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nana-gumi · 2 months

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my heart belongs to.. who? g.satoru

pairings: gojo satoru x fem! reader

cw: heavy angst, mentions of death, mentions of cremation, depression, starvation, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of self-harming, please read at your own risk!! NOT PROOFREAD AGAIN HELP (i'm sleepy alr but i want to update TvT)

a/n: here's the part two of the 'anyway, don't be a stranger.' yes the title has changed. also based from a song a piece of you by nathaniel constantin. that's all, enjoy reading ;) PLS NOTIFY ME IF YOU HAPPEN TO SEE TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS!! THANK YOU <3

now that you had lost your only strength to continue living, what should you do now?

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satoru doesn't know why something in him ached when he randomly spotted his best friend, his dear best friend, suguru with you, on a random place and at a random time.

your backs were turned to him but he surely didn't like the way you cling to his best friend, it hurts him in many ways he couldn't explain but, satoru knew too well that he doesn't have the rights to feel that way, that's because every pain and sorrow that has happened to his life would be different if he didn't do that one big mistake.

ever since the divorce, satoru never saw you again. you left and none of the people you knew where you've gone to. satoru thought it was for the best that you should be away from him because the moment he feels vulnerable again, he would look for your presence, even though you weren't together anymore.

although sometimes, satoru do hope that you didn't run away from him. he wanted to fix everything, to apologize, to try things with you again. he never wanted anyone other than you. you were the only person that could see his other sides, the only person who knew him very very well, the only person he wanted to grow old with but everything was too late already.

he shouldn't have listened to you when you pushed him away and there, he would've never saw the pain look in your face when both of you separated your ways, he would've never saw the way you tried to stop yourself from crying infront of him, and he would've never saw the way you accepted to keep your wedding rings so desperately as if he would still be around you if you keep it.

satoru regretted every decision he made up until now, it was all of his fault, it was his fault why you had to leave, everything was his fault, you didn't have a choice because of him and he hoped that you've already forgave him for that. he really hoped so.

because of the heavy thoughts, satoru didn't know why his feet brought him to his best friend's apartment. maybe to ask how you were doing? are you still single? do you have a new lover now? was it suguru? are you both dating? oh gosh, he hoped not. it could be anyone but his best friend.

"(name) trusted you with it suguru, you shouldn't break your promise." satoru suddenly stopped on his tracks. that was shoko's voice, he was sure of it.

"but, don't you think he still has the right to know? satoru's the father after all."

"you're right though but—"

"what did you just say?" both eyes were widened at the sudden appearance as satoru revealed himself from hiding as he went closer to his best friends.

"when did you—"

"i'm the father? what do you mean?" satoru asked as he furrowed his eyebrows and suguru looked away from him. satoru could recognize the worried look of his best friend's face. "shoko?"

"well.." she mumbled, looking at suguru.

"are you hiding something from me?" satoru asked.

"it's not like that—" shoko said.

"then why do you both look nervous?"

"satoru." suguru called as he felt shoko's hand stop him and she shake her head left to right. "i'm sorry, but he needs to know."

"needs to know what? come on."

"satoru, you had a child, with (name)." and he couldn't be more surprised as he looked at suguru, lost and confused.

"what?"

"yeah, unfortunately, sanyu is—"

"stop." satoru said as he placed a hand on his temples. "is this some kind of prank? therefore, it's not funny."

"satoru, i'm not lying." suguru said, his expression blank.

"no. that's— that would be impossible.."

"go talk with her, satoru. heh, in the end, i couldn't keep my promise to her, huh?" suguru said as he placed a hand on his nape. "i'll send you the address, go." and satoru didn't waste any more time as he walked towards the front door but suguru stopped him again. "satoru." he called and suguru almost laughed at the worried and somehow excited look on his best friend's face. it's been a while since he saw that.

"what?" satoru said, cleary annoyed and impatient as suguru lightly smiled at him.

"be gentle with her, she's still vulnerable." satoru didn't get what suguru meant by that as he finally left, following the map where suguru had sent him.

you knew this day would've eventually come as you stand face to face with your ex-husband, he was panting and you were just about to go back home from the convenience store.

"(name).." he whispered your name as he took a step close to you, another one, and then another one as he started sprinting, embracing you in his arms and no one knew how much he missed feeling you around his arms. you let him embrace you but you stopped yourself from doing the same thing, you just stood there.

"why are you here?" you asked as satoru pulled away, his sleeve flying on his eyes as he slightly rubbed it. he was about to tear up.

"is it true?" satoru asked and he hoped you get what he meant with the question as you slowly nod your head.

"let's go inside my home first. it's getting cold here. i'll tell you everything there."

and there both of you ended up inside your home as satoru quietly inspected the surroundings. there was your picture and his son hanging on the wall.

"here." you said, handing him a glass of water. "i'm guessing suguru told you?"

"no. i actually overheard them."

"i see."

"so, where's.. um— can i see our child?" he asked and your heart ached at his question. you thought suguru told him already?

satoru didn't know what to do you when you started sobbing as you covered your face with your palms.

"you can't." you mumbled, wiping your tears as you look down on your lap.

"i understand.. but if you're—"

"you can't, satoru. we can't—"

"i know. i know you still don't trust me but i promise i will—"

"he's gone, satoru! don't you understand it? he's gone, he's dead, we can't see him anymore!" you exclaimed. everything was just overwhelming and you didn't mean to yell at him. "i'm sorry." you mumbled, once again, covering your face with your hands as you cry.

you felt his presence beside you as he wrapped his arms around you. he didn't know what else to do and satoru thought being close to you will help, being close to you will maybe help his almost shattering soul.

"i'm sorry." satoru said as he felt your arms around him. was this suguru meant when you were still vulnerable. he should've asked suguru to be more clear so there, satoru would know how to comfort you very well.

"i'm sorry, satoru. i kept him away from you when he wanted to see you. i should've pushed aside my own feelings and let sanyu meet you but i just couldn't, and now guilt is eating me up. it's my fault he couldn't see his papa on his last days. it was his last wishes but—"

"shh, stop it already. it's okay. don't blame yourself."

"i'm really sorry." no. satoru told himself he doesn't deserve your apologies and thinks everything was his fault to begin with.

"it was my fault that i couldn't be there for you. for our son. i deserve all the blame." satoru said as you slightly pulled away from him as you wiped your tears.

"it's not your fault either. sanyu was born with a weak heart. i couldn't protect him with that, no?" you said as you placed your hands on your lap.

"when we met at the parking lot, was that?.." you nodded your head in response as you recalled that day.

"that was the day after sanyu died." you mumbled and satoru couldn't help but clench his jaw. if only he knew.

satoru snapped out of his thoughts when he felt you sit up from the couch as you kneeled infront of the small table, taking something beneath it as you went back beside him.

"come, i'll show you his pictures." you said as you smiled at him and satoru couldn't help but mirror you. just for now, maybe you both could be happy, even just for now.

"he even cut his own hair, look!" you exclaimed, pointing a certain picture as satoru laughed with you.

he missed a lot things. when you were carrying his child, when his son was born, when his son was growing up. he wasn't there to witness everything and he almost– no, he regrets it so so much.

"i almost dyed his hair black 'cause he reminds me of you so much." you sighed as you closed the album, finally reaching its end as you place it on the table.

"we really do look like each other." satoru said as you lightly smile at him.

"you're not wrong." you responded and suddenly, it became silent.

"i'm sorry (name)." he started as you stayed still in your position. "i tried looking for you." he continued as he held your hand on his with you still avoiding to look at him. "why didn't you tell me before?" he said and that's what made you look at him. is he seriously asking you that?

"i don't know, satoru. do you?" you asked and he was completely taken aback.

"you should definitely go home now, someone might be waiting for you.." you said as you stand up from the couch, only for him to stop you by your wrist.

you looked at him for a moment and he did too. he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out as your hand slowly slipped out of his grasp and you turned your back at him.

"if you want to know more about sanyu, just ask."

it's been a week since you and satoru talked things out. it felt good to be able to talk everything with him. you thought at some point that satoru will hate you even more for not informing him about his son's existence but it was the opposite.

and maybe, you shouldn't have stalked his social and there you wouldn't stumble on his ex' account, because you never knew that it would hurt you this much, that it would hurt your already, broken heart.

you felt some type of jealousy seeing his family be happy in those pictures. they even went on a trip, on different places and many more. satoru looked happy. maybe if those mistakes were prevented back then, it would be you, him and sanyu.

there were missed calls and unread messages from suguru and shoko but you didn't have the energy to reply to each of them.

you just wanted to lay in your bed all day, almost wishing that sanyu would knock at your door asking for a help with his assignment, but no, it wouldn't happen anymore. you were all alone now, you'll never be able to feel happiness again, everything felt too empty for you to feel any type of emotions except for sorrow.

your eyes slowly opened when you felt something cold in your forehead.

"you're finally awake."

"what happened?" you asked as you tried to sit up from the bed, only for satoru to push you back.

"don't stand up yet. you passed out on the living room. you've been sleeping for a day already. are you eating? don't starve yourself." he talks too fast that you almost didn't catch his words.

"why are you here?" you asked.

"well.. i guess i want to know more about sanyu." he said as he hesitantly looked at you. "i'm sorry for walking around your house without your permission but, i saw a small shrine on the room beside here. is that sanyu's?" satoru asked as you nod at him.

"i forgot to tell you but i had sanyu cremated."

"okay, i understand."

"you can visit him anytime if you want."

"that would be great. thank you."

satoru did visit once a week. you noted that it was always on thursdays, just like suguru had told you that satoru's always available on thursdays.

your house would be messy if satoru wasn't around but if you knew that he'll be visiting, you'll force yourself to clean the house. you didn't want him to see you in worst state again, not anymore. he didn't have to know that you were starving yourself, that you would only eat when he brings you food.

he doesn't need to know. not that he would care, right? satoru is not in the position to care for you after all. he only visits for his son, it's wasn't because of you. maybe you should stop being delusional and face the reality that satoru and you couldn't work together anymore. he already has a family on his own. he has nothing to do with you anymore. a part of you is still hoping though but then again, he doesn't need to know.

there was a time where satoru visited you on tuesday. it was unexpected that he caught you almost hurting yourself. house and room messy.

it hurts him to see you like this. he couldn't help but to compare the old you to the you now. a big difference. he doesn't see you smile anymore. he doesn't hear your laugh anymore.

"you needn't to hurt yourself, okay? tell me if i can help in any way." he said as you sit on the couch, knees close to your chest as you stare at nothing.

your thoughts was playing with you because all of the sudden, you recalled everything that has happened between you and satoru. his mistakes, his wrongdoings, his happy family. your blood started to boil and you couldn't help but blame him in your mind. that it was his fault why sanyu have to suffer.

"hey, i know it still hurting you but—"

"you know nothing!" you exclaimed which took him off guard. he was unfamiliar with that look in your face.

"(name), calm down." he said as he tried to reach for you, only for you to slap his hand away.

"shut up! don't order me around! can you just leave my house?" you yelled. "this is all your fault." you mumbled and satoru heard it loud and clear. you weren't wrong though. "leave! i don't want to see you anymore. i hate you."

and even if you push him as many times as you want, satoru would not lose hope. he still visits you and sanyu. though he took note of the changes in your mood sometimes.

satoru visited late than usual. you already fell asleep on the couch. you swore you weren't waiting for him or something. it just happened that you got tired from the cleaning the house.

after the usual visit of you and satoru in your child's room both decided to eat the food he brought.

"sorry i was late. i had a hard time choosing a ring—" he cuts off himself with a fake cough as he looked away from you. "anyway, sorry for making you wait."

"it's fine. thank you for bringing me food."

"of course."

today, you seemed a lot more good now. satoru can notice you smile everytime. he didn't want to assume that you're smiling because of him though.

"is there something wrong?" he asked when he noticed you staring at him.

"i'm fine. thank you for visiting." you said as you walked satoru at the front door. "oh wait." you said, walking back to your room as satoru stood still on the front door and you went back after a minute.

"take this." you said, handing him a certain necklace.

"for me?" satoru said, taking the necklace in your hand.

"i asked them to put a little bit of sanyu ashes inside. you can't open that anymore since they locked it." satoru's eyes widened at your words.

"thank you." he said as you smiled at him.

"here, let me help." you said, as you wear the necklace on him. "sanyu will always be by your side, wherever you are." you said as you smiled and suddenly, satoru turned around, his face was too close to you and you think he could almost hear on how loud your beating heart is.

you awkwardly took a step back as you cleared your throat to ease the awkward tension.

"thank you (name), really. i will treasure this." he said as you smiled at him, for the last time.

"sorry for yelling at you sometimes, satoru."

"don't worry, i understand. just let me know if you want to release some stress. i'll try my best to help." he said and despite of answering, you only smiled, again.

"thank you, satoru. sanyu was the best son i could ever have." you said and he suddenly placed a hand on your head. like how he always does before as he leaned to your level.

"thank you for raising our child." he said as you look at him with widened eyes and you couldn't help but frown as you place a hand close to your chest.

stop giving me false hope, satoru.

"take care." you couldn't help but tear up as you whispered those words as satoru left. be happy, always. even if it's without me.

"i had a hard time choosing a ring." you mumbled, mimicking his words.

you smiled but what you were feeling inside was opposite. maybe you shouldn't expect too much because in the end, if reality didn't reach your expectations, it'll just hurt you more.

it really hurts to think that you made a man for another woman but, it is what it is. you're just glad that satoru seemed to cherish his new family now.

he did changed a lot, huh.

"satoru."

"be quick, suguru. i'm a bit busy right now." satoru said as he heard his best friend sigh at the other line.

"did (name) said something to you?" satoru immediately sat properly on his office chair when he heard your name.

"nothing much. she gave me a necklace though, why?"

"i see. look, if you have time today come in her house."

"why? what happened?"

"do you have a time today, at least?"

"i guess i could try." satoru said. "is there something wrong with (name)." satoru asked and there was a long pause from suguru's end before he answered.

satoru went back from what it seemed like a long trip as he sat on his office chair.

he stared at a certain velvet box on his table. his black glasses was discarded as he lightly move the office chair left to right.

he did had a hard time choosing a ring. he doesn't know of you still like the same design. did you change your preferences?he doesn't know that's why satoru bought a limited edition ring for you. he was told that the ring brings luck and now he just wanted to throw the ring in the middle of an ocean.

"brings luck my ass." he muttered. he was too tired to think. he refused to believe suguru's words because he just saw you 2 days ago. was suguru playing pranks on him again?

"she's been found in her room. unalive." suguru's words kept repeating inside his head like a broken radio as he clutched the necklace on his hand.

he was supposed to ask you to start over again, to try things out again, from there, he swore that he wouldn't do the same mistake again but it was all too late now.

maybe the universe didn't want you and him to be together again that's why they took you away from him, his son too. he knew he did mistakes back then but was it too much that they have to take his family away forever?

yeah, this must be his punishment for doing those unforgiving things to you.

"suguru, do you think (name) would agree if i ask her to start over again?"

"there's nothing wrong with trying, satoru, but know that people tend to change. don't be surprised when she doesn't want you in her life anymore." suguru said as his best friend kept quiet. "but what about them?"

"who?"

"your ex and your son."

"i couldn't care less about her, but i still cherish sanyu since he grew up with me, even if he's not my legal child."

"you don't really want to tell (name) about it?" suguru suggested and satoru couldn't help but think if he could do what his best friend is suggesting.

"what's the point? will it change everything?" satoru mumble, an ache going straight to his chest. "it hurts for me to say this but i only accepted to raise sanyu because i couldn't stop thinking of (name), of having a family with her. i forced myself to believe that he's our son. i didn't even know that (name) is actually carrying our child."

"why don't you just sue your ex for paternity fraud?"

"there's no point in it. she's still sanyu's mother."

"you're too nice, satoru."

no, he wasn't. in fact, he almost sent his ex to prison but he couldn't stop thinking of how sanyu will react if he found out that his mother was sent to jail by his father. he was too young for those things.

but satoru asks himself, why? why does he have to do these things? why does he have to think of how sanyu would feel? they weren't relatives anyway. he could take everything he spent for raising sanyu, he could just leave them to live their own life, but he just couldn't do it.

"if only i could go back in time." satoru mumbled and suguru didn't know what do respond to that anymore. if only.

tags: @skylarlyn823 @mo0nforme @mor-pheus @he4rts444mi @bubblysunwoosworld @arieltate @imaniitheoneee @kaiiriiis @ichikanu @witchbybirth @yoimiya-m @hojoslutoru @itsvalomfg I COULDN'T TAG THE OTHERS SORRY TvT

#nana.gumi #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #satoru angst

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ghouljams · 4 months

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Læknir [Chapter 5]

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Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, medical procedures, bodily fluids(blood and puss), slow burn, Gaz is here Hi Gaz

Summary: It's funny, you don't even think about what your participation means, whether it will be seen as compliance, or an acceptance of your situation. You're a healer, and you have patients to treat.

You peak over the fur lined bedroll you’d spent most of the night tossing and turning on. Mactavish sits beside you in the same cross legged position he took last night. His eyes are fixed on the tent’s flap, something cold and impenetrable holding his features. Somewhere in the pit of your stomach you pity him. You don’t know for what, or why, but the moment is broken when his eyes dart to yours. He seems to pull his charm on like a well worn cloak, his smile bright enough you almost miss the way it barely touches his eyes. You wonder if he slept any better than you did, if he slept at all. Though any sleep would be better than what you got. Every shift in the wind had woken you last night, every creaking footstep, every howl of some poor distant animal making your bones quake. You’ve been brave enough for a lifetime, you’re not stupid enough to sleep.

“You were busy last night,” Mactavish quips as you sit up. You shoot him a quick glare, and don’t bother entertaining his teasing. The soft grey light of morning is filtering in under the tent flap and you’d rather be up before anyone can force you up. “There’s breakfast,” He tries a different approach.

“You don’t have anyone better to bother?” You ask him quickly, biting the hand that tries to feed you. He doesn’t flinch.

“Captain hasn’t come lookin’ for me yet.”

As if on cue the tent flap is pulled aside. You’re unsurprised to see a viking, you wish you could find it a relief that it’s one you almost recognize. The dim morning light washes all the warmth from his dark skin, but Mactavish smiles a little more genuinely when he sees him. Having more men in the tent makes you nervous, you try not to let it show on your face.

“Captain wants-” Your tired brain does its best to translate as the viking speaks, you pick up on pieces of words, try to parse together a sentence. You catch the tail end of it, “out” and try not to settle yourself in doom. Mactavish nods. You always fancied yourself smart for being able to translate an unfamiliar tongue. He makes you feel stupid, a viking better than you at something you prided yourself on.

He speaks in the harsh tongue easily, pulls the words together like a musician. You hear his tone shift to the affirmative, and a “Thanks mate.” in your own tongue. You wonder if you’ll fall into such easy switches. You hope not. You hope that this tongue, this culture keeps its hooks out of you for as long as it takes you to find a way to freedom. Mactavish turns his attention to you.

“Gaz is gonna take you around to check the other men,” He tells you. Gaz. You file the name away for future reference.

“Where are you going?” You ask, some sick rolling thing in your stomach hates him for abandoning you so soon after stealing you away. His brows draw together in confusion, you wonder if he knows what made you ask, if he thinks you have any sort of draw to him.

“Have to deal with a couple things, you’ll be alright without me,” He assures you, “Gaz won’t let anythin’ happen to ya.”

You glance at Gaz, he smiles at you. Again you find a spark of pity in his eyes. You wish he’d turn that wretched emotion on someone else.

Mactavish touches your arm and you jerk away from him, his fingers tighten into a fist in response, almost as quickly as you’d moved. You don’t bother looking at him, despite the way you feel him stare, and grab your pack as you move around him, ducking under Gaz’s arm and into the open air. The morning’s chill makes you deflate a little.

The high cliff face separating the beach from the highlands feels insurmountable. A giant wall set up between you and the life you once led. You’re struck by the gnawing pit in your stomach that whispers to you, you can never go home. Gaz comes to stand beside you, eyes fixed on the dark cliffs. He must have come from somewhere too, right? What does he see, what wall has been erected by the gods to stop him? You push the thought from your mind. Pity does nothing and serves no one. It’s a connection you’re eager to set yourself apart from.

“Over here,” Gaz tells you, turning away from the cliff and walking towards the still burning fire. He doesn’t touch you, and for that you’re grateful. You follow after him, if you’re going to pretend to be a healer you may as well make a play at actually healing.

Vikings huddle around the fire, talking and laughing, the warmth of it still radiates strong, the smoke still billows. It’s funny how much you can hate something that once brought you so much comfort. Your eyes fix on it too long.

“Læknir,” Gaz calls, and you jerk your head, sure he’s talking to you. You file the word away, ashamed to think you might ask Mactavish about it later. “Look after the men,” He continues once he has your attention. You glance at the vikings sitting around the fire, and nod. If you’re going to survive, and you must survive, it’s better to be a healer.

