injuries, usually due to their own brashness as alphas. He remembers when Gaz got shot like it was yesterday, the three of them wouldn't leave his side. It took you all the strength you could muster to force John to let you treat him, even if Ghost had been glued to his side anxiously throughout the entire thing too.
“I took you away from there, brought you here. Stayed till you fell asleep, and then I must’ve passed out myself.”
It’s obvious you’re extremely confused right now, and to be honest, even he is. He’s never felt a pack instinct so strong in his life, not even towards the rest of the 141– it’s still shocking him, and yet, he still cant feel anything but calm.
“Sorry.. for the trouble i caused.” You mumble out but he shakes his head immediately.
“You didn't cause any. Just glad you’re okay.” He gets off the bed, mattress creaking from the relieved weight and springing immediately after he stands. “I’ll go grab breakfast. You shouldn't move too much.”
—————
It took everything in him to force himself to leave you to head towards the mess hall. Doing so also cleared his mind from the tranquility forced upon it, letting him finally go over the events of last night to just five minutes ago.
He had forgone all professionalism, and snatched you from the infirmary like it was what he was meant to do.
When he got back, you practically shovelled the food in your mouth whilst he restrained himself from telling you to eat slower. Still, he offered to help you clean up, since seeing all those wraps didn't make his chest any lighter regardless of instinct. Though,that was enough for you to adamantly shake your head and accidentally shut the door straight in his face.
“Thanks for making sure I was okay.” You say gratefully, dressed in some spare clothes and picking up your phone in your bag to see for any messages about reports or briefings. “ I should head back to my room though.”
He freezes, you weren't supposed to just leave straight away. Well, technically you didn't have a reason to stay, but a burn in his chest makes it physically impossible to watch you step away now.
“Stop.”
You listen to his command, turning to meet his eyes as you wonder what else he could really want. The chair creaks as he stands, making his way over to you until he’s just standing there, scrutinising you.
“You smell.. off.”
“Well.. I'm not using my usual shampoo obviously.” You give him a meek smile, and even though it’s not enough to settle the craving he just nods— accepting it.
“Should probably check by the infirmary just in case.” He mumbles, fighting every urge to scent you before he lets you go.
“I will.”
———
Three days.
That’s all that’s passed since that night, and still his mind is a turmoil he can't unravel. As much as his brain insisted you needed some space, he found himself insistent on making sure you’re okay.
That’s exactly why the second he saw you alone in the mess hall today, he was beside you in seconds.
“Are you feeling any better?” Your shoulders jump in a way that makes him wince, but you relax just as quickly when you realise and smile at him.
“What, better than yesterday when you asked me in the hallway?” He likes seeing you tease him like this, as if the pain wasn't eating you from the inside. You hadn't got the opportunity to talk more than in passing, so you answer more when he looks at you attentively. “The nurses gave me ointment for the burns, and I'll be back on regular training soon. Just taking it easier with lighter gym sets, and running instead to keep my body moving.”
Right, he remembers the significantly less damage on your lower half; running must be a bit easier than any other activity for you.
“Good to know, I’ll keep an eye on you too.”
You look embarrassed by his words, quickly turning your head away as you hurriedly step forward in the queue. “I’m not going to exert myself, you don't need to do that.”
All he can do is shrug, trying to push down the feeling that bubbles with your reaction. Instead he steps in front of you to dish out your portions of food for you. Not too much, or too little, just the way you’ve always liked it. He even skips the sides you don't like.
“I do, actually. As a lieutenant, you’re under my care. And as my beta, I need to make sure you’re well.”
It slips out so easily before he can stop it and he pauses, waiting for you to narrow your eyes in disgust. Who is he to claim you like that? Although.. you don't even seem to catch it, but he does notice the small quirk of your brow when you finally process a few moments later. “Wait–”
“Im on grocery run on tomorrow— havin’ a team movie night on Saturday. You should come too, get some steps in instead of being in this stuffy base for so long” Before you can even answer he places your utensils on your plate and then locks onto the exit. “Meet me by our usual car, alright? Eight amsharp.” And then he’s already weaving through the crowds, leaving you standing on your own.
————————-
For the first time in his life, Simon Riley was excited to see you. He hadn't really had time to question it, between the brand new load of paperwork dumped on him today alone and a million other problems in his mind. And yet, every time he glanced at the time ticking towards tomorrow, his instincts roared.
Would you allow him any closer than before? Although, sleeping beside him was already past many boundaries he had only considered he’d need to ease through now. He’s sure you’d flash him that exact smile when he saw you waiting by the car, positive you’d be embarrassed when he no doubt did something for your sake.
Or you’d back up in fear, your eyes flashing with the same hurt you directed towards Soap that day. You’d realise he’s no different than the rest, infact probably just as cruel as they are.
“Bit late to still be working, Lieutenant, even for you.”
“John.” He murmurs, voice on the quieter end as he watches from his seat on the Captain’s couch. There was a small wad of paperwork clutched in his hands like he needed reason to be here, and not solely for the true purpose.
“Simon.” Price returns, walking over to his desk to light a cigar before returning to sit infront of him. “Got a feeling I know why you’re here.”
It’s silent for a few moments and John is convinced he’ll have to lure the question out himself. But it never really is that simple with Simon Riley. Straightforward as ever, he can't help but jump right to the point “How did you.. know? Your omega.”
Price raises a brow this time, having not entirely expected that, but nods regardless as he breathes out smoke. “Feel it in your chest first. Like your instincts are controlling you really… pulling you towards them. It’s not like you can even try to stop it either.”
“And then what..?”
“The mating bite. The feeling will come soon after, fast even— you’ll get violent. But it’s what’s expected, nearly every alpha goes through it. Just advise your omega to not fight back and there won't be much to clean up.”
He pauses when the air in the room suddenly becomes tense, taking another inhale of the cigar.
“The sooner you do it, the easier it’ll be. You don't know when you’ll see them again with our schedules. I don't want to see you actin’ feral on a mission desperate for their scent.”
Soon enough, it was the next day, and he had driven you to the nearest Tesco Extra. Luckily you had come just in time for a sale.. although that meant there were a lot more people than usual. Despite offering to hold it, the basket dangles in his right hand while you glue yourself to his left side. The explosion had left your senses much more sensitive, so sticking to him was the best option.
“Anything else you want?”
“Maybe another biscuit?” You tease since he’s been filling up the basket with them so far, making you snort a little. When you did hang around the team, him and you were the only ones who’d eat them but you didn't know he liked it this much.
He rolls his eyes at your teasing, and leads you to the next aisle. “Grab what you want and meet me over there.” It’s emptier here, so you nod and watch him go towards the tinned food, now facing the shelves of crisps he left you with.
Well you know Soap and Gaz’s favourites already, and Simon loves kettle chips. You’re not sure if the Captain would also be there, so you grab a mixed bag for him. Would it be weird after not seeing them for so long? Strangely enough, you really can't bring yourself to resent them for what happened.
Was it really their fault? No one ever seemed to have the same problems as you. There was only one time you confessed it to a fellow beta on base, although he had quickly become defensive, shaking his head at you. ‘We’re colleagues at the end of the day. As long as it doesn't affect work, it’s totally fine.’
“Didn't get the crisps you like.” You jump as he appears, grabbing your favourite and tossing it in the basket. “Come on, we’ll get some drinks and go.”
You trail behind him as he carries on, noticing an obvious hunch in his shoulders. He’s tense, which for some reason you find entirely out of place despite you not even knowing him that well. It’s just that, ever since that morning in bed with him, he felt soft, and warm, like everything you’d find comfort in. Surely those same clenched muscles aren't the ones that laid beside you?
You’re about to spiral further into analysing his behaviour when you realise you’re at the checkout with him. “O-oh, do you mind if I run to the beta section quickly? I just need to grab—“
“Already got you one.” He picks up the scent refresher from the basket, scanning it through, as well as other medication he’s also seen you use before. You can only blink at him in surprise—the prices had hiked even higher recently, and you had to debate over buying one or being able to afford morning coffees anymore
It brought a sense of relief to your heart though, that comforting feeling settling in your gut once more. He’s alright, probably just a tough mission coming up.
———————
The past few days it’s like a switch had flipped inside him, too similar to how the others reacted after their new omega. You’re at a loss really, it’s not like he’s being rude, but he’s being distant. Like he’s cautious of you. To be honest, you were half expecting him to tell you not to come to the movie night anymore.
Though maybe you were judging him too quickly— it’s not all alphas, right? It was almost sickening every time the small bit of hope bubbled up though, like it was stupid to think he’d actually be the one to stay longer than the rest. You just hope the reason for this wasn't because of something they told him about you.
You were.. surprised to say the least when you entered the rec room alongside Ghost. The both of you had retrieved the bags from his car after he surprisingly called to make sure you were still coming.
Soap and Gaz weren't lazily sprawled across the couch like they usually would—if anything they seemed antsy. They were both sitting there, shoulders tense, Gaz’s leg even bouncing slightly. You did hear they all came back from a mission recently but they were never this agitated, all pent up like this, back when you were with them.
“Oh, hi.” Gaz looks upon hearing two sets of footsteps and smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You just nod, awkwardly fiddling with the plastic bags you grabbed from Ghost’s car. “What’re you here for?”
“Ghost and I went to grab the snacks the other day”
“Y’can call me Simon, y’know.” He takes the plastic bags from your hands and you nod sheepishly, not even realising you had been using his codename.
“Oops, sorry.” He shakes his head at your apology and you quickly help him unpack all the snacks onto the coffee table for tonight.
“Completely blew a mission and now ye come ‘ere for a movie night?” Soap must’ve gotten up at some point, now brushing past you. His arms are like rocks when they hit into yours, and his tone is heavy— almost accusing.
It catches you off guard, and you freeze, watching as he walks around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to swallow in one gulp. “Well.. we did always have the best ones, no?” Surely he didn't mean to be that harsh, clearly something had been holding their bodies in a tight limbo. It must be a poor joke, even if it dug deep.
He doesn't take your words in the tone you intended though, brows narrowing down at you in contempt. “Don’t see why we ‘ave to entertain the fuck ups. My omega was in tha’ mission, she could’ve died ‘cause of you.”
“Johnny—“ Simon cuts in, voice low as he steps in front of you, his scent wrapping around you, weak enough to not fill your head too much. He’s being careful for you.
Though before Simon can say anything more, you let out a soft huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s the risk of every mission, Soap. I thought as a demolition expert you would know that. Or are you forgetting the time you almost killed me?”
“That was a calculated risk. And yer still standing, aren’t ya?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your supposed argument. “You were being reckless and stupid out there.”
“That’s not what you said when I was on the team.” You snap back, anger starting to simmer inside of you too now. After all, they had constantly sung your praises when you were here. It’s their own fault for throwing you into an omega mission when you weren’t prepared enough.
“You left the team.”
“Because I was forced off!”
That pisses him off, because your words feel like an attack against him, and he walks right up to you, inches away. “We never needed you anyway— just a beta to balance us alpha out. Clearly you’re useless otherwise.” Though suddenly his nose scrunches, stepping back a moment before his eyes narrow into a glare. “Ye fucking bastard. Coming in here, stinkin’ omegas, stinking of her?!”
Your jaw clenches as you watch his body language, something you picked upon living around alphas. They get explosive, very strong quickly. First his fists start to clench, the veins in his forearms starting to show. Then his scent starts getting thicker with anger, pumping into the air like a burning building. It’s bad enough that it makes your own anger start to fizzle, hitting your head in waves of pain and you almost stumble backwards. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, his hand rising upwards, the touch of skin against your cheek and the implosion of pain that spreads across your head.
Simon grabs you before you end up dropping altogether and pulls you away from him immediately, shielding you with his body. “I dont know what the fuck has gotten into you Johnny but you need to sort it out— now.” His scent is thicker than you’ve ever smelt it, in fact this is the most you’ve ever been able to make of it. It smells like gasoline, sharp and lingering, and ready to destroy something completely. So toxic, it forces you to gasp for a breath.
