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meiieiri · 1 month

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when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”

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wizard-mp4 · 1 year

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I've played too much backpack hero. I'm starting to think in the grid.

#me #roguelikes #inventory management #actually though inventory management irl is such a fucking pain

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funnyexel · 3 months

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Hiii! You’re an amazing writer! That thing that you wrote with the stalker? *chef kiss* Perfect!

I can’t stop thinking about him entering Y/N’s house when she’s at work or something? And taking something with him before he leaves (maybe some panties or a bra) and jerking off with it

missing items

okay. maybe you're clumsy or outright forgetful with your belongings but this time you can't just be imaging things. You swore you left your work bra on your dresser and now it's nowhere to be found.

instead of stressing about the piece of clothing, you wear a different bra and head to work. you already felt like this day wasn't going your way, so when your boss said you have to do inventory, you wholeheartedly wanted to throw yourself out the window. but nonetheless you go to the back and begin unpacking and organizing new merchandise.

you were scanning tags and going through boxes when your scanner sent a red notification.

'missing'

'notify available management'

'missing items'

he felt like a pervert. for once in his stupid life. he felt like a freaking pervert.

every time he looked into your panty drawer he huffs with a shake of his head—like it was his underwear that was actively being stolen—but that's not the case. he simply filled with dread upon looking at the drawer because his favorite thing to borrow is becoming scarce. like damn, he'd thought you'd at least go buy some new underwear by now.

pacing around your room, he's careful not to shift anything around. your aroma is all over the room and he's getting frustrated quite fast. its like the room is spinning as he says 'fuck it' and rummages through your nightstand. he's seen you dig in here countless times, there has to be something he wants in here.

one hand roughly opening and closing drawers while his other is squeezing his dick disgustingly tight in through his pants. he can't physically handle this irritation, the vexation of it all.

he's ready to simply unbuckle his pants and throw them to the side, all the while jumping into your sheets as he jerks himself off to the scent of your pillow but he stops.

both hands hold onto the sides of this specific drawer, shakily reaching into the drawer and finding a black lace panty. bringing the fabric to his nose, he took a huge inhale and immediately realized. its not the usual smell of detergent and perfume but, the smell of you. you and your ethereal juices that come from that sweet pussy.

he closed his eyes and took another deep inhale.

it was his lucky day. you hid it away from him. probably embarrassed from how you fingered yourself silly in the lingerie.

but your embarrassment was the last thing on his mind as breathy moans leave his quivering lips, his slender fingers griping his thigh and his palm holding your panty against his cock. holding it in a warm embrace as he, practically, gives himself rug burn from how fast he's rubbing the fabric on him.

what's worse? worse than his dumb whimpering and quivering lips? worse than his purposeful infliction of pain on his dick? what's worse is that he's crying, full on tears running down his cheeks, from the thought of you catching him like this.

legs spread wide on your bedroom floor, back against your dresser and head banging back against the top drawer as he cries out your name from the twisted and masochistic pleasure.

safe to say, he left with yet another one of your underwear and a mind-scrambling orgasm. he even felt generous enough to leave you something. something small, a surprise, on that sex toy of yours.

what?

you thought he didn't see it?

silly girl.

more of my writing

a/n: thanks for the compliment! I'm enjoying expanding on this little topic—if I can even call it that—and I'm getting so carried away with this

#fanfiction #y/n #yandere #male yandere #yandere male x reader #male yandere x reader #male x reader #yandere male #yandere thoughts #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenerio #yandere x reader #yandere x you

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moonstruckme · 9 months

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Your poly!marauders writings are giving me life rn!!

Could I please request the boys comforting anxious reader who has a tummy ache from being so overwhelmed and stressed? (Not projecting rn at all 🙃)

If you aren’t feeling, it absolutely no worries! I will still ready everything you write about the marauders 🩷

Thanks for requesting honey!

cw: mentions of anxiety, nausea

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 706 words

You hunch in on yourself, trying to ignore the persistent and growing pain in your abdomen as you type determinedly on your laptop. You’ve been to the bathroom half a dozen times in the past hour, hoping you might be sick or something that would relieve the discomfort, but it seems to want to stick around and torment you. A soft whimper escapes you as the muscles in your stomach spasm abruptly, and you press the back of your hand to your mouth to smother the sound.

“Sweetheart,” James protests, sounding as pained as you are, “are you sure you didn’t eat something bad?”

You don’t cease in your typing, worried that if you stop you’ll have trouble willing yourself to start again. “I don’t think so,” you manage, grating your teeth against the pain. “Nothing was expired, I checked.” That had been one of your first courses of action when the aches started; digging containers out of the trash to check sell-by dates, but everything you’d eaten that day seemed fine.

Sirius closes his own laptop to study you. “You’re not supposed to be starting your period, are you?”

“Not for another week, and I never have cramps this early.”

“Is it just in your stomach?” Remus asks. “You don’t feel sick at all?”

You let your eyes flit away from the laptop screen, taking a hasty inventory of yourself. “A little nauseous, and I feel kind of sweaty, but that’s it.” You return to your work. “It’s fine, it’ll pass.”

Remus seems unconvinced, pressing a cool hand to your forehead. “You are a bit warm,” he murmurs, his eyebrows scrunching together worriedly. “Where is the pain coming from, exacty?”

“I dunno.” You’re almost done, just a few sentences to go, and then you can finally— "Hey,” you protest, looking up at Remus, who’s shut your laptop. “I was working on that.”

“Dove, this could be serious,” he says. “Pay attention. Where in your stomach does it hurt?”

“I…” you try to concentrate, your mind still running over the next few phrases you’d needed to type. “In the middle, I guess.”

Remus looks relieved, the gravity in his expression softening back to regular concern. “Alright, that’s good. But you feel like you could be sick?”

You nod, moving your laptop to the side and drawing your legs into your chest. “I haven’t been able to, though.”

James makes an awfully tender pitying sound, and something in Sirius’ gaze changes, his head tilting as he considers you. “Do you think you might just be stressed?”

You blink at him, your face scrunching in confusion before clarity washes over you. “Oh,” you say, feeling silly. All three boys relax slightly, relieved to have an identified culprit. “I hadn’t even considered that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you guys over nothing.”

“S’not nothing,” James says softly. “Your body’s telling you you need a break, sweetheart.”

You glance to your laptop, doubtful of whether you can oblige it, but Sirius catches the look. He tuts at you, taking your laptop out of reach and putting it beside his own. “You’ve done enough work for today,” he agrees with James. “Give that big brain of yours a rest, yeah?”

You sigh, but there’s no use fighting them. It’s three against one, and anyway, a relaxing afternoon doesn’t sound like the least pleasant thing in the world. Recognizing your acquiescence, your boyfriends go to work. James sets about finding a movie to watch, Sirius declares he’s getting snacks, and Remus moves to make more room for you on the couch.

“Lay down, dove,” he says, waiting until you do to kneel beside you, pressing gently into your abdomen with deft fingers.

“Oh, you’re so lucky.” James looks at the two of you longingly. “He did that for me when my leg was cramping last week, it was the best.”

Remus smiles a little at the praise, and sure enough, some of the tension in your stomach starts to ease under his ministrations. The sound that escapes you is half sigh and half moan, and you turn to putty beneath his hands.

“Merlin,” Sirius teases, coming to sit at your feet with a tin of biscuits. “Feeling better already, are we?”

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astroboots · 8 months

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Love Bites

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Marc wakes up with a lot of hickeys in the mirror.

Content: a cup of yearning, a spoonful of angst and a heapful of horny and mix well with masturbation.

A/N: Inspired by @guruan amazing art series of love marks and hickeys on the Moon Knight boys. See her twitter for the pieces.

Word count: 4.9k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Marc is no stranger to finding marks on his body.

Black and yellowed bruises scattered across his ribcage. Angry pink abrasions on his knuckles or jaw, the dark reddish brown of old blood crusting around deeper gashes.

They never bothered him too much. The suit takes care of it in the blink of an eye when he needs it to. Well before Steven wakes up so that Marc can make sure that his other half will always stay none the wiser of what their body is put through on a daily basis.

Marc is usually the one responsible for most of the marks and bruises. But Steven, with his clumsiness, isn't altogether blameless.

There are nights when Marc will wake up with a sore arm from a box of souvenir junk that's fallen onto Steven during inventory time. Sometimes, Steven in his half-conscious stupor will bump into a particularly hard corner of the shelves leaving Marc with a purple blotch on his hip or shoulder. It happens often enough that when Marc wakes up fronting and find his body marred with big ugly bruises, he doesn't react with even an ounce of surprise.

After all, pain and bruises are routine for him. It's what Marc has known for as long as he can remember. But Marc can't say he's used to this.

He's standing in front of the small mirror of the bathroom. His eyes lingers over the maroon-red mark that's discoloring the junction of his neck, right above his clavicle. It's the length of three fingers. It's bright, splotchy and glaring.

It's so unexpected it takes Marc several long seconds before he registers it for what it is.

Not a mosquito bite, it's too large for that. Not a bruise caused from a punch.

A hickey.

A grumble simmers in the back of his throat. Marc has a pretty good idea how the body ended up with a hickey.

Steven was going to take you out on a date last night. Some restaurant you’d been wanting to try “for ages.”

You'd looked so excited when you'd told him about it over breakfast that morning. Eyes bright, smiling cheek to cheek that made his chest squeeze tight within, as you had devoured the pancakes he'd made for you.

Marc stares back at his reflection in the mirror. At the big showy red blotch on his skin. If Marc leaves it as it is, it's sure to spread even wider until it turns purplish and blue and covers half of his throat.

Shit, you really went to town on his— on Steven's neck.

The two of you must have had fun.

His fingers trail the outline of the discoloration of his skin. The skin is bruised and a little tender, but it doesn’t hurt. Not in the way he's used to.

This isn’t the lingering pain from the impact of blunt knuckles or the sharp throbbing of broken ribs. This is different.

This bruise was made, not with a fist or a weapon, but with care. Made with your soft lips dragging across his neck. Your exploring fingers digging into his hair as your teeth scrape down his jaw and down his --

Fuck. What is he doing?

He glares accusingly at himself in the mirror.

What the hell was that?

Marc doesn't do this.

He doesn't let himself think about what it's like when you and Steven are together.

That's the rule he set for himself early on when you entered Steven's life: Marc is going to stay out of your way.

Leave you and Steven to live a normal and happy life without his interference... Except he fucked up.

Marc feels like a goddamned Disney villain most times. It's bad enough that Marc steals away hours—sometimes days—from Steven's quiet London life without the man knowing.

Somehow, and Marc isn't entirely sure how he's managed to land the three of you in this position, but not only do you know about Marc now. Marc's also cornered you into the impossible situation that you have to keep his existence secret from Steven.

Leading to the present status quo. One where Marc eats away at the poor man's life like a bottom-feeding parasite. Stealing time from Steven, on mornings that you wake in their bed. Hours that Marc could and should be ceding back to Steven. Instead, Marc finds himself lingering more and more often. Standing in the kitchen, cleaning up waiting for you to wake.

In the beginning he told himself that it was to keep an eye on you. After all, he can't have you wandering around in apartment flat and uncover something that is not meant for your eyes. But he'd be lying to himself if he said that was still the case. Because Marc trusts you after all.

No, he knows why he does this. Why he stays in the mornings, sat across you from the table, watching you eat with warmth fizzing pleasantly in his veins. He knows even if he'd never dare to put words to what it is.

He wants to take.

A heavy, sick feeling spreads in his stomach—his old familiar friends, shame and guilt—because Marc has already taken enough.

He doesn’t get to take this too. Doesn't get to think about what it's like when you and Steven are together.

That time belongs to Steven. You belong to Steven.

Marc is just an interloper.

His eyes pull back up from the floor of the bathroom and he catches himself frowning in the mirror.