There’s a palpable distance between you and the vikings. Gaz hovers nearby, waiting to help translate as best he can, and you catch the other men glancing at him occasionally, but for the most part the vikings don’t stop their conversations as you check them over. Most are in good health. Their scars are pink and silver, others more purple, healing, healed, well taken care of. You wonder what their healers back home are like.

You poke at one of the viking’s shoulders and he hisses. You’re quick to grab at his cloak, tugging at the fur to get a better look at what’s causing him pain. Your bedside manner has always left something to be desired. The viking looks startled, more confused than you really expected him to be. You give another tug and he grabs at the edge of his cloak to wrap it around himself more securely. Big baby.

Gaz says something, covering barely contained anger. The viking responds and Gaz hums. “Læknir,” He settles a hand on your shoulder and you glance at him, “you need to ask.”

You look back at the viking who looks a little put out by your insistent yanking. You- you think you were hurting him. You forgot. You forgot that you could hurt these men. Something akin to guilt flashes hot in your stomach, twists in on itself until you feel sick. It isn’t the fact you’ve hurt someone that does it.

It’s the way you want to feel good about hurting him. You want to feel some sort of vindication, like this is their penance for stealing you away. If you can hurt them, maybe you can do more than just bide your time. The thought sickens you. You hope there never comes a day where these men force you to become as violent as they are.

“I need to look,” You tell the viking in your stilted, inelegant translation, “please.”

The viking sighs and unclasps his fur, his cloak, lets you pull his loose shirt to the side to check his shoulder. You palpate the area with your fingers, checking for breaks and dislocations. It’s sort of… squishy? Moveable but in a way that makes the viking hiss. There’s a fresh scar running along the length of the bump you’re pressing. You think you remember this happening to one of the men in your village, an excess of blood and phlegm built up under the skin. The elders had brought you and a few other apprentices to watch the extraction of it.

You turn to rummage through your bag to try to find your notes. There are few things more precious to you in this world than the bag you carry at your side, the last remaining vestiges of home and a firm reminder of what you are. You pull a book free from its pocket, and flip through the carefully penned pages. Your crude sketches and quick handwriting aren’t anything to boast about, but the knowledge contained within them is more than you’re sure vikings have.

“I need,” You fish for the correct word as you pull your knife free, the blade flashes wickedly, you look up at Gaz, “He needs to bite.” You make the motion with your teeth, clenching your jaw to be sure he’s got the point. He’s smart, you’ll give the viking that much, Gaz rummages through his own pockets and pulls a strip of thick leather free. You nod quickly and stand to hold your knife in the fire.

If you’re going to do this under scrutiny you may as well take every precaution. A hot knife stops bleeding before it starts, though the smell of it is… unpleasant. You can only thank the gods that you keep your tools sharp, staring at the blade as it darkens with heat. You know the metal is heated enough when it hurts your hand. The heat biting into your palm almost feels good. Penance for cooperating with the wolves.

When you turn back to your patient he’s got the leather strap between his teeth, and two more men holding him steady. You almost feel bad, but it isn’t your job to feel bad, it’s your job to fix. It’s your job to be quick enough that your patients don’t suffer unnecessarily. You move close, side step around the vikings to push your fingers against your patient’s skin, feeling the squish that needs to be excised.

You press the blade of your knife to the viking’s shoulder, and he tenses with a low groan of pain. Less than you’d expected. You suppose these men are used to pain. Your cut is short, but deep enough you can feel where the skin breaks for puss. You can see it too, the viscous yellow that spills over the edges of the wound. You grimace when it flows, warm, over your fingertips and reposition your hand around the edges of the squishy pocket. Gaz hands you a cloth, exchanges it for your knife, and you hold it under the wound to catch the sickness that you carefully squeeze out.

You push against the viking’s skin until it’s just blood running from the wound. When you’re satisfied you’ve gotten all the sick out, you hold the cloth out to Gaz. He grimaces, and jerks his head towards the fire. Ah. You chuck the soiled linen into the blaze and ignore the crackle of fluid heating. You dig through your bag again, pulling needle and thread free of their places, and carefully knot a few stitches in the fresh wound. It’s ugly, but it does the job keeping the skin together. You’ll have to check the wound again in a few days to be sure the puss hasn’t come back, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll be going anywhere.

You shake the blood off your fingers, letting the red splatter on the grey rocks of the beach. It’s sort of satisfying doing your job, you’ve been training in it long enough. Turning your attention back to the viking he’s attempting to pull his shirt back into place. You’re quick to try and stop him, fussing with your bag and tugging a jar free. You open the seal and dip your fingers into the golden honey within, smearing it over the fresh wound.

Gaz hands you another length of cloth and you tie it tight around the viking’s shoulder. It’s dirty work, but between the two of you it’s been quick. That’s good, less risk if medicine is quick.

You cap the honey, wiping your fingers on your skirt. More stains for the unassuming fabric, but better this than dirtying your earasaid. You look away from your patient as he pulls his shirt back into place, refastens his cloak, and make eye contact with the captain. His gaze is just as flinty as it was yesterday, hard as stone and just as unyielding. Mactavish is next to him, and smiles when your eyes dart to him. The captain turns and shifts his attention back to his crew. You turn your attention to reorganizing your bag as Mactavish makes his way towards you.

“You keep honey on you?” He asks, snatching the jar from where you’d set it. You’re just as quick to snatch it back. Your annoyance flares.

“I found a hive while I was in the forest,” You tell him, keeping your eyes focused on your work as you settle your book and the jar reverently into their places, “wasted too much time collecting it, you wouldn’t have-”

You bite your tongue, cut yourself off. If you hadn’t wasted so much time on the honey you might have finished gathering herbs in time to avoid Mactavish. Maybe then you could have done something to help your family. Or perished with them, a quiet voice whispers to you. It would have been better than this, you tell the voice.

You look at Mactavish when he’s been quiet too long. His face is unreadable, but his posture is rigid. He isn’t here just to bother you. You straighten from your rummaging, afford yourself all the height you can steal to meet his eye.

“What?” You ask.

“You’re hired,” He tells you, though it does nothing to ease his posture; you blink at him and go back to your bag, untwisting the strap to pull it over your shoulder, “and-”

“And I don’t have a choice in the matter” You grumble. Mactavish grips your chin with firm fingers, turns you to look him in the eye again. His eyes are stormy, the brilliant blue yielding to clouds the same way the sky does. It startles you enough to keep you still.

“And we’re going home.” He says home like a finality, like the last wheezing breath before death. He says it like he means you to know his meaning without his saying it.

“Home.” You swallow and he nods.

“Aye, home.”

Not your home, you think, theirs.

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bluesidez · 4 days

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GymRat!Miguel Part 9.2 | full chapter without breaks on AO3

content warning: more fluff, more laughs, a little bit of insecurity from Miguel and reader, underage drinking (all of the characters are aged 18-20 so by USA standards, that's underaged. but college kids will be college kids. and so will high school graduates.), a mention of an edible like once, Hobie is here! (fr this time), Pavitr too, even more jealous Miguel, 18+ so MNDI, wet wet relations, fellatio, cunnilingus, Miguel is a munch (his fantasies are unraveling finally), cum play if you squint, partially public indecency???, I think that's it

word count: 9.3k, halfway proofread (I split it really weirdly so I apologize for that lol)

Some of the links used in this part are just to give you an idea of what's going on! Enjoy! 🩵

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GymRat!Miguel who texts Tyler while you’re in the shower.

Dad…Tyler:

“She really loved it. Thank you so much for helping me out with this, Dad.”

“Any time, son! I’m glad everything went well! I can have my people send over the video form of the animation if you would like.”

“Sure, I can have it on hand.”

“And I take it, you like the yacht?”

“It’s extremely nice! Captain Barrett is pretty cool.”

“Don’t tell him you said that or it’ll go to that funny mustache.”

“Ok 😭”

“I did have a question though.”

“Ask away.”

“What did Kron do to his other boat?”

“What didn’t he do to that boat? He had too many friends on that thing all with a mix of substances I could never dream of combining. Their parents had to come drag them out lest the police get involved. I’ve never helped Kron with any event or party since then. He hasn’t earned it and he embarrassed me greatly.”

“Would you be more comfortable if we held off on the drinks?”

“See son, the difference between you and Kron is that you understand the legal ramifications of doing something so idiotic as having illegal items on a property that isn’t yours as a minor. You also have integrity and respect, something that Kron has lost sight of. I trust that neither you nor your friends will do anything too drastic.”

“Yeah, there’s no crazy stuff happening this weekend.”

“I believe it.”

“Get back to your girlfriend now. Thank you for checking up on your old man. Tell her I said hello.”

“For sure. Good night.”

“Good night!”

GymRat!Miguel who opens his arms up to you as you come out of the bathroom. You hurried to lay in his arms, skin warm from your shower.

You snuggle up under his chin, “Today was really fun.”

“Yeah?” he rubs your head slowly.

“Mm hm. Now, we should sleep.”

A yawn racks through Miguel’s body, the day of driving settling in his bones.

You keep your ear on his chest. The steady tempo of his heart and his breaths lulling you to sleep.

GymRat!Miguel who is still asleep by the time you wake up. You both ended up at opposite ends of the giant bed with just your legs intertwining.

You look over to Miguel and watch his chest rise and fall, his snores crescendoing at each breath.

You lay your head back on the pillow, eyes tracing the shape of his face in this morning light. The water was calm, giving the boat a slight rock. Some seagulls flew by, their sounds fading in and out.

You scoot closer to get a better look, your hand lightly following the line of his face.

His eyes flutter open at your touch, a brown sea welcoming you.

“G’morning,” his voice is terribly deep like this. The timbre shoots straight to your core.

“Morning. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper.

Miguel moves to lay his head on your chest, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine. The sight made me feel like I went to heaven.”

He pulled you closer by the waist, “Ten more minutes?”

“Rest up all you need, bear-bear.”

GymRat!Miguel who is just as excited as Gabriel when he gets to the deck that morning. The agenda was swimming with the dolphins before everyone else got here.

Miguel and Gabriel were practically buzzing in their matching wetsuits. Dana snuck in a video laughing at the twin looks on their faces.

GymRat!Miguel who sneaks glances at your form on the way to the dolphin center. You’re leaning over the edge of the smaller boat, the wind against your face. The wetsuit was doing wonders for the curve of your figure.

GymRat!Miguel who ends up going into a nerd session about dolphins with Gabriel. Both of them are spitting out dolphin facts at the speed of light.

“I just think that if you were to be any dolphin, it’s so obvious that you would be an orca.”

“But why, though? Because I’m big? That’s a new low, even for you, Gabri.”

“No, it’s because you’re mixed, obviously. Killer whale aka orca aka dolphin. Duh, Miguelito.”

“Don’t ‘duh’ me because that doesn’t even make sense. Orcas are still classified as dolphins even though they look like whales.”

“Just like you-”

“I’m going to smack you off the side of this boat if you finish that sentence.”

“Resulting to violence just like a killer whale, what a shame.”

“You’re so annoying. Orcas are smart, they speak different languages based on their pod, and the name was actually ‘whale killers,’ not ‘killer whales.’ That would make me an orca, but I would not be one because I would never take care of my family but abandon my children.”

“A lot of male dolphins abandon their families. A lot of them hang out with the bros and come back.”

“Female dolphins can do the hard work of carrying babies from ten to eighteen months, so enlighten me, Gabri. What are the male dolphins doing with the bros?”

Gabriel squinted his eyes and put his finger up weakly, “This is a trick question.”

“No it’s not! Don’t you know the answer?” Miguel put his hands out, as if waiting for a physical object to be presented.

“I do know the answer, which is why I don’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“Well, now I want to know because you two nerds wouldn’t shut up about bottlenose dolphins just five minutes ago,” Dana scoffs as she takes off her shades, the morning sun too much for her.

“That’s not the same energy you had last night when I-”

“No one wants to hear that.”

“Shut up, Miguel,” Gabriel snaps back. “They take care of other dolphin babies. And sometimes become friends with benefits with their homies.”

Dana makes a disgusted face, “And you’re defending that? Wow. So when I have your kid you’re going to leave me and go do fuck all with Pavitr?”

“No, Dana, I would never do that! We discussed this! Miguel is going to study seahorses, make me a safe mutation, and I’ll carry them for you!”

“I don’t even study genetics so I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“So you wouldn’t carry her babies?” Gabriel gestures towards you in a panic.

Miguel looks towards you at the front of the boat, watching the water go by.

He thought of you as a mom, carrying his kid, holding their hand in the park, picking decor for the nursery.

He thought of you under him, taking everything he could give you and more. You screaming his name as the bed creaks loud enough to fill the hallway.

“I would, but that’s not the question right now.”

“Why did it take you so long to answer that?” Gabriel’s tone was high.

“Oh my god, he was thinking of getting her pregnant,” Dana says in horror.

“Oh, so I have to listen to your escapades, but I can’t even daydream in silence?”

GymRat!Miguel who listens intently to the staff. No harm shall come to any dolphin on his behalf.

GymRat!Miguel who makes friends with one of the cute dolphins. Her name is Dotty because of the few spots she has on her body.

She immediately gravitates towards Miguel. Her blowhole squeals constantly whenever Miguel talks to her.

“Well I think Dotty is in love!” the instructor yells from across the enclosed water.

GymRat!Miguel who laughs at Dana who keeps getting splashed on by the baby dolphins.

GymRat!Miguel who looks so cute with his nose touching Dotty’s rostrum. They’re spinning in circles with Dotty clicking away like a cat purring.

GymRat!Miguel who watches you interact with one of the bigger dolphins whose name is Mon.

“Mon and Dotty are a couple, but he’s a little sad today because Dotty isn't giving him any attention,” the instructor says with a giant pout on her face.

Even Mon’s clicks sounded sad and Miguel didn’t know how that was possible.

Mon places his chin on your shoulder and you’re immediately in love, rubbing his body and consoling him and his broken heart.

“It’s ok, Mon. You can hang out with me,” you say in a sweet voice. Mon’s fins squeezed you even tighter.

A sweater, some random guys, Dana, Blake, and now a dolphin. Miguel can’t win.

GymRat!Miguel who watches Mon click and spin happily when you feed him fish for doing a trick.

“That was so good, Monie!” you pat his head, and he leans into your hands.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks Dotty and Mon are a bit like you and him. They’re twirling in the water together, rubbing their bodies close.

GymRat!Miguel who sits with you on the boat ride back, watching the dolphins race with the boat halfway to the yacht.

GymRat!Miguel whose eyebrows raise when he sees one of your friends as you guys step off the boat.

“Hobie!” you squeal, running to hug the lanky figure.

“My girl! How have you been, love?” he asks, a deep London accent lining his words.

Love?

“I’m so happy you made it! How’s the apprenticeship? Any new techniques to share?”

“A lot more than techniques, if you know what I mean?” Hobie leaned on you as he snickered away.

Miguel might pop a fuse.

GymRat!Miguel who lingers by as you chat away with Hobie. The two of you are catching up for a while and Miguel wants to walk back to the room with you so you can help him take off this tight wetsuit.

He’s lightly kicking at a puddle with his arms crossed when you call his name.

“This is my boyfriend, Miguel,” you say, coming up to him and wrapping an arm around his.

“He’s a big one, innit?” Hobie says, holding his hand out. “Hobie Brown.”

Miguel shook it with a sturdy hand, “Miguel O’Hara. Nice to meet you.”

“How long have you known this firecracker for?” Hobie gestured to you with a smile.

“It’ll be a year once August hits. The best ten months of my life, honestly,” Miguel says, leaning down to kiss your temple.

“She’s got you wrapped ‘round her finger, yeah?” Hobie smirked at the love drunk look on Miguel’s face. “Yeah, you’re a goner. That’s just how she is. One encounter and it’s hard to let go.”

Hobie went to pick up his one backpack, a master at light travel from how much he’s moving.

“Don’t let me stop yous two from partying. See ya in an hour, love,” Hobie said walking away.

You look up at Miguel, “The best ten months?”

“Yep. Love?”

“It’s a British thing. He’s friendly!”

“Hm.”

“And definitely demisexual.”

“Hmph.”

“You’re very territorial.”

“For good reason.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes it to the boardwalk after he’s changed to greet their friends and guide them to the yacht.

There’s a lot of you, especially from Gabriel and Dana’s graduating class. Miguel greets everyone warmly.

It feels good to unite his old friends and newer friends together.

GymRat!Miguel who makes a plan to be the best at every activity on the agenda today. Yeah, he wanted to have fun, but for some reason, he felt like he had something to prove.

He walks back out to the top deck to see Hobie laying out on the flat slats under the shade. His arms are crossed and his shades are hiding his full expression.

From here, Miguel can hear Blake chatting it up with some of the girls that are hanging out near the on-deck pool. He looks over the edge and sees him grinning from ear to ear as the girls giggle. He clicks his teeth at the scene.

“Big Migs, c’mere for a sec, will ya?” Hobie said.

“He’s a bit chatty, that one. An overachiever if I’ve ever seen it.”

On second thought, Miguel might like Hobie a lot.

“All morning, he’s been spitting nothing but rubbish. Going on and on about the boat and the city and his socials. Nothing of substance, just straight air.”

Miguel snickered, “It feels like that’s all he’s got going for himself. His daddy’s boat, his daddy’s money, and his face.”

Miguel recounts the events from last afternoon. How he lacked respect for not only him but for you and your personal space.

“Not gonna lie, I’d smash his head in,” Hobie replied calmly.

Miguel let out a hearty laugh, “I wanted to and honestly, I could, but there are several circumstances stopping me. Such as the fact that we’re on his dad’s property.”

“But deep it, when’s the next time you’ll need to be on this thing?”

Miguel is about to respond in agreement when you round the corner from the stairs.

“There you two are!”

You smile at the two of them, “Are you guys getting along? Has Hobie convinced you to join him on some scheme across the country?”

Miguel took a deep breath before responding. He knew what outfits you brought with you, a lot of them matched his own, but it was still like new whenever you put them on.

He didn’t have enough time in the world to cherish your beauty.

“They’re not schemes, baby, they’re elaborate plans,” Miguel responds.

“Man like, Migs!” Hobie hops up and drags his arm around Miguel’s shoulders.

You shake your head with a warm smile on your face, laughing at Hobie’s antics.

“And you look stunning. Though, I’m not too sure if it’s fit for hoverboarding.”

“That’s because I’m jet skiing and shaking ass, Hobie. You guys can have fun flipping in the air.”

“Right on, then. Migs and I have important business to attend to.”

Miguel nods, “Extremely important.”

You eyed them both, “Uh huh.” They left in a controlled frenzy, Hobie pulling his wicks up with a giant band and Miguel cracking his neck.

You didn’t even want to know.

GymRat!Miguel who is a bit peeved that Blake has to give the water hoverboard demonstration. He’s staying up there longer than necessary, grabbing girls to balance them in the middle of his board while he flips them around.

You’re standing next to Miguel during it all, waiting for Miguel’s turn so you can get a video.

“Hey!” Blake yells out in your direction. “Wanna take it for a spin?”

You shake your head and yell back, “No, I’m good!”

“Just three minutes! Don’t be scared! I won’t drop you.”

“No thanks,” you bite back, voice irritated.

Blake smiles with a hand on his hip, ready to convince you, when Hobie pipes up, “The lady said no. Can we move on?”

Blake’s face cracked a bit as he told one of the crew members to kill the power in the waterboard.

“What is up with him?” you mumble to yourself.

“I think he likes you,” Pavitr remarked. “He wouldn’t stop asking Gabriel questions about you.”

“He’s really pushing it,” Miguel scoffed. Not only was he being overly flirty to every girl on board, he was adamant about getting your attention. “No wonder he gets along with Kron.”

You sported a twisted lip as you watched him strap up one of Gabriel’s friends. “I don’t know. Even if I was single, he’s a bit too…tiny. Communal.”

The laugh that left Miguel wiped the scowl right off of his face.

GymRat!Miguel who gets the hang of the hoverboard after one try. You’re recording him with a big smile on your face as he tries to spell “love” in the air.

GymRat!Miguel who dies laughing at Gabriel’s horrible attempts at staying in the air. His body keeps shaking like a baby deer and he’s steady yelling in garbled Spanish.

By the time his turn is over, Miguel is laid out on the boardwalk with tears down his face.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Miguel,” Gabriel cries out.

Miguel just rolls and laughs some more.

GymRat!Miguel who watches you expertly drive a jet ski from the edge of the yacht. You’re shouting with one arm in the air as you race Dana and some of her friends.

Miguel leans his head on his hand as he watches you zoom across the ocean. Your skin is glowing, your smile is sparkling, and your laugh is bright.

GymRat!Miguel whose bubble of thoughts involving you, him, the water, some fruit, and a floatie is popped when Blake’s voice pierces through.

“She’s pretty good at that.”

“Yep.” Maybe if Miguel ignored him enough, he’d go away.

“Looks like a dream, too.”

“Are you dumb or something?” Miguel turns his body, gripping the rail to not get in Blake’s face, but extending his height to cower over him.

“Woah,” Blake holds his hands up. “It was a compliment, dude, chill out. You’re not mad at me for finding her beautiful, are you?”