“Both of you, stand down, now.”
Price’s voice echoes across the room and you instantly shudder, leaning against the counter weakly as you grasp your face. The bruise will darken tomorrow but you can already feel your cheek starting to swell. What really has you is the mix of scents all around, filling your head so strongly.
“Captain—“
“No.” Price doesn't hesitate to march over, standing in between them as Ghost thrums with anger. You look over to the doorway, hearing the small creak as it closes Gaz standing there with his arms crossed. “You are soldiers, not fucking children.” He argues, pointing an accusing finger towards the Scot before turning to give Ghost an equally sharp glare.
Then his eyes find you. All you can do is stare back, wondering how he’ll react. Would he blame you for all this? Would you be the scapegoat to keep his perfect little pack intact?
Would you let him humiliate you once more?
You’re a soldier, a beta one, but a fighter nevertheless. Missions you’ve fought through, almost died on, saved lives during. For this? To end up like this? You push yourself to stand despite the heavy scents weighing you down, regardless of the stare his alpha is directing to your beta. Everything tells you to submit, the haze in your head and the throb across your cheek.
“You should go, I'll talk to you about this later.” Price commands, nodding his head towards the door. Surprisingly, his words weren't as harsh, in fact more exasperated than anything.
“Enjoy your movie night.” You murmur, grabbing your jacket where it was on the chair and throwing it over your arm.
“Wait—“ Simon starts, backing away from his offensive on Soap instantly to follow you. “Don’t” You hear Price stop him, his hand wrapped around his forearm to stop him chasing after you.
————————-
If that wasn't enough of a reason for you to give up on all of them, you don't know what is anymore. They’ve treated you so horribly, it was hardly arguable anymore that you shouldn’t have even tried with them again. This was all so stupid—you’re so stupid for even thinking this time it could end differently. You could never coexist.
As for Simon, all you feel is a deep regret in your stomach. It was obvious really, of course he must’ve just been smelling omega on you this entire time. It was just a biological confusion, not a genuine interest in you. He didn't care about who you were, his alpha smelt an omega, and that’s all that really matters. It makes you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that you had in some way probably tricked him. His alpha probably had him strung up all week, no wonder he looked so uncomfortable in that shop and every day past.
The chat with Price never happened. They had been briefed almost immediately after you left for an op, and you heard the chatters of their departure the next day. So with them all gone,it was time to get back to work. You had briefings to attend, reports to fill and to forget about everything that happened. Or what didn't happen between you two.
Except you can't.
Everytime you get a second alone with your thoughts, they drift back to him, to that morning and waking up beside him. The last time you’ve woken to someone’s scent around you was when you were very little, your family huddling together in the nest. That stopped as soon as you presented.
Now you’re stuck with this emptiness in your chest. At first you thought his scent had been too strong, and you even tried two pumps of the scent refresher to try and clear your senses. Not even that worked, if anything making it worse now that you longed for his scent even more.
There’s a small balcony you used to see him smoke at, when you first joined the team. He came up here once or twice, and then over the two years you spent with them, never again. In fact, you overheard the sergeants say he quit it altogether. You pause by it today, staring out at the worn railing, the remnants of ash sitting upon it, the mark of his shoe making an outline on the unused floor.
For some reason it makes your eyes water, mourning a connection you could’ve had but seems impossible now.
—-
It’s late at night a few days later. You had taken the opportunity while they were gone to take all of your things out of the rec room. Sure, you should’ve done it before, but a small part of you was still clinging on to possibility. Your blankets that you and the sergeants would swaddle yourselves in on colder nights, the tea strainer you bought to show Price how to use leaves instead of the bought bags, even the few mugs in the cupboard you bought to match them. You left behind the one Soap bought for your birthday— perhaps it belonged there more than it ever did to you. Can't forget the CD player you let Gaz borrow a million times either.
They don't suit your room, the colour clashes with the boring greys in here, and they look like a pile of junk from where you’re beneath the duvets, staring at them. It’s almost midnight, and you know you should be sleeping, but it's a Friday night so to hell with that. You could afford late night wallowing; it’s not like you had anywhere to be tomorrow.
They were supposed to come back today. You heard it from Laswell when discussing something else; she must not know what happened between you. Either they chose not to tell her..or forgot, since you were never that important anyways. The clock blinks one am, maybe you really should sleep.
———
The knock on the door breaks your sleep, and you can only assume it wasn't the first as it continues, each one seeming to become.. slower. You crawl out of bed, mind trying to run a million possibilities through your awakening brain. An emergency mission? Bad news? A sudden attack? An intruder?
“Please..” You hear the groan on the other side of the door, convincing you enough to open it instantly and reveal the other side.
Ghost— or rather Simon, with his mask now fallen at your feet— leans against your door frame, blood dripping onto the floor from a wound near his middle and his eyes glazed over. “Beta..” He breathes through a pained wince, chest sinking quickly.
“Simon?! You should be in the infirmary, not here- ” You scoff, gaze flicking between the blood staining the floor, his hand clenched over the wound and the grime clinging onto his hair and neck.
“No— no- can’t think..” He steps forward, every movement heavy with pain and hurt and yet his eyes stay locked on you. His words are desperate as his hand clenches the handle, sucking in a strained breath.
“A-alright, fine. I’ve got some stuff somewhere—“ Opening the door fully now, you reach for his hand, letting him lean the brunt of his weight as you haul him towards your bathroom. It’s only when you manage to get him to sit on the toilet seat do you free yourself from him, rummaging through your cupboards desperately. “Here- okay, lift your shirt we need to fix that quickly.”
Luckily the wound had just been leaking into the bandages so all you had to do was repack and replace, although you had to deal with his incoherent groans the entire time. Tucking the clean edge into the wrap, he’s finally alright again and you sigh in relief, stepping back.
“Stop—“ He grasps your wrist as you try to put the box back, forcing you to stay in place as you raise a brow at him.
“I need to put it back.“ You sigh, unable to fathom what was up with him right now.
“Stay.”
“Simon, I’m just going to the cabinet..” You sigh as he shakes his head adamantly, pulling you closer even as you try and resist. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Simon.” You say firmly, a fresh wave of your scent rolling through the air. Never have you used it on any of them before, in fact it only ever worked on inconsolable civilians you’ve saved. Beta scent’s only had the purpose of calming down people anyway, not like an Alpha’s commanding force or an Omega’s lure. “Let me go.”
So when he immediately goes lax, fingers grazing your palm as he gently lets go, you step back in surprise. What?
You keep one eye on him as you place the things away, but he just stays, unmoving. As you close the cabinet, you take a step towards him again, gently pulling down his shirt only to feel the soaked blood on it, as well as the gunpowder and grime. Definitely not a good mission then.
“Why.. don't you wash up, alright? I’ll get you some clothes.”
For a moment you’re convinced you’ll have to drag him yourself, but he takes a small inhale and nods quietly, standing the best he can before he kicks off his shoes and socks. Listening like a loyal dog.
—
You make your way to his room with your own mind full of questions from his strange behaviour. Why did your scent have that effect on him? Why did he come to you? Why did he always call you his beta?
The door unlocks easily with the card you nicked from his gear, and his room is in disarray. It wasn’t uncommon for a pack to have scented items from each other, or very close friends; it usually helped with sleeping or just getting comfortable. You remember Gaz and Soap often had items in each other's rooms for that exact reason, though they never traded with you, even if you never asked yourself.
You immediately noticed Price’s sweater on the floor, kicked to the door. Beside the dresser was Gaz’s spare shirt, crumpled and half shoved beneath the base. Soap’s jacket was behind the bathroom door, hidden away from sight like something that couldn't bear to be seen. In the midst of it was a pair of gloves you lent him during a mission when he was damaged badly. Like a pillar in chaos, it was neatly placed beside a brand new scent refresher and a pack of your favourite snacks. Surely, just a piece of repayment, right?
——————
The shower is quiet when you re-enter your room, and you hesitantly step towards the bathroom door, turning the handle. “Brought some clothes.” You murmur, watching the door handle turn.
“Thank you.” He says, the same gruff tone but quieter, and takes the clothes you pass through the gap.
Surprisingly, he doesn't close it after, letting you hear his quiet shuffling as he changes. It feels weird standing on the otherside, knowing you can just walk in and see him bare like this— an alpha left vulnerable. Though, can an alpha truly be vulnerable before a beta? If anything, you’d always be vulnerable alone with him, and he’d always be the strongest in the room.
“I saw my gloves on your table.” You mumble out, stepping back to take a seat on the edge of your bed. His silence doesn't help your inability to keep in the thoughts running wild in your head.
His breath hitches behind the door, something you’ve learnt to notice since you can't read his facial expressions. “I meant to return it to you. But.. I hadn't washed them yet.”
Just as you thought.
The door opens, and he steps forward, the grime washed off and bandages covered by the thin cotton shirt. He looks exhausted like this, like everything weighing down on him has finally caused him to crumble. Just like the others, his shoulders stay taut.
“You left their things on the floor.”
Your beta is desperate to soothe, to understand the problems within his pack, and help him through them. No sane alpha would push away his pack’s items, it has your beta ringing alarm bells across your mind.
“Didn’t need them.” He murmurs, one hand tugging at the end of his shirt as it clings to his damp body. You’ve never seen him fiddle with things like this, running his tongue over his lips.
“You didn't need your pack’s items?” You huff out crossing your arms over your chest. “At least make the lie believable.” Maybe this was his own strange way of pushing you away like they had, because you just wouldn’t understand, would you?
“It’s not a lie.” He grunts, eyes flickering over you and then towards the door— like he’s about to bolt. Not now, not after everything.
You stand, blocking his path as you look at him. “Why did you come here, Simon? It’s not because you feel guilty about the other day, and you shouldn't anyway— Soap’s right. I’m not needed.”
“You are.”
“I’m not—“ You shake your head adamantly, turning towards the door. There’s no way you were going to sit around and be humiliated again, intentionally or not.
“We need you.” He says firmly, hand grasping your wrist as his strong ash suddenly washes over you and thickens in the air. It’s all you can smell, echoed by the weight of his words. Though, you feel his grip immediately falter afterwards, like instant regret. The scent calms quickly, back to the dull linger it usually is as his fingers fall to gently holding your palm. “I.. need you.”
For a moment you’re stunned, scent sprawling anywhere for something solid to grip onto as you try and weave through the possible meanings of his words. Him, Ghost, the soldier feared across foreign countries’ soil and by his mask alone, needs you? A beta?
“I dont…” understand. The word falls silent on your tongue, glancing down at his hand on yours in the low light. “I thought.. the omega’s I work with– their scent rub off on me. That’s the reason for all of this, isn't it?”
“No, no.” His grasp tightens when you try to pull back, feet following you as you step back, until you take a seat against the edge of the bed. “Your scent, it’s been driving me insane. It’s like I can't function without it.”
“But that’s not possible, Simon. I’m not an omega— I can't lure you like that- even the sweetest scent is nothing more than cheap perfume.” You argue, because it’s the truth and there isn’t anything more to it. It’s facts, written and studied extensively in biological research that forms the foundations of society. There could be no other explanation because it just didn't exist, it never will.
His grip tightens again and this time his lip curls back, almost like he’s snarling.. except he seems to be more frustrated with his own actions than at you. “Lust isn't going to save us soldiers.”
You see it now as you look at him properly since patching him up. His eyes are half lidded but you can see how his pupils have expanded in the short time you’ve had him here. Sorting out the blood spilling out of him might’ve helped, but he was crashing fast now that the pain-induced adrenaline was wearing off.
Now he just looked exhausted out of his mind, frantically holding onto his self control as his eyes locked onto the scent glands on your wrist. You could almost read his thoughts now, how he was slipping off the edge, fingers beginning to tremble. Wounded, exhausted and desperate for a moment of solace.