He hasn’t moved his hand. His fingertips linger, thumb dragging over the pulse of his throat before pressing down on the bruise, hard. Digging in until he can feel the ache of it. Until the mark stings like it would have when it was freshly made by you.

A sharp thrill sparks down his spine, and warmth streaks across his lower stomach. Marc ignores it. Ignores the heavy ache that pools in his groin. It’s fine. As long as he ignores it, doesn't take things further, then he can let himself have… this. The fading echo of the love you have for Steven.

Marc leaves the hickey.

He wears his civilian clothes when he goes out at night on Khonshu’s business so the suit won’t heal it. Tries to avoid getting hurt so he won’t leave any other bruises for Steven to find. It feels strange. It's been a long time since Marc approached a fight with anything like caution.

Over the course of the next week, he wakes up each night to see that the hickey has bloomed. Marc maps its journey as it spreads from the small spot on his throat up the length of it until it almost reaches his jaw. Then it begins to fade.

On the fourth day the stark red has grown subdued. By the fifth, the blotches on his skin are well on their way to healing. And on the sixth...

On the sixth day, Marc finds a second mark right below the fading one at the base of his neck and long red streaks marking scratches on his shoulder.

New marks keep appearing with each week. Small finger-nail shaped crescent moons on his shoulder blades. The indent of teeth on his clavicle. More hickeys, the small and gentle bruises scattered across the body like a treasure hunt for Marc to find.

He's not sure how he feels about that. Except that there's a strange and unsettling flutter deep in the pit of his stomach everytime he catches sight of one of them in the mirror.

Shit. He's probably not supposed to feel anything about them at all. After all, they shouldn't affect him one way or the other at all. None of them actually hurt.

Judging from the frequency they're appearing, Steven obviously likes them. What’s Marc gonna do about it? Sit you down over the breakfast table, as he ladles up pancakes on your plate and casually drops that he keeps finding marks you've left on Steven? That it makes him feel... (funny? strange? good?) some way about it?

No, this is fine.

There's nothing to be done with the strange situation the three of you find yourselves in. All Marc can do is catalog each and every one of them. Each and every bruise and scrape and bite you leave on Steven, pressing harsh fingers over them until the blunt ache sets in so that Marc can feel them too.

Nothing is wrong. It's fine.

As long as he doesn't think of anything more, doesn't let his mind wander, then Marc isn't crossing a line. After all, there's nothing else he can do about the situation.

The only thing he can do is to keep his silent inspection of each hickey and scratch left on the body. He tells himself it's because he has to know what's going on with the body. To make sure it’s in good enough condition for Khonshu’s missions. That’s all it is. It has nothing to do with the fact that it's a tiny window into the part of Steven's life with you that Marc won't let himself intrude or eavesdrop on.

He almost believes it.

And if there’s a bittersweet feeling that weighs heavy in his stomach, it doesn’t matter. He can ignore it. Marc is no stranger to wanting things he can't have, things he doesn't deserve.

It's fine.

Everything is fine.

And it would have kept on being fine if it weren’t for the fucking lipstick.

The first time it happens, Marc wakes up alone in the apartment slumped over a chair, a book in his lap. Steven must've fallen asleep while reading. Nothing unusual there.

Marc doesn't even notice anything’s wrong until he steps into the bathroom and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror.

Smears of glossy scarlet stand out glaringly against his skin. It's on his face, his mouth and neck, bright red like a traffic light, warning Marc to stop.

Against his better judgment, Marc doesn't heed the warning.

His hand comes up to trace a pristine, perfectly-defined lip print on his cheekbone, trying not to let himself imagine what caused it. He pushes the invading image of your smile and the sweet curve of your lips down into the depths of his mind where he can't reach.

This is different from the hickeys and scrapes. Completely superficial. There is no underlying injury for him to punish himself with, but he catalogs the marks anyway.

The one on his neck is less pristine, smeared at the edges. His fingers drag over the skin in the same place your lips would have.

There's a bright-red smear at the corner of his mouth.

Marc stares at that one for a long time, breath coming in faster and heavier as his fingers hover, not quite touching.

He doesn't dare touch it because he knows what sort of contact made those marks. Can almost feel the weight of your arms wrapped around his neck, the slight sting of your fingers twined into his hair. The bridge of your nose alongside his as your plush lips press to his in a desperate, devouring kiss.

Shit. Shit!

His heart thrashes hard and fast with the fluttering panic of a trapped hummingbird inside his chest. Stepping backwards, a rush of blood floods his body and he feels lightheaded with the pace of it.

He can't look at it. Has to turn sharply away. Grabs a washcloth and the soap and scrubs until his skin feels raw. He doesn't let himself look again until the marks are gone because it feels like crossing a line. One he wasn’t—isn’t—going to let himself cross.

"It's my four month anniversary with Steven," you tell Marc as you reach for the toasted bagel with cream cheese in front of him.

Marc slides the plate back out of your reach and begins to layer smoked salmon on top.

"Where are you two going?"

"Steven booked Gloria. It's the cute Italian place with all the flowery corner booths and pretty porcelain dishes, remember?"

He nods as though he has any idea which restaurant you’re talking about. He doesn’t. Marc doesn’t spy on Steven’s dates with you.

"Their truffle pizza is delish, and for dessert they have this heavenly lemon meringue pie which is—and I am not exaggerating in the slightest—eight inches tall.”

"Sounds nice," he says, adding the finishing touches to your bagel. He barely has time to place the last caper before you swipe the plate from his hands and take a large bite out of it.

You moan your approval, then chew and swallow, smiling at him as you lick your fingers clean, and Marc doesn’t let himself think about anything at all.

"We'll go there sometime," you say, and it makes Marc stop in his tracks. "We can share it together."

He doesn't say that there’s no way in hell. Doesn't tell you that he doesn’t get to be together with you outside of the bubble that is these stolen mornings here in Steven's apartment. Doesn’t try to explain why somehow that would be crossing the last tenuous line he's set for himself.

Instead he turns around, stowing the cream cheese back in the fridge and steadfastly ignoring the insistent itch under the collar of his shirt. Your latest mark is there, simmering with heat where the shape of your lips are still branded onto his skin.

"Sounds nice," he says again.

Marc doesn't peek on your date with Steven.

It's not easy to stay away. His consciousness keeps floating to the surface, an involuntary reaction to Steven's feverish excitement that buoys Marc closer to awareness. Trapped in the dark purgatory where he’s peripherally aware of the palm of their hands going clammy with sweat and the whole of their body flashing hot and cold. He has to constantly swim down into the nothingness to avoid being inadvertently pushed to the front.

But Marc holds steady, even when he can feel their heart pounding away in their chest like Steven is running a goddamn marathon. He's determined to let you and Steven keep your private time private. The two of you don’t need him hanging around peeping like some perverted fly on the wall.

But…

It's a special kind of hell when Steven gets this excited.

It takes everything Marc has in him to fight the instinct to step in and take over, but he manages it somehow, holding on by his metaphorical fingernail until Steven finally succumbs to an exhausted sleep.

As the first dim light of the morning sun slinks through the windows, Marc wakes to find himself in bed, tangled up in twisted sheets.

His thighs ache, his back is stiff and it takes him several moments to orientate himself. Sandy-eyed and more exhausted than he should be, he peels back the bedding, to reveal…

Red.

His bare chest and stomach are smeared in bright crimson red.

Blood.

He's covered in it.

Adrenaline cracks through him, bright and sickening, and Marc jolts upright.

Oh fuck, what has he done now?

No. He forces himself to regulate his breathing, air hissing between his teeth as his chest heaves. It couldn't have been him.

The last thing he can remember is ceding the body to Steven, and then the fight to keep his consciousness submerged. Steven wouldn’t have done this either, which means– Shit! Shit!!

It's everywhere.

Splotches parade across his torso, bright and glossy and so very red. Really red, almost… too red. He tips his chin down to get a closer look, and…

There's a perfectly defined shape of a set of lips on his left pec.

Marc stares at it, then raises a trembling hand to press two fingers over the ruby red lip-print and sags with relief.

Not blood. It's fucking lipstick.

Your lipstick.

His face prickles with heat, his fingers trembling against the skin of his chest.

There's another, less well defined print next to it, and he traces that one as well, and then the red ring smeared around his nipple. He follows the trail of color down his chest and abdomen. It's fucking everywhere. Way more lipstick than could possibly come from a single application.

Marc can picture it. Fuck, he is picturing it, as clear as day. Your bright eyes gazing up at him through lush lashes as you kiss your way down his– down Steven's heaving chest, pausing your assault every now and then to reapply your lip color. The tip of the waxy red stick smoothing over your plush lips, leaving the shiny red color behind. The way you would purse your mouth before leaning back down to stamp another mark upon his skin.

Marc's fingertips brush over another red smear low on his belly. One that’s just barely visible before it disappears under the edge of the sheet.

There’s static in his head, so loud that it drowns out everything else. He can barely hear his own thoughts so it’s easy to ignore the little voice in his head screaming that this is a bad idea and push the sheets aside to follow the red streak down the crease of his thigh.

Tired muscles jump under the brush of his fingers, skin prickling, and he's suddenly, uncomfortably aware that he's hard. Achingly so, his dick throbbing just inches from where he's touching the trail of lipstick on his skin.

The soft cotton of the sheets drags against his overly-sensitive skin as he shoves it the rest of it off, and–

Fuck.

He stops, every muscle in him tensing up because the red smears and kiss marks don't end with the one on his hip. Of course they fucking don't. They continue down the sparse trail of hair leading to his groin where there's a perfect bright red ring circling his aching dick, right below the leaking head.

There’s several rings, the red streaked and smeared up and down the length of him. Oh fuck.

His dick pulses, jerking against his stomach, and a drop of precome wells from the tip. He watches as it rolls slowly across the flat plane of the head which is graced with a single, only-slightly smeared kiss mark.

Marc feels that mark as if it were branded onto him.

He takes himself in hand without thought, thumb slicking though the slippery fluid, smearing it across the impression of your lips. His whole body jerking as he grinds his thumb into that red spot, pressing as though he could somehow imprint your touch into his skin—into the very fabric of his torn and fucked up soul.

He gets lost in the feeling, pleasure just short of pain that has him shuddering and shaking under his own touch. Lets go only long enough to lock his fingers over the circle of scarlet right under the head of his dick. Then it’s on to the other ones, covering each of the marks in turn, squeezing and sliding between them, rubbing the seemingly endless stream of precome he’s oozing over his cock. The lipstick spreads, smearing further until it’s staining his hand as well. The skin of his palm and the length of his dick both streaked with that bright alarming red.

Everything aches. It's overwhelming. Sharp pleasure pushes along every nerve, filling up every empty crevice in his hollow chest until there’s no room left for anything else, and he doesn't know if it's from the touch of his own hand or the knowledge that these marks are from you (from your soft, plush mouth wrapped around his dick) or both.

Marc doesn't do this.

He doesn’t do slow. Or soft. Doesn't let himself indulge in this kind of languid, drawn-out touches.

Sure, he jerks off. When the need arises, he takes care of it. He handles his hard-on the same way he deals with the other tasks involved in the upkeep of their body—with little patience and just enough effort to get it over and done with as efficiently as possible.

More often than not, it's him in the shower, fisting his cock with quick, perfunctory motions as he stares at the wall and tries not to think of anything at all (something that's been harder than usual these past few months). It's something he does as a matter of routine. Just one more item on his hygiene checklist: wash hair, jerk off, wash body, dry off, brush teeth.

This is.... not that.

If he stopped long enough to acknowledge what it is he's doing. To put words to what this is, he's not sure he can think of anything but "fucked up". Fucked up and entirely alien and new to him. Slick and soft and slow. The drag of his fingers over the stained, sensitive flesh of his straining, aching dick almost sensual, and it drives a low, guttural gasp from his lips.

The sound is met by a sleepy sigh from behind him, and Marc freezes.

Fuck.