“That’s not what the fuck you’re doing and you know it.”

Blake makes a confused face, laughing off Miguel’s statement, “Kron said you guys were open.”

“Does it look like we’re fucking open?”

“Well, at first-”

“Keep talking and you’ll end up just like him. Knocked out. Do you want that?” Miguel edged closer to him. “Huh?”

Blake bristles, ready to defend himself when his head is knocked to the side.

He looks next to him to see a gaggle of girls all with waterballoons and nerf guns. They yell at him to come on and pick a side.

Blake scrambles to join them.

Miguel is about to follow when Hobie sweeps in front of him, “Cool it.”

GymRat!Miguel who almost takes an edible from Hobie but decides against it.

“The offer is open all weekend.”

“Noted.”

GymRat!Miguel who gets roped into playing some games to start off the night, one of which is Never Have I Ever with shots.

It started off innocently with things like peeing in a pool and cheating on a test to which everyone looked in shock at Miguel when he put a finger down.

“I’m smart but if there’s a group effort to get the right answers, I’m not going to say no.”

Then it went left field and personal with things like threesomes, drunkenly fighting with others, and streaking.

“Never have I ever…received head from a partner!”

A few of the guys put a finger down, groaning out and snickering as they had to take another shot.

Miguel was trying not to dwell on how many experiences he lacked compared to the group, a lot of them younger than him.

He rubbed his tongue across his teeth. He didn’t want to show his irritation on his face.

Looking across the circle, he could see Gabriel’s eyes get wide, staring off beside you.

Miguel followed his line of sight landing on you with a finger down and a shot in your hand.

What the fuck.

Who the fuck beat him to it? Where the fuck did it happen? When the fuck did it happen? How the fuck did he not know?

He’s ready for the game to be over.

“Miguel is putting in work!” one guy pushes his elbow against Miguel’s side, laughing and patting his shoulders.

Well, if people think he did it, it’s not so bad.

“Oh my god, girl, how was it?” Dana’s friend asked you.

Miguel tried his best not to scream bloody murder.

“It was,” you pause, looking up to ponder. “It was something! Not particularly fun or good. My ex wasn’t the best at listening so he just poked at me. I faked everything that night.”

Miguel smirked. There were no big shoes to fill because they were never taken out of the box. Or even out of the store.

“That sucks. I bet he thought you were in heaven.”

You laugh with the girls, joking in a way similar to the women that flooded Miguel’s for-you page.

Miguel stepped away to get a breather. If he stayed any longer, he might do something drastic.

GymRat!Miguel who is leaning on the boat when Gabriel comes to check up on him.

“You ok, Miguelito?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. A little overwhelmed so I need to reset,” Miguel wrung his wrists while he let the sea breeze cool him down.

“Is it the game? Don’t feel so bad,” Gabriel leans closer to Miguel and speaks in a stage whisper. “Some of them are a little too fast for their own good.”

Miguel snickered. Gabriel was definitely tipsy.

“Thanks, Gabri.”

“Anytime. Don’t let them bring you down. You’re my perfect Miguelito. My pure baby!” Gabriel kissed him on the cheek.

“Ugh,” Miguel laughed and wiped at his wet cheek.

“Don’t wipe away at my love, broski.”

GymRat!Miguel who is guided by you in a dance. You’re a little tipsy and giggly, holding onto him as you dance to the music.

Miguel just holds onto your hips and smiles with you.

GymRat!Miguel who is locked in on your body as you grind against him. You’re arching your back and looking at him with a sparkle in your eye and Miguel feels like a wild animal.

When you lean back against him, he whispers in your ear about a private party just for the two of you. You bite your lip and turn to look at him. His eyes are tracing your lips and his hands are groping you.

GymRat!Miguel who laughs at you as you wish everyone a good night quickly.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you shout to your friends as you pull Miguel behind you to the room.

GymRat!Miguel who waits for you on the bed while you use the bathroom.

He’s excited for an intimate night with just you. Parties were fun but it really couldn’t beat the serenity of smaller groups. It especially couldn’t beat talking all night with you.

Everyone else was chilling out in other parts of the yacht, back in their hotel rooms, or night paddle boarding.

You’re in the bathroom staring at the thin fabric in your hand.

Miguel told you that there was a pool involved.

You bought a micro bikini during a surge of confidence. It looked so cute on the model and you wanted to feel the same way.

Now you’re standing in the bathroom freaking out, worried to death over the flimsy material. You were excited about Miguel seeing it, but you couldn’t shake your own nerves about how everything would play out.

A knock at the door makes you jump.

You crack the door and peer up at Miguel.

“You ok in there?” he asked, eyebrows pinched.

“Yeah, I’m ok! I’ll be out in just a sec!”

You bite the bullet and place the bikini on.

You didn’t account for your areolas to poke out beyond the triangles. You bit your lip as you turned to check out your backside.

At least your ass looked great.

In a nervous motion, you pull your coverup over you and pull your hair up so that it doesn’t get too ruined by the water. It was now or never.

GymRat!Miguel who holds your hand as he guides you to the private area. You’re squeezing his hand so tight.

One of the stewardesses smiles as she sees you two coming. She stands next to a rope cutting off the area.

“Good evening to you both! I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay so far,” her voice is polite and even. “Tonight, it’ll be just you two enjoying the Galaxy. If you need anything, just press the call button on the wall and I’ll be right down.”

She unlatches the rope and holds her arm out in the direction of the stairs.

You both slowly descend, careful not to slip on the trippy-looking wood.

Taking a step into the room, Miguel stares in awe at the glowing pool.

There’s petals fluttering about, small fairy lights surround the corners to add extra light. Looking up, you both can see the night sky with the stars adorning it.

“This is beautiful,” you say, the lights surrounding you glittering in your eyes.

You were staring at the stars and the lights but Miguel couldn’t help but to think that you were the most beautiful part of the room.

He said this much to you, watching as you bent your head down hiding the smile on your face. Miguel lifted it back up and kissed you under the light of the stars.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, let me just go take this off.”

You walk towards a chair with folded towels placed on it.

“Miguel, these have our names on them!” you say with shock, running your fingers over the embroidered letters. Hearts surrounded the names and you felt fuzzy from the implication of the stewardess preparing this.

“Yeah, I heard it was a part of the couple’s bundle,” he shouts from the pool. It wasn’t really a part of the bundle, but Miguel suggested it way before the trip.

His back was turned to you, trying to set up a speaker by the pool.

The moment was perfect, so you opened a champagne bottle and poured two glasses. You took a huge gulp of one and removed your slip.

GymRat!Miguel who hears you entering the water, so he hurries to pick out a song.

The mood needs to be right.

He turns to you and nearly drowns at the sight. (Art is not affiliated with this fic, but I couldn't find any plus-size women in real life on Pinterest with this type of bikini! Please give this artist some love, I love their art!)

You’re coming down the stairs with two glasses in your hand and your skin on full display. The strings are digging tight into your skin and your breasts are practically spilling out from every side.

Miguel is stunned.

“Come grab your drink, Miguel,” your voice is like butter in his ears.

His eyes don’t leave you as he swims across the pool. The only sounds that could be heard are the water moving around him and the music playing. When he gets closer, he stands up, water dripping down his body. He’s breathing hard and is laser-focused on your frame.

You feel an array of emotions. You feel like running, jumping, maybe hiding. His gaze is too heavy and he hasn’t spoken a word yet.

You don’t know how long you two stare at each other before Miguel breaks the tension, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He takes the glasses from your hand with one hand and picks you up in the other. You cling to him as he goes to the edge of the pool, places one glass down and chugs the other.

In a flash, you’re sitting on the edge and he’s holding his body out of the water in order to kiss you.

He pushes your mouth open, pulling at your lip with his teeth. He was desperate, wanting more.

Your hands find your way to his hair, the tips wet from his swim. You card your fingers through his locks, opening your mouth wider as Miguel groans onto your tongue.

He can’t stop, body moving forward the deeper the kisses get. Your legs open wider and your hands fall down Miguel’s back. You go lower than usual, pushing your hands under his swimsuit, fingertips grazing over the skin of his ass.

Miguel parts, spit-ridden mouth red and messy.

“You’re making this so hard for me,” he says against your lips. You’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

Your body feels like jelly. The way that he’s looking at you fills you with desire, “Making what hard?” You’re quivering and clenching as his eyes seem to get darker.

“Baby,” Miguel kisses the corner of your lips then your jaw. He moves to where your jaw and neck connect, licking “Amor. I can’t.”

You move your head, encouraging him to continue, “You can if you want to.”

“No, I’m supposed to take this slow,” his mouth moved to your collarbone, sucking at the skin as you squeezed your thighs around him. “I need to take this slow.”

He gets to your breasts, pressing your nipples through the material and watching as your areolas poked out more. “Mierda.”

You try to talk as Miguel takes one breast into his mouth, “It’s ok to want more. I want, ugh, I want you to take more.” He pulls at your nipple, watching as it rises more through the fabric. His thumb traces it, causing you to twitch in his hold.

He continues to rub over the fabric as he kisses down your stomach. The string is wrapping around your stomach like a gift just for him.

“Tomorrow, baby,” he says into your skin. “I’ll take more tomorrow.”

He needed to stop before he broke the promise he made to himself.

He hears you whine as he gets eerily close to your sex before jerking his body straight.

“Why?” you sound so needy and broken.

“Because,” he kisses your pout away. “Tomorrow, I’m going to take all I need. You just need to trust me. Please.”

You nod your head, heart pounding with his words.

GymRat!Miguel who lets you persuade him into swapping places. All it took was a few blinks of your eyes and Miguel was swooning.

“I saw you walk away during the game today. I wanted to make sure that the next time you play, you’re able to put a finger down.”

That’s what you told him with a sweet smile on your face.

Now you’re rubbing up his thighs and Miguel is about to pass out from the view of you peering up at him. Your eyes were foggy and the slope of your neck to your chest was glistening. From this angle, Miguel could see the curve of your ass with the bikini barely covering it.

You run your hands down his chest, fingers dancing along the slopes and planes, leaving a wet trail in your wake. Miguel’s stomach tightens as you make it below his belly button, the sensation of your fingertips across his happy trail building a fury in his core.

You kiss him through his swimsuit causing him to jump.

You hold his thighs and tilt your head to lean on one, “Are you nervous, Miggy?” Your knuckles rake against his groin, lingering in spots that made his inner thighs clench the most.

“I,” Miguel is trembling like a leaf. He can barely get the words out from how much energy he's using to hold himself up. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You lift your body from the water a little, pressing your tits closer to his clothed sex. “Baby, I need you to know. I can’t go further without your permission.”

Miguel feels like he could cum right now.

“I’m really nervous, but I want to experience this.”

You hum as you start to pull at his waistband. His eyes scrunch closed as his dick springs up.

You’re met with a sight you had missed. The size is still as intimidating as the last time.

You rub his thighs and give yourself a quiet pep talk. You were determined to make your boyfriend feel good.

Miguel looks back down at you and swallows dryly, anxious at the look in your eyes and your silence, “If it’s too much, w-we can stop here-”

“No.”

The first lick of his tip has Miguel rising off of the pool edge, pre-cum escaping him.

He whines, embarrassed at his lack of control, but his dick is twitching from the sensation.

“Miguel,” your hands are back on his hips at a flimsy attempt to hold him down. “You need to be careful, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby right now.” Miguel’s voice is winded like he’s been running a marathon.

You look up at him. His mouth is twisted up and his eyebrows are furrowed. His stomach keeps shaking and his elbows don’t know if they want to bend or extend. When he looks down at you, he lets out a whimper, dick jerking against his will.

You hold your lips right above the head, the heat of it making you excited, “Baby.”

Miguel jerks again as you take his tip into your mouth, more of his pre-cum slipping out. His body is wound tight and he’s losing sense of it. Your mouth is so warm and he’s crying out from just you suckling along the head. He would be grateful with just this alone.

You push yourself lower, mouth adjusting to the widening girth. You don’t know if it’s the champagne combined with the other drinks you’ve had today, but the taste is making your mind fuzzy.

You hum as you move your tongue along the underside of his length, his essence melting into your mouth. Miguel continues to twitch against your lips.

You look up and he just groans when his eyes connect with yours.

“P-pretty,” he stutters out, brain-to-mouth filter completely disintegrating. One of his arms covers his mouth as he fights to quiet down. There’s no telling what the stewardess could hear from above.

You decided to go deeper, wanting to hear him some more. You make it halfway down before you grip his shaft and give it a few semi-dry pumps.

Miguel just about shouts at the sensation, legs jerking enough to splash the water around you.

Satisfied with the reaction, you release him with a pop and slide your tongue down to the base, trying to get him as wet as possible for what you’re about to attempt to do. You pucker your lips to leave wet kisses all over his shaft, sucking occasionally.

All Miguel can do is whimper and shake.

You hold him, sliding your hand up and down, applying pressure whenever you glide over the top, “You can hold on to me.”

Miguel shakes his head and releases his bottom lip from his teeth to speak, but his words are jumbled up in a heated mess.

“Say it again, Miguel. I don’t understand,” you bring your mouth to the head again, this time, cupping his balls as you slide back down.

Early spurts of cum land in your mouth as Miguel uselessly grips at the flat ground. He’s moaning out your name and if you weren’t sliding him down your throat, you would think he’s crying for you.

“I-I don’t wanna hurt you,” Miguel takes heavy breaths in the middle of his sentence.

Even like this he was oh so sweet. You don’t push it and continue on.

As you reach the hilt, you force yourself to relax, thumb pressed against your fisted palm. He was heavy on your tongue and you needed to find the right pace.

You slowly move your head up and down, lips wet with spit and slick. You build a steady tempo that has Miguel involuntarily moving his hips and moaning in a senseless manner.

He was conflicted, core heated at the sound of your throat barely taking him, but wanting to pull you off so you don’t choke all because of him. Hot tears ran down his face as you didn’t let up.

He chooses the latter, foggy mind coming to a decision. His shaky hands reach towards your face, your cheeks hallowed and eyes closed. His hands make it to your cheeks when you reach the hilt again and swallow around his head.

Miguel scares himself with the moan he lets out.

You panic as you swallow his load, mouth completely full.

Miguel hurries to pull you off, “Shit! Baby, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s ok,” you cough as you try to catch your breath. Drips of him that you didn’t swallow falling to your chest. “I wish you would have told me you were about cum, though.”

“I didn’t know!” he’s red in the face. “God, I’m so sorry!”

“Was it good, though?” You look up at him with lips and sparkling eyes. You’re holding your tits up so that his cum wouldn’t get in the pool.

Miguel’s dick twitches like it’s trying to wake back up again. You notice it and a grin plants itself right onto your face.

“Do you really have to ask me that?”

“Yes, Miggy.”

“I think my embarrassing finish was enough but yes, you made me feel good. It was way more than good. Now come out of the pool before you get any more ideas.”

“It wasn’t embarrassing!” you reply as Miguel picks you up from the water and on his stomach while lays back. “‘Was kinda hot. You felt so good that you couldn’t wait.”

You slide your finger over your cleavage to pick up the leftover essence and plop right in your mouth.

Miguel grips your thighs as he looks up at you, “No, stop that, you vixen.”

You’re going to be the death of him for sure.

GymRat!Miguel whose legs are like jelly when you help him up from the ground. His thighs haven’t shaken this much since his first leg day almost five years ago.

“Do you need to lie down on the beach chair for a minute?” you ask with genuine concern.

“Yeah, I think I need a second,” Miguel says, trying his best not to put his entire weight onto you.

GymRat!Miguel who watches you watch him from the pool. You’re at the edge, leaning over and smiling at him while you let your body float.

“Next time, I want to get, like, really hoarse. We should work on your resistance and my tolerance. Oh! And maybe we can do that thing where I hold your-”

“Amor, please. Let’s talk about this when I’m not halfway dying,” Miguel groans, dick half hard. “How are you so good at this anyway?”

“Practice! With my ex and like one other fling. They weren’t nearly as responsive as you, though.”

Miguel squints at your figure.

“Or fun. Or satisfying. Or tasty. Or big. Can I do it one more time, Miggy?”

Miguel stares at you for a minute or two then groans, “Come on.”

You leave the water and walk over to him with glee.

GymRat!Miguel who grabs lightly onto your head this time, fingers twitching occasionally. His legs are parted and you’re laid out on the horizontal part of the beach chair. Miguel is constantly looking from your face to your ass, experiencing a sensation overload. You take it easy on him this time, saving some of your tricks and things you wanted to try for a later date.

The room is filled once again with Miguel’s grunts and whimpers plus your mouth and throat molding unto him.

GymRat!Miguel who warns you this time. You let go with a pop and let him paint your open mouth. He shudders as you look at him through it all, pumping him slowly until he can't take anymore. A lonely tear escaped him, eyes heavy and chest heaving.

GymRat!Miguel who barely makes it back up the stairs. He gives the stewardess a polite smile but you can barely look at her for longer than a second.

“It was really lovely,” you say leaning into Miguel’s side, voice a little gone.

“Yeah, amazing,” Miguel snickers. You nudge him at the back of his leg causing him to stagger a bit.

The stewardess just laughs and wishes you both a good night.

GymRat!Miguel who sleeps like a log that night. His soul needed to rejuvenate.

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up a new man. He feels like he can conquer the world. As of now, the world is a new set of water activities with their friends.

He kisses you on the cheek in your sleeping state makes his way out to the deck, wanting to do some morning stretches and yoga if he could fit it in.

He walked out to see Dana talking to Blake, an indifferent look on her face.

“I just can’t believe he would lie to me like that, you know? Like that’s fucked up. Here I was, ready to get something and he set me up.”

“Yeah, no. That really sucks,” Dana replies with a big yawn.

“I mean, I thought we were bros. I thought-”

“Miguel! My knight in shining armor,” Dana practically screams when she spots Miguel.

Blake tenses up so that if he mimics a timid raccoon.

“Morning,” Miguel walks up to them.

Blake breaks out into a sweat, “Hey man, I’m sorry about last night. I would have never done that stuff if I knew. I don’t know why Kron told me you guys were open.”

“I think you need some new friends and better social cues,” Miguel brushed Blake off and walked with Dana onto the boardwalk.

“Thank god you got here. That was his fourth iteration of ‘bro code should be respected.’ I was going to start screaming if he kept talking.”

GymRat!Miguel who lets Dana guide him in a mini yoga class on the beach. It’s pretty nice with the waves crashing and the birds squawking occasionally.

GymRat!Miguel whose downward dog pose is almost disrupted by you whistling from a spot in the sand.

You and Gabriel had snuck up on Miguel and Dana, cackling like hyenas.

“Baby, I think you can go deeper,” you shout over the waves, encouraging Miguel to stretch.

“Gross,” Gabriel shudders.

GymRat!Miguel who wants to use you for a flying pose but you refuse.

“I’m not walking back with sand up my back.”

“Can we try it later, though?” Miguel pouted.

“On safe carpet, yes.”

GymRat!Miguel who settles for a forward fold with you. You stretch your body across his back as he reaches down to touch his toes.

It’s nice until you both switch positions.

“I think I’m dying,” you gasp out. You sound like an old man on his last breath.

“No, you’re not. You just need more practice,” Miguel chides from above.

“When will I ever need this pose in life?”

“Flexibility is good for you!” Miguel replies after a while.

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

GymRat!Miguel who tilts his head at your breakfast plate piled with pineapples.

“You don’t want an omelet?”

“Maybe later.”

GymRat!Miguel who joined any group activity he could.

From the inflatable water obstacle course,

which Gabriel cheated on by the way,

To the boat tour, he got so many pictures for you for his rotating home screen,

To the banana boat rides that he almost lost his life on. It took you, Gabriel, and Dana to hold onto him.

GymRat!Miguel who surprises you with a “rooftop” dinner on the horizon on the highest part of the yacht. You’re wearing that same green dress that made him go crazy in the dressing room.

“This is so gorgeous, Miguel,” you sigh as you take in the small scene.

From up here, you could see the breathtaking view of the ocean and the city. The sun was close to setting, people were out and about, and the group was partaking in last-minute activities like parasailing and water walking with bubble balls but you could only focus on the glow around Miguel.

“Did you enjoy this weekend?”

You nod your head, shy with attention, “I really did. I had so much fun.”

“Even with boys that don’t understand the word ‘no’?”

“When I have my strong boyfriend there to defend me, what is there to be afraid of?” you smile at him.

Miguel sits up straighter at that, chest puffing out.

You laugh at his state, “Seriously, though. This was one of the best summers ever. I’m really glad Mr. Stone arranged this and I’m even more glad that you brought me along.”

“Of course I did. You’re my girl. Mi amor, mi luz,” Miguel reached out to run your hand. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

Like a flower unfurled, your heart took in his words. You leaned across the table until you could brush your lips with his, only the sun peeking through the two of you.

You let go and lean back a little. “I’m not letting go of you either. I want you by my side,” you say, eyes panning back and forth between his.

“And that’s where I’ll stay.”

GymRat!Miguel who covers your eyes on the way back to the room.