“Simon..” You whisper again, it’s been more than a few times tonight, but this time it’s different.
He drops to his knees before you, hitting the soft rug beside your bed as his hand holds onto yours. His mask had been off the entire time and yet only in this moment do you truly acknowledge the vulnerability before you. “Please, scent me.” He murmurs, low and soft though not gentle with the rasp of greed that bubbles from his throat. Like he told you, he needs this. He needed you. “Let me be.. your alpha.”
The silence rings loud between you, even from the slow drops from the bath’s faucet and the whir of the bathroom fan fading into nothing. “Okay..I will.” You nod, breaking the dam holding him together and he doesn't even let out a breath until he presses his nose against your wrist. The inhale he takes is greedy, like he wants every last scent coating the air, and then the exhale comes, his body dropping like a bomb.
“Thank you.” He breathes and you watch as he lifts your hand as he rises himself, and you realise now he doesn't have his gloves on from the feeling of his bare skin warm against you.
It’s like he doesn't even hesitate, gently rubbing his wrist against the scent glands on yours. You knew what was coming, read about it a million times between alphas and omegas— hell even heard a million more from them in your youth years.
Scenting, when the alpha’s scent envelopes your body, like a shot straight to your brain.
Except, this isn't like anything they described.
You can feel your scents starting to mix, intertwining together before separating once more. They’re tied in the middle like a promise and yet sprouting at completely different ends and filling the room. His scent changes, shifting from the harsh burnt tinges of ash and smoke like they’ve been washed up by yours. It’s petrichor, the damp aroma whenever rain ingrains itself into the soil and washes over rocks. The smell is fresh, earthy and it feels like the relief of rain when it finally comes crashing down, washing over the ground and letting the dying flora renew.
But yours? Yours blossoms in magnitude, like a bubble that has grown and grown until it suddenly bursts. You’ve never smelt it so strong before, used to the quietness of it all, but it’s finally loud. Sweet honeycomb and chocolate, an appetising combination so rarely put together it makes his entire body melt. It’s comforting like a warm drink on a cold day and refreshing like a breeze on a summer night.
You barely get a chance to shuffle backwards before he’s crashing into you, nose forcing it’s way towards your neck as his limbs one by one fall slack, muscles turned to the mere meat they’re made from. A low purr rumbles through him, up his arms where they wrapped around your middle and his chest which is pressed against yours. His eyes have fallen shut, content to be pressed against your nose gland as he lets everything go.
“My beta..” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to the point you’re forced to exhale yourself and appreciate the warmth and comfort in the room. This was the first time you’ve truly been able to appreciate a friend’s scent without feeling your head start to spin, and it felt amazing. Like everything in the world was set in place, nothing could even shift the balance in this room.
You squeeze him back, a small huff of laughter bubbling in your throat when he groans in contentment. His scent starts to settle once more, now the faint smell of smoke returning though with the gentleness of a campfire, easing your senses.
“Alpha..” You breathe out, letting your own body relax under his, eyes slipping shut in his grasp. Your beta was satiated, curling up for the first time in weeks, and you were more than happy to lay your heart beneath him.
----------------------------------
part one Buy me a coffee!
one more part and then this will be done!! thank you for reading alonga nd im so shocked at how many people loved the first one sm! please leave ur thoughts in the comments <3333 ALSO THANK YOU FOR 5000 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!
general cod: @heyitsniki18 @insanityall @twoandahalfdimes @ririerm @alexinarcadia @sgt-artemis-owl-riley @fries-pls @tikitsune
taglist (thank you SO much to @lexloon for putting this tgt for me):
Btw this was inspired by this post right here, and the concept and AU are NOT mine. They belong to @lovelybrooke . If you want to know more about the AU and support the creator, please do. They need all the love for their hard work!
WARNING! Before you read this fic includes: violence towards the reader, bullying, infantilization towards the reader, and xenophobia? (I think idk), yandere behaviors, manipulation, gaslighting, and other topics that I may have forgotten that are probably triggering as well read at your own risk
A/n: whew, it's done finally. I hope you like it, everyone! Please tell me if I did represent infantilization inappropriately or not accurately in the comments. Constructive criticism is allowed. Also, if anyone can tell me what the headboard represents, it means you get your request written next!
You were lying in your bed relieved at last after barely surviving another harsh day at UA ever since the teachers and your classmates found out about you and Shigaraki's relationship for things have been going crazy and downhill, Aizawa would always have a strange expression on his face as if he was ashamed of himself and pitying you, it felt strange and discomforting like he NOW realized his actions which ticked you off a little but you brushed it pretending to be nonchalant about it
Next was your former friend Izuku, ever since he heard the news he and his gang would make constant checks on you which was very unnecessary in your opinion, izuku would purposely get in the middle of you and Neito's conversation, asking about your concerns and try to get you to spill out how you currently feel in his intention to try to be a better friend again by comforting you in his imagination to your luck tho Neito would shoo him off before he could even continue and quickly drag you away which you thanked him for.
But Bakugo and his friends were the worst. If not worse, hell. Every time you walk into the class, they start to give you piercing glares as if they intentionally want to make you tense up. Their words have been becoming harsher during training but you tried to ignore them until they started using physical threats under a ruse as "jokes" Honestly you were scared for your safety so you tried to avoid them as much as possible, begging either Neito or Shinso to assist you while dismissing their questions or concerns, not even thinking what could happen if you were to ever run into them alone
Whenever you are, you repeatedly check your surroundings, making sure nobody is following you, making sure the coast is clear enough to make a run for it in your dorms and locking it.
You were beginning to be more skittish and more anxious about your surroundings always getting started by every single touch on the shoulder or when your friends tried to get your attention, whenever they asked about your sudden behavior you quickly pushed it to the side or made excuses
One day you decided to eat lunch with Tamaki since Hitoshi and Neito were busy with training and stuff, the two of you didn't talk much when eating together but you were comfortable with his presence enough to make some small talk here or there then continued eating, as you were enjoying your lunch Tamaki spoke something out the blue "y/n..are you ok?" You stopped eating and looked up at him "Of course I am why wouldn't I be" Tamaki hesitated a bit but he continued "Y-you're acting all skittish all of a sudden whenever we talk you feel like someone or something is watching you please I'm your friend you can tell me anything-" "I'm fine Tamaki I promise you dont need to be asking me" Tamaki was taken aback at your quick response you noticed his guilty expression and took a deep breath
"I-I'm sorry I'm just stressed from all the tests and stuff you know hero stuff can be stressful" A chuckle left your mouth as you took another bite "Oh alright if you say so but if anything bothers you dont be afraid to c-come to me alright" you sighed in relief happy that Tamaki believed you so the Two if you continued with your lunch hang out
But that was so far from the truth
Tamaki knows when something is wrong especially when it comes to the people he cares deeply about, for example, he knows when Mirio is faking a smile or when he senses Neijire feeling uncomfortable or how Kirishima tries to stay determined even tho he can hear the slight tremble and stutter in his voice, and this time he now sees it more Cleary as he sees you slowly taking a bite out your food sweating in fear and your fingers twitch a bit it's so clear that you're nervous about something so why not tell him?
He swore to this day that he'd find out about whoever is causing you this, and he would protect you from them; for now, he just needs to keep a close eye on you from a distance...
When the two of you finished lunch, Tamaki offered to walk you to the class which you accepted as two if you walked towards your class in a comfortable silent, as you made it to the door you waved farewell to Tamaki and made it to your seat
As the class carried on and everyone was writing down notes for the next test, you couldn't help but feel some glares in you. Of course, you knew who they were, but you felt a particular glare, a glare that made your spine curl up. You wanted to ignore the feeling, but it just wouldn't go away, curious but scared you grabbed a mirror/glasses (just any object that fits with a mirror) faced towards you, and slowly rotated it to see a reflection of a couple of your classmates
It seemed fine everyone was either focused on their notes reading or doing whatever until it hit Kirishima... you jumped when his eyes were staring directly at the back of your head intensely his teeth almost showing as if he was gonna rip you apart after class, your heart rate was now increasing you tried to steady your breathing to cover up the fear and confusion, why was he looking at you like..wait of course you know why but why does it feel like he's gonna do something to me...
You looked around to see something or someone to save you from this situation until you remember you do not have anyone in this class to rely on and Neito and Shinso were extra busy, as the class bell rang everyone got up to their seats including Kirishima he began slowly walking towards you with a dangerous glint in his eyes you stood still shaking a bit in your seat trying your best to avoid contact he was inches away from your desk
As he was about to take another step, a sickly sweet voice came out of the blue and blocked your view between Kirishima and you. "Why don't we go to the library for tutoring? We haven't done it in a while, plus I'll help you improve!" You looked up that the black ponytail girl momo was it? The two of you would do tutoring together at the beginning when she began to "forget" them and just stop hosting and inviting you all together
You didn't like her sessions at all now that you remember she would always treat you like some sort of baby early on as if she was holding an animal picture book and pointing out all the animals and mimicking the noises you were so glad Kendo and teru eventually teached you
But it seemed like you didn't have a choice, but you would rather go with a ponytail than wanna know that guard dog would do; all you had to do was zone out of Momo's lessons and wait until it got dark to make an excuse to meet up with Kendo, perfect plan right?
The library would've been peacefully quiet if it weren't for Momo constantly getting your attention to look at some words that you already knew and then talk to you slowly so you could "understand" better you muster up a smile at best to reassure her that you were listening when in your mind you wanted to leave as fast as possible and meet up with Kendo
As the clock finally gave you mercy and struck 5pm, you hurriedly made an excuse to end today's session. "Oh man, momo, I think the tutoring session is up. Gotta leave!" You quickly got up, pulled in the chairs, and were about to walk out. "So soon? We just got started! Plus, I can do 2 more hours-" "Oh I would love to but I'm meeting up with Kendo and I don't wanna be a bad friend and ditch her" You didn't see Momo's cheery expression fall as you were too busy packing up and heading out the library "I'll see ya later!" You bid her as the door slammed shut. The library became quiet once again with only the ponytail girl's blood boiling, trying to keep her cool with a tight lip smile as she waved
You pull out your phone quickly texting her that you are coming which she replies with a smiley face emoji you chuckle texting her some memes and pictures as the two of you are spamming each other's memes back and forth you don't notice how much trouble you'll be in
As you accidentally bump into someone, you quickly backed away for a split second and apologized. You took your eyes out of your phone for a second to see who you bumped into to give them a proper apology and saw..
Oh no...
Kirishima
"You.." You mentally cussed as you backed away from him cautiously. "Oh uh hey -" "Don't 'hey' me, you traitor, you, Mole!" His anger was building up as he stomped towards you and pushed you on the ground; you could barely comprehend what the hell he was talking about and why he pushed you. "What -" "You sympathizer, you traitor. I don't even know how a villain like you could still be in this school!" His words are full of venom" "I know we were a bit harsh to you, but outing us out to the most dangerous fucking villain?! What the hell is wrong with you!?"
"I didn't know he was a villain, nor did I know his name!? It's not like I knew he played video games!" "Again with these weak excuses, it was so obvious he was Shigaraki!"Maybe I would've known I had friends and not be bullied by some blonde brute and his lapdogs!" Kirishima turned to you now with a more angry expression as if he was offended without a moment he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and lifted you to his level
"You have no right to call us that when you're a simple Mole to a dangerous villain who is trying to kill us all!" He molded his other hand into a fist and reeled it back you bit his hand as hard as you could to make him let go but he bit his tongue and endured the pain even when his hand drew blood
As he was about to land a punch, a sudden tentacle came shooting out of nowhere toward Kirishima's free hand restraining it "Kirishima" The red hair froze at the familiarity of who that voice was, he slowly turned to see where the voice came from and only stopped mid way when he saw the indigo hair male, Tamaki his eyes glared at Kirishima in disappointment and betrayal, Kirishima quickly dropped you as you landed with a harsh thud, rude.