He doesn’t dare turn his head to confirm what he already knows. That you must have spent the night with Steven, and you’re still lying there in his bed now.

And Marc is sitting less than an arm's length away from your sleeping body, smearing your lipstick up and down the length of his leaking, jerking cock.

And you're about half a second from waking up and catching him red handed and realizing just how fucking disgusting he is.

Terror spears through him as images of what happens next flash behind his eyes.

The shock on your face. Your redredred lips parted in surprise and disbelief. How disbelief would shade into horrified disgust when you see the proof of just how fucked up he is; the way he's made himself sick with yearning over you. Over something that's not his—could never be his because you're a thousand times too good for him.

Marc wants nothing more than to curl up into himself and disappear forever, but he forces himself up and out of bed. Keeping his back towards you, he retreats toward the bathroom as quickly and quietly as he can manage. He doesn't dare turn around.

If your eyes are on him…

If it's already too late…

He doesn't want to know.

That resolve lasts until he's reached the questionable safety of the bathroom. He can't help but sneak one a last look over his shoulder at you as he slides the door closed.

Your eyes are closed. Thank fuck. The knot of fear in his chest loosens slightly at the sight of you sleeping peacefully, unaware of his disturbing behavior.

But– Oh fuck, your lips.

The delicate contours of your plush mouth are smeared and stained with the same color that's streaked across his body, a fucking beacon in stoplight red.

His skin, every square inch that's tinted with the evidence of your touch, starts to burn, and Marc burns with it.

He doesn’t remember shutting the door. Doesn’t remember turning to press his back to the wall. Marc comes back to awareness staring down at one of his hands where it’s wrapped around his aching, leaking, red-smeared dick. The other hand is pressed against the lip print on his chest, fingernails digging in. A bright spark of pain courses through him, and he pushes harder, clawing at the stained flesh as though, if he just presses hard enough, he can peel back the layers of himself to reveal the memory of what it felt like to have your lips against his skin.

Marc is excruciatingly aware that he is fucking things up. Has fucked them all to hell and back already.

The line he told himself he would never cross is somewhere miles behind him along with his self control and any shred of decency. This is wrong. He should not be doing this. Has no fucking business with his hand anywhere near his dick when his mind is full of you.

The knowledge of how fucked up all of this is, makes him slow his strokes. Guilt and shame weigh him down, as heavy as Khonshu’s armor, flooding his body almost as thoroughly as pleasure.

But he still can’t make himself stop.

The floodgates are open. Marc can’t stop rubbing his dick any more than he can stop seeing you, eyes wide and knowing; your ruby red lips pressed to his, sliding over his stomach, wrapped around his cock.

His chest heaves, breath stuttering painfully in his lungs. His fingers tighten around his cock, and the pleasure that sears through his veins is blinding. It’s consuming, all-encompassing, burning through every reservation and shred of morality until it robs him of the ability to tell right from wrong.

Everything is a haze. There are no thoughts left in his head. Nothing left except you.

All he can think of is the look of pure delight on your face after you take your first bite of the breakfasts he makes for you. The way he'll sometimes catch you gazing at his back when he's standing by the stove and you think he can’t see. The forty-five minutes each morning that you're his alone.

Warmth seeps through his chest and takes root beneath his ribs, a counterpoint to the almost painful heat rippling in his gut. It climbs his spine and spreads outward along his limbs until all of him, from his stomach to the tip of his head, is filled with the sensation. It feels good. In a way that Marc can't ever remember having felt.

There's a strange sound pushing against his throat, and if Marc wasn't so far gone, he'd register it as sounding dangerously close to a whimper.

His eyes flutter open, (and fuck he can't remember when he even closed them) to find himself staring up at a stranger in the mirror. He doesn't recognize this man. The messy black hair that falls over his brow doesn't belong to him. Nor do the swollen lips, parted slightly as if their owner is about to plead for something. Dark eyes have gone glassy and wet, with an unfamiliar drunken glaze.

He doesn't know this man, but it’s not him.

Can’t be him.

Or maybe it is.

Need, ugly and grasping, is written across his face. He can feel it dripping out of him, can see the full extent of his depravity, staring back at him. He looks desperate, nearly unhinged.

Out of control.

All the things he doesn’t get to be, because he’ll just fuck things up.

But that doesn’t stop the jagged heat blossoming in his stomach. It starts from the tip of his toes, wrapping his limb with aching bliss until his knees go weak and he's nearly doubling over unable to hold his own weight.

His hips cant up to meet each stroke of his hand. Chasing after the pleasure eagerly, even as the residual shame clings to every inch of him.

He presses his eyes shut again so he doesn't have to look at himself in the eye as the looming promise of his orgasm rises higher.

He regrets it immediately.

In the dark, without the distraction of his reflection to look at, there's nothing to stop his mind from filling the blank space with you.

Your gaze from across the room.

Your touch when the back of your hand accidentally brushes against his when you help him with the dishes.

Your voice...

“Together,” you'd told him yesterday. You'd go tho the restaurant together. As if you two were a couple.

The breath catches in his lungs, searing pleasure streaking along his limbs, achingly sweet and…

Wrong.

This is so fucking wrong.

Wrong of him to think of you here with him. Wrong to imagine the warmth of your body pressed against his, your smaller hand wrapped around him in place of his own. Wrong to wonder how soft your lips would be, trailing down the length of his neck, teeth sinking into his neck to leave another fresh mark, one meant only for him.

The feeling is too large, too overwhelming. It's fucking unbearable. Pleasure doubling and redoubling to fill every inch of flesh, every cell, until his body feels alien to him.

It rips through him, chaotic and endless. A cacophony of static, fills his head as his climax explodes through him. Pulse after agonizingly blissful pulse rips through him, and he spills himself across the white porcelain of the sink.

It goes on and on and on until he's empty and wrung out.

Until the only thing left in is the harsh noise of his uneven breathing wheezing out of his chest and the acidic guilt and shame that are lodged in his throat like bile that he can't spit out.

The strength has been zapped out of his limbs. His knees are weak, threatening to give way, and his hands shoot out, gripping the sides of the cold and dirty sink as he slumps forward, barely holding himself upright. His forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the mirror, but refuses to look at his reflection.

It's there all the same. The incriminating flush of his skin nearly as red as the marks from your lipstick. The evidence of your lips pressed to his skin with intent, with care, with… love.

But not for Marc.

It’s never going to be for Marc.

He closes his eyes again and lets the world fade away.

Dedications:

To my favorite clown @thirstworldproblemss who had her mastery hands all over this and wrote majority of this pieces (all the best parts of it).

Also dedicated to @guruan who is currently in tumblr jail and if tumblr could let her out that would be great!!! I need my beautiful MK boys in art form and Leslie's presence in my life on tumblr.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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jetra4ivor · 2 years

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I can’t get over the fact that Minecraft:Story Mode is abandonware now. After it’s removed from Netflix there will be no legal way to access the game anymore.

So much time, energy, and talent out into a game that simply cannot be played anymore. A whole generation of new Minecraft players growing up never even knowing this game existed. And even if you managed to get it working, you’ll no longer be able to see what choices other players took. Which decisions you did that other people didn’t.

And think of the performances lost? Ivor’s a delight to listen to. Lucas has one of the kindest sweetest voices ever heard. And Petra’s emotional breakdown in season 2 still gets me every time. All that emotion and effort. All that pain and heartbreak… just gone. Forgotten.

People scoffed at Story Mode when it was announced, but I honestly think Story Mode did an amazing amount of world building for the community. It took the ideas being created by YouTube personalities and animations and codified them into a coherent universe with set rules and functions. Items are flat. Blocks grow when placed down. Crafting is akin to alchemy. Ages do not exist. And even disappearing in a puff of smoke leaving behind your inventory is just how you die in this world.

So much work was done to make such an amazing series of games, and nobody is going to remember them. And far fewer are going to actually play through all 2 seasons and experience the joys of season 2’s emotional storyline. It’s so sad.

I don’t have a point to this. I’m just depressed at how this game has been overlooked, shunned, ignored, and flat out tossed aside by the Minecraft community. I hate seeing hard work just cast aside so quickly like that.

The amount of polish and effort out into MCSM was way more than it likely deserved and I’m eternally grateful that this game exists. I just want others to play and love it too.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm petra #mcsm jesse #minecraft #jesstra #jetra #minecraft storymode

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hells-wasabii · 4 months

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A/N: here goes the second half of the request! I didn't really know where i wanted to go with this drabble in the beginning. I did also take the liberty of applying the same situation, a wife!reader. While the Zestial x wife!reader took place further in the marriage, I wanted to do the opposite here, early on in the marriage. anywho, I'm personally a little on fence with this one but i hope its a decent read nonetheless

Character: Carmilla

Type: Drabble (Carmilla x wife!reader, Fluff)

End-of-the-month reports had all been accounted for and now needed to be reviewed and approved. Damages and inventory would need to be checked as well.

Damn it all.

It was going to be another late night at the office for Carmilla.

She had closed her eyes for a moment, breathing a sigh when a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind. She had nearly forgotten you were there. You had been so quiet for the past hour, deeply invested in the book that you had brought with you to the office when you surprised the arms dealer with dinner.

In an instant, the overlord relaxed, leaning into the embrace.

"Carmilla, my love." She hummed in response as she continued reading line after line of the report in front of her. Pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek you playfully continued: "Your wife demands your attention."

"Is that so?" Carmilla couldn't fight the smile that took to her lips.

Wife.

The title still made the arms dealer's heart soar, even months after the fact.

Your wedding had been quite the affair. Friends and family were in attendance of course, but so were other overlords and even the princess of hell and her partner. Even the Vee's had stayed true to their RSVP. Carmilla still couldn't believe that the trio had managed to behave themselves, though she likely had her youngest daughter to thank for that.

It had been everything that she could have wanted. Though, truth be told so long as it was you that she was marrying, she couldn't have cared less. The two of you could have been married at home with only her daughters in attendance, that would have been enough for her.

As much as she enjoyed her work, she would much rather be home or out spending time with you and the girls.

"Maybe I could help you? You're always so busy darling." You offer, reading the current report in her hands over her shoulder. Oh, damages were up at the storehouse on the corner of Pain Avenue and Damnation Rd. That wasn't good.

The overlord thought for a moment to consider the proposition. It would make sense, her daughters already played an important part in the company, so why not her wife as well? Would that be something you'd be fine with? She knew for a fact you were more than capable of helping with paperwork, but what about something more? A more active role? It would mean more time out of the office. The time that she could spend with her family. Not to mention, the thought had crossed her mind before. But...

"Would you want that? To help me with the company?"

"Carmilla," You began softly, adoration swimming in your gaze. "So long as I'm with you, hell may as well be heaven. I would be honored."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin headcanons #hazbin imagine #carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla carmine #carmilla x reader

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mango-writes-savvy · 5 months

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Gentle Jake Seresin

Prompt from @dumplingsjinson and this post. Hope you enjoy <3

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!reader

While in California you had seen a lot of Top Gun candidates come through, but none stuck out as much as Jake Seresin. Jake was cocky, but at least he could back it up- most times

While he and his team were on a mission, you were stationed on the same aircraft carrier as a medic. You were always hopeful to not see the soldiers in your wing, but enjoyed spending time with Jake. He was rough around the edges but he was kind to you. He always lit up when he saw it was you who would be taking care of him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite medic! How you doin’ Chaos?” he smiled as he strutted into the med bay.

“Hi, Hangman, what can I do for you today?” you responded while filling out paperwork and checking the schedule to see if there was something ordered by the higher-ups.

“I can’t just say hi?”

“Well, normally you want something so, what do you need? I have a lot of work to get done before y’all leave tonight,” you responded after not finding anything in the computer.

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, Phoenix asked me to swing by and see if you had any more of that tape. She said it didn’t hurt to take off like the stuff they gave her on land.”