You’re whining because you don’t have nearly as much planned for him as he always does for you.

“Amor, you could just text me an emoji and I would be happy. You deserve good things. Don’t worry about me.”

GymRat!Miguel who wraps his arm around you as you open your eyes to the room.

It’s lit with soft lights, decorated lightly with rose petals in the shape of a heart on the ground, and a banner full of pictures with the two of you. Pictures from outside of lab, pictures of you with oil paint on your face, pictures of him piled with notes in the study lab.

Pictures of you both on your early dates, pictures of you looking at him in the car, pictures where he’s kissing your face off.

You gasp at the scene, feet stuck in the entryway.

“Surprise,” Miguel says into your ear, kissing the top of it.

“I don’t think I have any tears left,” your voice is watery enough to dispute that lie.

GymRat!Miguel who kisses you deeply in the middle of the rose heart. You’re cradling his face with one hand and rubbing your thumb across his sideburn with another.

You’re so wrapped up in his arms and his presence that you miss his question.

“Can you do what?”

Miguel’s hands find their way to your ass, pulling you even closer, “Can I please eat you out?”

When you stare at him with your eyebrows raised, it only pushes him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I’ve dreamed about it, researched how to do it, studied it, daydreamed about it. I need to do it before I go crazy.”

He bent down to get on his knees, hands never letting go of your body.

“Please, baby. If you’ll allow me, I really want to make you feel good.”

At first, all you could think was that Dana was right and definitely a girl’s girl. Then, you looked down at Miguel whose head was pressed up against your torso, eyes pleading with you.

You ran your hand through his hair, “You need to do it?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, nuzzling into your body through your dress.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to fake my reactions for you.” You didn’t have the heart to lie to him like that, especially when he’s looking at you like that.

“You won’t have to,” Miguel mumbles into your skin. “I’m confident, but if something is weird, stop me immediately.”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t give you time to think when you whisper out an “ok.” He’s picking you up by the legs and plopping you on the bed.

Like a switch, he’s kissing down your body, pulling at the stretchy green fabric to expose your skin. He’s crowding your space in the most desired way possible, a fire building within him.

“Miguel, the dress isn’t going to come off like that,” you say, internally laughing at Miguel tugging to no avail.

He starts to pull so hard that you can hear threads ripping. Before you can stop him, there’s a makeshift slit up your thigh.

You lean up on your elbows and give Miguel a look. He just stares sheepishly and lets you stand up to pull the dress off.

“You gotta be more patient baby,” you purred, bending down to kiss his lips.

When you lean back, you move backwards to sit on the bed. It’s just you, your black panties, and a hungry Miguel at your feet.

The further you inch up the bed, the more Miguel crawls to be closer to you.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes into your mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

“Please.”

Miguel melts into your skin, mouth molding to a familiar shape. His breaths are heavy and sporadic, too excited to finally know what you feel like on his tongue.

You reach to pull his shirt off, wanting to feel his chest against yours, wanting to feel the expanse of his back while he pressed up against you. Miguel follows your movements without letting up.

He sighed into your lips with pleasure as he let his hand flow down your body, grabbing a breast to massage. You hummed into his mouth, legs parting to bring him closer. Eager to please, Miguel slipped his shorts below his bulged, grinding against you.

You start to wrap your legs around his waist before Miguel interrupts you with a sturdy hand under your knee, and a promise to devour you to your neck.

GymRat!Miguel who groans when he slides your panties down your legs. The slope of your thick thighs to your ass has Miguel ready to burst.

He gets on his knees to maneuver your legs up into your arms. You peek up at him over your knees, your wet cunt kissing the air.

He licks his lips at the sight, taking a tentative touch at your wet lips.

You jump at the sensation, the feeling of Miguel seeing you this vulnerable new.

He bends down to kiss them, hands on the back of your thighs for extra support. Your core flutters as he takes a few more kisses to your sex, tongue reaching out to trace from the bottom to the top. At the first taste, Miguel is groaning into you, sending vibrations through your body.

You sigh out in bliss as your grip loosens on your legs. Miguel flattens his body on the bed and spreads your legs wide, tongue continuing to savor the taste of you.

At this angle, Miguel pushes his tongue in between your folds, feeling your warmth around him. He laps at your entrance slowly causing you to flutter around him and reach for his hair.

He slurps up the juices that try to escape him causing you to moan out his name. He just hums in response, breaching further inside. The more noises he makes, the wetter you get. The room is full of the sound of him lapping everything he gave you and your quiet moans.

“Miguel,” your breath hitched as he swiped over a particular spot. You look down at Miguel whose eyes are closed and hands are tight on your thighs. You feel a building heat seeing how much of a trance he’s in.

Just when you feel a bud sprouting within you, he directs his attention towards your clit, searching until he finds it. At the first skim across it, your hips are bucking up off the bed. Miguel is quick to hold you down, placing his weight on your thighs and lapping continuously at the pearl.

“Fuck!” you shout, hitting the mattress. You’re writhing beneath him, unable to control your body. “Don’t stop, Miguel, please.”

Miguel groans through it all, lapping up every drop.

“Baby, I’m gonna-” a scream pushes through you as your body shakes with pleasure. Miguel takes it like a champ, slurping like you were his last meal.

As you twitch with aftershocks, Miguel barely gives you time to recover before he’s diving back into your entrance. You let out a sob, still sensitive and quivering as your legs move too close before Miguel growls and wraps his arms around your thighs to keep them open.

He’s sinking into you, moving his tongue at a steady pace and sucking in between. Your moans were a pool of words from his name to begging to profanities crescendoing across the air.

Miguel would rarely part for air, adamant on bringing you to the hilt again. Your thighs were tensing up as Miguel kept going, fire building as you grabbed his hair and jerked your hips in time with his movements.

Your climax comes in waves, your hands tighter in his hair and an arch in your back. When you clench over his tongue and your release hits his mouth, Miguel’s eyes start to roll and he’s rubbing his nose against your clit. You yell even louder as Miguel pushes his face incredibly deep into your pussy. He’s rutting into the bed at the sound of your voice, moaning with you.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The captain swore that the VIP suite was soundproof, but your voice was practically carrying across the yacht.

“She’s getting it good! Just like I promised,” Dana smiles to herself.

“What did you promise? I was the one that gave Miguel tips.” Gabriel moved his headphones aside.

“Oh yeah? And what tips did you give him?” She had her eyebrow raised and a silly smirk on her face.

There was a pause of silence between them, only your voice filling up the space occasionally. Gabriel stared at Dana with a goofy grin.

He reached over and connected his phone to his speaker, putting on his special playlist. “Want to find out?”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

GymRat!Miguel who has to be pulled off your sex with both of your hands. His eyes are glazed over and his chin is soaked. Every chance you came after the first two times, your body would move up the bed and Miguel was sure to follow.

“Ok, ok, baby,” you heave. Your legs are spasming, a result of the position and Miguel’s willingness to have you cum over and over again.

You were tapping out, body sore and tired.

Miguel left a final long kiss to your clit, a trail of essence following his lips. He kissed up one of your thighs with a hungry look still in his eyes.

“¿Lo hice bien, cariño?” (Did I do it well, baby/darling?)

You trembled at his touch, limbs still heavy and mind in the clouds.

Still, this was the best you’ve felt in a while.

You open your mouth to whisper, “Lo hiciste muy bien.” (You did so good.)

GymRat!Miguel who has to calm down internally at your answer. You don’t talk to him in Spanish often, but when you do, he’s over the moon.

GymRat!Miguel who carries you to the bathroom to clean you off.

“Baby, I can’t walk. You’ll have to carry me for the rest of your life.”

“I’m totally fine with that.”

GymRat!Miguel who shocks you when he says that you don’t need to worry about bringing him relief.

“Amor, I came when you came. After that, it was really all about you.”

“Oh!”

GymRat!Miguel who pats his past self on the back for asking the crew for extra sheets. He had no clue how the evening would go, but something in him told him to be overprepared.

Those old sheets were beyond ruined.

GymRat!Miguel who rubs your legs and stomach with aloe vera lotion after the shower. Not only did he stretch you a little further than you’re used to, but his bite marks left a big impression.

GymRat!Miguel who cuddles you to sleep. If you wore him out the other night, he definitely put you through the ringer. You were gone after three rubs to your back.

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up early with you to send off all of your friends. You’re yawning constantly, tears sticking to the corners of your eyes.

“Someone had a time last night,” Hobie snickers as he walks past with his backpack.

“Shut up, Hobie,” you say, already flustered.

“What? It’s true! If I didn’t know Migs' name before, I sure do now.”

“I’m going to backflip off of this boat.”

GymRat!Miguel who grants Captain Barrett a goodbye, thanking him for letting them use his boat.

“It was a pleasure to host you, Miguel. If you and your girlfriend ever need to, my superyacht is available for any future formal events!” he elbows Miguel with a giant grin, curled mustache moving like it was paid to do so.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Cap.”

For Miguel, the man with the plan, he would grant Mission A: Eat You Out, a huge success and the start of the summer one to remember.

divider by: @iwonbin 🩵

Part 9.1 here!

a/n: And with that, the yacht chapter is finished! I hope you guys enjoyed it and got your life. 🤭 It was both challenging and rewarding to write this GIANT chapter. I hope that you guys have fun with it like I did! I have no idea how the next chapter OR Miguel's Mission B: Virgin No More plan will go, but!!! Hopefully, it will be pleasant regardless! 🤠

ALSO! I have decided to give this drabble that's basically a fic a proper name (mostly for AO3). Do you all have any suggestions?

As always, like, comment, and reblog. Let me know how you feel! 🩵

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fromagony · 17 days

Text

@jegulus-microfic | cease - may 4 | 831 words @ecstarry @godsofwoes @bellaxisworld prev part

“You are unavoidable.”

They waited for each other to talk, but they didn't. James felt like fainting, or maybe that was the alcohol in his veins, who knows?

His mind was racing, he wanted to scream at him, he wanted to shake him until he pulled the words out of him. He couldn't do it, and he was never good with silence.

“Reg—”

“James, you are married.”

James closed his eyes shut, his words stank like a needle. He was right, of course. Fuck, he was right.

“I am aware.”

“Then what is the meaning of this?”

James was on edge, he was tiptoeing around the edge, and he knew he was going to fall into the pit anytime.

“Look,” he forced out the words, “Regulus, this isn't easy, okay?”

“I guess—”

“No, no. Don't fucking talk, okay? Just listen to me. God, you don't have any idea how hard it is for me to talk right now. I don't care if you don't talk, I don't care if you end up hanging up on me. I just need you to listen.”

Even though he expected him to talk again, Regulus didn't. He did what James said, he stopped and started to listen.

James took a deep breath and inhaled deeply, his eyes were still closed.

“It was a mistake to invite you to my wedding, I'm going to forever regret it.”

“Why?” Regulus asked, his voice was tiny, almost whispering and maybe he was hurt.

“Ever since then, I can't stop—” he couldn't say it, he couldn't admit it, he didn't want it to be true. Yes, he thought about it. But telling his feelings and thoughts was something else. He was going to make them real. He still didn't want it to be real.

But, at this point of this misery, what choice he had left?

“I couldn't stop thinking about you, about us.”

Saying out loud made it ten times worse but, he felt as if something lifted off his chest. Now he was sure that he should do this. It was wrong but he didn't care. For the last two years, this feeling ate him alive. He couldn't tell anyone, not to Sirius, not to his wife and for sure not to his parents. There was nobody but Regulus. He would understand, and even if he didn't, James had no choice.

“It's funny, isn't it? I was the one who broke up with you and got married but look at me now. Calling you because I have been bearing these thoughts every day for two years.”

“James…”

James took a sip of his whiskey and continued, “I know how this sounds, believe me, I know. I just— it's just—”

He began to laugh, squeezing the bridge of his nose, he felt everything in an unbearable amount. This wasn't fair, nothing was fair.

“James, calm down—”

“I CAN’T FUCKING CALM DOWN!” he screamed, “I CAN’T EVEN FUCKING BREATHE FOR THE LAST TWO YEARS!"

“I can't fucking breathe, and I tried. Fuck, I tried to stop thinking about you, I tried to forget how you tasted, I tried to erase the memories of holding you in my arms, but you are just— I can't shake you under my skin. The more I try to stop, the more I think about you. And this is— this is just— it is not fair, okay? Not fair, I have a wife for god's sake! A wife, Lily, my Lily.”

He didn't notice when he stopped laughing and started letting the tears down on his face, it was torture.

“You have your Lily,” Regulus replied with a dry voice, “Yet, here you are.”

“I am here, yes,” James said, “I am at your mercy, and I hate every second of it.”

He took a deep breath, “ I hate that telling you all of this is making me feel better. I've been suffering for so long, knowing that confessing my feelings to you is going to be my salvation. But this felt wrong, having all these feelings as a married man. I am fucking married, Regulus.”

“I am aware, James. I was there, watching you make your vows to each other. I was there, remember?”

“Why did you come? Why did you join my wedding, Regulus?”

“Because,” Regulus said, “I wanted closure.”

James slowly sank to the floor and palmed his face. He couldn't talk, it was impossible to function. Maybe doing all this was his way to destroy everything he had. He never considered himself as a destructive person, but now, all he could think of was shattering everything he had cared for, for Regulus. This had to cease to an end, he knew it, but he didn't have the heart for it.

“Did you?” James asked quietly, “Did you get your closure?”

Regulus waited for a minute.

“Yes,” he said, breaking James’ heart in pieces like he did to Regulus years ago, “I got my closure.”

James couldn't say anything in return.

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #regulus x james #marauders

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yeosbbm · 8 months

Text

Since Way Back…

Smut | MDNI

starring: toxic! wooyoung x moving forward! reader

genre: smut, reconnecting, exes to lovers, pinch of angst

summary: Wooyoung had a lot on his plate and due to feeling overwhelmed broke up with you, soon after seeing you out with someone else… he realizes he never really was over you..one of his attempts to win you back leads to you and him together in a hotel bed.

warnings/prevs: wooyoung toxic more so toxic in a sense he won’t let go, mirror sex, mentions of drinking, mention of masturbation, praise, dirty talk, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, protected piv

A/N: hey guys this week I haven’t been feeling well so the push it series has been paused, but a yunho fic will be out tmr LOVE YALL ! ciao 🫶🏾

“I feel like this is just what’s best for us you know?.”

Like a scene out of a terrible romance movie, he invited you over and you both drank coffee. The conversation started with a bland “how are you” “where’ve you been” exchange..you knew something was up within the past 3 months. Then he says it..crushing you. You had to keep yourself from dropping your cup and crying.

“I think we should break up..I just can’t pull you into everything that’s going on with me…I feel like this is just what’s best for us you know ?.” You sat wordlessly, biting your lip as if it’d burst. You both got through it, talking it out and sharing a last final embrace before you left the dorms.

He was able to date you through company policy but unable to be seen with you. Having to make you sign an NDA as if you were a painful secret. That with schedules, exhaustion, his mental, and life in general. He didn’t want you to get caught up in it. He didn’t want to press his stress and burdens onto you..and he felt that it was unfair. Unfair that he has to secretly refer to you..unfair you two can only go out if it’s dark out..unfair he can’t post and gloat about you, unfair he can’t love you how you deserve..so he thought it was best to let you go.

It’s been 6 months. You’ve had to piece yourself together. You got a new job as a brand ambassador, you have a workout routine, you go on walks/jogs now, you journal, you’ve been going on dates..though your feelings for them are short lived and still don’t compare to him yet.

“Healing” phase as most call it. Tonight you have another date that you met through a mutual friend.

You have on a black slip dress, light makeup and some cute wedges. You walked into the restaurant and search around for your date. You find him and you both talk and eat. However, it just wasn’t clicking. The conversation felt so one sided and it was as if he cared more about taking you home with him than getting to know you.

And of course, as if the universe wanted to play a funny but horrid joke on you two, Wooyoung walks into the same restaurant. He’s with San and Yeosang..they’re dressed somewhat smart but not anything too loud or else they’d be recognizable.

Wooyoung, looks around the restaurant with its low white light helping with the dim and minimalist design. Luxury but somewhat, bleak. However, something was pulling at him..his intuition made him seek something out. His eyes scan across the space, eyes darting across the many tables and people. Finally as if a blackhole controlled his vision… sucked all of his attention and gaze onto you.

His heart caved in. Seeing you there, your presence and beauty putting him in a state of pain and adoration. A peaceful harmony that gets squashed once he sees your plus one. You’re touching that guys arm..you’re smiling at him ? Wooyoung sees this guy’s gaze drinking you in, the same way he used to. He doubts that this guy sees the things he saw in you though.

Yeosang notices Wooyoung’s stare and his pause at the dining room entrance, “Everything ok ?” Yeosang whispers to Woo.

“Yea yea let’s find the table.” Wooyoung says with a shake of his head beginning to walk off.

San nudges Yeosang and lightly points over to your table. “Fuck..did you know she’d be here.” San shakes his head with his eyebrows raised in mutual surprise.

Later that night, you went home alone luckily after coming up with an excuse good enough to not go home with your date. Then you get a notif from “Kpop News” about an ateez member sighting and realize Wooyoung was just at the same restaurant…

Wooyoung couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned; memories of you kept invading his head.

Your laugh, your love and care, the inside jokes and how your presence calmed him. A painful twinge hits his chest. Your curves, legs, lips..the way you cried out his name and how he’d have you shaking. He looks down and sees the tent in his pants. He had to relieve himself in the shower.

-The Next Morning-

“….Roses..?” You stare at the bouquet that was at your front door and inspect it. It was a beautiful combination of red roses, baby’s breath and black lace bows. You see a notecard stamped to the wrapping reading, “You looked lovely last night, hope you’re well.” You quirk a brow and assume your date was the one who sent it.

“Last night was nice and the roses are beautiful.” You texted and got a quick reply back.

“Roses ?”

You think he’s probably doing a little joke about not knowing about the roses but then you get a text, assuming it’s him admitting to his ruse but no, it’s from an unlabeled number.

“Did you get the flowers ?”

“Yess but who is this ?” Your mind ponders on who could send them anonymously, and which date would go out of their way to surprise you like this. Then it clicks, and your heart stops and you stare at your phone incredulously.

“Wooyoung ? …”

“Can we talk or can I see you sometime.” Sent . Wooyoung put his phone down without the screen facing up. He’s in the middle of a meeting with the members. Yeosang can sense what’s up. “A flower bouquet is bold…don’t you think” Wooyoung quits biting his nails and looks up at Yeosang annoyed. “I’m not getting back with her we just need closure.”

Translating to, he needs to see you again because watching you give yourself to someone else is eating at him. “Closure ? Sending roses is not what closure is,,” Wooyoung shrugs his shoulders, “So ?” Yeo rolls his eyes and begins to rub his forehead. “It’s ok to want her back Wooyo but be honest with yourself.” San reassures while patting his back.

“ You guys don’t understand...that guy she was with….absolute sleaze.” Wooyoung tried his best to hide his frustration.

“That doesn’t mean interfere with her love life now after 6 whole months..”

“Plus you’ve had your share of sleazy girls since then.” San carefully reminds Woo.

“ First of all there’s been one girl and it lasted 4 days max she was rude and showy and full of herself and…ANYWAYS.” How stressed he is has fully became transparent. “I just think she needs someone better and not as lame or boring..(like me).”

“What.” Yeosang clocked the last part immediately, his bestfriend was down bad.

Ding. You replied to Woo’s message. Wooyoung and Yeosang looked up at each other. “Well…answer her.” “Shit. What if she said no.” Woo covers his face with his hands “Then you’ll have to leave her alone.” Woo checks it, and makes a face of confusion. “She said ‘Meet and talk about what.”

You sat there staring at your phone and sigh. It’s not the first time Woo has interacted since the break up. He’d check on you every now and again. It is sweet but would sometimes make your chest hurt all over again.

You’re torn on meeting with him because the chances of you bringing your hopes up and it being a disaster, as well as it being better than you thought but the possibility of getting lost in old emotions and ruining your progress.

Fuck it.

“You have to respond to get a solid answer.” San chimes in.

“Well should I tell her just to talk and something to drink or-”

Ding.

“She- she texted again” Wooyoung stares at the notification appalled.

“…well…..LOOK AT IT ?” San says while whacking Woo on the shoulder. All Wooyoung did was stutter and fumble his phone.

“Jesus Christ Woo.” Yeosang whispers sliding his hand down his face, exhausted from the ridiculousness. Yeosang picks up the phone and raises his brows.

“She said you could meet her, you need to choose the time and place.”

Hongjoong begins scolding the trio of guys for having a sidebar convo during the meeting. Whilst Hongjoong is lecturing them, Woo mentally starts planning for the date.

-The Date-

Wooyoung chose for you to meet him at this newer restaurant. He actually put a lot of thought into the meet. He sent you a dress a few days before once again leaving a note. “Can’t wait to see you in it.”

You were surprisingly excited about the date. You initially dreaded it because you couldn’t tell if when you saw Wooyoung if you’d cry or want to punch him in the chest. Plus the day before the you and your previous date got into a heated hurtful argument that had you emotional. So maybe seeing Wooyoung will help you feel better.