"T-Tamaki senpai!!, it's not what it is-" "insulting your classmate and was about to punch them? Yeah, it seems how it exactly is." his words were cut off as he walked past him and toward you, gently helping you up and getting on your feet. "Are you okay? He didn't leave any bruises or marks on you, did he?" You shook your head, still in shock about Tamakis' sudden behavior, as Kirishima's anger grew at the sight of the person he grew respect for that he looked up to! Is defending you?! He couldn't stand it
"Why are you defending them? You don't know how much danger they put us through!" As Tamaki looked back at the boy with a serious expression," And, do you think bullying and degrading them is any better? This isn't something a hero should do, Kirishima. Have you ever thought about what they feel about it or if they intentionally wanted to?" Kirishima paused for a moment and didn't utter anything, only just avoiding his gaze. "I thought you were better than this, Kirishima; what happened to you being the "manliest hero in the hero alliance?" Was that all a ruse?"N-no tamaki senpai it no -"
"I don't want you anywhere near me or them. I don't respect someone who bullies others"
Those words shattered Kirishima as he looked in disbelief. His thoughts became a blur as he saw his mentor, his friend, leaving with his hands protectively around you, getting far away from him... was he the problem all this time?
Was he actually a lapdog?..
...
"Thanks back there, you didn't have to." He stopped at his track and smiled. "No, It's fine. You weren't in the wrong anyway he was. Don't feel guilty for something you did that wasn't in your control." You looked up at him, surprised."You're not mad at me? even when I became a...mole?" That's when Tamaki embraced you with a warm hug "Of course not, even when you make a dangerous mistake like that it was the villain's fault for trying to get in your head and manipulate you but you stood strong and made the right choice by informing the teachers therefore you're not a traitor nor a Mole in my perspective"
Your eyes brimmed with tears with his words, "Thank you, thank you," as you hugged him back a little tighter. Was your luck finally turning around? Maybe not, but slowly, but at least you had more people who didn't see you as a nuisance, a child, or any traitor. It felt nice that you were treated as a human being, even if it was temporary.
A sudden buzz on your phone caught your attention, and it was still snuggled in your pocket. As you pick it up, you see a bunch of missed calls and messages from Shinso, Neito, and Kendo, all spamming concerns about your safety or if they needed to come. "Oh shit! I gotta run my friends are worried for me and Tamaki thank you I'm sure you're gonna be a great hero one day as you gave him one last hug before running off looking for you're friends before they hunt someone down to find you
Timeskip
The next day was a regular day as usual you went into class avoided everyone as possible (mostly Izuku and his gang) sat down at the back of the class and started the school day as you were doodling down stuff you noticed how dull and quiet Kirishima became when he usually would go to mina as they chat each other's ears off all-day but instead he stayed where he was and just looked down at his desk, mina came over looking concern for him
"Hey Kirishima you ok man" The bubbly teen hit him on his shoulder playfully but he all did was look at her, nod, and go back to what he was doing which made the hair girl awkward and murmur an "ok" and sat back down when the teacher came in to start the lesson
Even at training, Kirishima didn't utter a single word to you or his friends. Even when they were teasing you, he just looked away. "Hehe, yeah, they're so weak, right? Kirishima, cmon, say something!" His other friend Denki kept pressuring him poking his shoulder and urging him to speak, but all smack his hand away and walked back, leaving his friends in shock and disappointment
Even at lunch, he wasn't even interacting with anyone, just playing with his food as he barely ate. Everyone sat in silence and stared at him until his best friend finally spoke up, "The hell is up with you shitty hair?" He was then ignored as the red hair kept poking with his food staring down at it, making the blonde more irritated. He snatched his tray away and put it far from the table. "Are you ignoring me?" Kirishima finally looked up at him with an annoyed expression."I just said millions of times I'm fine blasty, so can I please have my food back? " bakugo slammed his hand down hard in front of him
"Like hell you are! You've been acting quiet for the whole damn day! And It's getting pretty damn annoying, so spit it out. God damnit, I'm tired of this childish shit. "Kacchan chillout, . Don't you think you're being a bit harsh?" Denki butted him, trying to de-escalate the situation."He's right. What if he's having a bad day today? Or recently, but he's right, Kirishima. we're all worried for you, so please stop ignoring us and tell us, " Everyone at the table joined him questioning and pressuring him to speak
He covered his ears not wanting to hear more without glancing a final Time at Tamaki and you talking and smiling at each other laughing tears began to brim his eyes as he got up from his seat and quickly ran out leaving his group and even Katsuki speechless
As he made it to the bathroom, he locked himself in there and took a deep breath. He then lifted his head and stared at the mirror, his reflection. "Why, just why did he have to go side with them fuck.." tears slide across his cheeks and fall through the sink he wanted to be angry at you so bad wanted to pin the blame on you or something to make him feel like he was in the right but the memories the flashbacks of how he and his friends mistreated you keep flooding back into his mind making him frustrated and yet gulity..?
Is he feeling guilty? For himself, no... for you, but how?! You're supposed to be the bad guy, not him. Why is he feeling remorse for you out of all people? Why does he suddenly feel like he wants to go on your knees and apologize it was supposed to be the opposite it's such a headache honestly and he couldn't make it stop he wants to stop thinking altogether
A knock at the door startled him and snapped him out of his thoughts. "Uh hey, is the bathroom available he stared at the door for a moment until he spoke up, clearing his throat, "Uh yeah, sorry! I'll unlock it!"
No thoughts just ghost and gaz dealing with emotional!reader...
You've always been emotional, a softshell, your mother would call you. Nothing to keep you protected from the world throwing hurt at you. You used to cry all the time, until you learned people didn't like attention seekers.
Now the first words out of your mouth, when your heart feels ready to shatter, are "it's nothing, I'm being silly."
It works well for you, dismissing yourself until you can go curl up late at night. Or, it worked well until ghost started staring too long and gaz began to frown at every insistence of being okay.
Now, they insist on hearing your thoughts. No amount of "seriously, I'm overreacting, it's not a big deal–" or "I'm just emotional, it's not anyone's fault–" will get them to stop.
For the first time in years, there's people who want to listen to you even if you're being too emotional. You tell gaz about how insecure you are in the group, how you feel like an outsider looking in, and he starts to intentionally include you in every conversation. You admit to ghost that even the smallest things can make you feel hated, and he outright stops making teasing comments about you.
Thing is, you're still emotional. You get angry, depressed, stressed out and overwhelmed. But all of those "just give me a bit and I'll even out"s turn into you finding one of them before they find you in a worse state.
Two soldiers born into a field where emotions could kill you, and they still sit down to comfort you. You, the softshell hurt too many times. They love you anyways.
For once, you're emotional fits aren't born of anger or fear or loneliness. For once, you're crying about how loved you feel.
Gaz genuinely doesn't believe you when you say it, tilting his head at you where you lie on his bed.
"What do you mean you've never done anything kinky?" He asks with a laugh, but it's clear he's curious. Has that little spark in his eye he gets when he finds something to sink his claws into "you're like. The kinkiest person i know. I've read those books on your shelf."
"Uh huh, yeah, books." You shoot back with a snort, nudging kyles hip with a socked foot. Your's and his show left forgotten on the laptop "im not interested in an embarrassing hospital trip. have you met anyone who can actually choke someone with any amount of safety?"
"Okay, fair. Health concerns are reasonable, can't lose a leg while getting paddled," kyle mockingly surrenders, but when he looks back at you he adds "ever try petplay, though? You'd make a cute pup."
"I– what?" You stumble, face heating.
Gaz, asshole that he is, notices your fluster and crawls up the bed to you, grabs your jaw and turns your face to inspect it. His palm is warm on your skin, and you can smell his aftershave.
"You heard me, runt. I think you'd be a cute pup. Real obedient, you know?" He whispers.
"Th– that– uhm." Your stomach coils with heat. You never thought you'd be into this, tried a few times and it did nothing, but with gaz hovering over you? Your thighs rub together and you glance away.
"Awww, are words too difficult, puppy?" Gaz coos exaggeratedly, settling on your lap to pat over your neck. He reaches into the nightstand, blindly fumbling before he pulls out a collar.
You don't get the chance to ask where the hell he got it before kyle is clipping it around your neck with a hum.
The weight settles onto your skin and– woah. That's...nice. really nice.
"Hm. I think you do like it. Mystery solved." Kyle hops off your lap, despite the way you whine. He has the audacity to laugh when he abandons you, leaving the room while your mind is still reeling "we've got that dinner with the guys, remember? Better get ready!"
synopsis ⠀:: ⠀ he was just trying to make sure everything's okay, that you're taking care of yourself. but you come home early and he had to hide in your closet. it's not like he wants to see you naked or watch you fuck your toy. it's all an accident, alright?!
including ⠀! ⠀ peter parker. ✶
contents ⠀! ⠀ spiderman : brand new day (no spoilers tho). fem reader. dark peter. obsessive behavior. nsfw. voyeurism. masturbation. use of sex toys. angst. reader is peter ex girlfriend who don't remember him, obviously. he's kinda fucked up in the head. gif by @.milesgmorales. masterlist. english is not my first language. ✶
He didn't mean for this to happen.
He swears he didn't. He was just checking on you. Making sure your windows were locked, your fire alarm had fresh batteries, your fridge wasn't empty because sometimes you forget to eat when you're stressed and he can't have that, he won't have that, not when he's supposed to be taking care of you. You’d thank him if you knew.
And then your key turned in the lock.
Early. You came back early.
Why you're back early? You weren't supposed to be here for another two hours, he checked your schedule, he knows your schedule, tuesday is yoga and grocery shopping and then that overpriced coffee place where you always get the same oat milk latte and you sit by the window and he watches you from across the street and you look so peaceful and so fucking beautiful and—
Focus, Peter. Focus.
You were inside. Keys on the hook. Shoes kicked off. Humming something under your breath that made his chest ache because he recognized it, he knew that song, it was playing the first time you let him kiss you, the first time you tangled your fingers in his hair and called him sweet—
Alright alright he have to get out. He have to get out!!!
No time for the window. No time for the ceiling.
What the fuck what the fuck what the—
The closet.
The fucking closet. He barely got the door shut before you walked in, and now he’s folded behind your winter coats, breathing through his mask, heart hammering so loud he’s sure you can hear it. His hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking, and he can't breathe, he can't breathe but he has to be quiet, has to be fucking quiet—
It’s fine. It’s fine. He just has to wait. Be patient. You’ll fall asleep eventually and then he can slip out. Just wait. Then everything be fine. Easy. Simple. He's done harder things. He can sit in a closet for a few hours without losing his goddamn mind.
But you're not.
Oh god, you're fucking not.
He clenches his jaw. Waits. The closet smells like you. Your shampoo, your detergent, that faint vanilla body spray you’ve used since tenth grade. He’s dizzy with it.
And you're just—you're standing there, in the middle of your bedroom, and you're reaching for the hem of your shirt and—
Wait.
Wait wait wait wait—
Why are you getting naked?????
The shirt goes up. Over your head. Tossed onto the chair in the corner.
God damnit. Look away. Look away right now, Parker. Close your eyes. You’re better than this. You’re a hero. You’re her boyfriend not some pervert hiding in the closet with his mouth open and his cock—
But you’re so pretty.
The curve of your shoulders, the way your hair falls messy against your skin, the little mole on your left shoulder blade that he used to kiss, used to run his tongue over just to hear you giggle and squirm—
Look away look away look away—
DON'T FUCKING LOOK!!
He tries. He genuinely tries. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees colors blooming behind his lids, and he counts to ten, and he tells himself he's not going to look, he's a good person, he's respectful and he loves you and he don't want to...
But it’s been so long since he’s seen you like this.
Your jeans. You’re taking off your jeans. The button pops and the zipper whisper hisses down and he can see the edge of your underwear, plain cotton, the kind you always wore on lazy nights when you didn’t expect anyone to see.