You nodded, “Yeah, definitely,” you started walking towards the cabinet it was in then paused, “Jake. This is the third time you’ve been in here today, are you sure there isn’t anything else I can grab or do for you?” You turned and looked at him carefully.

“Wanna go on a date? With me. When we get back to Miramar,” he leaned against the wall across from you casually, but you could tell he was nervous with how he was trying to keep his hands busy.

You smiled as your cheeks heated from the blood rush. You grabbed a few rolls of tape from the cabinet and walked back towards him. “When you get back tonight, I’ll let you know where to pick me up.”

He grinned as he walked towards the doorway, he spun around to face you and said,” See you when I get back, Chaos,” and gave you one of his signature winks.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him and shooed him off while you got ready for their mission tonight just in case anything went south- getting out extra bandages, pain relief and suture kits.

Jake and his team were flying out an hour before supper and were scheduled to be back by midnight.

It was getting close to midnight and you were starting to get bored waiting in the mess hall, so you decided to start on inventory in the med bay. While walking down the hall, your mind started to wander, wondering where Jake would take you on this date.

You felt a smack then a sharp pain in your head.

“Ow! What the fuck!” You brought your hand to your forehead and when you pulled it away there was blood. While you were daydreaming you missed the shorter doorway and ran head-first into it. “This is why you’re a medic,” you muttered to yourself as you ducked under the doorway and made it to the medic bay.

You managed to get the bleeding stopped and started putting butterfly bandages on the cut with the mirror hanging on the wall.

“Hey- what happened?” Jake rushed over to you and turned your head so he could get a better look at the cut.

“Hey, how did it go? And I’m fine, just bumped my head into a doorframe,” You waved him off and finished putting on the bandages and cleaning up the area.

“I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself, can I?” Jake followed after you, never being far from your side.

“I mean, I’m fine so it’s fine—“

“No it’s not okay! Not when I feel like I’m going to go batshit fucking crazy, thinking you’ve hurt yourself.”

“Jake, I promise, I’m okay,” You grabbed his hands to help him calm down by rubbing your thumbs across the back of his hands, “I love that you care about me, but one doorframe isn’t going to take me out.”

He sighed and kissed your forehead gently. "Fine, but I'm still gonna worry about you."

#hangman top gun #top gun maverick imagine #jake seresin x reader #hangman imagine #fluff #top gun maverick #top gun

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ayabeanworks · 8 months

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Title: I'm Home

Synopsis: Where SaShiSu finally meet you again after 7 lifetimes of not seeing you.

Character: SaShiSu x reader

Series: Let's Meet in the Spring (SaShiSu x reader)

Notes: Part 2 of Can I meet you again? AU where Geto does not defect, and you do instead. Some angst, fluff, mentions of death, suicide and murder. Happy ending.

My playlist when writing this: - Dancing With Your Ghost by Sasha Sloan - Akari by Soushi Sakiyama (Ending of JJK S2 Hidden Inventory)

When you dream, you sometimes see the same three people.

Two boys and one girl. The two boys were like the sun and moon, almost like the direct opposite of each other. One's got white hair and the bluest eyes of them all, the other's got dark hair and beautiful purple eyes rivalling amethysts. The girl had short brown hair and warm, caramel brown eyes, with a mole under her right eye.

They always seemed to appear in your dream, but every time you woke up, you could barely remember their facial features, as if something or someone was deliberately drawing over it with a thick sharpie to obstruct your view.

So when you wake up, you're left wondering why you keep dreaming of them, and your chest that clenches in longing whenever you wake up from a dream including them.

Sometimes, you would even wake up in tears, and sometimes, you would wake up with the biggest smile on your face. On one rare occasion, you felt a sharp pain in your neck that hurt so much you woke up in cold sweat. But, you could also feel a gentle hand caressing your cheek.

For your whole life, you didn't know why they kept appearing in your dreams. Even when you were young, you couldn't get the images of them out of your head, or their faceless features, nor the imagery that was shown to you. Horrible images they had been, ones where you would wake up tired and lethargic, like you'd battled and exhausted all your mental and physical energy.

You don't know who or what you're fighting.

When you tried to talk to your parents about it, they would shrug you off, thinking it was just a nightmare or something that kids dreamt of because of their overactive imaginations.

But you knew. You knew it was more than that. You just weren't able to explain it in words.

So you never talked about those dreams again. They were dreams that stayed with you and dreams that ended with you.

If you had a chance, sometimes you would ask others what their dreams were about or if they had the same type of dream. But none of them were even similar to your situation, and it made you confused why yours were so different to everyone else's.

It was only when you turned 18, you managed to remember the face of one of the three.

It was the one with dark hair and purple eyes. His features were sharper than you thought, and for him specifically, it was like a veil had risen from in front of your eyes, and you were able to remember bits and pieces of the dreams you continuously had.

You don't know his name. But the way he looked at you made your chest tight, and your cheek tingle. Specifically the area under the eye.

You could probably trace his features on a piece of paper if you tried hard enough - you could recall your fingertips tracing his face as he lay next to you, and the laugh that came from him when he found it ticklish.

Then, he would cup your cheek, his thumb gently swiping the area right under your eye, the area which would normally tingle after some dreams with him in it. And each and every time, his expression would be incredibly soft, his gaze incredibly affectionate as he looked at you.

For you to feel it so realistically, you sometimes wondered whether it was a memory from a past life, or if it was a premonition of sorts?

When you woke up, you were calm, relaxed and felt safe. It was strange after such a dream. When talking to others, you heard these types of dreams would make someone giddy and excited because it was so intimate.

Contrary to the general population, even though you were calm, and the dream you had was intimate and borderline romantic, all you just felt was that a part of you was missing.

You missed the stranger in your dreams; the stranger who sometimes held you tenderly, sometimes knocked the wind out of you with his hugs, and sometimes caressed your cheek as if you were the only thing in his eyes. After you could remember his face, the pull of longing became stronger little by little.

Your eyes started to look around, wherever you were, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy in your dreams, a silver of hope in you to reach some answers.

Why were you having these dreams?

Who was he? Who were the other two?

What significance did they have in your life?

You have yet to get any answers.

The second face you could finally properly see was the girl. She was young, maybe around your current age and had those beautiful brown eyes you could get lost in. She had the demeanor of someone who didn't have much of a care in the world, but she was fun, she was kind and she was most of all flirty. Towards you, anyway.

You could recall the embarassment you woke up to after she had teased you all day in the dream. Your face was red, but it made you happy. For that much teasing, you wondered whether you were an M. It made no sense you liked it so much?

Hell, everything in your dreams, and how it shaped you and your thoughts, confused you. It all made no sense, but it felt like you were trying to find something, find something precious you've lost. But what precious thing did you lose?

You didn't know.

When you felt like you were on the verge of figuring something out, you couldn't. You didn't have enough information.

So, you continued life like normal, hoping that you would at least get some answers living day to day and dreaming night after night.

It was around the 3 month mark after you could see the dark haired boy that you could see the girl. Now all your dreams had both of them in it, two of the three whom you could see the faces of. But, the last one's face was still blurred out, and you still couldn't see him.

All you knew was that he wore these dark round sunglasses, had white hair, and for some reason, you knew he had blue eyes.

But, you still weren't able to see his face.

While you dreamed of scattered bits of what seemed like a memory, you could tell the white haired one was a bit brash, but was secretly a sweetheart who hid behind a bravado of arrogance.

Every time you woke up from dreaming about the white haired one, you felt like laughing, only because whatever reaction he gave was funny. He was a very lively one, and compared to the others, he always had something interesting he was doing, no matter what time or in whatever situation.

But for years, the blurring on his face didn't disappear, and you weren't able to find out what he properly looked like.

One day, you stumbled across a crepe shop a few stations away from where you lived. The rush hour traffic was absolutely abysmal, and it was a mild day, causing it to be hot and disgusting inside the train.

So, you did what any sane person would do and get off the train a few stops earlier, preferring to walk home instead. You were in your early 20's and had moved to Tokyo for work after completing your degree, preferring to be a little closer without having to commute so long.

It was only by coincidence you discovered it, but when you ordered for the first time, it was like you had practiced this order your whole life.

A crepe decorated with strawberries, whipped cream and topped with a drizzle of chocolate.

While you waited for them to make your order, you could hear someone's voice in the back of your head, a deep voice with a playful tone that didn't belong to anybody you knew.

But even so, it was a voice you were incredibly familiar with, and your breath hitched from hearing it again.

Except, when you looked around, there wasn't anybody near you, and there wasn't anybody who 'fit' the voice from a further distance away.

Nobody who 'fit' the voice? You had questioned your own thoughts, wondering where that came from. It was almost like you were trying to find a specific person.

But who?

When you got the crepe, you left. It was a delicious crepe, so you wanted to go back and get one for yourself on days when you were stressed. Probably a Friday like today. You often went there after school on Fridays.

It was a moment after you finished the thought that you stopped suddenly in your steps.

I often went there after school on Fridays? You looked over your shoulder at the crepe shop in the distance, situated between other shops.

That's impossible.

You knew it was impossible. You didn't live in the city, you didn't go to this side of the city, nor did you see this crepe shop any other time in your life. It was your first time ordering from them too!

So what gives?

The next moment, you heard a familiar voice. It was definitely a figment of your imagination, but you swore you could hear that same voice from when you were waiting for your crepe. But when you faced the direction it came from, you couldn't find anything.

You heaved a light sigh and started walking home, just missing the tall white haired man who had come to order his own crepe.

That night, you finally saw the face of the white haired boy, 4 years after seeing the faces of the dark haired boy and brown haired girl.

He was an incredibly beautiful boy, contrary to his expressions and behaviours. No blemishes to speak of, soft white hair and a glimmering set of blue eyes.

Those blue eyes were so beautiful you couldn't help but admire them whenever you remembered them. It reminded you of a cloudless blue sky, maybe even prettier.

The dream in which you had seen that boy properly for the first time was at the crepe shop you went to before. It was one where he stood with you, both in uniform as he paid for the crepes, grinning as he ordered one with a multitude of toppings, whilst you ordered your regular strawberry crepe with whipped cream and a chocolate drizzle.

His round sunglasses were opaque, a detail you seemed to already know, and when he caught you staring at him while talking, he teased you and took off his glasses, coming up close to your face to allow you to stare at his eyes.

It seemed he knew what you wanted, but after you complimented him sincrerely on how pretty his eyes were, he put the sunglasses on you, completely obscuring your vision with darkness as he ruffled your hair and mumbled out a quiet and embarrassed 'shut up'.

The same voice you heard at the crepe shop - it belonged to him. You were sure of it.

You were even more sure that if you went to that same crepe shop on Fridays during after school hours, you might be able to see him, and by extension, the other two.

It was only the next week when you woke up in cold sweat, dreaming of yet another battle. But, this time your neck stung and you felt like you were suffocating.

There was only one other time you had this type of dream, and it was when you were young, the day you tried telling your parents about it.

You controlled your inhales and exhales, holding the side of your neck that stung, feeling a liquid sensation there. Alarmed, you brought your hand in front of you to look, but it was just your sweat.

It felt like something else. A darker, more viscous liquid.

Your hand trembled, flashes of your bloodied hand flashing for less than a second in your mind, similar to your dream.

You could recall blurry imagery, blood, screams and frantic voices. You could feel one of your hands being caressed between two larger hands. You knew it was the darker haired boy who was holding your hand. But you couldn't see him except for the top half of his face. You could only make out that he had a sad expression in his eyes, but masked it with calmness.

The one who you could see, was the owner of the beautiful blue eyes. He held an expression you've never seen on him before, one that was a mixture of pain, disbelief, panic and frustration all in one. His eyes were glossy, and it looked like he could cry at any moment. His jaw was clenched and his breathing was erratic.

That was when you heard another voice, one that you knew belonged to the darker haired boy.

"Let's get you home, [name]."