You walk into the restaurant early, needing time to prepare for seeing him face to face again. You talk to the hostess, “Hello I’m here for a reservation under the name Jung Wooyoung.” She types it out on her server, “Oh ! Yes, your plus one is already at the table.” God. You walk to your table and see Wooyoung sitting there.

He looks terribly handsome. You’re hoping you don’t look like a hopeless dope staring at him. You both chirped quick hellos to each other, Wooyoung is smiling which of course, is so contagious you smile as well. You take a seat and can smell his cologne. “You look gorgeous,,I’m glad you came to see me.” You fix your hair a bit and adjust yourself in your seat, all you can do is utter a “Thanks.” Your nerves were killing you and Wooyoung could tell. “Are you nervous..I know it’s been a while but it’s just me.”

You shrug and cross your legs. Wooyoung uses your lack of attention on him to stare at your body. He knew this dress would be the best fit. “Idk I guess I’m not sure how to feel about seeing you again.” You look up to see Wooyoung staring he’s observing you. He quickly grabs his glass and gestures the waiter over to pour you both a drink. “I understand what you mean…I’m nervous too…when I saw you a few days ago my heart dropped to my feet.” You remember the headlines about him being at the same restaurant.

He passes you your drink and takes a firm hold of his. He lifts it up. “But, anyway,, cheers to us getting over our fears.” Your heart isn’t speeding due to you finally relaxing. Wooyoung still looks handsome, flashing his prince like grin towards you. “Cheers.”

- Time skip -

It has been hours and you and Woo were still at the restaurant. Drinks upon drinks have been poured for you both but luckily, neither of you were drunk. Even little phases of being tipsy has passed. You guys talked about everything and reminisced about the past. The physical distance between you closed while you sat directly by him. This is the best conversation you had at a date in months.

Wooyoung was finishing a joke up before you both broke out in laughter you leaning into him and hiding your face in his shoulder. This made his heartthrob and he’s back to staring at you with heart eyes, you’re too caught up in your laughter to notice of course. You two’s laughter finally settles while you both returned to sipping your drinks.

“So..what about that guy…that you’re with.” You look up from your now half empty drink and squint. “Guy I’m with ?…I’m not seeing anyone ?” Wooyoung bites his lip and taps his hand on the table. “The guy at the restaurant.”

The argument you had with him the other day replays in your mind “..yea I don’t think I want to talk about him.” Wooyoung’s hand that’s next to your’s fully slides over on top and lightly squeezes. “If he did anything to you know I’ll ask the guys if-” You take your other hand from your drink and place it on his shoulder. “Wooyoung no, no we just got into an argument..we just didn’t mix well.” Woo relaxes a bit.

“What was the argument about..if I can be nosy…” You want to call his question nosy but you know you REALLY had to vent. “He thought we were taking things too slow, so stupid, we argued at a drive in and I cried. Ugh.” Wooyoung has to keep himself from clenching his jaw and balling his fist, the mere thought of someone talking to you sideways still angers him. “You don’t deserve that at all that guys a damn idiot.” However, through his anger he realizes this is a great opportunity plus when you two were together he’d always use humor + flirting to cheer you up.

“I remember when we argued I never made you cry..except you know every now and again.” Wooyoung smirks a bit. “You never made me cry when fighting what do you mean.” You laugh while trying to remember when he made you have anything but happy tears. Wooyoung leans back, manspreading his hand on your knee. “I mean in bed….”

A flash of heat runs across your face, you can’t tell if it’s from the margarita or flashbacks. Flashbacks of you falling apart on his dick and becoming a pliant mess for him. Tears welling in your eyes from pleasure while being praised by him.

Wooyoung’s eyes are on you and he licks his lips. You attempt to ignore his stare. “Of course that’s what you meant.” You turn your head away and wave the waiter over to bring another drink. Wooyoung is tracing light shapes into your knee and upper thigh, something you haven’t noticed till now and once again..must ignore.

Wooyoung sees the look on your face..it’s a face he knows all too well. When you’re starting to get needy.

“Is he as good.” Woo’s head is tilted and a sly smile plastered on his face. “At what..as a person..no he’s super shallow and lowkey is a fuckboy but..” You pause because of Woo’s chuckle.

“What’s so funny.” You’re smiling but heavily curious. “I mean is he as good as me…does he please you.” You feel another flash of heat, you adjust yourself on your seat and now realize how close you and Wooyoung are in this booth seat. You’re a leg movement away from being propped on his lap. “Mm we never really got to…you know.”

Wooyoung looks overjoyed to know you didn’t let him hit. A grin is now plastered on his face. “It’s not like he could handle you anyway..pussy would’ve destroyed him.”

You both laugh and lean into each other. “No but seriously, it’s not like anyone can do it like me.” You roll your eyes and sip your new drink. “Oh really.” Wooyoung’s hand on your knees gradually gets higher up. “Yes really I mean..I’d have you shaking from my hands alone.” Wooyoung experimentally brush his hand on your inner thigh, you know that this is wrong. Letting your ex get you all hot in public and letting them play with you under the table but. Fuck it.

You opened your legs up a bit more, giving Wooyoung the green light to do as he pleases. He lightly brushes his hand up and down your cunt through the thin lingerie. After some teasing touches he finally brings his hand down your panties.

You gasp and go to reach for his hand but he swats your hand away. “Shhh don’t want everyone to see how needy you are do you.” He rolls and rubs deep circles into your bud and lightly prods your hole, but never fully bringing it in. Your breath is shaky and he starts rubbing your clit faster making a small moan tumble from your mouth. “So wet…did you miss me that bad.”

“Let’s get outta here…..please.” Wooyoung smiles and takes his hands from your panties. He then takes his phone out to reserve a room at a hotel.

-At the Hotel-

You and Wooyoung finally walk into the room, it’s on the hotels highest floor, a penthouse. Wooyoung and you are pawing at each other and kissing fervently. He removes his shoes and jacket and unbuttons his dress shirt. You slide down the straps of your dress causing it to slide down a bit further showing your cleavage.

You and him finally get into the main bedroom. It has a large king bed with blunt but warm golden lighting and a grande body mirror in front of the bed.

“You’re not drunk right ? You actually want to do this..if not I’ll take you home right now..” you shush him with a quick kiss on the cheek. “I do…I’m sober.” Wooyoung nods assured and after looking at you once over ensuring you weren’t intoxicated, he goes in for a kiss.

The kiss is deep, it felt like no time passed between you both at all. The kiss made your knees knock and consumed you with heat, the sexual tension between you two finally being broken. He takes his hands and rubs up and down the back of your thighs and slides the bottom of your dress up to your waist and grips your ass. “Go to the mirror.”

You both step over to it, your dress still pulled up exposing your lower half. You can feel Wooyoung’s bulge straining his pants behind you. Without any hesitation Wooyoung pulls your panties to the side and begins playing with your folds, taking note of the amount of arousal already pooling there.

He wordlessly pumps a single finger in a while maneuvering to play with your clit. You let out small sighs and whines. “Only I’ve seen you like this right, nobody can even get you this wet can they?” He brings another finger in, you can hear your wetness and feel the vibrations of his fingers hitting the right spot flow through you. He alternates between slowly curling and scissoring them into you to finger fucking you without mercy.

Your eyes are closed, too lost in all the feelings. They flutter back open when he suddenly removes his fingers and goes in front of you. He pops the two fingers in his mouth and sighs of satisfaction. Then he gets on his knees.

“Hold this for me baby or I’ll ruin it.” You grab the front of your dress and hold it up for him. He pulls your panties fully down before licking along your slit, stopping at your clit to playfully flick it. Your knees buckle again but Wooyoung places a hand on your calf. “No. Stand and watch us.” You look back into the mirror, your eyes are in a daze and lips are plump and swole from the constant biting out of pleasure.

“None of them make you look like that.” Wooyoung heads back into your cunt and buries his face. Lapping and messily eating you out with no neatness. You struggle holding yourself up and having to see your own eyes sinful look in the mirror. He begins to raise his hands on your hips making you grind yourself on his face.

You look down momentarily and see Wooyoung looking up at you, his eyes giving nothing but a low intent stare. You’re riding his face and he sucks and tongues down your cunt, occasionally bringing a single hand down to use his fingers on your hole.

Soon it all starts straining and you can feel yourself on the brink of cumming. Wooyoung already knew that tho, and stops. Popping his mouth off your clit before pulling away. Before you can protest from the edging he backs you into the bed and takes his cock out. He reaches in his pocket and takes out a condom to put it on.

He opens your legs and begins to rub the tip across your folds and tapping it on your clit making you cry out from the stimulation. “Tell me if it’s too much.” It never was too much. However, Woo was cautious and you nodded. “What’s the color if you want to stop ?” You remember it automatically, “Red.” Wooyoung let out a soft grin and coo’s “Good girl.” then Wooyoung slides his cock in and begins deep stroking. You start to moan uncontrollably, feeling that one spot inside being constantly hit and prodded by his cock. Your moans spur Wooyoung on making him fuck into you harder.

Wooyoung bends your legs to your chest and starts making deeper thrust. He leans down and brings a breast into his mouth, nipping at teasing the bud while crashing his hips into yours.

“None of them can fuck you like I can, can they ?” You struggle to say an answer from the haze of pleasure you’re in. Wooyoung grabs your neck causing you to focus. “Did they ever make you cum baby?” He says in a fake empathetic tone. Finally you control your moans and utter your truthful answer. “ Barely, none of them,,they- they weren’t you.” A string of moans fell from you as Wooyoung’s dick kissed your cervix.

“That’s right, stand up for me baby.” He pulls out which makes you let out a quiet gasp by the sudden emptiness. He brings you back to the mirror and has you lean forward, hands on the wall from each side of the mirror. Your back naturally arches from the position and Wooyoung runs his hands down your back. He makes you look into the mirror. “Look at you, so so pretty I missed seeing you like this…I think about it every night.”

The face you saw wasn’t new..before you and Wooyoung went your separate ways he managed to pull this fucked out face out of you frequently. One hand is caressing your jaw while the other is sensually running it down your back. This bent over position has you anxious for more. “Wooyoung please..I need you.” Wooyoung places light kisses on your back. “What do you need.” You’re clenching around nothing, “Show me how much you missed me.” He aligns his cock at your entrance again and plunges right back in.

He fucks into you once more this time with a consistent rhythm that makes you see stars. You can’t help but get louder practically crying on his cock. He fucks you at a pace all too familiar, your body knew it like clockwork. Then you feel the build up inside crashing down. “Go ahead baby..cum I know you can’t take it.” The orgasm washes over you, making your muscles stiffen and eyes rolled back.

He continues to fuck into you, causing you to be overstimulated and tearing up. Skin slapping and both of your moans and pants fill the room for what feels like hours. You came all over his cock again and then after a few more moments of him chasing his own high, his cum spills into the condom.

He ruts into you a couple more times to ease himself through the orgasm. He hasn’t felt a release like that in so long, his vision is blurred in a sense and he shudders. With the small bit of strength he had left he pulled you close to him and backed you both onto the bed.

After disposing the condom and a shared shower you’re both in the hotel bed nude. Wooyoung laid on his back while your head rests on his chest, legs entangled with each others. His presence causing you internal chaos and bliss simultaneously.

But then, it dawns on you..what if this was a quick needed fuck. What if it’s all the same again tomorrow and you’re back to being strangers. You decide to get your hopes down and not allow them to rise.

“So when do you plan on leaving.” You whisper. Your expectations are tomorrow in the morning he’ll be gone and fade back into the wind as someone you once knew.

Wooyoung gives a puzzled look before shaking his head. “Not until whenever you want to leave..I’m staying y/n.”

“You’re crazy..” you run a hand over your face, avoiding his gaze. He holds you tighter, “I mean it y/n, I’m back for a reason, I can’t let you go…I’ll find a way for the both of us.”

You don’t answer knowing that you’ll short circuit and become another crying mess; tears from frustration from the past few months releasing and how he’s back after months of moving forward. As well as tears of relief and being glad he’s there.

He snuggles you closer onto him and begins whispering sweet nothings and a repetitive “I’ve missed yous”. In contrast of the sweetness he also has a firm hold of your body that screams possessiveness whilst also mumbling about how no man understands you or your body like he does.

Through the silence, Wooyoung can sense you’re still awake, and begins tracing shapes on your skin again. “Before all this what have you been up to.” You laugh from the sudden calm casual question.

“Mm what’s with the sudden interview.” You joke to him with a half smile, already falling asleep. He kisses your forehead and rubs your side.

“I can’t help but wonder how you’ve been babe.”

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 2 months

Text

[prev]

Nowadays, Pure Vanilla has gotten used to his sleep fluctuating wildly between turbulent dreams and sleep like the void itself has swallowed him whole. It seems like a game of chance whenever he rests his head down, and neither option leaves him any less tired the next morning.

Today, his dreams are absurd, swirling and spilling into each other, and vividly upsetting in a way he can't identify. He shut his eyes tight, but that doesn't block out the rest of his senses. He can hear begging, crying, shouting, and the scent of something burning and wilted lilies clashes in the air, creating a suffocating smell that winds around him slow. It is awful, but it is slightly less so, now that he knows how to recognise when he is in a dream. More importantly, he has a question, and he is more than aware of Shadow Milk's lingering presence.

"You founded the study of Dark Moon Magic, didn't you?"

It is a soft question, but one that is sure of itself. Instantly, the sounds and smells and sensations that had been plaguing Pure Vanilla disappear. Pure Vanilla keeps both his eyes closed for the time being, just in case. Tonight, his staff is absent like a missing leg, and he misses the added security of being able to look through it.

"Oh, come on! Don't interrupt the scene, we were just getting to the good part!" Shadow Milk's voice responds with frustration, the sound coming from all sides. It is precisely because it comes from all sides that Pure Vanilla keeps his eyes closed, not quite trusting that the shards of his nightmares have been fully swept away. He doesn't want to find out what Shadow Milk could possibly consider to be 'the good part' amidst the sounds of suffering and anguish.

Instead, Pure Vanilla sighs. "It was your choice to stop everything when I asked that, wasn't it? You can't blame me for that."

"Bzzt! Wrong! I can blame you because you did interrupt. It doesn't matter what I did in response, a disruption is a disruption." Shadow Milk declares loudly, voice a little rougher, as if he was daring Pure Vanilla to argue back. But his voice is now only coming from one source, right in front of him, so Pure Vanilla cautiously opens his eyes to check the surroundings.

He finds himself in the library of Blueberry Yogurt Academy, and nostalgia eagerly rears its head within him, somewhat surprised. He's stood beside a littered table, surrounded by the deep blue bookshelves of his youth and the comforting smell of aged paper. The details blur a little past that, some of the shelves lighter, more like the bookshelves in his chambers in the Vanilla Kingdom, leaving it less like a perfect replica and more like a collage made out of bits and pieces of his lifetimes' worth of memories, but it is mostly the Blueberry Yogurt library.

Shadow Milk is across the table from him, tutting when Pure Vanilla takes too long to reply. He leans his elbows on the table, propping his chin on the bridge of his linked fingers. "Sneaky, silly-Vanilly, trying to use me to get out of your funny little nightmares. Very, very sneaky."

"It worked, didn't it?" Pure Vanilla says, a bit stiffly, because that had never been his main intention, mostly because Shadow Milk isn't nice enough for him to think it would work. No, his main intention is genuine curiosity, and that is exactly why he continues to prod. "...You didn't answer my question."

"Because it's a stupid one." Shadow Milk hums back, tilting his head to the side. He tilts it far enough that his cheek is now resting against his hands instead of his chin. "You should be able to figure that out yourself. Didn't I already tell you where my home is?"

Pure Vanilla doesn't answer for a moment, laying a tentative hand on the edge of the table as he tries to squint at the papers across its surface in the dim lamplight. It takes him a second to realise that they're all forbidden texts on Dark Moon Magic, and when he does, he murmurs back. "It's better to clarify than assume, isn't it?"

This time, Shadow Milk is the one who doesn't answer for a moment, instead staring at him with those piercing eyes. Pure Vanilla can feel more around him, behind him, lurking in the shadows pooling in the nooks and crevices and he can't help it – he shivers slightly.

That reaction must be enough for Shadow Milk, because he snorts, and pushes off the table to lean back, kicking his feet up onto the table and right on top of texts, which is already enough to make Pure Vanilla wince. Poor library etiquette aside, the movement is horribly uncanny to watch, partly because he is leaning back onto thin air instead of a chair, partly because he moves so quickly it's like his limbs snap into place, and partly because his smile is stretched far too thin as he does so.

"Of course I did. I'm very talented, you know." Shadow Milk announces smugly, his eyes never leaving him. They narrow slightly, all of them in suspicious synchronisation, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly. "But I must admit, I am crumbling to know why you brought it up."

Whys are always difficult to answer, especially for something as difficult as motives, which can morph and change over time. Pure Vanilla hates lying, but he hates lying in front of Shadow Milk even more, because he seems to recognise every single one and Pure Vanilla doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

But he really can't admit the core of the matter to his face. He can't admit that ever since he glimpsed the ghost of Shadow Milk's past, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. He can't admit that he is actively trying to glimpse it again, and what better way to try and draw it out than with any scholar's pride and joy – their work?

"It's impressive. I, myself, have mastered White Magic over the years, and I certainly contributed to its development, but I cannot claim that I created it as a school of magic." Pure Vanilla explains instead, and it isn't a lie either, just lacking all the details. He fidgets a bit, tugging at his own sleeves, adding quieter. "Dark Moon Magic is forbidden too, so there aren't many detailed sources left on it. I want to know more about its founding."

I want to know more about you.

There is another lapse of silence, and Pure Vanilla is tense with tentative hope. After all, if Shadow Milk was really against the topic altogether, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of plucking him out of his nightmares.

Shadow Milk's smile is sharp like a knife, clashing with the casual way he folds his arms behind his head, almost languid as he finally muses. "Oh, really? That doesn't sound right. I'm sure there's enough details lying around to get the gist of it. After all, you've used Dark Moon Magic before, so you must know something about it already."

Pure Vanilla flinches back, and it isn't a surprise that he knows about that too, not anymore, but it still leaves him with unstable footing. Regardless, he doesn't let that scare him off the topic, which he suspects is exactly why Shadow Milk said it. "...I've only really used it once, and I don't remember much about what happened. So I may know something, but that something is rather little."

It's a confession, and the truth. His brief tangle with Dark Moon Magic is a complete blur in his own mind, watered down to blinding sensations and a heartache so intense he had felt like he was crumbling. Theoretically, he knows enough about Dark Moon Magic to hold a conversation, but he remembers nothing about it in practise.

"You know who could help you with that?" Shadow Milk asks, seemingly unbothered, but the words curl with open mockery and a smirk. He tilts his head back slightly so he can look down on Pure Vanilla and throws his arms out dramatically. "Our beloved, newly coronated Guardian! She has plenty of experience with–"

Pure Vanilla's heart lurches painfully.

"Don't talk about her!" He interrupts, voice bursting out louder than he expected and panic fluttery in his chest. He doesn't want to hear him tear at her old wounds, even if she can't hear it herself. He knows how vulnerable that cry makes him seem though, and he fumbles to lower his voice to something softer, less shaky. "Don't– please, I'm asking you for a reason."

Shadow Milk giggles, a strange grating sound that climbs higher with each breath, until he is laughing in earnest. He curls into himself, arms wrapped around his middle, and the position looks painful with his feet still planted on the table. Pure Vanilla watches him warily, a little shaken by the mention of White Lily, and wonders if maybe, he was wrong about what he thought he saw in Shadow Milk. He has been seeing more things that aren't there, recently.

His laughter stops abruptly. The stillness that follows is jarring, but doesn't last long.

Slowly – so slowly that it is unnerving, for someone who typically moves as erratically as him – Shadow Milk reaches forward with one hand and plucks a scroll up from the table. He unrolls it with a lazy flick of his wrist, the other end tumbling away over the edge of the table and across the floor. It is a smooth movement, Pure Vanilla notes through the pounding of his heart and his scrambled nerves, a practised motion that speaks of thousands of opened scrolls.

Shadow Milk peers over at the contents of the scroll with an empty, disinterested expression, his legs melting through the table until he appears to be sitting somewhat politely again. The sudden switch to this from his near hysterical laughter leaves Pure Vanilla disturbed, unsure if this is progress or not.

"I wanted to strike a balance between Black and White Magic." Shadow Milk says, his voice a disconcertingly low murmur, almost monotone. While his main eyes remain steadily on the scroll, the rest are eagerly burrowing into Pure Vanilla from all sides. "Black Magic draws from the void, making it unpredictable and destructive by nature, but full of potential. White Magic draws from the moon, primarily, and other celestial sources, making it safer and easier to use, but limited in its purity. If I could find the middle ground, I could harness magic with more flexibility and power but less unpredictability."