You’re naked now.
And he's not looking away.
It's a violation of privacy—
No it's not! You're his girlfriend!
Well, you don't remember him, but that doesn't change the FACT that he's your boyfriend. Your high school sweetheart. The guy who held your hand through every panic attack, who learned how to braid your hair because you said it helped you relax, who gave you his virginity in his aunt's apartment while it rained outside and it was the first time you told him you love him—
And also, it's not like he hid in your closet on purpose! He didn't PLAN this!! This is just... circumstances! Bad timing. A misunderstanding, yeah that's it! If you knew the truth, you'd understand. You'd forgive him. You always forgave him.
So maybe it's fine if he watches. Just for a little while. Just until you're asleep. It's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. You were his girlfriend. His first everything. The woman who taught him how to kiss without emberassing himself, how to use his tongue to make you cum, how to angle his hips just right to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
"Right there, Pete, right there, don't stop—ahh love you love you love you—"
Love him.
You love him.
He missed it.
He missed your voice. Missed the way you gasped, the way your nails raked down his back, the way you clenched around him so tight he thought he might die from how good it felt. And you smiled at him afterward, sweaty and glowing and proud, and you said he was a fast learner.
Of course he is. He's a smart guy. Not that he's bragging, but truth is just truth.
You always said he was the best you ever had.
Do you still think that?
Would you still think that, if you remembered him?
Do you remember him?
Of course you don't.
Hahaha. Peter Parker don't exist anymore. What the fuck is he even thinking?? Stupid stupid stupid—
Huh?
Oh.
His face is wet again.
Tears sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his mask.
When did that happen? When did he start crying?
Doesn’t matter.
He’s gotten good at crying without making a sound. Good at a lot of things he never wanted to be good at.
Don't. Don't you fucking cry right now. You're not a kid, why the fuck are you crying?
Because he misses you.
He misses you so much it feels like someone scooped out his insides and left him hollow. You don't look at him anymore. You don't smile at him anymore. You walk past him on the street like he's a stranger, and every time it kills him but at least you're alive, at least you're safe, at least he can still protect you even if you don't know he exists—
Oh him? No he's great. He's fantastic. What are you talking about? Pfffff—
He's not sad. He's not lonely. He's not spending every night curled up in his suit, jerking off into your sock while he replays memories of your laugh on a loop in his head.
No, no, he's fine. Everything is fine. What's important is that you're safe. That's all that matters.
Okay. Okay, get your shit together and just shut the fuck up until it's over. You can have a breakdown later. In private. Like you always do.
When he looks back through the slats of the closet door, you're on the bed.
When did you get on the bed??
He must have blacked out for a second. It happens a lot these days.
You're stretched out on top of the covers, completely naked (when did you took off your panties?) and the lamplight is hitting your skin in a beautiful way that make his mouth water. Your hair is fanned out on the pillow. Your legs are slightly parted. And your hand is lazily trailing down your stomach like you have all the time in the world and—
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
Don't think about it, Peter.
Just don't fucking think about it.
But it's been so long.
So fucking long since he touched you. Since he tasted you. Since he heard the little sounds you make when you're turned on, those breathy, helpless whimpers that drive him insane. And if you knew he was your boyfriend, you wouldn't have a problem with this. You'd probably invite him out of the closet. You'd probably pull him onto the bed and let him take over, let him worship you the way you deserve, because that's what you used to do, that's what you used to want.
So it's okay, right?
It's okay if he touches himself. Just a little. Just to take the edge off. He'll be quiet. He'll be so fucking quiet. You won't even know he's here.
He's just palming himself through his suit, see? No big deal.
His breath stuttering. He unzips his suit slowly, one careful inch at a time. His cock springs out, already hard, already leaking, the head slick and flushed and obscene in the dim light filtering through the closet slats. He wraps his hand around himself and bites down on his lip so hard he tastes copper.
You’re touching yourself.
Fuck you're so pretty.
Just like always.
You cup your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple, and he watches it tighten under your touch. Watches you pinch it, roll it between your fingers.
Yeah yeah yeah.
Play with your tits just like that. Pinch them. You always liked it when he did that. Always liked it when he got a little rough, when he pushed you just enough to make you feel it the next day—
He remembers doing that, remembers the way you'd arch into his mouth when he sucked on you, the way you'd gasp his name and told him you love him.
He's stroking himself now. Slow. Trying to match your rhythm. His palm is too dry, the friction almost painful, but he don't care because you're spreading your legs wider and your other hand pushing deeper inside—
Fuck.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit—
The closet door creaked. He moved. He fucking moved and his elbow hit the door and it creaked.
You heard him didn't you?
Fuckfuckfuck—
You heard it, oh god you definitely heard it, your head just turned toward the closet and you're looking right at him, right through the slats, and he can see your brow furrowing, can see the question forming on your lips—
Why are you standing up???
Wait. Wait. Wait.
STOP!!!
He can't breathe. He can't move. His hand is frozen on his cock, pre cum dripping onto his knuckles, and his heart is slamming against his ribs so hard he probably going to have a stroke.
You're going to find him, and he's going to have to explain, going to have to watch your face twist into fear and disgust and he's going to have to see the moment you realize spiderman is a creep who hides in women's closets and watches them—
Oh...
You're not looking at the closet anymore.
You're bending down. Reaching under the bed. Pulling out a box.
It's your toy box, the one he knows about because he's gone through it half a dozen times because you two used to play together and now when you're not home, he replace the batteries in your vibrator and clean your plugs even though you probably wondering why they were suddenly spotless—
You're pulling out a dildo.
The one you custom ordered online for your two years anniversary. Modeled after his dick, every vein and every curve. Everything exactly like his.
You hold it up and a little smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
You like that one, don't you? You always reach for it. He's seen you. He's seen you more times than he should admit, and every time you pick this, every time you choose this over the others—
Okay. Okay, everything's okay. Thank god. Thank fucking god.
But he needs to be quiet. He was loud. Too loud. He needs something to muffle himself.
And there—right there beside his foot—a pair of panties. Lace. Red. The little bow on the front slightly frayed from too many washes.
He recognizes them. Of course he recognizes them. He bought them for you. Four years ago. Valentine's Day. You wore them for him that night and then peeled them off slow, teasing, throwing them over your shoulder with a grin and then he eat you out until his knees bruised.
He picks them up. Brings them to his face. Inhales before he can stop himself.
Fuck.
He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he's already folding them, already pressing them past his lips, already biting down on the fabric, and the taste of you—even secondhand, even laundered—floods his senses and makes his eyes roll back.
Okay. Okay, now he can be more comfortable. Now he can jerk off without giving himself away.
You don't mind, right? No? Okay thanks.
You're on the bed again. Propped up against the pillows. The dildo is in your hand but you're not pushing it inside yet.
No, you're teasing yourself. Just like you always used to.
Running the tip along your slit. Circling your clit. Getting it wet with your own arousal while your hips twitch and your breath hitches and you make those perfect little sounds that he loves too fucking much.
You always wanted him to tease you first. Always wanted him to rub the head of his cock against your pussy, back and forth, back and forth, until you were so needy you couldn't do anything but beg—
"Please, Pete, please, I need you inside me—"
Go on. Put it in. You've teased yourself long enough, sweet girl. Put it in.
And then you do.
The tip slides inside you, stretching you open, and Peter watches your mouth fall open, watches your back arch off the mattress, watches your hand fly up to grip the sheets. And the sound you make goes straight to his cock and nearly make him cum right there.
Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Pretty girl. Such a pretty fucking girl.
His pretty, gorgeous, perfect girl.
He strokes himself faster. The pre cum ease the friction. His eyes are glued to the place where the dildo disappears inside you, the way your hips start to roll, the way your thighs tense and tremble.
Aww, look at you. You're so desperate, aren't you?
Yeah baby? You want to get off? You want to cum?
You want him, don't you? You want his cock?
So bad you don't remember your boyfriend, right?
So fucking bad he just can stalk you on the street.
So bad he had to break your date’s teeth down his throat last month when the guy got too handsy at the bar.
So bad he has to hide in closets like a fucking cockroach instead of fucking your brains out like he used to, instead of holding you after and listening to your heartbeat slow down while you trace patterns on his chest—
So bad Peter Parker doesn't exist anymore.
Haha.
But it’s fine. He can protect you better now. Spiderman doesn’t have a curfew. Spiderman doesn’t have a secret life to care about. Spiderman can be on your fire escape every night, can follow you home through the subway tunnels, can crawl across your ceiling while you sleep and make sure you're breathing and your nightmares stay away.
He's protecting you.
Yeah. He knows you get scared sometimes. He's seen the way you double check your locks at night, the way you jump at shadows, the way you told your friend on the phone that you think someone's following you. "I think I have a stalker," you said, voice trembling, and Peter had to press his forehead against the wall and breathe through the urge to break something.
You called him a stalker.
He's not a fucking stalker. He's your BOYFRIEND. The man who loves you more than anyone has ever loved anyone in the history of the entire goddamn universe. The man who would crawl through hell just to see you smile. The man who let you go because it was the only way to keep you alive, and he'd do it again, he'd do it a thousand times, even if it meant you'd never know his name.
So what if he beat up your date? You were about to cheat on him. Yeah, yeah, you don't remember him, he knows, but what if you REMEMBERED and you'd already cheated on him and then you were going to hate yourself and feel guilty because how could you cheat on your high school sweetheart? The boy who held your hair back when you were sick, who stayed up all night helping you study for exams, who looked at you like you hung the goddamn moon?
You'd hate yourself. You'd be so guilty. You be a bitch. A horrible, disgusting piece of shit—
No. No no no, baby, you're not that. It's not your fault. Peter knows it's not your fault. He's not blaming you. He could never blame you. You're a victim in all this, you're innocent, you're perfect, you're the only good thing left in his miserable excuse for a life.
He's just helping you stay loyal. That's all. Helping you be the person you'd want to be, if you could remember. You're welcome.
"Ahh—fuck—"
You're close, aren't you, sweet girl? Yeah, you're close. He can see it in the wetness spreading down your ass, the way your nipples are tight and peaked, the way your hips are bucking up to meet the toy like you're fucking it instead of the other way around.
You're going to cum. He can tell by the way your rhythm is faltering, the way your thighs are starting to shake, the way your free hand has is now frantically rubbing your clit in needy, desperate circles.
Go on. Go faster. Faster. Yeah, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect, you're so fucking perfect, look at you taking it like a good girl.
His good girl. His.
Play with your clit. Yeah, yeah, baby, just like that. He remembers exactly how you like it. Two fingers, tight circles, a little pressure, not too much. You taught him that, remember? You guided his hand, showed him the rhythm, moaned his name when he got it right—
"Just like that, Pete, don't stop, please don't stop—"
It's almost like you can read his mind.
He's close. So fucking close his vision is blurring at the edges. His cock is throbbing, slick with pre cum, and his hand is moving in short, desperate strokes, and he's biting down so hard on the panties that his jaw aches, and he wants to come, needs to come, but he wants to come with you—
Come on, baby. Come on. You can do it. A little bit harder. He can hold on, don't worry about him, he can hold on forever if that's what you need—
Ah, fuck. Ah, fuck fuck fuck—
You're shaking. Your whole body is shaking. The hand on your clit is moving faster now, sloppy and messy, and your back is arched so high you're barely touching the mattress, and your mouth is open in a silent scream, and your stomach is tightening, rippling, and you're so pretty, so fucking beautiful that Peter feels his heart crack right down the middle—
So hot. So fucking hot. Look at you. Look at you coming apart on his cock. Yeah it's a dildo but it's still his cock. It's still him inside you, still his shape. So sorry he can't give you the real thing baby—
Ah, shit—
You come with a broken cry, your pussy clenching around the dildo so hard Peter can see it, can see the way your body pulses and milks the silicone, and that's it, that's all it takes, he's gone—
He comes so hard his knees buckle. Hot ropes of cum spatter his hand and the closet floor. He bites down on your panties and screams into the fabric, a muffled sound that would have given him away if you weren't still lost in your own orgasm. His hips jerk, his cock pulses, and he keeps stroking himself through it, keeps milking every last drop while his vision whites out and his heart threatens to explode and it's just your name in his head and on his tongue.
Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.
And then it's over.
He slumps against the back of the closet, panting, soaked in his own shame and sweat and tears. The panties are still in his mouth. He doesn't take them out. He can't. If he takes them out, he might start sobbing, might start screaming, might do something that gets him caught, and he can't get caught, not if he wants you safe and sound and happy—
Through the slats, he watches you catch your breath. Watches you pull the dildo out with a wet sound. Watches you stare at it for a moment, something unreadable flickering across your face.
Then you set it aside, roll onto your side, and close your eyes.
Just like that. Like nothing happened.
Peter tucks himself back into his suit. Wipes his hand on an old tshirt from the laundry basket. Spits the panties out. Yeah he's keeping them, he's definitely keeping them, they're his now.
Sorry baby. It's just this time. You probably won't even notice. It's not like you remember wearing it especially for him anyway. So it's fine.
Then he waits.
Waits until your breathing evens out. Waits until your heartbeat slows to the steady rhythm of sleep. Waits until he's sure, absolutely sure, that you're not going to wake up.
The closet door opens without a sound. He's spiderman, after all. Give him some credit, yeah?
He stands over your bed for a long moment. Looking at you. Memorizing the curve of your cheek, the part of your lips, the way your eyelashes flutter against your skin. You're drooling a little on the pillow.
Cute.
He leans down. Presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. You don't stir.
"I love you," he whispers against your skin. "Don't be mad. I won't do it again, I promise. I'm sorry."
Then he slips out the window, into the night, and disappears like he was never there.
The only evidences are a single tear, dried on your pillow, and a pair of red lace panties missing from your closet.
Please don't hate him too much.
Okay?
If you want to be in my marvel taglist let me know :)
Could i request Cregan Stark x Daemon's first daughter, born from Rhea Royce ?
She is a Targaryen and has a dragon, but she is very shy and tends to keep to herself, so she doesn't tell Cregan about being bullied by Arra Norrey's maids, who think she is not good enough for their lord.
He figures it out when he finds her letters to Rhaenyra and sees her trying to put her bags on her dragon to flee in the middle of the night.
Feel free to ignore this if you don't like it, have a lovely day ☺
Shadows of the past - Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader
summary: Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, is forced to remarry after the death of his first wife and childhood sweetheart. His new bride is the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce. Cregan fears the worst. But his wife is sweet, gentle, beautiful, kind. Everything he could wish for. He starts thinking you are slowly building a life together in the north, however he realizes that it is not as idyllic for you as he thought.
words: 7.244
warnings: angst, mention of bullying, mention of sex (not explicit), slow burn
a/n: I love writing for Cregan soo much its not normall anymore. Thank you anon for your request🧡. I hope you like it. Sorry that it took me so long.
no use of Y/N, and as always: English is not my first language, no beta, AO3.
requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist
When the offer of your hand from Dragonstone came, Cregan was skeptical. The eldest daughter of the rough prince as a wife. But he needs a new wife. It is his duty as the Warden of the North. And an offer from the Targaryens is not something you simply refuse. So he agrees.
Cregan had expected you to be a spoiled, arrogant, selfish princess.
The girl who arrived in Winterfell on her dragon is exactly the opposite.
You are shy, reserved, calm.
Outwardly, you are entirely Targaryen, with long blonde hair, deep lilac eyes, gentle facial features, beautiful.
Internally, there is none of the infamous Targaryen temperament in you.
When you speak, your voice sounds like a melody, always soft and gentle.
If it weren't for your dragon, Silverwing, Cregan would never think you are Daemon Targaryen's daughter.
The first few weeks, you were very closed off. Never speak unless you are spoken to. Spent most of your time in your chambers, with work or with your dragon.
So he tries everything to make you feel comfortable in Winterfell. He walks with you through the Goodswood, has your favorite food prepared, makes sure you have enough warm cloaks and dresses. When he introduces you to his son Rickon, he is more nervous than he should be, but your eyes begin to shine as the heir of Winterfell greets you politely, just like Cregan has practiced with him.
On your wedding night he swore to you he would never take you if you didn't want to, he gave you all the power in your marital bed. That night you allowed him to lie with you, he was careful, always aware of your fragility, making sure that you also felt pleasure. After that night you didn't invite him into your bed again. Cregan longs for you, but he would never pressure you.
In your first weeks as Lady Stark you spend a lot of time with Winterfells Measter, ask a lot of questions, slowly working your way into your duties as Lady Stark. Cregan quickly notices that you are well prepared for the role of a Lady of a Great House in Westeros, but Winterfell is unlike other castles. You surprise him by quickly get used to it.
The moon hasn´t passed fully since your wedding, when he finds you one day in Rickon's chambers. You are sitting on the floor with his son and play with wooden soldiers, Rickon is telling a fantasy story and you are encouraging him. Cregan's heart swells slightly at the sight.
He clears his throat to get your attention, you flinch violently, when you look up at him you look like a deer.
You get to your feet immediately, surprisingly elegant despite your hectic behavior. "My Lord." you say and lower your head in front of him. A gesture that he couldn't drive out of you.
"My Lady. What are you doing here?"
"We're playing papa." Rickon intervenes without being asked. "Are you playing with us?"
"Unfortunately, I can't today, I have duties to attend to. I just wanted to check on you, my boy."
"I'm fine, father. We're playing great. I have so much fun." he holds up his favorite woodknight.
"Then I don't want to disturb you any further." he smiles at his son, nods to you and then leaves the children's cambers again. His Lords are already waiting for him.
In the evening you come to his chambers, standing uncertainly in his room. Cregan was not expecting you anymore, he has already changed for the night. He offers you a mug of warm beer and a place by the fireplace. As you sit down your cloak slips and the white of your nightgown flashes through. Cregan has to concentrate not to let his gaze wander.
"What brings you to me so late, my wife?" he asks curiously, sitting next to you at the fire.
"I'm sorry." you don´t look him in the eyes.
Cregan has to blink a few times, doesn't understand what you mean. But you don't say anything else, avoid his gaze so that he has to ask. "What are you sorry about?"
"I didn't mean to upset you." your hands play with the fabric of your cloak.
"You didn't upset me, wife. What makes you think that?" he asks, confused. Did he behave differently? Did he speak in a too harsh tone with you?
"Today with Rickon. It upset you that I played with him. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I have no intention of replacing his mother, your late wife."
Cregan has to suppress a laugh. How wrong you are. "It didn't upset me, sweet wife." his voice is soft and you finally look him in the eyes. Your eyes are wide, surprised, your lips open slightly. Cregan wants to lean forward and kiss you, but he doesn't. "I'm glad that you're spending time with Rickon. Maybe you can be a mother figure to him someday." he expresses his wish hesitantly.
"I intend to love him as if he were mine." you say, a smile creeping onto your lips. Cregan is brave and reaches for your warm hand, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. You don't pull away and continue speaking. "But he shouldn't forget his mother."
"Don't worry about this, Lady Selina, Lady Darcy and Lady Alys will keep the memory alive."
"The Nursemaids. What does that mean?" you tilt your head slightly, examining him closely. The soft light of the fire catches in your hair and makes your skin glow warmly. Gods you are beautiful. Cregan has to swallow before he can answer.
"They were my late wife's friends, her Ladies. After Arra died, I asked them to stay in the household to look after Rickon." remembering how overwhelmed Cregan suddenly was by everything, and how much the loss of his first wife hurt him, he needs a moment to ground himself before he can continue speaking. "If that bothers you, then of course I can dismiss them and send them away from Winterfell."
He knows that this loss will hurt Rickon, he has been surrounded by the three Ladies his whole life, Selina was Arra's best friend. However he would do it for you, he wants you to feel comfortable and Rickon would get over the loss of his nannies, he is a Starkman after all, one day he will be as tough as winter. He has to be.
"No. No, please don't send them away." you squeeze his hand a little. "It is important that her friends are here. They need to tell him what his mother was like. I mean his real mother. My mother also died when I was young. I hardly remember her and I have nobody how can told me something about her." you suddenly sound sad. Cregan is surprised by your words. Additional to the Ladies, he regularly speaks to Rickon about his mother, takes him to her grave, tells stories, has a portrait of her hung in Rickon's room.
"Your father doesn't talk about her?"
You sigh, a narrow smile on your lips. You look into the flames again before speaking quietly. "No, never." you bite your lower lip and then whisper. "I was told he killed her." Cregan doesn't doubt for a second that it is true. He squeezes your hand gently. You look at him again, a sad smile on your lips. "It hurts when you don't know your mother. It's like half of yourself is missing. And my other half is a monster. I'm glad Rickon is learning about his mother and that his father isn't a monster."
A lump forms in Cregan's throat, he doesn't know what to say. Your words touch him, but at the same time make him angry at your father and he feels sorry for you. Your life doesn't seem to have been particularly bright.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"Thank you. But I don't need your pity." for the first time, Cregan feels like he sees the dragon blood in your eyes. "My stepmothers both treated me as if I were their own blood. I didn't grow up without love."
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't." your gentle smile is back on your lips. "So I can take care of Rickon?" you avoid his gaze again, your cheeks are slightly red.
"Of course. I'm glad you're getting along well."
"He's great. A good boy." you smile and then get up elegantly from your chair. "I'm retiring now. Good night husband."
"Good night sweet wife." he sinks into a slight curtsy before leaving his chambers. Cregan takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair. He's happy that you want to take care of Rickon. That you want to be a part of his family. This is something he wanted for this marriage, that you can be a family.
Cregans efforts take fruits. He has the feeling that you are slowly thawing and starting to trust him.
A light summer snow falls down and gets caught in the fur of your hood. Cregan has take you for a ride through the Wolfswood today. Cregan is surprised how well you can hold yourself in the saddle. In the next moment, he doubts his sanity. You are riding a dragon. Such a horse is of course easy for you. You look around with wide eyes and a gentle smile on your face. Cregan can't help but stare at you, captivated by your beauty.
"I missed that at Dragonstone." you say, looking over to him. Cregan flinches slightly, doesn't quite understand what you mean.
"Forests?" he guesses. He has no idea about Dragonstone's vegetation.
"No. To see something new. Dragonstone is an island, if you live there long enough, you've seen everything." you shrug your shoulders.
Cregan has to chuckle slightly. "You have a dragon, sweet Wife. You could have seen the whole world."
"I would never have left my family." you say firmly. Are you angry?
"I didn't mean to offend you." he tries to circle back. He is always a bit unsure when he talks to you. He wants you to feel comfortable, that you are doing well, and he wants you to like him. Maybe someday you will love him. He finds it hard to be patient. If he is honest with himself, you had him from the very first moment. Your beauty overwhelmed him, your kindness and gentleness captivated him, and your smile. Gods, your smile makes his heart beat faster.
He knows that he loves you. Even if he can't tell you. Not yet. He is afraid of scaring you. So he holds back. He tries to give you space so you can get used to your new role, your new home, and him.
He would love to scream his feelings for you from the wall so that the whole world hears it.
But it is not the right time for that yet.
A soft smile is on your lips again. "You didn´t husband."
He is relieved and returns your smile. "Do you want to go back? It's a little cold today."
"I'm not cold. I'm from the blodd of the Dragon. The cold doesn't bother me. It´s almost like I belong in the north." in the next moment your eyes widen and you look down. A blush spreads across your cheeks and Cregan has to swallow, his heart skips a beat.
"You are Lady Stark. You belong to Winterfell now." he says, trying to take away your insecurity. You don't look at him again, but he sees a smile on your lips. Maybe you'll even belong to him someday. He hopes so.