That was when you woke up. You could only feel your cold body, shivers making goosebumps form on your skin, regardless of how warm the spring weather was becoming.

Compared to when you were younger, the dream you just had was much stronger, much more pronounced, and you could really feel what was happening.

It was too much. The only emotion you could feel was regret, sadness, and a tad of relief. You couldn't help but tear up. You hugged yourself in a fetal position as you tried to hold back your tears. But the more you tried to, the more tears threatened to spill.

And so you cried.

After that day, you recorded everything. You had half a mind to do it when you started being more conscious of the world, but you didn't end up doing anything until now. You should've started earlier.

After a week of jotting down all the notes you could, you had finally written up a bunch of documents on your computer, detailing everything you saw in your dreams, the people you met, the experiences you got, and the three people who it seemed to revolve around.

You even decided to take up art classes to draw the vivid imagery in your dreams after failing to draw a proper pair of round opaque sunglasses. It was easier to scribble down whatever you could, including drawings, when you remembered it.

And the drawings you found yourself drawing a lot of, were actually the crepes found at the crepe store you frequented on the weekly.

You ordered something different each time, hoping it would jog your memory or even trigger some. After all, it seemed you went to the crepe store with the white haired boy every week, and every week both of you got a different combination of flavours.

It wasn't every single time, but some would trigger memories to flow into your head. That was when you would quickly sketch down a crepe with a large number of toppings, one that you know you wouldn't get. It was definitely the white haired boy's.

This continued on for the next few years, and the number of sketchbooks and documents you've put together were numerous. There was so much material and you had more to add, making you wonder when you would stop getting these dreams.

On a day where you didn't get any dreams, you decided you wanted to go to the crepe store. It wasn't a Friday, but rather a Saturday, just a day after your previous visit.

You hadn't gone on a weekend before.

As you make your way there, you found the chatter of the streets to be louder than the Friday, full of smiles and laughter of families and friends.

This brought a smile to your lips as you stopped in front of the crepe store, wondering what you wanted this time. Yesterday you had a maple syrup crepe, so today you'll get a savoury one.

You put in an order for a cream cheese salmon crepe, a new addition added only the week prior, and stood to the waiting area, patiently waiting for them to finish your brunch.

"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you ordering a savoury crepe. What happened to just the sweet kind?"

You froze.

That voice.

Your eyes widened and you immediately looked up from your open sketchbook, staring at a taller man with white hair, tinted round sunglasses and the biggest grin on his face.

It was the boy, now a man, from your dreams.

Your eyes glossed over with a sudden wish to cry. Your chest tightened, making it harder to breathe while your head started hurting, a bunch of information flowing into your mind like they were your own. The amount of information crammed into your head was overwhelming, almost worse than the worst headache you've ever had.

But, it gave you answers. It gave you everything you ever wanted to know.

Now, everything made sense.

Your lips parted, about to say something, but then it closed and opened again like a goldfish, unsuccessful in delivering anything via words. Instead, your tears fell and you sobbed like a madman, wailing in the middle of the street while waiting for your crepe.

Satoru only laughed at you, taking the sketchbook out of your hands as he pulled you into his chest, giving you tight hug, enveloping you in his embrace.

Oh, how you missed his hugs.

"'toru, 'toru, 'toru!" You chanted his nickname like a prayer, your voice muffled in his chest as you sobbed, arms trying to pull him impossibly closer than he already was. You couldn't stop the tears from falling; a sense of relief, happiness and comfort washing over you as you hugged him.

Satoru only responded by hugging you tighter, pressing his cheek to the top of your head as he nuzzled into you, taking in the scent he's missed so much. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, then nuzzled his cheek back in the same place.

You were here. You were here in his arms. He wasn't dreaming.

"I'm here, [name]." One of his hands behind your neck started stroking the back of your head, comforting you as you let another sob at his reassurance that you were definitely not dreaming and he was there in the flesh.

Against his chest, you could feel his racing heartbeat as he hugged you, almost like he'd run a marathon, making your sobs turn into broken laughs at how that one trait never changed.

You pulled away from him but kept in his embrace, sniffing as you stared up at him. You reached up to take off his sunglasses, seeing those beautiful blue eyes you've missed. You stared into them for a moment, with them staring right back at you, almost like they could see through your soul.

"Like what you see?" A familiar, shit-eating grin made you laugh and lightly hit his arm, mirth settling in his eyes as he saw your smile.

It was genuine.

"You've grown up, 'toru." Your words were soft as you cupped both of his cheeks, checking his face from all angles. "The last time I saw you, we were both 18." You pinched his cheeks before your hands dropped to your sides, "You've matured. You've become really handsome."

Satoru usually would've cracked a joke, but with the shock of finally seeing you again and the sincerity in your words after not meeting you for over 600 years, he nodded, a closed smile as he felt his eyes become glossy. He shied away from your gaze, opting to look at your shoulder as he tried to blink away his tears.

The last time he saw you was when you died in his arms. He didn't count Kenjaku who had taken over your body as you. So when he finally saw you waiting at the crepe store he'd come to on a weekly basis, he couldn't help but feel so, so happy you were there. He almost thought it wasn't real because they weren't able to find you for over 7 lifetimes, and it was his mind playing tricks on him.

Though, as luck would have it, a couple of years ago, he just barely saw you, and knew they could find you this time around.

And that, they did.

"'toru, can you lean down for me?" You request, taking a small step back so he had room to. You felt his arms lock so you stayed in his embrace, almost like he was afraid you'd escape from his grasp and leave.

He met your eyes again, this time confusion evident in them as he did as requested. You felt your hands go to the sides of his head, bringing him down a slight bit more, before planting a kiss on his hairline.

"I promised!"

When you let go, he stood back up, bringing you in for another embrace as he hid his face from you, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His face was burning with a pink blush, his ears red as he tried to calm down his hammering heart. He knew you could hear it, but he didn't want you to see his embarrassed face too.

"Satoru, have you gotten your crepe yet?"

Suguru, who had come with Shoko, raised a brow as he saw Satoru hugging someone. The other person held his glasses in one hand, lightly patting his back as a means of comfort. They were still waiting for their crepes, it seemed.

"Wait..." Shoko paused for a moment, a hand coming to Suguru's arm. "That's..." She was glad she wasn't smoking at this very moment, because immediately after seeing the familiar hands, Suguru had excused himself and gave Shoko all the things he was holding, forsaking his gentleman behaviour to see the friend he couldn't save.

Shoko could only sigh as she watched her best friends. She was waiting her turn and wouldn't be able to go against those two giants, so all she did was stand off to the side and watch as they had a little reunion before she had hers.

"[name]!" Suguru's call of your name was breathless as he grabbed Satoru's shoulder, making you lift your head to see him.

When you saw Suguru again, you let go of Satoru and your arms reached to go around Suguru's neck as you cried his name, jumping into his arms as you once again cried at the appearance of your best friend, the one who tried to save you but you pushed away.

Satoru couldn't even properly get mad because he already had his cute little reunion, so he gave Suguru a little grin before going over to Shoko and taking the bags from her to bring closer to where everyone else was.

"Sugu!" You sobbed his name as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. He supported you by holding you up in a tight hug, closer to his strong ones, as you breathed in his familiar scent.

He couldn't stop himself from also shedding a couple of tears, giving you a light kiss on your cheek in the process, his eyes closed as he rearranged his arms so one arm was around your waist, and the other was on the back of your head.

"I missed you." He mumured into your ear. His voice was so small, about to crack, as he let you down onto the ground and leaned down to bury his face into your neck. He just bathed in your presence, bathed in you.

He missed this. He missed you. He missed you so, so much. He didn't know if he would be able to live without you. Those 600 years and more he had to wait for you to finally come back to him were so, so long. But he never gave up. They never gave up.

That was how precious you were to them.

"Sugu, I want to see you." You gently pet the back of his head, smoothing out the hair he'd let loose for the day. It was as silky as you remembered it, maybe even more?

You wondered if he followed your advice on using shampoo and conditioner instead of just soap.

Suguru didn't move for a second, but sniffed and lifted himself up, facing you with red eyes and cheeks. He didn't care if others saw him. He didn't care anymore, especially when it came to you.

You smiled up at him, happiness in your eyes as you looked at him as if he was the most precious thing you've ever set your eyes on (you look at Satoru & Shoko the same way, he noted). You cupped his cheeks, doing exactly what you did to Satoru to Suguru too, examining his facial features.

You run a hand through his hair, pulling it gently back for him. "You've grown up, Sugu. You look very handsome. Very dashing." You giggled when you see his cheeks flare at the compliments, and he resists the urge to hide in the crook of your neck again and take in your calming scent.

"You have too." Suguru eyes you, nodding to himself at your now matured look. He grabs one of your hands, holding it with both his own as he gently rubs circles into the back of your hand.

To him, Satoru & Shoko, you were still pretty much the same as when you were 18, when you left them in their first life. You didn't change much. All your mannerisms were the same, maybe a little bit different from how you grew up, but he thought of it as another variation of you.

You only beam at him, giving him a little twirl of yourself, making the three of them laugh.

You were still so cute.

"Shoko!" You let go of Suguru's hand after giving it a light squeeze, heading over to where the doctor was.

Her arms were already outstretched for you, and you dove right into her arms, hugging her as tight as possible, feeling a laugh resonating in her chest as you hugged her tight. Her arms went around your neck, chin on top of your head as you tried not to cry again at seeing her.

She stroked the back of your head gently, kissing your forehead and cheeks, then pressing her forehead against yours after a slight change in positioning. "You seem well, [name]. Did you miss me? We kept our promise to see you again."

"Of course I missed you!" You ended up bawling into her shirt as you realised she was the one who hadn't seen you the longest out of the three. The last time you properly saw her was just after you had murdered the elder, and then you died a year or so later in Satoru & Suguru's arms.

Shoko, already understanding what you wanted to say, only smiled as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against yours.

After a moment, you apologised for making her clothes wet with your tears, but she shrugged it off, citing 'battle scars' with a wide grin. Some things she said, was still a mystery to you.

You sniffed as you took a step back to fully look at Shoko. She looks much cooler than she did back then, grown her hair longer, and was more mature in appearance than before, which leaned more on the cute side.

"You're so beautiful." You complimented, "Truly!" You could probably stare at her for days. Why did she have the best glow up?

Shoko gave you a wink, smirking at you when you blushed.

"Savoury crepes aren't actually that bad." Satoru suddenly commented, having taken a few bites from your freshly made one.

"Hey! Isn't that my crepe?!" You looked at the crepe store owner, but when he met your eyes he just gave you a thumbs up and a nod, signalling all was good. He had witnessed your touching reunion with them, and given your brunch to Satoru.

"Satoru, let me have some." Suguru took the crepe from him, taking a couple of bites himself as you watched your crepe disappear into the stomachs of the two men. He licked his lips to get some of the cream cheese off, nodding in approval, "This is quite good. I'll order another one for us." He taps your nose with a smile as he went to order more, taking the last bits of your crepe with him.

While he did, you returned your gaze at Satoru, who was busy eating the incredibly sweet one he ordered.

He met your eyes and raised both brows, almost as if he was asking why you were staring.

"How often did you come here?" You omitted the part you wanted to ask the most, about how long they've been waiting.

Satoru didn't even blink as he answered straight away, "Every week at first, then every day. For over 600 years. 7 lifetimes. 7 timelines."

You stared at him in shock, frozen at his answer. Your lips trembled as you realised just how long they've been searching for you. For the 3 or so years you've been together as best friends, it made such a huge impact that it spanned centuries.

You could feel how devoted they were to you, how much they loved you, how they couldn't forget about you. It made you so happy they were so loyal in finding you, but it also felt like you'd chained them down so strongly that it was unfair.

"What if you couldn't find me after 1000, 2000 years?" Your voice was small as it shook.