Shadow Milk pauses then, his eyes sliding up to stare right at Pure Vanilla, and his lips quirk upwards. When he speaks again, his voice gains a little more character but remains mainly flat, like a poorly-delivered theatrical monologue. "The dark side of the moon was the obvious choice for a source of that kind of power, because it's the natural overlap between the moon and the void. Once you figure out a source for magic, it's simple to find a way to draw from it, and to make it simpler, I had access to the knowledge of the Witches at my fingertips. All I had to do was write everything down, and the school of Dark Moon Magic was born. Easy-peasy!"

Shadow Milk throws the scroll to the side with little fanfare, not even sparing a glance at those ancient texts as they land in a heap of old paper on the floor, uncaring of if they damage or rip. And why would he? They both know this is a dream, and even if it wasn't, he had written that scroll himself.

Pure Vanilla would have cared, dream or not, if he wasn't wholly distracted, reduced to only a wide-eyed blink.

Because Shadow Milk may feign a bored face and voice, as if reading off a report or a particularly uninspiring script, but when their gazes meet, his eyes glitter like shooting stars, sparking with pride and passion and something else.

It captivates Pure Vanilla, the very same shine that comes with a breakthrough for every researcher. It is exactly what he had been hoping to see again, but the sight still leaves him feeling unmoored, even if pleasantly. Intruige and hope swirl within him, and he suddenly finds himself desperate to hold onto this ghost of the past, to make it stay longer and help it spill into the present.

"What does it feel like?" The question comes out before Pure Vanilla can think it through, focused on continuing the conversation before Shadow Milk can pick up his showmanship again in full. "Dark Moon Magic, I mean."

Shadow Milk huffs, a playful grin settling on his face again, and a sickening mix of dread and disappointment trickles through Pure Vanilla as he watches him lean over, crushing more texts beneath his palms. For a scary moment, he expects him to make another quip towards his previous use of the magic, or worse, bring up White Lily again.

He doesn't. Shadow Milk kicks his legs up behind him, so that he is laying on his stomach in mid-air, and cheerfully asks, "How about I show you?"

He doesn't wait for Pure Vanilla to process what he said, let alone reply. He reaches out and ensnares Pure Vanilla's hand, the one normally occupied with his staff, and laces their fingers together. Pure Vanilla doesn't reciprocate the hold, surprised, but only tries a small unsuccessful tug in response.

Shadow Milk's grip is an oppressive pressure, tight but not quite painful. He presses their palms together firmly, and Pure Vanilla gasps.

Magic bursts through the contact, rushing through his jam in a dizzying, warm flood. It is thicker, heavier than the magic Pure Vanilla is used to, thrumming and twisting as if it has a mind of its own, almost scratching at his dough as if trying to consume him, and he can't even concentrate on it because– because–

He can see everything.

Pure Vanilla really, truly can. He can see Shadow Milk's curling smile in front of him, he can see the Faeries having a feast, he can see Black Raisin greeting the moon from one of the Vanilla Castle's towers, he can see Dark Cacao striding through the citadel, he can see White Lily going through her morning routine, he can see his own sleeping body, and places and Cookies he doesn't have the presence of mind to recognise, all simultaneously. He doesn't know what to focus on, doesn't even know how to focus on anything, and his head hurts like it is falling apart.

This is how Shadow Milk has been watching me, he thinks deliriously, the only thought he can manage as he drowns in his sights.

And then, in a snap, he is back in the library with only one scene to see. His vision swims a little at the edges as if it didn't get the message, and he wobbles in place.

Shadow Milk is still holding his hand, but the grip is slightly looser, and the stream of his Dark Moon Magic is gone like a whisper. His grin is sinister and too big for his face, but his eyes still burn like stars.

"Fun, isn't it?" Shadow Milk coos, giddy like it is a shared secret, lifting Pure Vanilla's trembling hand and brushing a kiss to the back that buzzes with Dark Moon Magic. "My very first masterpiece."

Pure Vanilla wakes up disoriented, with a ringing headache and an itch in the back of his hand. White Lily notices his poor state almost immediately when she sees him – wonderful as she is – and she asks if he had a nightmare with that gentle, concerned slope to her brows.

Pure Vanilla adjusts his grip on his staff, leaning against it more than usual.

"No." He assures her lightly, not quite the truth and not quite a lie.

[next]

#oops this was longer than i expected #i mainly just wanted an excuse to wax lyrical about possible interpretations of their magic systems <3 #sm is having the time of his life btw. pv? not so much #writing this is like a tightrope act between pv's idealistic hopes and sm-related psychological disturbance #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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dollfaceksj · 6 months

Note

my cal 17 prediction : after the question yoongi will be like ???? and confusion + miscommunication = long awaited kiss <3 but i think im choosing to be delusional

hm… short update but some important info!!

can’t afford love | myg (m) #17

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⇠ PREV. ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ⇢

WHAT DO YOU DO?

“Is Yuna the person you slept with?” — 83,4%

SAY NOTHING — 16,6%

319 votes

you chose:

“Is Yuna the person you slept with?”

↓

“is yuna the person you slept with?”

the question catches him off guard, that much you can tell

he glances over his shoulder at you, dropping the shirt he was folding

“what?”

ouuu

the ‘what?’ sounded

hmm..

confused? annoyed? weirded out? you’re not sure

you fight the urge to roll your eyes. you know he heard you

“did you sleep with yuna?” you ask, sliding your jacket back onto your arms

he blinks a few times

drags his gaze down your body and back up to your face

“and why does that matter?”

ah..

dodging the question?

“it doesn’t. can’t a gal be curious?”

he shrugs. “you worded it weirdly.”

girl what😭

he’s so infuriating

you frown in annoyance. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs again. so fucking nonchalant. “you just worded it weirdly.”

you fight the urge to groan loudly. “when you asked me if i’d been with anyone, i said no. i asked you the same and you didn’t answer. clearly that means you have. i was wondering if the person in question was yuna.”

he stares at you for a moment longer before chuckling and shaking his head

he stares at the wall for a moment, tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek

he raises to his feet

walks up to you

puts his hands on his hips

can he STOP getting into your proximity like this omg..

you fight the urge to reach out and hold his arms

squeeze his biceps

pull him closer

STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.

he slightly shakes his head and tilts it to the side whilst he stares you down, his long black hair messy and beautiful. “what makes you think i fucked her?”

you shrug. “she was staring at us the entire time yesterday. figured she must’ve been jealous.”

he tilts his head to the side. “jealous? well, i suppose she was.”

huh??

they did fuck?

“she was?”

damn. u didn’t think he’d confirm it just like that

“hm,” he hums in confirmation. “but probably jealous of me. not you.”

at this, you frown

why would she be jealous of him?

“huh?”

he rolls his eyes as if you should know what you mean

“yuna’s gay, einstein. thought you were really pretty. said i was a bastard for letting you go or something like that.”

oh.

OH.

“oh,” you breathe out

she thought you were pretty?

she was also really pretty.

:))

but

if she didn’t sleep with yoongi

that means there’s still someone else out there who has

“so then,” you start, scratching the back of your head. “you didn’t have sex with her.”

he bitterly chuckles

“no.”

you slowly nod your head

okay

OKAY.

he starts, “but why do you care? i mean–”

you cut him off. “the exact same reason that made you ask me that question in the first place, you dickhead.”

ouuuu

smack cam

like is he serious?

why did HE ask it in the first place!!

he licks his lips. crosses his arms. “i’ll be honest since you can’t be.” he takes a step forward, closing the gap between you two.

his breath fans down on your face

makes you look up at him

your eyes big and doe-like exactly how he likes them.

he says, “i asked because i can’t fucking stand the thought of anyone else touching you. happy?”

there it is

it was pretty obvious to begin with but you’re satisfied to hear it now

“since you wanna be so honest,” you begin, “why don’t you go ahead and tell me who the hell you fucked?”

he squints his eyes at you

drops his eyes down to your lips

then back up to your eyes before he shrugs

“i don’t remember.”

???

does he think he’s being funny

“what?”

“i don’t remember.”

what the fuck??

oh he’s about to piss you off forreal

“what do you mean, you don’t remember?”

he sighs in exasperation. “that i don’t fucking remember who i slept with, y/n. jesus.”

you angrily frown at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “how the hell did that happen?”

his lips twitch and so do his eyebrows

he does this when he’s mad

or annoyed

or both

“you wanna know how that fucking happened?” he doesn’t let you answer as he wraps his hand around your bicep and pushes you flat against the wall

you were already close to the wall but now you’re caged

his body keeping you trapped against the wall

seems like he’s still doubting whether to tell you

seems like its on the tip of his tongue

seems like your eyes simply break his resolve.

“it happened after the divorce was finalized.”

ah fuck

he’s telling you

are you even ready to hear this?

well, you asked for it

“i cried my fucking heart out. what the hell was i supposed to do? the love of my life wanted nothing to do with me anymore. i drank for months. i drank so fucking much that i’d pass out in my own vomit.”

you remember seokjin and jimin talking about how bad yoongi was taking the divorce but so were you

you were in your own world of pain

but the thought of yoongi crying, drinking until he vomits and passes out in his own puke is gut wrenching

you brows furrow together as you stare up at him

his voice sounds so angry yet delicate

like it’ll break any moment

and the look on his face

is heartbreaking

“so, when the boys told me to go out with them for the first time in years, i didn’t decline. i literally don’t even remember that night. woke up in some random lady’s bed. condom still on my dick and i didn’t even fucking cum cause there were no traces anywhere. i left immediately. that what you wanna fucking hear? i don’t know her name or what she looks like. just know that she sort of looked like you.”

wow

okay

silence.

complete

and utter

silence

your nose starts heating up

eyes start tearing

fuck

your bottom lips starts to quiver as you try to swallow your sobs

he lets go of you

and you both just

stare. in silence.

his feline eyes are so intense. it’s like it’s the only thing you can see in this moment

you part your lips to say something

anything

but nothing comes out

and just on cue

there’s a sound ripping through the room

his intense eyes tear away from you when he hears the sound of his babyphone

it’s jun

he sighs and shakes his head

runs his hand through his hair

whilst you stand there trying to process this information, yoongi slides his bathrobe on and leaves to go check on jun

it’s quiet in his room

cold

lonely

you wonder how many times he was in this room and just cried over you

over losing you

but

by the time he comes back to his room

you’re nowhere to be found

to be continued.

⇠ PREV. ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ⇢

— enjoyed it? you can always show your appreciation by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

@pamzn @jknoah @ahgasegotarmy116 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @Teddytaee @pnkmyg @yoongallery @agustdswifey @purp13st4r @busanstarkoo @busanboykoo @kookssecret @p34rluv @xumyboo @jojowantstocry @minjenna @codeinebelle @Futuristiclovedreamland @rirushu @taegicity @namgihours @ultminyoongi @swinterr @butterymin @partyparty-yah @bettybloop @secfir @coffeedepressionsoup @keroppitae @manuosorioh @whoa-jo @etaerealboyv @kaiparkerwifes @Luvjiminandyoongi @luvbeomkai @petalsofink @paradiseyoongies @gaby-93 @MMFranklin @llallaaa @vickyyy97 @osakis-gf @luna-astro-star @shabbamadapot @rrrapmonste-rr @jjeonjennie @yoongisducky @s3l3n0phil3 @Itsmina29 @namjoonsbuspass @hoseokshobagi @laurenrodr @keshiadeija @acquiescence804 @swga-ficrecs @sato-hana02 @honsoolhour @kimseokgen @Imene1609 @joonsmagicshop @yunki-yunki-yunki @ellesalazar @casual-death @minyoongiswife0293

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nerves-nebula · 10 months

Text

start | Prev | The End! you're here!!

page 50

AND SO HERE WE REACH THE END. THE EPILOGUE. THE 50TH PAGE OF MY 20 PAGE COMIC. BRILLIANT. I hope i never do this again. good lord. I can’t say it isn’t satisfying to end something like this but MAN did this balloon. This was because I got an ASK, do you guys remember that?? Do you remember that i started this comic on a whim?? Because I got an ask?? And then i held a poll about what comic I should make??? THAT WAS MONTHS AGO.

I considered adding one more page that's just a wide shot of Raph watching Splinter looking at Leo but I figured you get the point well enough already.

here's some round up fun facts under the cut!

this script is 3596 words long

it spans 8 pages of my 90 page tmnt google doc

it was originally supposed to be around 20-30 pages AT MOST

the reason behind its specific style choices is that I was IN THE MIDDLE OF COLLEGE when i started it and i wanted to be able to make pages as fast as possible. so i created a limited color palette so that i wouldn't over do things. i still kind of over did things tho.

because the point was to draw pages as fast as possible I frequently make little mistakes like forgetting to draw bandages, knee/arm pads, masks, and donnie's entire glasses.

one of the most frequently forgotten things i think is Raphs hand bandages. i think i draw him without them more than i draw him WITH them ;_;

when I started this i wasn't going to include anything to do with CSA, because I was unsure that people wouldn't be weird about it

halfway through the comic, I started to write Donnie with a stutter. this is because I was still developing the characters when I started this comic and it was supposed to help me figure out their emotions more, so quite a few decisions were made about them in the middle of script writing & the days/weeks between drawing pages. that's how you end up with shit like Donnie suddenly developing a stutter.

because of the placement of when i decided to write him with a stutter, it kind of looks like he develops it after a particularly traumatic memory, and i think thats kind of funny.

THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE LONGEST FINISHED COMIC I’VE EVER MADE.

anyway, thanks for reading :)

#nnstuff #nnart #neglected art #teenage mutant neglected turtles #tmnt comic #Leo memory comic

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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

Text

BACK TOGETHER

A/N: okayyyy another little steve fic bc yall really loved my prev one!

PAIRING: Steve Harrington x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

WARNING: season 4 spoiler!!!

SUMMARY: You and Steve broke up not long ago, but watching over Max in the night brings the two of you back together.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The gang is now stationed in the Wheelers’ basement once again. After what happened to Max in the cemetery you’re guarding her nonstop, there’s always someone watching her, checking that she is still listening to the music and hasn’t gone into trance again. It’s one in the morning and you’re the chosen one to keep an eye on her, but Steve has decided to join you.

It’s been a bit weird, hanging out with Steve so much even though the two of you broke up just a few weeks ago. You haven’t spoken much, but the recent happenings with Vecna brought the old gang together so now you’re forced to be around each other again. The breakup happened after a stupid, but pretty intense fight you had, it started because you’ve had enough of Steve always hanging out with Robin and even though you know Robin is playing on a different team, it’s still pretty annoying when you can’t make plans with your boyfriend because he already has something going on with Robin.

He accused you of being jealous for no reason and you told him he is a child and it ended with a screaming match and the two of you parted ways after breaking up. One year of relationship ended in such a ridiculous way, you almost kind of feel embarrassed.

“You’re not hearing any clock dinging, right?” Steve asks, breaking the silence since everyone around you is asleep.

“Wait, you don’t hear it?” you ask with a dead serious face and watch as his expression falls completely. “I’m just kidding,” you add quickly.

“It’s not funny, Y/N, not after what happened to Max!” he tells you off, but you still find it a bit comical. He should know you well enough to know you’d have already told them if Vecna was after you.

“Sorry, just trying to stay awake,” you yawn, taking a glance at Max who is seemingly still perfectly fine.

“Go to sleep, I can take over your shift,” he offers.

“No need to play the hero, Steve.”

“I’m not… I’m just trying to be nice,” he rolls his eyes.

“We’re not together anymore, so you don’t have to go out of your way to be nice to me, though you didn’t quite do it before either.”

Your comment comes out a bit spicier than you intended, but you also think it’s true. It’s too late to act nice now, he should have cared about you when you expected it from him.

“Y/N, maybe we should talk about that,” he sighs, running a hand through his ridiculously good hair. How does he look this good even in the middle of what feels like another apocalypse?

“About what exactly? That we broke up or that you said I was jealous or that you spent more time with Robin than your own girlfriend?”

“God, I almost forgot how hot you are when you give me an attitude.”

“And you’re such a child,” you roll your eyes and attempt to get up from beside him, but he grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“I’m sorry! Please, I want to apologize!”

“About wha–”

“Everything, Y/N,” he groans, already knowing what you wanted to ask. “You were right and I was an ass. I just always thought you would find someone better than me at college so I convinced myself you don’t need me and I didn’t want to need you either.”

His confession surprises you, he never told you he was having second guesses and you would have reacted differently if only he told you the truth.

“Steve, I’m staying in Hawkins instead of applying to schools out of state. I made this decision because of you. Do you think I would just drop you for some other guy?”

“I don’t know, I thought about that, yes,” he replies with a shrug, but it’s obvious he is struggling inside.

“You’re an idiot, Steve. That’s what you are,” you sigh.

“Well, at least we agree about that. I really am an idiot, because I lost the best girl in town.”

Silence falls on you, it’s heavy and says a lot. You want to tell him you still love him, that you still want to be with him, but you want him to take this step, to tell you he wants to give your relationship another go. But you know it can take some time for Steve to figure out, to decode the signs you send him.

“What song would you play to bring me back?” you ask to keep the conversation going. His eyebrows rise as he looks at you with a tiny smile as he thinks about his answer.

“Something from Duran Duran, it’s your favorite, right?” he smirks as you gape at him.

“You ass, that’s your favorite!” Steve starts laughing and you can’t hold it back either as you smack him in the chest.

“Cyndi Lauper Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. You played it every morning last year when we drove to school,” he then says and it’s the correct answer, it’s definitely your favorite song at the moment. “Though I’m a bit hurt that your favorite song is not related to me,” he adds.

“But it is.”

“What?” he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“It was playing on the radio when you picked me up on our first date,” you tell him. “I took it as a sign.”

“That it was gonna be a good date?”

“That Steve Harrington is not as big of a douchebag people say him to be,” you tease him smirking. “And I was right. He is a pretty good guy. He just… gets lost sometimes, forgets that I love him a lot and I don’t want other men when I have him.”

He looks at you with those puppy eyes, his ridiculously curly eyelashes framing them perfectly and all your anger and disappointment is now gone. You just want your boyfriend back. Luckily, Steve reads the situation as well and he knows this is his chance to get you back.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I was a shitty boyfriend, but if you gave me another chance I would do everything to make you happy.”

“What took you so long?” you sigh with a soft smile before leaning in and pressing your lips against his.

You missed his lips, his kisses, his touches, the way he cups your face when he deepens the kiss. For a moment you’re not in the Wheelers’ basement, but in a safe place somewhere far away from the madness in Hawkins.

“It’s so nice you two just got back together, but you’re supposed to be watching Max.”

Dustin’s voice snaps you out of your little bubble and pulling away from Steve you see him sitting up, his eyes puffy and barely open as he watches the two of you.

“Henderson, you just know exactly when to open your mouth, huh?” Steve sighs and the kid in question just smirks and shrugs before lying back down and Steve doesn’t hesitate before pulling you closer to continue from where you left it before Dustin’s interruption.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#steve harrington #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things spoiler #stranger things season 4 spoiler #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot

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ghouljams · 3 months

Text

Prev part (The Ghost Distribution System) tw violence

It's funny how something that once was almost comforting can now feel so unfamiliar in his arms.

Ghost readjusts his hold on his rifle for a third time, tries to find the same comfort in the cold unforgiving metal that he finds in the soft curves of you body. He's never been twitchy like this before. The novelty is wearing off fast. He's a sniper, he's not made to twitch. He tries to think about you, but somehow seeing your face in the midst of a battlefield isn't the comfort he'd hoped it would be.

He spends hours in stillness, in silence. Your voice haunts him, and silently he prays for your absolution. The violence he commits, the job he preforms, the sins that he racks up on his tally board, it would sicken you. The voices of his team chirp in his ear, begging for response and only getting the barest response. He tries, gives and takes a few jokes, but his mind is elsewhere. Ghost has never been anything but present. When the present is all the matters, all he can plan for, he doesn't have any reason to exist in the space around it.

Except now. Except for you.

His motions are mechanical, practiced. Ghost drags the bolt on his rifle, loads ammunition, breathes, eyes fixed down the scope. He is silence, he is death, he has a job to do. One that lets him draw the line where he needs to. One he hopes you never know the details of. A job that, once done, leaves him silent in a helicopter.

The spray of blood used to bring him some sort of purpose, but without you... Without you it's all meaningless. Who cares for the world when he finds it in your arms, when he sees it in your eyes, when he sees your face in every passing moment? He hardly breathes without you, it's all etcetera.

He has to get out of here.

Soap bumps his shoulder against Ghost's, jogs the man from his silent penance with a smile and a, "You alright LT?"

"Fine," Ghost tells him, he feels the words rough on his tongue. Too many hours spend in quiet.

"Cummon yer actin' like a ghost," that gets a soft huff of a laugh from the man, "what's got ya tied up?"

"Found god," Ghost grumbles. Soap and Gaz exchange a glance before the dry sarcasm triggers some sort of recognition.

"You got someone back home," Soap says, almost in disbelief. Ghost gives a short nod and Soap lets out a low whistle. There's a beat of silence, the air humming with curious anticipation. Soap and Gaz weigh their options, staring Ghost down like he's grown a second head. Price shifts where he's leaned back against the wall, fixes his hat down over his eyes to pretend he isn't listening.