Back in Winterfell, you let him help you off your horse. His hands stay on your hips for a moment too long, but you don't seem to mind. You look up at him, your cheeks turn slightly red but you manage to hold his gaze. Cregan drowns into your beautiful, violet eyes. He leans forward slightly, wanting to feel your lips on his even if it's only for a moment. You don't back away.
"Papa." Rickon's voice echoes across the courtyard. Cregan and you flinch apart. He lets go of you and turns to his son. Anger flares up in him briefly at the disturbance, but when his boy jumps into his arms with a broad laugh, it immediately disappears.
"Rickon! Don't be so wild." Lady Darcy comes running out of the castle after him. Cregan notices you shifting your weight from one foot to the other next to him, out of the corner of his eye he sees you turning to your horse. A strange feeling spreads through him. At that moment Lady Darcy comes to him, opens her arms to take Rickon. "My Lord Stark, welcome back," she greets him and curtsies slightly.
"Papa, can I visit the dragon? Darcy says it's too dangerous alone, but you're back now," his son calls excitedly. Cregan's stomach tighten, he keeps himself as far away from Silverwing as possible. He is not comfortable with the monster. Even if there have been no problems so far, your dragon only hunts prey, stays away from people and the farmers' livestock. She usually flies further north, you told him that she has a cave there.
"I think that's a bad idea." Dracy interjects. "The monster is unpredictable, far too dangerous."
Cregan thinks for a moment, of course the nursemaid is right, Silverwing is dangerous. But you know your dragon better. You will certainly be able to judge whether your dragon poses a danger to Rickon or not. He turns to you to ask if it's okay for you to go visit your dragon with him and Rickon, but you are no longer standing next to your horse. His gaze searches the yard, but there is no trace of you. You sneaked away quietly and secretly. Cregan's eyebrows furrow.
"Papa, please, please. I promise I won't pet the dragon either. Just a quick look."
"My lady wife must go with you, Rickon. But she seems to have other things to do today. Another time."
Rickon's lower lip trembles slightly, but he knows better and doesn't burst into tears. The heir of Winterfell doesn't cry over such little things as a denied wish.
"What important things Lady Stark must have to do." Cregan is surprised by Dracy's bitter tone, but he pushes the thought away; perhaps he simply misunderstood her.
The Maester warned him that summer could soon be over. It has been summer for four years now. That means more work for Cregan as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, he has to make sure that his people survive this winter, at least most of them. Winter demands his victims, every damn time. Cregan can only keep the losses as small as possible. So he sinks into paperwork and negotiations with the Lords of the North. Nobody wants to share supplies, everyone is afraid that there won't be enough for themselves. Cregan's tasks is it to find compromises.
He would much rather spend his time with you, he longs for you, for your gentle smile, your kind words, the time you have spend together. He wonders if you miss him too?
He only ever gets brief glimpses of you, when you meet in the hallway you give him a smile, when he makes it to the hall for dinner you are usually already sitting there with Rickon, greet him friendly and assure him that you are happy to see him.
Cregan is on his way to a meeting with the carpenter. The houses in Winter Town need to be made winterproof and the villagers need his help. As he walks across the gallery that spans one of the courtyards of Winterfell, your laughter pulls him out of his stride. He stops immediately and turns his head towards the noise.
You and Rickon run across the courtyard, playing catch. His little boy jumps back and forth in front of you, laughing loudly. You let him win, pretending you have trouble catching him.
Lady Selina steps beside him. Her lips are drawn into a thin line.
"My Lord." she slightly bows her head before him and Cregan smiles faintly, he finds it hard to take his eyes off you and Rickon.
"What can I do for you?" he asks and hopes that it's nothing urgent. He's considering canceling the meeting and taking you and Rickon to the Goodswood instead, where you can spend time together as a family without being disturbed.
"I am worried, My Lord." now she has his full attention. His shoulders tense up.
"What happened?" Unrest among the lords, a fight? The servants usually know this things before he does.
Selina gives him a smile. "Nothing happen, My Lord."
He breathes a sigh of relief. "What troubles you then?" Cregan tries not to sound as annoyed as he is. Selina knows that he has a lot to do at the moment. Neverless for the sake of the love he had for his first wife, he always tries to be friendly, even though Selina can often be irritating. Sometimes she takes herself more important than she is, behaves like the Lady of Winterfell, and Cregan has had to remind her of her position more than once.
"It's your new wife, My Lord." she starts, her smile is friendly, doesn't really fit her tone. At the mention of you his heart beats faster, he just has to think of you and he feels like a little boy with a crush. Seeing you makes him float on cloud nine. Cregan turns back to the side and looks down at you again. The broad smile on his lips is unusual for the young Lord.
"We can be glad that she is here with us." his voice is gentle. He has to clear his throat and straightens his shoulders. He quickly slips back into his role as Lord Stark, not the lovesick idiot.
"Can we?" the sharp tone makes Cregans skin crawl. He furrows his eyebrows, turns around. Lady Selina does not flinch from his gaze, but straightens her shoulders. She is a northern woman, intimidation does not work on her. She is like him, hard as winter, unyielding as the wind.
"Is there something you wish to tell me, Lady Selina?"
"No, my Lord. It's just that I… we think that a southern girl might be too weak for the important task of being Lady of Winterfell." she chooses her words carefully, smiling. "I´m only thinking about Rickon and his upbringing. I want the best for him, you know that."
The mention of his son causes his anger at Lady Selina to evaporate. Of course she is only thinking of his son, she wants the best for him. Loves him like her own child.
"My wife is a princess, a Targaryen. She does her job well. Or have you heard something else?"
"No, of course not." Lady Selina lowers her head slightly, no longer looking at Cregan. "I'm just worried about Rickon."
"I really appreciate your concern and care for my son. But your doubts are unfounded. Now if you would excuse me."
"Of course, my Lord." She clenches her jaw and sinks into a curtsy. Cregan walks past her to finally meet the carpenter, he is already too late.
Negotiations with the lords are going badly, Cregan is buried in work and doesn't know what to do. The sun has long set but sleep does not come to him. Instead he sits by the fireplace in his chambers, the taste of beer on his lips and stares into the flames. He sighs. He needs help. Could you give him some advice? That would kill two birds with one stone, he could finally spend some time with you again and maybe find a solution. Without thinking twice he calls for his servant and sends for you.
It doesn't take long before you enter his chambers. You look around uncertainly, you have thrown a cloak over your nightgown, your long blonde hair falls loosely over your shoulders. You are sight for sore eyes.
"My Lord husband," you whisper, curtsying deeper than usual. You slowly take a few steps into the room and stop in the middle. You tremble slightly, your breathing is faster than usual and your hands fumble with the hem of your nightgown. "You ordered me into your bed." your voice trembles as you take a step towards his bed.
Cregans heart sinks, he is on his feet in a heartbeat. You flinch. "My sweet wife, no. I told you I would never do that." he says quickly. It was stupid of him, of course you would think he was ordering you into the marital bed.
"Oh I just thought. Because some time has passed since our wedding night. I thought you might be impatient."
"No. I just wanted to discuss something with you. Please sit down next to me." he points to the chair in front of the fireplace. The fire gives off pleasant heat, sweat forms on Cregan's forehead. However, you are shaking slightly. Cregan reaches for his cloak and puts it around your shoulders before sitting down himself again.
You smile. "Thank you husband." you whisper.
"I'm sorry about the misunderstanding. I just thought you might be able to offer me some advice."
You smile again and Cregan is happy about it. "I don't know if my advice is really useful."
He has to suppress a snort at your modesty. You handle your duties as Lady Stark flawlessly.
"I'm sure it is. And besides that, well." he interrupts himself, noticing the blush rising in his cheeks. "I've hardly had any time for you in the last few days. I'm sorry about that too. I wanted to spend time with you."
Your smile widens. "I've missed the time with you too." you whisper and Cregan's heart starts racing. You missed him. You shift back and forth, making yourself comfortable. "How can I help?"
He starts to describe the problems to you, the stubbornness of his lords, the lying about their supplies even though he knows full well that they have more than they admit. The arguments among themselves.
"Can't you force them to give up some of their stock?" you ask after listening carefully.
This time Cregan snorts, leans back a little in his chair. "And how am I supposed to do that?" Inciting Bannerman against Bannerman would only make things worse.
"Silverwing could help."
"No!" his tone is sharp, his voice too loud for the pleasant atmosphere. You flinch in shock, look at him with wide eyes before avoiding his gaze again.
You swallow. "I'm sorry. It was just an idea. My father always uses Caraxes to get his way." you whisper. Cregan leans forward, reaches for your hand. His heart stops while he waits to see if you pull your hand away. You don't, his fingers carefully wrap around yours.
"Using your Dragon would fulfill the purpose, but I don't want to intimidate my men with her. I don't want to rule with fire and blood."
You nod. "I understand. It was stupid of me."
"No." he shakes his head and gently strokes the back of your hand. "I just hope for a peaceful solution."
You straighten up a little. "Then let's look for a peaceful solution." You both start to brainstorm, but your conversation quickly drifts off. You talk about your childhood in Pentos, your days on Dragonstone and your siblings. Cregan manages to open up about his uncle, how he had to fight for his inheritance and for his rule.
It's good to be able to tell you all this, to have someone to confide in. Only when you yawn after every word and Cregan has trouble opening his eyes again after blinking do you decide to end the evening.
"I'm going back to my chambers then." you say and pull his cloak off your shoulders.
"I'll call a guard for you."
"No, please don't wake anyone up. I'll find the way myself," you say, but your look is uncertain. Cregan also has a bad feeling about letting you walk through half of Winterfell at night.
"Then I'll accompany you."
"Please, husband, don't make yourself so much trouble because of me. You're exhausted yourself and it's an unnecessary journey for you." you object.
Cregan looks at his bed, it's big enough for both of you. Arra has also spent most of her nights here.
"You could sleep here?" he suggests quietly. Your eyes dart to the bed and then to him. You swallow. "Not to fulfill your marital duties, just to sleep." Cregan quickly clarifies.
"What will people think?"
He has to suppress a laugh. "You're my wife, my lady. The people won't think anything."
Your cheeks turn slightly red again. "Right." you think for a moment and then pull your own cloak from your shoulders. Cregan has to look into the flames so that his gaze doesn't get stuck on the curves of your cleavage and he stares like an iron born. Only after you get comfortably under the furs and blankets of the bed he slips off his own clothes and lies down next to you, keeping a safe distance.
"Sleep well, sweet wife."
"Sleep well, husband."
When Cregan wakes up the next morning, you've already disappeared, but your side of the bed is still warm. He turns to the side, buries his face in your pillow and inhales your scent deeply. Cregan knows that you prefer to fly with Silverwing in the morning, so he doesn't worry.
He's tired, but he still throws himself into work.When he returns to his chambers late that evening, you are already sitting in the chair by the fireplace. You turn to him, your cheeks red, but you look him in the eyes. Your hands shake slightly as you hand him a cup of wine.
"I got it from Pentos. I told you about it yesterday." He nods. He's still surprised that you're sitting here, he can hardly believe it. Warmth flows through him and he can't wipe the smile from his lips. He slowly takes your wine and sits down opposite you. "We didn't find a solution to our problem with the Lords yesterday." if you plan to come to him in the evening until you've found a solution, he wish there wasn't one.
Three evenings later you are sleeping in his bed again, two weeks later you snuggle up in his arms before you go to sleep and in the morning you kiss his cheek before you set off to see your dragon. Cregan can hardly believe his luck. You open up a little more every day, now you reach for his hand yourself, brush strands of hair from his face, kiss his cheek, lean into his embrace.