"We'd fnd you. No matter what." His words were solid, unmoving, and sturdy. There was no hesitation, none at all. He wholeheartedly believed this. "Well, at least I wasn't going to give up. The world could freeze or burn for all I care, but if I couldn't find you then I'd continue or die trying. Rinse and repeat."

"Me too." Suguru came back with the 3 savoury crepes, handing one to everyone except Satoru.

"Me three." Shoko gave the dark haired man a nod as a thank you for the crepe.

You stared at the three of them, remembering how suffocated you felt back in your original life because of all the curses, all the problems that arose with the elders and whatnot. It pushed you to breaking point and even if they were there to try and bring you out, you had fallen in so deep you weren't able to get out. You felt alone and didn't have anymore strength to get out.

But, this time was different. This world didn't have curses. You didn't have the problems you had back then. Your best friends were still here, and they had come to find you, no matter what world nor how long it took. They were there for you.

Would you be able to rely on them this time?

"Thank you." You stared at the crepe as you spoke, not brave enough to see their expressions. "Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for not forgetting me. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for everything."

"The crepe didn't do anything for you, [name]." Suguru laughed when you looked up at him in humiliation, not wanting to repeat your heartfelt words to their faces.

Shoko let out a laugh at his comment, making your face flare red.

Satoru had an amused glint in his eyes as he grinned, "Don't be embarassed, we've gone through 7 lifetimes for you. Seven. If that ain't embarrassing to find someone you've known for 3 years, I don't know what is." He watched as you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish yet again, fueling his amusement.

"Well, it doesn't have to be said now. You can say it whenever you want." Shoko took a bite of the crepe, nose crinkling at the difference in the sweet crepe and the savoury toppings.

"Boo." Suguru & Satoru pouted, wanting to tease you more.

"Anyway, let's go home." Shoko eyed the groceries, "The groceries aren't going to unpack themselves."

The men gave a hum in agreement.

"Already?" You looked at them, sadness appearing on your face since you wanted to talk to them more.

They stared at you as if you had grown another head, with Satoru raising a perfect white brow at the cute pout on your lips.

"What do you mean, 'already?' You're coming with us." He spoke matter of factly. "We'll get the movers to bring your stuff to ours as soon as possible."

"Yeah, what gave you the idea you could run away so quickly?" Suguru had a glint in his eyes as he spoke. He pinched your cheek, "You think we're gonna let you go now that we've found you?"

"You're stuck with us now, [name]." Shoko laughed brightly, reminding you of her in your original life. It had been so, so long since you've last heard her laugh so brightly, it struck a chord in your heart.

"C'mon," She held out her hand, prompting you to take it as she pulled you along. "I want to hear what's been happening with you. We've got lots to catch up on."

Suguru shifted in his step so he was next to you, an arm slung around your shoulders as he pushed you forward to walk with them. "And don't you dare leave anything out." He raised both brows at you, referencing the times you kept things from them.

You gave him a meek nod, promising yourself you wouldn't.

Satoru twirled the key to his car and house around his fingertips, "Y'know, you forgot to say one thing."

"One thing?"

The glasses slid down his nose as his gaze matched yours. "Remember your last words before you died in my arms?"

It took you a moment to recall your words, an 'o' shape forming on your lips.

You felt a squeeze on your shoulder and hand from Suguru and Shoko, who you knew were watching you recall some distant memories, but fresh ones in their minds. Especially for Suguru and Satoru, they were were the ones who heard it loud and clear, being the ones to experience your last moments.

Your heart blossomed with warmth at their invitation to come back with them. You didn't think reincarnation was real - it was just a wish because you wanted to see them again. So your last words reflected the wish you held so dearly in your heart. You let out the most dazzling smile you've ever made in your life, radiating so much joy for a wish come true, "I'm home!"

The grins on Satoru, Suguru and Shoko's faces could put the brightest gems to shame.

"Welcome home!"

You've arrived home, and you were there to stay.

A/N: A little note about the ending and what [reader] and SaShiSu says: it's referencing your last words back when you died in your first life/original life.

The last part [reader] says, "I'm home / ただいま", is what the Japanese say when they come back home after a day out, and is said to family members, friends and anyone they're coming home to.

On the other hand, SaShiSu say "Welcome home / おかえり - okaeri", an expression used to reply to "I'm home", or one to ellicit that answer. What's important is the person who says this is the 'home' the person saying 'I'm home" is coming home to.

For anyone who watches or reads and watches manga/anime/Japanese dramas, you're probably aware that when someone says "I'm home", it usually means that they've at least said "I'll be going now / いってきます - ittekimasu" before they leave and come home later. But this phrase isn't just "I'll be going now" - it actually holds the nuance and vibe that the person saying it (the one who's going somewhere) will come back. So it's got a closer meaning to "See you later" if we look at it in English translation.

And in this story, it can be assumed [reader] says "I'll be going now / いってきます - ittekimasu" as their last words in their first life, with a wish in their heart to see SaShiSu again. Which is why in their letters to SaShiSu, [reader] talked about reincarnation and wanting to see them in a world without curses.

In this context, the way [reader] says it is really cruel, because they didn't come back and left on their own, effectively leaving an 18 year old Suguru & Satoru to hear [reader]'s last words, and Shoko to hear it from them. And because of the nuances behind the meaning of those seemingly simple words, it devastated them when they read the letters. They couldn't just let it go.

That's also why Suguru's last words [reader] can recall from their first life is "Let's get you home, [name]", because he's responding to it in the only way he can cope and not curse them, but also wishing for [reader] to come back to them. And if [reader] died, they would then have their corpse, and will bring it back to get cremated in the 'home' [reader] belonged to before defecting.

Since they couldn't get over it, they did whatever they could to find [reader] in the 7 lifetimes and timelines they've been reincarnated to. So when they've finally found [reader], the words SaShiSu wanted to hear the most were "I'm home" from their best friend who hadn't yet come back to them.

A/N p2: God explaining the nuances makes me cry more than the actual story itself 😭

Anyway if you haven't read part 1, here you go!

As for the others, here's the masterlist for the series if you want to read up on other things happening in this universe😄

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saphushia · 3 days

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I would loveeeee to hear your weird creeper hcs 🙏🙏🙏

YES YAY THANK YOU 🌟

okay so i guess first off. i hc silverfish to be larval creepers. that, in addition with a creeper's diet (and silverfish's, of course) consisting of ore, is why creepers explode players. see, when creepers explode, their eggs are embedded in the surrounding terrain. as players often carry ores on them, a creeper managing to explode a player and drop their inventory means the silverfish that hatch are almost guaranteed a very generous meal upon first hatching. after that, silverfish burrow underground to continue eating, and to stay safe until they're ready to metamorphise into creepers

(bonus doc lore at the end of the post 🐐)

creepers emerge from the ground at night because that's when it's generally safest for them to finish the final stages of development and gather their bearings. creepers themselves cannot dig or burrow, so they stay on the surface (or in a cave, if that's where they emerged) for the remainder of their life.

the combustion is the result of a chemical reaction- they store reactive materials in chambers in their body, and when they're released and come into contact with each other it causes an explosion as a side note, creepers can eat meat, but are more scavengers than hunters, and only eat it when it's readily available with little to no risk.

moving onto doc (because i'll never pass up a chance for blorbo talk), his anatomy is somewhat different from a standard creeper due to all the modifications to give him a more 'human' bodyplan and appearance.

his forelegs were originally removed and reattached to act as arms, however his spine and leg joints weren't built for a bipedal upright stance, so it gives him back, knee, and ankle pain to walk like that too much. his retractable robotic forelegs were a later addition he made for himself as a mobility aid to help relieve that pain. because of that he has a slightly more 'taur' like body structure, vs standard creepers whose necks are centered between all 4 legs. originally both his arms had 3 digits each (as they were made by modifying his legs), but when he made his right arm prosthetic he gave it a 5-fingered, more human-like shape for easier manipulation of stuff designed for human use

his combustion chambers were also removed long ago, so he can no longer explode himself (which he doesn't really mind. not big on the whole 'one panic away from exploding himself to death' thing)

he can digest a larger range of food than standard creepers can, but he still needs to eat ores to keep a nutritionally balanced diet. mostly he eats non-mineral foods just because he likes the taste, rather than actual nutritional value. it's recommended not to eat anything he makes for himself, because even if it looks like smth a human can eat, it's probably seasoned with redstone or iron shavings (he is good at making human-safe food, but he has no reason to make his own meals human safe. only eat doc's cooking if you know it's meant to be shared)

his scales are also softer, fading into something more similar to rough skin on a lot of his body. his 'hair' is thicker than a human's but thinner than a creeper's scales- it has almost a quill like texture. he can still 'hiss' by rattling them, but it's a somewhat different pitch than your standard creeper.

he also has a lot of mods on his neck to allow him to speak, and his robotic eye sees far better than a creeper's (slightly above human average, vs creeper eyes which are far below a human average). also a lot of questional brain/head mods to give him a more human appearing face and human-level cognition. his horns however are purely aesthetic.

#this kinda turned into doc hcs but. whatever. little bonus for yall <3 #talking #hermitcrap #docm77 #answers #countthelions

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devilfic · 3 months

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Reading right place, right time and found myself kicking my feet and twirling my hair at the thought of Bruce writing about the surgeon in his diary after their first encounter . 🥺😂 (Sorry, I’m being silly) 😭 but I really do wonder what he wrote. Would he have added any personal thoughts of his own or keep it about his routine? 🤔 sorry for this weird message. I love your writing 💕

this is not weird at ALL. I've been itching to talk about this! unlike in where two are joined, I'm trying not to tell any of it from bruce's perspective so that the reader can be immersed in their own pov. therefore,,, this gives me an excuse :)

when bruce gets home, he is not thinking about his diary.

in an uncharacteristic turn of events, he puts his body first and passes out on the couch in the terminus. he gets about an hour or two of sleep, something he deprived himself of in your apartment out of fear of letting down his guard.

he sort of jolts awake after that second hour, thinking that he had fallen asleep in your home. his chest heaves as he gathers his surroundings, registers the pain in his side, unaware of the hour. it takes him a few minutes to collect himself and then he's pulling off his suit piece by piece, assessing the damage at his desk. to his surprise, your stitches have held together pretty well. he pops a few main meds and pulls out his journal.

Wednesday, November 16th.

I made a miscalculation with the smugglers. The weapons they're moving are military grade, and from the communications I was able to intercept, they've got several buyers I can't afford to let get their hands on these guns.

I managed to put a dent in their inventory tonight, but for every shipment I hit, there are two more I miss. I can't be everywhere at once, which means I can't afford to lose momentum. I can't let up.

I sustained injuries from tonight including one gunshot wound. I was able to remove the bullet once I found somewhere safe to retreat, but the wound was worse than I anticipated and I struggled to keep the bleeding at bay. I made another mistake and intended on finding a place to rest—a nearby apartment I assumed to be empty—where I could at least stop the bleeding and send Alfred my location. But someone was there. Before I could escape, I passed out from the blood loss.

I must've been out for a few minutes. This stranger could have unmasked me, and I'm still not entirely sure they hadn't. Regardless, they were a doctor. They managed to stitch me up, and after some convincing, I rested in their apartment for the next three hours. I had no intention to, but I'm certain I wouldn't be writing this now if I hadn't done so. If it wasn't for them, I would be

I was desperate. I realize that now. I put myself and potentially someone else in danger. Someone who chose to help me. Their intentions seemed innocent, but I need to know for sure. I can't make any more mistakes. I won't.

after that, I think bruce just throws himself into researching you. he starts with gotham general, looks for all the surgeons, eventually finds your name, and he falls down this hole of finding out whatever he can about you: your age, where you went to school, your relatives and past jobs. he wants to know that this freak twist of fate was just that: a twist, an abnormality.

alfred finds him like that, ready to retrieve him for the tour (which bruce definitely forgot about). he's about to make a comment like "you're up early" and then he sees gauze taped to bruce's side and god, if alfred doesn't have steam blowing out of his ears by the time he's done yelling at him.

and later, when he's standing in front of you as bruce wayne, he's caught off guard again because what are the odds that you could save his life as some freak twist of fate once, only to have him run into you again not hours later?

and you're... whip-smart. kind. he hears you talk about the work you do and he can see how much you care about the people of this city. it's not in his nature to trust easily but when he gets home later that day he is poring into everything he can about you, searching for the chink in your armor. there must be something. maybe he's missed it or you're good at hiding but all of this feels too good to be true.

it takes him a few days after he finds your file for him to think it over. the stitches have held up. he's replacing his gauze in the bathroom and asks alfred if he thinks it's the right call.