"What are they like?" Gaz asks finally, and Ghost realizes that for all his worship, for all the salvation you've offered him, he knows you as well as any follower knows their god. What are you like? What do you do when he isn't there? What are your interests and hobbies, what do you worry over, what do you treat yourself to on bad days, do you separate your whites when you do your wash? He knows your name, your phone number, he knows that you hate the cold and love salty snacks, he knows that when he's with you everything seems to make sense. He knows that he feels safe with you.

"Kind." Ghost supplies the only word on his lips, feels it sting in his throat. Benevolent, he wants to say, the very ground they walk on is holy to me, their home a temple, their laughter my hymns.

"They do anything when they aren't dealin' with ya?" Soap chimes, grinning as he leans against his knees. The helo jerks, the cabin moving with the wind.

"Take in strays," He lets his eyes drift to the floor, the grated metal feels as foreign to him as his rifle did. Not long ago this was a familiar life, how different the world seems now. Gaz and Soap silently exchange a glance.

"Sounds nice," Price rumbles from his repose.

Somehow it's easier not keeping you a secret. Being able to talk about you feels like a weight off his chest. Not that Ghost is particularly forthcoming with the details, but it's enough just knowing he can talk. It makes it easier to do his job. Makes it hurt less getting patched up while waiting for extraction when Soap tells him, "Got someone to get home to, yeah?"

The risks don't scare him. The job doesn't scare him. Death doesn't scare him. He's survived long enough to feel the sting of homesickness again. Something he never thought he'd feel after he lost his mom. It's enough to keep him going, to keep him focused. He has to take care of himself, has to get out of here and back to you.

He posts up in a derelict hospital, smiles under his mask as he tracks Soap through the street. His mind is quiet save for your gentle humming, the ghosts of your fingers carding through his hair. He could spend hours like this, held still by the memory of you.

"How 'bout this one then," Soap buzzes low in his ear, keeping his voice down as he moves, "General is at a ball chattin' up a bonnie lass, she asks him 'when's the last time you had sex?' General tells her '1945' and she gasps, 'oh my god! Well how about some now?' General looks at his watch, tells her 'ma'am it's only 2030, I'm gonna need a minute.'" Ghost snorts, he can hear Soap smiling on the other end of the comms, "Thought you'd like that one."

"Two dinosaurs having lunch in the park, one looks at the other and asks, 'you think that big rock up there's gettin' closer?'" Ghost responds, rolling his shoulders to get some of the tension out. Keeping still starts to wear on him after a while. Nothing he can't deal with.

"Aye, like that one," Soap chuckles, Ghost hums, "Your somebody like your jokes?"

"Some of 'em." Ghost smiles to himself. The image of you laughing at his jokes, wiping at your eyes and pushing his shoulder. The worse they are the harder you seem to laugh. It's one of his favorite things about you.

"Quiet out here," Soap mumbles. Ghost can see him sweeping around corners, checking his six.

"Careful Johnny," Ghost tells him, his heart feels lighter, "bad luck sayin' that."

It happens all at once, as these things usually do. The door behind him opens and Ghost turns to throw a knife, hears the soft sick 'thunk' as it sticks in its target, before a smoke grenade is tossed through the opening. The hiss of it is almost as bad as the fumes it lets out. Choking smoke.

"Position compromised," Ghost growls into his comms, ignoring Soap's affirmative reply in favor of slamming the butt of his rifle into the first unlucky soul to emerge from the smoke. Blunt force against their nose, cracking the dark reflective face shield. Then the knife, tugged from his belt and forced into the side of the man's neck. Ghost is efficient, yanking the knife free to watch the arterial spray, turning to toss it into his next target. It's only when the giant emerges from the smoke that he considers radio-ing for backup.

Ghost knows he's a big guy, but this motherfucker...

The soldier rushes him, a human battering ram that Ghost has no option but to catch, planting his feet and twisting to divert the assault. The man hits the wall and growls something Ghost doesn't catch. He supposes it doesn't matter.

It's Ghost's turn to rush him, shouldering the man in the chest in the hopes of knocking the wind out of him. The giant is too reliant on his reach, swinging for Ghost to try and grab him. It's easy enough to grab his arm and flip him, the same way he does recruits that are all brawn and no brain. The man hits the ground and twists to kick him, catching Ghost in the stomach.

He lets out a pained breath and shakes it off, lunging when the giant pulls his sidearm. The gun is trained on him and Ghost grabs the barrel, his fingers slipping over the muzzle as he forces the gun down and away from himself.

Ghost grits his teeth and reels back to clock the guy, just a moment too late when he pulls the trigger. Pain explodes over Ghost's hand, shoots up his arm and forces the sound out of his mouth. He doesn't have time to focus on the mangled wreck of his hand, the mess of blood and tissue, bones barely strung together. The warmth of it, the bleeding pain, he wonders how many fingers he has left. It doesn't stop him. Worse injuries might, but a hand is just a hand.

He wrestles the gun away from the big fucker and raises it with heavy breaths, firing a quick shot and clipping the side of their head and taking a chunk out of their sniper's mask. The armored helmet stops him from giving it another go. Fucking military for hire. They pick his belt, tug a knife free and reel back to bring it down quick.

I have to get out of here, the thought flashes through Ghost's mind with the deadly glint of the blade. It freezes him and the blade hits his mask, carving its way through the bone's eye socket and into his own. He's lucky it doesn't lodge deep, but his vision is shot. The pain is starting to set in in earnest. He swallows it down and tries another shot, focusing on the seams in the man's tac gear. Any injury is better than nothing.

It's strange that he'd think of you in this moment, that your face would flash through his mangled brain, but he steals the comfort the same way he steals all your other kindnesses. He's been too confident, taken unnecessary risks while he was outside the halo of your grace. It had felt like proof of his devotion each time he skirted death, not it strikes him as proof of your anger. Your punishment for his sins as he's grappled and shoved back, back, back.

The old stories say that Lucifer was God's most devoted servant, the most beloved, before he fell. Even Jesus' apostles betrayed and doubted. The fall is a natural part of faith, as unnatural as it feels.

The sky is blue, and the air is warm when Ghost hits the ground,

And everything goes black.

#simon ghost riley #x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #the ghost distribution system #tw violence

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hanayumi · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝

— bonten!sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo 🔞

part 2 of brittle to the bone || prev.

if mikey is harsh, imposing, unyielding, then haruchiyo is just that with playful charisma superimposed over cruelty.

wc. ~9k

tags/warnings noncon, predator/prey dynamics, yandere undertones, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, forced infidelity, self-harm, degradation, overstim, mind break, mentions of gunplay, minor character death(s)

notes he’s very mean

snapshot;

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

∗

Be good.

‘Be good’ — by which Mikey meant, you suppose, no speaking to others in the compound, no leaving the house, no stepping inside anywhere but the bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen… all the places that you’ve been wandering in-between for years without ever going outside. Is there anything else?

Well, you can’t bother yourself to remember. It’s not like you can do anything in here that’ll piss him off anyway. The time you’ve had to spend alone has started to blur into an impalpable being — an amalgamation, of sorts — warping and slowing your perception of reality to a tenth of a millisecond whenever Mikey isn’t around to monopolise your attention.

…I’ll reward you like a good little bitch when I get back. Can you do that for me?

Don’t leave the penthouse. Don’t enter rooms you don’t know. Don’t speak to anyone other than Haruchiyo. It should be pretty simple. Yeah, you can definitely do that for him. You can be good. You can. You’ll show him.

(As long as Haruchiyo doesn’t kill you before you get a chance to.)

You close your eyes, an image of the man with roseate hair floating into your memory. His lilting voice, the rattling of his pills, the way he kissed your hand after introducing himself and the way he smirked when Mikey made his announcement. A prickling chill runs down your spine like cold water.

You clench a bundle of the sheets into your face, burrowing into the lingering scent of Mikey, and decide that you hate the way Haruchiyo speaks. In a slow, condescending drawl, smirk bared, revealing the carious fangs of a seasoned predator, the narrowed slits of his eyes scrutinising (for what, you have no idea) as if he thinks of your life as even more insignificant and disposable as the dirt between his shoes.

There’s another thing, too. Something that fills your little heart with enormous anxiety and forces you on simmering coals within his presence, even now when you’re all safe and sound in this room with its four white walls and thick, locked door.

You can read that grin like an open book.

He thinks that your relationship with his boss has an expiry date. That it’s only a matter of time before you’re disposed of, too. That, without question, you were only there as a form of stress relief, your sole purpose being to tend to his boss’ every need. An emotional outlet, of sorts.

(You hate it because you know he’s right.)

But you don’t tell him that, don’t want to offer him the satisfaction — instead you scamper from his gaze, always slipping out of a room just as he enters it, going as far as to strategically plan out your daily activities to ensure that you wouldn’t be catching any glint nor shadow of that vibrant pink.

And for the most part, it’s working. And even if it didn’t, he has a funny way of looking at everything and anything as if it were leagues beneath him, so much so that you find it easy to simply duck your head and deem yourself unworthy of staying in his presence any longer than you already have. It’s weird, how simple it is to evade him — how predictable, easy, like child’s play. When he has just about given you as much attention as one would to a stray twig obstructing a sidewalk.

So, just like every other nagging worry, you stuff Bonten’s-Number-Two-Sanzu-Haruchiyo away in a cabinet for safe-keeping.

Time without Mikey also means that you’ll at least get a bit more time to yourself (albeit a large portion of it would be spent calculating how to avoid the man he left in his place).

You’re using it wisely, you think — alternating between counting the grooves in the ceiling to toying with the strands of velvet rug in the middle of the too-spacious bedroom, to daydreaming until sprawling scenery of the outside-world blooms behind your eyelids… okay. So you haven’t been able to get anything truly productive done. So what? The word ‘productive’ feels alien in your mind — almost as if there’s something fundamentally cursed about its three syllables, as if it belonged in a realm unattainable to someone like you. You haven’t had to worry about being pro-duc-tive in years. It was always Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.

At some point, you think dismally, I’ll have to get up. But now is not the time. So you count, and count, until you feel your consciousness slipping away, and your eyelids droop, and you sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sleep that blunts the ache of isolation and the burning of your bruises, tip-toeing featherlight over your skin like a reminder of the person who left them.

(Mikey doesn’t leave sticky notes on the fridge telling you to remember to brush your teeth and comb your hair. Everything he gives you comes from himself: his flesh and bone, his pain, his heart, his bruises.)

When time meanders forward, and inevitably touches upon evening, and you stir from sleep feeling an unbearable feeling of emptiness in your stomach (almost as if a large cavity was drilled into your abdomen), you shake the drowsiness away starting to feel an oncoming panic that Haruchiyo somewhere somehow found a way to sneak something into your breakfa— oh. That’s right.

You didn’t even have breakfast.

Your gut howls in agony. Reluctantly, you unwrap the self-made cocoon of blankets, preparing the mental artillery required to slip out the bedroom.

Haruchiyo seems to be missing from the kitchen, which is a good thing, a pleasant thing — though you aren’t stupid to assume that he is shirking his duties as your ‘guardian’. Living in a sprawling penthouse with just two people, minus the seclusion, leaves you enjoying an overwhelming sense of privacy most of the time. But now? Now it feels like there’s bear traps under every tile in the floor, shuriken blades concealing themselves behind every groove in the ceiling (there were about 200 that you counted before dozing off).

It takes a few furtive glances down the corridor and you (fruitlessly) keep a knife within arm’s reach (‘I don’t know why I’m doing this it’s not like I’m even capable of wielding a knife’), but you get to work quickly, preparing a decent meal the only way you know how. The purple blemishes lining the expanse of your neck and thighs still throb in protest when you move, although now it’s become a dull, persistent, guileless ache. You’re all alone, since it appears that your housekeeper is nowhere to be found — got scared away, maybe?

Come to think of it, staff don’t stay for very long around the Bonten building (either that or the numbers are endless; every day you see a new face), and you were always too busy to pay attention to anything but the hulking man demanding your attention.

Even so, something about that particular woman made the word ‘bold’ pop up in your mind in thick, underlined letters.

She’s been around for a few weeks now, looking to be about the same age as you (maybe a little older?), and always wore her black hair pinned back neatly, revealing youthful and bright eyes. She isn’t permitted to stay long — no longer than when she finishes up cleaning and cooking food that’ll last the next few days — and neither of you know each other’s names. Though she did offer you the most sympathetic of smiles when the smell of good food left you poking your head into the kitchen. You think of it sometimes, when you’re lying in bed sleepless.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this on my own, you frown, wiping sweat from your brow. Not that you haven’t cooked before, you have — you just can’t remember when. Your fingers curl feebly around the vegetable peeler, strips of potato skin falling onto the cutting board like ribbons. How long has it been, since you’ve put so much care into something other than Mikey? Again, you’re reminded of how much of your time that he eats up on the regular, like a blackhole both in his presence and absence; like a mechanical heart that your empty cavity of a ribcage can’t pump blood without. The thought alone should petrify you.

Don’t think about that.

There you go again, fretting over things that can’t be fretted about. You stubbornly follow the woman’s phantom movements from what little you gleaned from watching her from afar, guiding your hands over a boiling stove. The sizzles generating at the bottom of the metal pot reminds you of firecrackers. If your memory serves you well, there should be extra seasoning in the top cabinet. And you have to remember to work fast, too, just in case Haruchiyo decides to stick his head out in curiosity.

One by one, along with those forbidden thoughts, the various base ingredients are banished into the pot. Minutes later, you taste the thick broth with a spoon and damn, you realise, this actually tastes kind of good. This actually feels kind of good.

Yeah… yeah no, maybe you’re starting to get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll actually turn out okay after all — the next two days, your isolation, this makeshift stew. Not as good as the woman’s, but you reckon she’d give you a pass for trying. It’s only been a few days tops, but you cave and sigh; you kinda miss her presence. It gave you something to mull over amidst constant chao—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blood freezes.

At the doorway, Haruchiyo looks dishevelled, pissed, a single olive eye twitching. Your legs caramelise into a thick hardness, rooting you to the ground. The pot continues to sizzle above the flame. Since when did he…

“C-cooking?” you begin warily, glancing for the nearest exit, trying to keep an impervious look on your face even though every second that slips by a silent fear creeps up on you like a chokehold. You flinch as he stalks closer with the air of a forensic inspector, looking over the mess that is the kitchen, the wildly strewn pots and pans and utensils — all because you panicked and couldn’t find the ones you were looking for.

(Around the counter? No—that will take too much time. What if you shoved your way past him? No, god no—are you stupid? He’d catch you immediately—)

“You’re dumber than I thought,” he snarls, his mouth donning that prized scowl, leaning forward before you can react and jabbing a finger at the cutting board. “You don’t even know how to handle a fucking knife?”

“Wha—huh?”

You blink; the pellets of onion, potato and carrot lie limply on the scuffed wood. Misshapen little pieces, some thick and some way too thin. Your hands lie frozen in time, one grasping at a chunk of orange and the other gradually growing slick around the knife.

He clicks his tongue in disdain.

“At this rate, you’re going to kill yourself before I do.” Haruchiyo and the long tendons of his fingers pry the weighted blade out of the comfort of your hands. Insistently, in a way that tells you he’s mad—oh god he’s mad— but strikingly, without a touch of malice. Is he mad? Is he sober? He won’t turn it—the knife—on you—right? Your breath hitches.

“Mikey would maim me to a pulp if you succeeded in that little stunt,” he arches a brow, as if using Mikey’s name in such a manner left a bitter taste in his mouth. For some reason, blood rushes to your ears as you watch the man in an unbuttoned suit hunch over the cutting board. You give him space to examine the ingredients, biting your tongue in shame. “If you wanted food you could’ve just said so.”

You could’ve just said so.

Something doesn’t feel quite right about his words, but you’re too relieved to dwell on it. You are graced with a sliver of respite, a moment’s peace; at least you know Haruchiyo has no intentions of killing you. He can’t. Probably.

The silky-smooth incisions he makes on the vegetables and meat send a tremor down your spine, each chop bouncing around in your eardrums. He’s helping you and yet, you almost feel bad for wanting to run. You don’t want to know where he learnt to wield a blade like a razorlike extension of his fingers.

“You know a lot,” you whisper, biting your lip afterwards, minutes in when the aimless hovering becomes too much to bear. What the hell are you doing, trying to make small talk?

“I know enough,” he shoots back, long lashes fluttering like large silver fans as he turns around to squint at you. He likes to look at you as if you were some ancient vase excavated from the earth, you realise. Or like a fossil. As if you originated from a completely different time from him.

Nothing much of a conversation passes between the two of you after that; you awkwardly go through the motions, trying your best to stay away. He mutters some weird cantation under his breath as he sections off the potatoes from the carrots, moves them over to a plate as he readies the meat.

It’s almost faelike, how systematic of a man he is. How quick he is to catch on, requiring minimal instructions from you, despite seeming like a person of inferior culinary calibre.

When he’s done, Haruchiyo pats his hands on his thighs, breathing a sigh. His gaze mulls over the piping stew still bubbling with the newly-added ingredients, before plucking itself away and landing on the door to the study just a distance from the kitchen (his hiding place; his deep cavernous den). Just before he saunters to the room, twisting a hand on the door knob, he says, “I don’t cook, so don’t expect me to.”

(You didn’t.)

It was a brief encounter.

In the early dusk, long after your meal, you hear him crawl out of the study like an emerging creature of the night, and when you’re halfway through turning over a page in a novel (a dusty old one that you found hiding inside the drawers of the bedside table) you hear the sound of cutlery scraping against ceramic, echoing from where the kitchen must be.

It’s strange, the gladness that washes over you — you hadn’t really expected him to react, let alone try your cooking. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure that he ate in the first place. (He said he doesn’t cook, but he knows the ‘correct’ way to use a knife? Odd.) You frown, none of the words on the page construing a decipherable meaning to you.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing the same space with Haruchiyo won’t be so bad after all (now that you know he eats and sleeps like a human being, is normal-functioning in most aspects of his physical body).

With this thought in mind, you carry on business as usual in your small corner of the house, lightly pondering which part of Japan Mikey has found himself embroiled in.

At nightfall, your ears unwillingly pick up loud thuds down the hallway, and you triple-check that the door is locked before climbing into the soft covers, stifling a shiver. Regardless of whether he’s been oddly tame or not, it’ll take a while to get used to this — the strange, unexplainable things that go bump in the night.

The bed… feels emptier. Desolate. Something feels odd, like the calm before the storm. It’s just your imagination. You close your eyes, falling asleep imagining Mikey’s arm around your hip. Ironically, you can’t seem to sleep well without him.

∗

What is this?

He’s felt like this before, of that he’s certain. A longass time ago. Judging from the huge blip in his memory when Haruchiyo tries to recall, it must’ve been eons since then. Eons and eons and then some, back when inactive volcanoes still spat real, smouldering lava — he’s sure it’s been that long.

It’s curious, and it amazes him more than it disgusts him. He should be disgusted, the logical part of his brain adds; he should have just minded his business and carried on as usual. He should have let you cut yourself in that dangerous manner (what’s a tiny cut going to do, add another notch to the scar-ridden pole?) — let you experience what it’s like to live life with an impish brain.

He wasn’t intending to interrupt. Ten, fifteen minutes must’ve ticked by, with him standing there in silence (you are quite the careless one). He couldn’t push down the onslaught of annoyance at the way you bent over backwards to reach the top shelf — are you trying to make his job difficult on purpose? Haruchiyo is a lawless beast, sure, but even beasts have their master’s orders to abide by, along with a special place in hell for those who don’t obey orders. Maybe that was your goal — maybe you wanted him gone. Maybe deep down you’re a spy sent to eliminate Bonten from the inside.

That is how he almost relished in pure excitement, at the promise of bloodshed regardless of how minor.

And yet, and yet, when he saw the flat silver falling just millimeters short of slicing into your soft digits, something compelled him to step in. (To help? Or to finish the job? No, he knows why. It was to chase this surreal, abstract feeling.)

Soft. Soft.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

He wonders how you had the time to teach yourself how to cook. Or if you’d already known before you were brought here (in any case you didn’t look very experienced). If the flavourful explosion in his mouth attests to his boss’ favourite dish. Comfort food, his brain supplies. What is that? He never understood the little nuances that people sprinkled in their vocabulary, though the terms lingered in his head like pesky flies. (If it’s shit, it’s just shit, right?)

He’d been so used to the staleness served at dilapidated bars that he’d forgotten almost completely what it means to have a proper meal. If it wasn’t stale or nasty it was too fancy for him to stuff down his throat — he has always been a picky eater, wanted things to be just right, but somehow the smell alone was enough to entice him out of the study.

And when he took the first bite, something strange happened. A feeling akin to warmth flooded his veins. (It’s amazing, isn’t it? It was like poison. His head started spinning and his mind morphed into a jumbled maze of thoughts; so deeply entrenched in its twists and turns he was, left palm slowly running across hedged walls, groping for an exit. Or trying to find whatever treasure, salvation, lied in the middle.) It never ever struck Haruchiyo that you might’ve snuck something extra into the food to incite this wild reaction in him. No— you’re too innocent for that. Kind. Warm. Trusting. Soft…

Not once did you knock on the door. Not that he expected you to. Not that he wanted you to. (You’re stupid but not that stupid.)