But suddenly you start to close yourself off again. It started with you not waiting for him in his chambers one evening, you send a servant to excuse you for that night. He thought you might be sick. But you don't come the next day either, he doesn't see you all day. In the morning he sees Silverwing flying over Winterfell towards the south, the sun is already hanging low on the horizon in the evening when the dragon lands again in front of the castle gates. Cregan feels like you're slipping away from him again. His heart aches at the thought. Did he do something wrong? Was he rude to you without realizing it? Was the longed-for closeness you built up just in his head?
Neverless Cregan was able, or rather you were able, to settle the arguments between the Lords a little. From your place at the high table, you reminded them in a gentel voice that everyone only wanted the best for the North and how wonderful it is that the Northern Lords were fighting the winter together. A little lie that you told, a smile and even Lord Bolton's tense features softened. It's a step in the right direction.
You hardly give him a smile anymore. Cregan doesn't know what's wrong. He is frustrated and sad. In his mind he goes through every moment, looking to see if he has done something wrong. He doesn´t find an answer.
His steps lead him through the corridors of Winterfell, he wants to go to Rickon. Because of all the work and his spiraling thoughts about you, he hasn't visited his son much in the last few days.
He hears laughter from the nursery, recognizes Lady Selina and Lady Aly's voices. Without knocking, he opens the door. The two ladies flinch at their place in front of the fireplace, the conversation falls silent. They both jump up, curtsy briefly and greet him with a "My Lord Stark." Both Ladys exchange a nervous look, Creggan's stomach tightens. He has the feeling that something is wrong but he doesn´t know what it is.
"Papa." Rickon jumps up from the carpet, his toy dragon falls to the floor and he runs to him. Cregan bends down to his son and takes him in his arms.
"Leave us alone," he dismisses the ladies. He wants to spend a little time with his son, show him that he is important to him despite all the stress. Rickon should never think that his father doesn't love him. Alys and Selina leave the nursery. Cregan puts Rickon down again and sits down on the floor next to him. Rickon immediately has his toy figures in his hand again.
"Are you coming to play?" he asks and holds out the dragon figure to him, big eyes sparkle at him and a radiant smile is on his lips.
"Yes." Cregan answers and takes the dragon, it looks small in his hand.
"That's my favorite toy."
"Not the knight anymore?" Cregan laughs quietly.
"No, no." says Rickon in a serious voice, as if it were the most important thing in the world. "The dragon. It was a gift from my princess."
Now Cregan can't hold back his laughter. "Your princess?"
"Yes." Rickon nods.
"You mean my wife, my dear. You really like her a lot, don't you?"
"Yes, I like her a lot." suddenly his eyes turn sad and he rips the toy out of his father's hand, pressing it to his chest. Cregan frowns, wants to scold Rickon, but he is already speaking again. "But she doesn't like me anymore." his voice trembles. Cregan has to swallow at the sight, puts a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Why do you think that? She likes you a lot."
"But why doesn't she play with me anymore? She hardly ever comes to visit me. Only when the teacher is there. She doesn't want to play with me at all, she just wants to supervise my lessons." he sounds defiant, as only children can, and Cregan has to sigh. He doesn´t have a answer for his son.
Why are you behaving like this? You wanted to take care of him and you enjoyed it. You often told him how much you enjoyed spending time with his son, what a good boy he is. That you love him like he is your son. Cregan has a bad feeling. He knows that something is wrong, even if he can't quite put his finger on it.
The door opens and you step uncertainly into the room, your gaze wanders around the room and then stops at Cregan and Rickon. A radiant smile appears on your face.
"My Lord husband." you say and nod slightly. Cregan is glad that you have finally stopped curtsying to him. "I didn't know you were here." Is he imagining it or do you sound relieved? Cregan doesn't know how to react to you now. Lately you have been acting absent and distant, shy like at the beginning. At other times you grab his hand, lean on his arm or smile at him with sparkling eyes when he speaks. He can't figure you out. "Can I sit with you?" you whisper, tearing him out of his thoughts. He nods and you sink down onto the carpet next to him and Rickon. His son immediately demands your attention, happy that you want to spend time with him.
It takes a few moments, but then Cregan lets himself be lulled by the warm, happy atmosphere. In these moments he completely forgets the thought of you withdrawing from him again. The time with his family is good for him, that is exactly what he always wanted. A happy family, safe behind the walls of Winterfell.
However his little bubble of family happiness bursts just a few hours later when Lady Darcy enters.
"My Lord Stark." she curtsies to him. "I'm here to pick up Rickon for his bath."
"No, I don't want to!" Rickon calls out. A single stern look from Cregan is enough to silence him. He stands up and takes a few steps towards Darcy. "Can my princess take me to my bath?" he asks quietly. Darcy rolls his eyes, looks at you, just like Cregan. You look at Dracy and then shake your head.
"Go with Lady Darcy." you say quietly, is your voice shaking? Rickon doesn't contradict and follows the nursemaid out of the room. Cregan turns to you with a smile, maybe you two can finally spend a little time toghether again, but you don't meet his gaze. When he reaches for your hand, you pull it away and jump up.
"Excuse me." your voice is quiet and you storm out of the room. Were those tears in your eyes? Cregan shakes his head, no, that can't be. The light was probably just reflected. He sighs and tries to fight down his anger and hurt because of your rejection.
He paces back and forth in his chambers. You haven't shown up for your evening meeting again. What's keeping you away? He just has to talk to you, he wants to find out what is bothering you. Did he make a mistake? Worry spreads through him and he sets off to look for you. His steps quickly lead him up the many stairs to Lady Stark's chambers.
Your chambers lie deserted before him. Cregans heart sinks. Where are you? It's almost midnight. You should be here. Did something happen to you? He is looking around your chambers. The chambers of Lady Stark are traditionally located at the top of the North Tower. They are the warmest chambers in the castle. Perfect for a dragon like you. Sweat beads on Cregan's forehead, yet he searches the chambers for a clue.
He feels guilty about looking at your private things, but he has no choice. Maybe you are in danger. Nothing seems unusual. To be honest, he can't be sure, he is hardly ever in your chambers. It is your private area, but it seems as if you only have a few things here. That surprises Cregan a little.
He goes to your desk, it is covered with papers, scrolls and letters. He knows that you write a lot to your family, and that you receive a letter from at least one of your family members almost every week. Only your father doesn't write to you, you told him that.
His gaze flicks over the first line of the letter you had started.
Mother, please. It's so terrible here.
He reads the first words and his heart aches painfully. Is it his fault? Do you hate him?
My husband Cregan is everything I could wish for, kind, tender, and warm; he has such a big heart. I love him. But the problem are the maids of the late Lady Stak. I wrote to you that it doesn't seem like they like me. But now it's getting worse.
I tried to take care of Rickon. Just like you always took care of Baela, Rhena, and me. He is such a sweet boy. But the Ladies are so terribly mean. I know they were Lady Norrey's friends, but I don't understand how they can be so horrible. What did I do wrong? I don't understand how I could have upset them so much that they hate me.
They say terrible things to me, I don't want to repeat them. Even bad things about our family. The insults hurt so much. The worst thing is when they laugh at me. I feel so stupid when they do that.
I don't want Rickon to find out about this, so I stay away from him. It breaks my heart. I'm afraid to talk to Cregan. I don't want them to lose their last connection to Lady Arra.
Please, I can't take it anymore. I want to go home. Please let me come home.
On the pages, there are small dark spots where your tears have dripped onto the paper and smudged the ink.
Why didn't you tell him anything? Guilt overcomes him. He should have known, he should have noticed something.
Hot anger towards the Ladies rises within him. He would love to have them all executed.
A growl catches his attention. With two steps, he is at the window. The full moon illuminates the night outside, the snow reflects the light. He sees a slender figure walking across the fields outside the Keep. Silverswing's massive body rises from the snow as you run towards your dragon.
Cregan whirls around and sprints down the stairs. Fear and worry burn in his heart. He pushes the door outward a little too hard. The wood creaks as it slams against the stone walls. Every breath burns in his lungs as he inhales the cold air. Nevertheless, his steps do not slow down.
Silverwing whirls her head around before you notice him. At the sudden movement, you slip and one of the bags you were just about to attach to the saddle falls from your hand. A few of your clothes fall into the snow. Cregan realizes that you really were about to run away. Run away from him. His heart hurts by this thought. The next moment he remembers himself that you are not running away because of him.
He calls your name. You whirl around, your look like a startled deer.
"Cregan." you whisper. He recognizes tears in your eyes, tear stains on your cheeks, your eyes are slightly red
"What are you doing?" he asks, while he tries to catch his breath. Cregan tries to let his voice sound as soft as possible, you already look like you will faint for fear every moment.
"I wanted to visit Silverwing," you lie, your hands cramps around the leather of the saddle. Silverwing lets out a growl. Cregan needs all his strength not to jump back in fright.
"Please come down." he almost begs, he stands much too close to the dragon for his liking. Silverwing is very gentle. You once told him that. Nevertheless, the hundred-year-old monster can swallow him in one gulp.
You hesitate. "Go back inside," you say then, but you don't look at him.
"No." his voice is firm now. "Either you come down voluntarily or I'll come up and get you." it's not a bluff, if he has to he'll climb on that dragon to get you down. Even if Silverwing will probably tear him into pieces before he even gets close to you.
Silverwing stretches out her wing, the claws on her forefoot digging into the snow just a few steps in front of him. Is that a threat? You look at your dragon, then swing to the side and slide down the wing. Without thinking, Cregan moves closer and catches you. You wrap your arms around him and he pulls you closer to him. Warm tears drip onto the skin at the crook of his neck. You sob, take a breath and try to say something, but only another desperate sound comes from your throat.
"I found your letter to the Queen." he admits. You tense up, wanting to pull away from him, but Cregan holds you tight. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't want you to be angry."
Oh he is angry, but not at you. He would love to cut off the ladies' heads, but women are not executed in the North. The North is still a place of honor.
Now he lets go of you, pushes away slightly to look you in the face. He carefully wipes the tears from your cheek. You lean into his touch, sighs quietly and closes your eyes. Cregan leans forward and kisses your forehead.
"What did they say to you?" he then whispers.
You swallow, open your eyes before you start to speak. "At first it was just little taunts. But over time it got worse and worse. They said I would ruin the North, that many people would die next winter because of my stupidity." the tears come back to you eyes and you have to sob. Cregan pulls you into his arms again, strokes your hair as you bury your face in his chest.
"Those are lies. You did nothing wrong. On the contrary, you are a great Lady Stark."
"But that wasn't even the worst part. They also said that I am not good enough for you. That you only put up with me because you were forced to marry me. They said that you will never love me and that there is only room in your heart for Lady Arra, that she is your first and only love and I am just an intruder."
Cregan's heart breaks, he knows that you took the Nursemaids at their word. Again he pushes you away, carefully puts his hand under your chin and forces you to look at him.
"Those are lies too. Yes, I loved Arra. But that doesn't mean that I can't love you. You are not an intruder. I want you here with me."
Tears well up in your eyes again. "What about the Ladies?" you ask quietly, but keep eye contact.
"I will throw all three of them out first thing tomorrow morning. Let the Others get them, I don't care. Maybe Silverwing wants a little snack."
The dragon lowers its head to you, looks at Cregan as if she agrees.
"Rickon needs them."
"No. Rickon only needs me and you, his family." Cregan insists. His son will cope with the loss, he is sure of that.
"I would like to be your family."
Cregan has to smile at your words. "I love you, sweet wife." he whispers. Your lips open slightly as you look at him in surprise. Then you stand on your tiptoes and kiss him gently. His heart almost burst, butterflies explode in his stomach and despite the cold night he feels warm.
You sink back on your feet, your cheeks are red, but you smile. Silverwing blows hot air from her nostrils towards Cregan, he flinches back and you giggle.
"That means she likes you."
"And what about you? Do you like me too?" he asks, his lips twisting into a grin.
"I thought you read my letter to Rhaenyra." you say, also grinning."
Please say it anyway."
"I love you, my sweet husband." Cregan leans down and seals your lips with a kiss.