"are you certain there's no one else?"

"a vigilante doctor?" bruce laughs, stretching his spine. "how would I take applications for that, exactly?"

"they're a civilian."

"they saved my life."

alfred holds his tongue, nearly chokes on it, "you must be prepared for this not to work out. or worse. you may never pick up that cowl again."

bruce stares at his hands, scarred from his long nights. he doesn't remember much after passing out, only the split second of finality and the regret that followed... until you brought him back, "I've already made peace with that."

#if you see me using a weekday that conflicts with something I said in the first chapter no you don't :)#dates and times in my fics are based on vibes only #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne headcanons #batman x reader #batman headcanons #battinson #the batman #dc #mjwrites

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 8 months

Text

That's What Family is For (Part 2)

Fandom: DC, Batman, Batfam, Damian Wayne, Batsis!reader, f!reader Summary: After being kidnapped and offering to take Damian's place to be tortured, you miraculously find yourself waking up back home. Damian has a new outlook on your relationship, but will a secret from your past ruin everything? Word Count: 5231 TW: Hospital, Aftermath of Torture, Mentions of Past Torture, Mentions of Death, Forced to Watch, Crying, Coma, Past Trauma Note: Today is the 2 year anniversary of posting Part 1 of this fic. Thank you so incredibly much for your patience and support as I worked on this and I hope it lives up to Part 1 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober

Part 1

You have no idea how long you were asleep for, but when you finally managed to drag yourself into consciousness, you couldn’t remember why every inch of your body was in a strange state of concurrent numbness and agony, or why you couldn’t seem to see out of your left eye. It was only when you caught sight of the two casts stretching from the soles of your feet up to the top of your thighs that it all came flooding back to you.

You and Damian had been kidnapped in an attempt to get a ransom from Bruce. To prove they meant business, the kidnappers were going to torture Damian but you had offered to take his place. What happened next was just a blur of blood and pain: The glint of a large knife. The blunt impact of a bat. But mercifully, you couldn’t remember much else. Just that it had been bad. Really bad.

You tried to take a mental inventory of what hurt and what sort of injuries you had sustained, but there was too much damage. All the individual pain bled into each other until it just felt like one massive wound. Every breath you took made your chest, ribs, and throat ache, your head was pounding, and you couldn’t move either leg or your left arm. All you could manage was a slight turn of your head as you looked towards the door but even that small motion sent new waves of pain through you, causing a low moan to slip from your lips.

Almost instantly, Jason came rushing into the room, panic etched onto his face. Yet the second he saw you looking at him, his face split into a massive grin. The kind you couldn’t remember seeing on him since he returned from the dead. And despite everything, that sight warmed your heart.

Licking your cracked lips, you tried to speak but nothing happened. Swallowing a few times, you finally managed a barely audible, “Hey, Jaybird.”

The words sounded funny, thick and slightly lispy but Jay’s smile only widened. He hurried to your bedside and dropped into the chair that had been left there. “Damn, sis. You look terrible.”

You knew he was trying to keep the mood light, but you could hear the tears hiding just behind his words. Giving your best attempt at a smile, you croaked, “Even like this, I bet I still look better than you.”

“Yeah, probably,” he chuckled. “That voice though…. They said it would probably be hard to speak for a few days because of the tube and–” He cut himself off, but you knew what he was going to say. Because all your screams of pain had damaged it.

Swallowing again, you tried to make your voice sound as normal as possible. “Yeah, well, you better be careful. You keep smoking all those cigarettes, this is what you’ll sound like in a few years.”

“Even now you gotta hassle me about those?”

“If you would just quit, I wouldn’t have to get on you about the–”

Your words were cut off as your body fell prey to a fit of coughing. It tore at your throat like daggers and your chest felt like it was shattering into pieces. It only lasted for a few seconds but when it passed, you were left panting and moaning in pain.

When you finally managed to pull yourself together once more and looked back at Jason, his smile had completely vanished, replaced with a thin-lipped grimace. His eyes drifted over your broken body before returning to your face. “So… Honestly. How do you feel?”

“How do you think?” you wheezed. “Like someone ran over me with.. with a… wit– oh forget it. I’m in too much pain to think of something clever. I feel shitty.”

“What hurts?”

“The easier question is ‘what doesn’t hurt?’. And why can’t I open my left eye?”

“Alfred taped it closed for now. It looked pretty messed up.”

You nod slightly. “Permanent?”

“Not sure,” he muttered, staring down at the floor. “They had to wait until you woke up to fully assess the damage.”

You nodded again, the dread growing in the pit of your stomach. But you have to know the answer to your next question, no matter how terrifying the answer might be. In a small voice, you ask, “How bad overall?”

Jason hesitated. “Maybe you should wait for Bruce or Alfred to–”

“How bad, Jay?”

Still avoiding your eye, he shifted in his chair before answering. “Bad. The worst of the damage is on your left side. Your arm was dislocated, your cheekbone was destroyed, you’re missing several teeth, and your eye is… well, I already mentioned that. Also, most of your ribs were pretty much shattered and the ones that weren’t are cracked. The pieces punctured your lungs in multiple places. Your legs…The knives thankfully missed all the major arteries, but Alfred said there still might be some nerve damage.”

“Is that all?” You had meant for the question to be sarcastic, but the quiver in your voice made it sound more like a desperate plea.

Jason took a long, deep breath. “It also took eight surgeries, four blood transfusions, and three resuscitations to get you stable.”

“Yeah, that feels about right.” You clenched your jaw tightly as you struggled to hold back your tears, but that just sent a fresh jolt of pain through your mouth. Using your tongue, you gently prod the three new gaps where teeth used to be. No wonder your words sounded funny.

In a soft whisper, you asked, “I’m done, aren’t I? There’s no coming back from this, not really. Even if I can get back to a halfway normal state, I’m never going to be able to put the costume back on. No going on patrol, no more protecting the city, no more being a hero.”

A small sob bubbled in your throat. When Bruce had taken you in all those years ago, you were a mess. Every night, you woke up screaming from nightmares—memories—of watching your parents tortured to death in front of you while you were helpless to do anything. You had felt so powerless. But then Bruce told you about his secret life. That he was the man in the mask who had rescued you from that horrible place. And he taught you how to be strong, how to be for others what he had been for you. He had given your life a purpose but now….it had been taken from you just like your parents had been.

As the tears began to slip down your face, Jason carefully took your hand, rubbing the back with his thumb as he leaned in to stare you directly in your good eye. “Hey, don’t think that way. Bruce was able to come back from a broken back, I came back from the dead, and you… you can come back from this. It’s not gonna be easy and it’ll take a lot of hard work, but if anyone can do it, you can.”

The tears began to flow faster as you finally let the sob you had been holding back free. Squeezing Jason’s hand as tightly as you were able, you cried, “Thank you, Jay. Thank you for everything. I can’t even imagine making it through what comes next without my brothers by my side.”

Jason snatched his hand back from your grasp and pushed back in his chair, his expression growing dark as he spat, “Don’t. Don’t thank me. While you were sacrificing everything for Damian, while you were lying there dying, I was here. Too weak to help you when you needed me most.”

“Jay–”

“I wanted to be there, I did, I just…” His sharp tone crumbled into a near sob as he buried his face in his hands. “I was fine until he picked up the bat. Then it all came rushing back. All I could see was the Joker standing over me with that crowbar and…and I….” His hands muffled his cries, but you could still see the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

You had forgotten that they had sent a live feed of your torture to all of Wayne Industries which was probably how Bruce had located you and Damian. Jason never talked about what had happened to him all those years ago in that warehouse, but you had been waiting in the Batcave when Bruce had brought Jason’s body home. You still remembered the bruises and blunt force trauma that couldn’t have been made from the explosion. And you also recalled how the sight of your brother’s broken form sent you into a hysterical fit, not only over the loss of the boy you loved like family but also because it brought back all of the scars from your parents’ deaths. You had felt incredibly guilty later once Bruce and Alfred calmed you down that you had made Jason’s death all about you and your past traumas. But Bruce reminded you that your pain and grief was valid, whenever it hit you, and despite the circumstances, you needed to take care of yourself first or you weren’t going to be able to help anyone else.

Just like Jason needed to take care of whatever horrors he had relived before coming to help you.

It took a lot of determination and concentration, but you slowly moved your hand towards Jason. Luckily, he was sitting on your right side since that was the only arm you could move at the moment, but it still took an achingly long time to close the short distance between you.

As you lay your hand on his shoulder, his head jerked up. When he saw what you had done, his eyes—the blue magnified by the tears about to fall—grew wide. Smiling, you brushed your fingertips lightly across his cheek and said, “Jay, I understand why you didn’t come. There was nothing you could have done and you needed a chance to deal with your own pain. And I’m sorry that I was the reason you had to relive that experience.”

Jason shook his head furiously and clutched at your hand. “No! This was not your fault! All you did was protect Damian. The only person to blame is that psychopath Moore.” His face darkened. “Bruce better be glad they threw that son of a bitch in Blackgate because if he had gotten away, nothing and no one would have stopped me from hunting him down and putting a bullet between his eyes.”

“See? You are such a loving, protective brother who would do anything for me.” His expression softened slightly. “Besides, you even just admitted. Moore is the only one to blame here. Not me, and not you. So, please, don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m still here and I need you now more than ever.” You squeezed his hand as tightly as you were able and after a moment, he returned both the squeeze and the smile. You nodded softly then changed the subject. “How is Damian handling all of this?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Jason nodded towards the other side of the room.

It took you a moment and quite a bit of pain to turn your head enough so your right eye could see where he was gesturing, but when you managed it, your smile grew wider.

Curled into a tight ball, Damian was fast asleep on the couch on the far side of the room. He looked so small and it reminded you that despite his upbringing, he was still just a kid, which made you feel better about your condition. If one of you had to be lying in this bed, you would have offered yourself up every time.

Jason chuckled softly to himself as he saw your face. “He’s barely left the room since they brought the two of you home. Bruce tried getting him to go back to school the last two days, but he flat-out refused. Said he wasn’t going anywhere until you woke up.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like Damian.”

“Well, I think his actual words were ‘Tt. Father, I cannot be bothered with those trivial lessons while my sister’s fate is still uncertain. I am needed here. Yes, I have a geography test next week, but I have traveled to more countries than my so-called teacher could even possibly name. This is more important.’”

Despite the mocking—though fairly accurate—impression Jason had made, your eyes welled up with tears once more. Damian had called you ‘sister’. It was the first time you could ever remember him doing so. No. That wasn’t true. He had said it when Bruce and Dick had shown up to save them. In fact, the echoing word was the last thing you remembered before the world had gone dark.

Swallowing hard to clear your throat, you asked, “Um, do you think…Would he be upset if I asked you to wake him up?”

“Yo! Demon Spawn! Wake up!” Before you could stop him, Jason hurled a pillow across the room so it slammed into Damian’s sleeping form.

The kid instantly leaped to his feet in a crouched position, ready to take on any and all attackers. But he straightened up when he saw Jason’s smug grin and your weak smile staring back at him instead. Rushing to your side, he said, “Sister! You are awake!”

You tilted your head slightly to look at him better. “So are you. Sorry for the rude wake-up. That was all Jay.”

“Hey!” Jason huffed indignantly. “You asked me to wake him up and I did! You just never said how.”

Damian glared at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yes, Todd has been exceedingly insufferable this last week while you have been injured—”

“W-week? I’ve been out of it for a week?” You felt your blood run cold. You knew things were bad, but for some reason the thought of you laying in this bed unconscious for the past 7 days made your condition seem so much worse.

Jason and Damian exchanged a worried look. Then Jason cleared his throat and said, “Yeah…. It's been eight days since you and Damian were kidnapped. They had to keep you in a medically induced coma for the first five days while they operated. Then when they brought you out, they had to dope you up with so many pain meds that you were out of it even when you were awake. They tried to lower your dose but they had to up them again when they removed the breathing tube and you wouldn’t stop moaning…So, yeah. It’s been a week.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow as tears began to sting your eyes. Obviously, it would have taken you time to recover from that level of injury, but a week? No, actually, eight days. And that was just the start of your recovery. The amount of time, therapy, and hard work it would take you just to be able to stand again, let alone walk or fight, was dizzying to think about. Despite the fact Jason had reassured you differently, you didn’t see how you weren’t done after this. How were you supposed to bounce back?

As the tears finally became too much and began slipping down your face, you whispered, “You all should have just let me go.”

“No!” The ferocity in Damian’s voice startled you and you looked over to see his small hands curled into tight fists as his face bore a determined scowl that could rival Bruce’s. “No. You do not get to give up. Not now. Not now that the worst of it is behind you. You never once gave up while we were captured. Despite everything that sadistic fiend did to you, you fought to protect me. We would not have been in that situation if it was not for me and I will repay my debt to you by remaining by your side to ensure you get through this.”

You stared at Damian for a long time, a mix of pride, adoration, and guilt stirring in your chest. Seeing how he wanted to stand by you and help you through what came next meant the world to you. The Damian who climbed into your car eight days ago wouldn’t have done so. However, you couldn’t let him make such a vow without knowing all the facts.

Shifting your eye to look at Jason, you muttered, “Can you give us a minute alone?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and his younger brother, but finally, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go let everyone else know you’re not only awake but coherent this time. They’ll want to see you.”

“Thanks, Jay. I’ll have Damian let you know when we’re done.”

He nodded, shot Damian one last look, and left the room.

Now that you were alone, you carefully motioned for Damian to take the chair Jason had been sitting in earlier and he silently did as you wished…for once. He looked so small compared to the memory of Jason’s hulking form sitting there just moments before and tears once more stung your eyes as it hit you all over again how young he was to have experienced what the two of you just went through. You hadn’t planned on having this conversation until you were a little better, but he deserved to know the truth and not continue blaming himself for what happened.

Taking a deep breath, you said, “It’s not your fault, Dami. He was never after you. You were only there because of me.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no proof of that. As you said in that warehouse, I am Father’s blood heir. If anyone was the target, it would have been me.”

You shook your head. “It was my car, Damian. The car I insisted you get in even though you didn’t want to. If I would’ve just let you walk home like you wanted–”

“They could have been monitoring me and adjusted their plans when I joined you in your vehicle. You still cannot be confident–”

“I know Moore.”

Damian blinked in surprise. “Yo–you what?”

You nodded sadly. “I know him. I didn’t realize it at first because it was so long ago and I’ve tried so hard to forget that day, but it was him. After I had passed out from Moore’s torture, they unhooked me from the chains and just let me drop to the floor. The pain of the landing woke me up for just a minute and I tried to beg them to put me back up because I knew otherwise they’d be coming for you, but I was in so much pain I could barely form a sentence. Moore saw I was awake and came to stand over me with that nauseatingly cocky look on his face.”

You shuttered at the memory of it and knew it was an image that would haunt your nightmares for years to come. But you pressed on. “Then he said, ‘For what it’s worth, you should be proud. You died a lot more honorably than your parents did.’ And that’s when I remembered.”

Tears slipped from your eyes as you allowed all the walls and safeguards you had built up over the years to finally come down and you recalled the night your life changed forever. “It’s been so long and he was just a kid, no older than Tim. But then again, I was even younger.” Taking a deep breath, you looked up at Damian. “How much do you know about my life before Bruce took me in?”

Damian shrugged one shoulder. “Just what I said in the car. Your parents were tortured to death by a gang who left you tied up with their bodies until the police found you. Then when he heard what happened and that you had no one left, Father took you in.”

You nodded and wiped a tear from your eye. “My parents owned a little shop near Crime Alley at the time. It was a hole-in-the-wall thrift store that barely made enough to put food on the table but my parents loved that place. It was their pride and joy so when the local gang came by to demand protection money, they refused. They didn’t want their place associated with gangsters. Which of course the gang didn’t like. We lived in a small apartment above it and one night, the gang broke in while we were sleeping. I was only six at the time and I didn’t understand what was happening. I just knew some bad people dragged us out of bed and into the basement where they tied us all up to chairs. I was sitting between my parents as they begged and pleaded for our lives, but even then I still didn’t understand. Not until one of the men pulled out a knife.”

A humorless chuckle fell softly from your lips. “I guess in hindsight, I should have remembered Moore sooner. The way he tortured and hurt me was very similar to what the gang did to my parents. Just small cuts that got deeper and deeper. Small weapons that got more and more damaging until….”

A small hiccupy sob slipped from your lips as everything came flooding back to you. Your father screaming in pain as the gang broke bone after bone and cut off his fingers one by one. Your mother hysterically sobbing as she begged them to let you all go. The way those pleas eventually shifted to just begging them to let you go. And then the eerie silence that fell across the room after your mother had taken her last breath.

Damian took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It is alright, sister. You do not have to continue.”

You shot him an appreciative smile but shook your head. “No. It’s okay.” Taking several deep breaths to compose yourself, you continued. “There was one gang member who stayed huddled in the corner, refusing to watch as the rest of the gang had their fun.”

“Moore.”

You nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, but yeah. He had started by anxiously pacing around at the back of the room but once things turned really violent….he couldn’t take it. He tried to run back upstairs but the gang forced him to stay and watch. Said he needed to learn how things were done. And after the other day, I’d say he learned his lesson pretty well.”

“And you are certain it was him?”

“Absolutely. I stared at him through most of it, partly because I couldn’t stand to watch what they were doing to my parents, but also partly because I could tell he was just as horrified as I was and yet he did nothing to stop it. I wanted to scream at him to help us, to do something, but I also was too afraid to speak up. And when they were done and the gang members left, he was the last one out of the room. He looked at me as if he wanted to apologize or set me free or…I don’t know. But instead, he just turned and ran up the stairs. The next time I saw him was when he walked into that room we were both chained up in.” You scoffed as you felt a lump growing in your throat. “I guess we picked up right where we left off, huh?”

The physical damage that had been done to you was hard enough to bear, but now realizing the connection your tormentor had to your past made you want to vomit. Moore may not have laid a finger on you back then, but he had been there to witness the worst day of your life. His friends had been the ones who did the same thing to your parents—only your parents hadn’t been lucky enough to survive. You wondered how long Moore had been planning this, how long he had wanted to finish the job that had been started all those years ago. Perhaps it was some sort of decades-long revenge plot since your parents’ deaths had eventually led to the arrest of most of the other gang members and the collapse of his gang. Or it was possible he just wanted to blackmail Bruce as he said and he thought using you to do it was just a bonus. Jason said Moore had been taken to Blackgate so once you were better, you could go try to get some answers. But at the moment, you weren’t sure if you even wanted them.

You had been so deep in thought that you only just realized that Damian had been silently staring down at your interlocked hands for the past few minutes. His expression was nigh-on unreadable and you were once again reminded of Bruce. Given enough time, support, and guidance, you could see him growing into a man worthy to carry on his father’s legacy. You just hoped he would want you to be around to see it.

You wouldn’t blame Damian if his attitude towards you reverted back to how it was before all of this happened. After all, he was put through hell because of you. He had warmed up to you solely because you had offered yourself up to be tortured instead of him—yet he never should have been there in the first place. Maybe this would actually make your relationship worse. Maybe Damian would cut you off completely. Maybe—

“Sister, I cannot imagine how hard this realization must have been for you and I…I am sorry.”

His voice cut through your internal spiraling and you blinked in surprise. “Wh-what?” With all the scenarios you had swirling around in your head, hearing Damian apologize had never even crossed your mind. “But Dami you’re not…mad?”

Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Why would I be mad?”

“I’m the reason you were there. I thought once you knew the whole story and realized that, you would hate me for getting you dragged into everything. Or at least–” you dropped your gaze down to the bed “–at least I thought you’d go back to not really liking me.”

“Oh…” The small boy shifted in his chair. “I can understand why you may have come to that conclusion but knowing your history with Moore does not change how I feel about what you did for me. You saved me long before you remembered who he was or your connection to him. And even that still does not prove you were the one he was after, not me. I am the youngest and, as such, am perceived to be the most vulnerable and incapable of protecting myself—Tt, though in reality, it is Drake who fits that description.”

You smiled as you shook your head. Tim would disagree with that statement, but Damian’s point was still valid. To those who did not know of his past upbringing or training, it would be easy to dismiss him as a young, spoiled, entitled brat who never had to lift a finger his entire life. But they couldn’t be farther from the truth. Despite being a kid, Damian had already experienced more than 90% of people would in their lifetime. Hell, when he was the same age you were when you watched your parents die, he had already been training for years with the League of Assassins. Moore had just gotten lucky when he grabbed the two of you: if Damian hadn’t woken up hurt and already chained up, he probably could have incapacitated every one of your kidnappers.

Damian continued. “Regardless of who the target was, it does not change the fact you volunteered yourself in my place when they wanted to take me. And despite the pain you were in, you tried to hold on as long as possible so I would not be forced to take your place. How could any other detail matter except my sister loves me enough to die for me?”

The lump in your throat got bigger until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You managed to nod your head quickly and repeatedly as you choked out, “I would. Because I do. I do love you, Damian.” He stared down at the floor, shifting once more in his chair as his fist tightened around yours. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. You knew how hard it was for him but you could see he wanted to say it and that was enough. So, squeezing his hand back, you whispered, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back.”

His shoulders dropped with visible relief and he gave you a small, grateful smile. Then, in a tiny voice, he muttered, “But I do though.”

It was the final straw. Tears began flowing down your cheeks as a small cry burst from behind your lips. There was a sharp pain in your chest as you disturbed your injuries, but it seemed unimportant at the moment. You tried to control yourself as much as possible, knowing emotions and displays of affection bothered Damian, but it was all too overwhelming. For so long you had tried to get him to at least tolerate you, but this? This was more than you ever dared to hope for.

Damian sat quietly as you took a moment to compose yourself. Despite the added pain you incurred from your crying, you couldn’t remember feeling this happy in a while…..or this worn out. Now that you had cleared the air with Damian and everything was better than expected, you realized how much you had been struggling to stay awake.

Another wave of exhaustion hit you and it took almost everything you had to murmur, “I know Jay said everyone was waiting to see me but I think….I think I need to rest for a bit. Could you ask them to wait until I take a small nap?”

He nodded. “Of course, sister. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Dami.”

You expected him to leave but instead, he squeezed your hand hard and looked you dead in the eye. “I mean it. Whatever you need. You will heal and things will return to normal. And I will be by your side for all of it.”

You smiled up at him, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Thank you, Dami.”

He laid your hand gently back on the bed before standing from his chair and walking to the door. He glanced over his shoulder at you one last time, nodded, and then disappeared.

With no reason left to hold on, you let yourself collapse back into the bed as you gave into the darkness that was dancing on the edge of your vision.

And as you felt yourself being pulled under to unconsciousness once more, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything that had happened and the long road to recovery that lay before you, you had a father and four brothers who loved you and would be by your side through all of it. Because at the end of the day, that’s what family is for. And you were so thankful to have found this family.

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