He must’ve been in there for hours, oscillating between the fabric of time and space, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one.

Flashes — funny things, like trusting someone, like cutting his fingers by accident as a kid, sitting outside the doctor’s office (“What are they going to do to me?” a young boy with flaxen hair whispered. “They will put you in stitches. It will not hurt. Just a few pricks, nothing more,” someone whispered back… who?) — materialise before his consciousness often. Uninvited. Unwarranted.

When he is awake they come to him like blessings, like offerings to a long-forgotten deity. When he is asleep they take on the sparkle and sheen of a fairytale — so blurry and blinding that he could never hope to brush his fingertips across such an ethereal feeling in his mortal life.

Because a common thread was that these recollections (or fairytales, or glimpses into the ether, or as he personally likes to call them, fever dreams) never lasted long.

The feeling always, always chose to leave last — that silent poking and prodding going on without his consent, shady dealings happening at the edges of his conscience that scream at him to mourn for a past innocence, something that he has no chance of ever recovering. Memory, in this way, comes like slippery eels in the palm of his hand: if he’s lucky, he’ll catch one. If he isn’t, oh well.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, plastering his spine to the back of chair in hopes of relieving the pain throbbing behind his eyelids. Defeat tastes acrid, bitter, on Haruchiyo’s tongue; it’s no use fighting the waves of agony strobing like a heat wave.

His arm adeptly loses feeling and the metal spoon crashes down onto the plate. It’s empty now, and his stomach is somewhat filled. Yet this shitty-ass migraine chooses to latch onto his brain like a leech. God. Can’t you just—I don’t know—let me off? This one, goddamn time, Haruchiyo curses. He’s pissed. He’s sure he left an extra stockpile of that good stuff somewhere…

Old habits die hard, but it’s difficult to dwell on it when all he can feel is gratefulness for his own foresight. Mikey finds ways to avoid him a lot when he doesn’t feel like entertaining his highs, kinda like throwing a bone to stave off a dog’s abundant energy. But for the most part, he lets Haruchiyo do his own thing — lets him chew on the proverbial bone to his heart’s desire. Thus, once again, Haruchiyo finds himself with a fistful of pills. (It’s the only way he knows to curb the pain.)

He’d really meant to pounce on you by now, he thinks, as he swallows another. Gulp. He meant to already sink his claws into your neck, the same way Mikey does. Gulp.

But he can’t. Right now he can’t even stand straight his head hurts so bad. As if something from within him wanted to turn his body inside out, displaying his innards.

And, fuck, when the itch resurfaces again like an old friend, there’s little he can do to stop it. (When has he ever been the type to argue with instinct, after all? If anything… he is a slave to it. It’s understandable. Mikey’ll forgive him. He’s too used to running free, veins pulsing at the first whiff of prey. It doesn’t do anyone good to cage a wild animal.)

Haruchiyo and his dimmed gemstone eyes, clouded over with a drug-filled haze — a comfortable, fitted collar around his neck and the leash held firmly within his grasp. A slave. A weapon to his own instinct. Nature proclaims that it’s law for predators to hunt prey. How many girls has he killed? How many that look like you and how many just to satisfy this instinct of purging prey.

Haruchiyo has lost count at this point. Everything blurs and twists into one: pill-shaped candy, the boy with pale hair, the warmth of the food that felt like a paperweight on his tongue… you clutching the tip of your finger, thick blood gushing out. (The ‘what-if’ that would’ve happened if he hadn’t interfered.)

Deeper and deeper, he starts to feel dizzy, as if he were plummeting down a rabbit hole. He stumbles from the kitchen and into the living room, heads towards the noise that made his ears prick up like a predator groping for blood. Thirst. He’s unbearably thirsty.

It’s not you— is that you? He goes rigid; blinks away hysteria. It’s you.

All he can think of is you— all he can think is, Mikey will forgive him.

∗

At an abandoned dock two cities away a figure sits patiently, embroiled in a decrepit darkness. Moonlight creeps across his hunched back like vines over a wall. Dark bangs fall messily across his face with some strands still matted in a sticky substance. Sweat, or blood. Mikey scrunches up his nose. If you were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning himself up.

But you aren’t. And the thought is enough to wind a bunch of thorns around his chest.

The cylindrical shape feels strange as heck against the insides of his mouth. He’s poked his tongue through the barrel a few times before, out of pure curiosity, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn trapped in its mitts. But the taste? Well, it’s just as he expected it to be — bland. Flavourless. Unappealing. Just as unappealing as life without you.

(The fuck? Takeomi called me all the way here just to deal with this?)

Then again, he did take a longer time than usual to exterminate the local pest populace. Mikey doesn’t know if this particular thorn in his side is exceptionally formidable, or if he is exceptionally off his game today. (Huh — no, that can’t be it. It’s not as if he saw hostile figures blurring into two then three then four like a cheap ninja trick, even as he struck them down unfazed; not as if, after the tenth one the blood got too heavy for him to focus, and everywhere he turned, intrusive images of your skin plagued his psyche like a disease… no, that can’t be it.)

(…Right? Right. No way.)

He’s miserable. He wants to go home. He wants to hold you and he wants to make you taste the barrel of the gun as he is now — make you run your tongue along its concave shape and ask if you can taste the gunmetal on your teeth and call you pathetic when you start trembling like you always do. Would you let him? (Of course you would. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.) You are obedient, Mikey likes that about you, and you’re always willing to go along with his whims — though, he frowns, it’s mostly because you’re scared. Probably.

Somewhere in the dark a rat squeaks, scuttles into a crack, leaving the timid cry resonating within jagged walls. It reminds him of yo— he throws his head back and gives a long, hard groan, one that spirals in the stillness.

Okay that’s it. He clutches his head. I’m getting out of here.

“Oi. Come, Senju,” he calls monotonously, not waiting up before hopping down, setting his course deeper towards the direction of darkness. A barely audible pair of footsteps follow close behind. But Mikey’s thoughts are occupied; he thinks about the flat surface of the gun and what colour it’d make your skin turn, and he thinks about Haruchiyo sitting faithfully in the penthouse, doing his job. (He’s a little worried, and that’s an understatement.)

Mikey sighs, nose breathing in the musty, oppressive smell of the sea.

One more day and he’ll be back where he was with you; one more day and he’ll be home. But at the very least, he thinks, this little business venture has turned out to be the tiniest bit amusing. His first time exploring Japan in months and he’s already got himself a souvenir to take home.

∗

It’s… raining.

A fine, feathery, bountiful rain that’s only noticeable from ripples of water cascading soundlessly on the full-length window, and floating umbrellas shielding commuters from the downpour hundreds and hundreds of floors below.

From your bird’s-eye view, they all but resemble dewdrops of microscopic colour, so far away that you can barely tell they’re alive. You press your palm flat against the glass, feeling the heat of your own skin absorb the cool surface, feeling the tiny vibration brought forth by the morning raindrops on the other side.

How long has it been? Since you’ve been on that other side?

A backdrop of grey paints the city. A familiar view, but one that you’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s quiet. Way too quiet, at that.

Where is Haruchiyo?

The chill spreads to the tip of your toes when they meet the marbled flooring. You slip off the couch, contemplating the merit in searching for a man you would otherwise do triple somersaults to avoid. Is this a good idea? You chew on your lip. It’s not. But where is he?

You’ve been feeling uneasy for the whole morning. Earlier there’d been a crash (multiple) coming from the hallway, and besides making you drop your book it also brought with it a nauseating wave of anxiety. Not that you expected Haruchiyo to be quiet at all times, goodness no (last night was a test of your patience), but there was a certain instinct imbued into you that made the hairs on your forearms stand on end whenever things were a hint out of the ordinary.

A certain intuition that came part and parcel with living with dangerous, scheming people.

Why is he grunting like that?

(That was a grunt, right? No… no, it definitely was.)

There was the sound of something sharp, like metal, grating against the floor — what was that? You scurry over to press your ear to the door, listening hard for anomalies, trying to conjure up hypotheses in your brain that don’t equal to Haruchiyo throwing a messy fit or getting ready to jump you or — well, kill you.

A clunk. Several thumps. A knife, maybe? Or he could be moving furniture, or, or—he could be practicing with his rumoured katana (you’ve never seen it but heard people talk about it in hushed whispers) — there’s no way to know for sure. All these unidentified sounds send seismic fear rippling through you.

With Mikey there was no need to question anything, because it was only a matter of time until you found out. But now that you’re alone — alone and defenceless and the most vulnerable you’ve ever been since you were fresh out the womb — it strikes a waning courage in your steps as you venture into the unknown, sweaty palms encircling the cool metal door knob, trying your hardest to stifle the click it makes when it unlocks.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to the source of the sound. Because it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek. Right? Just to check in. Just to be safe. Just to make sure he isn’t putting funny stuff inside your cupboards.

And. Well. If you were being honest, being Mikey’s little pet must’ve changed you a lot.

Complacency that thickened your skin, artificial layers of cosmetics over baby-smooth doll fabric. The false sense of protection under Mikey’s invisible iron fist comes with its own, hefty price. It must have gotten to you somehow. It must have done something to build up that liquid courage in your veins, in its own twisted way, surely, because—because no sooner than when you poke your head through the doorway into the living room do you see it.

See them.

You stare at the pile of grisly red organs splattering the cold hard floor; stare at death itself.

And, on top of it, as if crowned the victor, no one but Haruchiyo hunches leisurely over the grisly mound of flesh. Cleaning the mess behind his fingertips with his tongue. Eyeing his handiwork. The glinting edge of the tiny scalpel in his hand still dripping with scarlet, sharp edge pointed towards god knows what’s left of that person ohgod—

Your gut drops to the floor in horror. That uniform. That’s her. That’s the woman. Shit—fuck. What was once a sweet young woman is now a mangled corpse by the hands of Haruchiyo. Something… something is terribly wrong. She doesn’t look like she’s been dead for minutes. No, her eyes are far too cold. Like gaping holes. There is blood from her mouth, no, there is blood everywhere —

Haruchiyo hums, his rosier-than-cotton-candy hair dip-dyed in scarlet. Drip, drip. “Looks like… ah, I’ve roused the attention of our reclusive little rabbit.”

It’s the same man who’d grasped your hand in a courteous gesture just the day before, who’d saved you from slicing your fingers, the same goddamn murderer who’s just got his hands on the only person in years to address you like a regular human being. Idiot. You’ve done it this time. You’re a fucking dumbass. He’s a murderer, murderer — he’s going to kill you.

You’re next.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?” His grin only widens at your stupor, your slow, petrified jaw hanging agape. “You look scared. Do I make you feel scared?”

Your legs won’t budge; you whimper.

Run. Runrunrun — your body is screaming at you, imploring you to hurry the fuck up and run for your goddamn life, but you don’t. Pleas fall on deaf ears. Your body is caught in a bear trap, forcing you to take in the gruesome scene before you. There is so, so much blood. More than you’ve ever seen in your life. And all of it, all of it, is hers.

Just the other day she greeted you with her usual warm smile. Just the other day she was a living, breathing human, who ate and slept and radiated heat.

“Your face tells me you want to run,” he trills, eyes narrowing into slits. “Gonna run away?”

His tone is shrill as a sharpened blade, deranged, with every word mounting into maniacal glee. “Run with your little tail tucked between your cute thighs, back to your big, strong Mikey?”

Bloodshot and unfocused eyes zero in on your face and his body convulses like a zombie erecting from the dead, joints creaking like bars of scaffold. Slowly, assuredly, he rises to one knee, he points the scalpel at his own collarbone, and wait, wait, why is he—

“Look here, little bunny,” he coos, a big wide smile twisting the scars on his mouth; his wrist twitches, yanks, the blade following suit, dipping obediently into his own flesh. His own skin. His own blood that leaks pure sparkling scarlet from a thin crevice.

A scream tears through the room, one you can only feel is yours from the vibrations ringing in your hollow throat — he doesn’t wince. Sheer horror sends your body flying back, hands clasped tight in front of your face to shield you from the deep dark red. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real. Red is matted to pink strands of hair, red is glittering across his mouth like the snout of a beast, red is slowly advancing across the carpet. Wake up. You tremble, whimper. This is bad this is bad this is bad.

A cackle rips into the air, one with a chilling, blood-curdling echo bouncing off the walls, and no sooner than when he takes a step forward does the impenetrable cement in your veins crack.

Fight or flight.

You turn and bolt, feeling the weight of your numb appendages carrying you as far as possible, away from that—that sickening blood, that red crawling ever so closely towards you like hot, molten lava—

You race, stumble, dive into Mikey’s room (Idiot! Mikey isn’t even here! The exit — you have to get to the exit!), managing to grab a spare key off the counter before fleeing like a bat out of hell towards the front door, salvation, the only way out.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

But then your back’s hitting the wall as you scramble to flee, jolts of the impact swelling up your spine as you hurtle into a dodge when Haruchiyo lunges, bloodied fingertips snatching your wrist and pulling pulling yanking, until the keys crash to the ground with a deafening clatter, until you’ve been sucked into the floor with a scream clawing at your throat, until you’re submerged limb by limb into that deep deep red that you hate.

“NO no no no no, letmego, letmeg—”

“Shh, shh!”

The cool tip of the blade drags along your cheek, thinly scraping against the surface, slicing into half the wet tracks that tears have left on your face so that slivered carmine wells up through the broken skin. His body has no right being this warm, pressed up against you, your knees and arms already going slick with blood. It’s over. He’s caught you.

Your eyes stay screwed shut amidst the barrage of hot tears bursting behind your eyelids. He has you pinned down for good, you realise, a strained whimper fighting its way in the back of your throat. There is no escape. The pain is real. You can feel the slim thread of blood rolling down your cheek, mixing with the tears — only for him to lean closer, lapping up the traces of it with a satisfied chuckle.

His saliva leaves a slimy, wet sensation on your skin. It’s the worst feeling you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Please… I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell Mikey— please, just let me go…”

“Ah ah ah.” The man — Sanzu Haruchiyo — hushes you again, a finger on your lip, his shuddering breath fanning erratically on your face, his voice fading into yet another hysterical chuckle. But it’s deep, breathy, and taunting, thrumming loudly in his chest, and sending a tremor through your very soul. “I think you’re forgetting a teensy, tiny fact, little bunny— Mikey’s not here.”

Your nose fills with iron when he is this close. Haruchiyo’s eyes — those bulging, green masses of insanity — shift and convulse as if you were faced with the mouth of an abyss. His grip on your wrists tightens to an agonising degree the more you plead and squirm, leaving you with no choice but to hold your breath, hoping desperately that someone will come to your rescue.

Where is Mikey?

You’re going to die here. You’re going to die here… and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pushed up against this psycho killer, who’s just murdered a person innocent of all crime, an outsider who shouldn’t even have been here. Is this how you find closure? From someone other than Mikey?

Manjiro… the thought is enough to shoot a terrible pain in your heart, something unwarranted like denial, like indescribable terror, like—like regret.

I never told him I love him.

Twin dilated pupils absorb the sight of your writhing, suffering form, shuddering in their sockets from unmatched euphoria.

“Why don’t we play a little?”

∗

Truth be told, Haruchiyo doesn’t know what time of day it is, what day it is, and all he remembers is feeling fatigued with an indescribable, insatiable hunger. He thinks he’s never felt so dissatisfied in his entire life.

But this… this is nothing short of a feast, isn’t it?

“You…” he begins, seething through his ultra-wide grin. “You’re a huge slut!”

His hands, not knowing where to touch, land greedily on every inch of your traitorous skin. Groping, taking, as if the gates to heaven inexplicably opened; a creature of hell, he is — a pitch-black entity descending upon a fine-feathered angel. He can’t stop himself, not when you’re so helpless to fend him off.

“If I had known… that you would be going around getting wet at every man touching your little pussy like this…” He bites back a laugh, the scarred edges of his mouth contorting.

You look confused — terrified, but mainly confused. And scared as to why he hasn’t ripped apart your insides yet and god you’re fucking delicious. Your nightdress has long been torn to shreds. Blood — not yours — is splattered everywhere on the marble flooring. Haruchiyo’s obscene groans come like second nature at this point. It’s good, it’s too good — your cries, your shivering, your scent, the way that he can taste how salty your tears are and hear the wetness gathering at his fingers.

“You’re a damned whore, aren’t you?”

You look stunned, stupefied, as if your little brain can’t comprehend what Haruchiyo wants to do to you, as if the squelching noises coming from between your thighs are a mechanism separate to your conscious body — as if they don’t tell him all he needs to know.

“S-stop,” you snivel, wrists straining in his grip, though he thinks it couldn’t possibly hurt from the way you can’t help your half-moans, so delicate and frantic, flitting about in his ears like a pair of small butterfly wings. “Stop, please, a-ah, don’t touch me there—”

“Here? Oh, but what if I want to?”

Frankly, this is the most fun that he’s had in ages — your kitten-like mewls and crystalline tears, soft hips twisting fruitlessly and the friction only serving to make his blood rush south, adrenaline sizzling in his veins even more so than when he was in the midst of mutilating that dumb placeholder, that fake…

“You feel so nice and soft inside, little bunny.”

Haruchiyo shoves his fingers past the lips of your cute slit, prodding and poking like it’s his first time touching a virgin. Warm, tender, and suckling on him like a fawn to its mother’s breast… the gentle clasp of your pussy against his fingers feels like nothing short of heaven. God almighty, no wonder Mikey couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His cock becomes erect, the tip becoming sensitive as it strains against precum-soaked fabric.

He watches you squirm, watches as your tits heave with every breath you take. For the first time Haruchiyo is close to you, closer than ever before, to the point where if he brandished the scalpel now there’s no telling whether he’ll lose control and gouge your pretty eyeballs out in a fit of blind lust. Just like he did to so many others before you — just like those other porcelain, fragile, counterfeit dolls. (Except there’s really nothing that comes so close to perfection as the real thing.)

“What do you think is stopping me from killing you, hm?”

He poses this question in the midst of circling your shining pearl, bringing you closer and closer to climax, coaxing panicked moans out of you as if the realisation just hit you that maybe he will rip apart your insides after all.

Then, when you whine out instead of replying, Haruchiyo pauses, pressing his weight against your soft body for good measure, keening at your smell. He sighs—

“It’s because torturing you fucking turns me on.”

You used to smell like roses — like Mikey. But the you in this moment smells like sex, sweat, and potent iron, blood from his fresh killing and blood from his own flesh and bone; he has never felt such uncontrollable desire in his life. This is it, he thinks, this is the treasure waiting for him at the end of the maze.

His lips latch on and suckle on your exposed nipple, tongue circling and biting and lapping hard until it draws cries of pain. His face returns to your neck, a slimy tongue sticking out and coating you with saliva, feeling himself quiver with desire when your entire body convulses. His hard length grinds against your inner thigh like a mad dog, eager to insert itself into your warm and inviting hole.

But not yet. Just a little more.

He releases your wrists. Sharp nails latch themselves onto your scalp, straining against the roots of your hair to tug you eye-to-eye with his gaze. People like to say that Haruchiyo gets a spine-chilling, deranged gleam in his eyes when he’s in the middle of torturing someone — what do you see this time?

A monster? The devil himself? Or something more divine? Otherworldly? Something like a god?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip; not bad, he credits his brain, eyeing the tremble of your lip and the way tears cascade down your cheeks and jaw and drip onto your breasts, he might just crave to make you worship him. More than anyone else. More than his King; make you become his own private devotee.

“Does Mikey also do this?” Haruchiyo’s gravelly voice whispers filthy vice in your ear. “Does he? Tell me.”

Your back hits the floor. He sticks another finger, two, then three, inside your cunt, wriggling and feeling for the one spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your non-stop whining, your incoherency, your lack of capacity for full sentences, all of it is starting to unravel his control — spilling out like a spool of thread underwater, dispersing never to be reeled in again.

“Tell. Me.”

“N-no!” you rasp, hips quaking.

“Liar,” he smiles. You’re a liar. You’re a filthy liar. He saw you. “What does he do to your little clit, huh? Rub, rub. Oh, you feel so soft and slippery here.”

“Stop, please, a-ah! It’s too much, it’s too much…”

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” he is quick to comfort, fingers speeding up, abusing your tiny nub, as if his ears were blotting out your frantic cries and tearful struggle. So, so sensitive. He almost feels like you’ll break. “Cum all you want. Again and again. We’ve got all day.”

He attaches his lips like a parasite to your cheek, licking at the small cut, sucking every drop of blood that leaks out, all while his fingertips never cease their momentum. You resist and jerk away from his face, only for him to wrench your jaw tightly in place.

“No, I don’t want to cum, I don’t—” You struggle like a rabbit with its hind legs bound, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a feeble effort to mute your cries of pleasure. “I-I’m gonna—”

You cum without warning; a spray of liquid pools at your entrance, your thighs spasming under him as if charged with electricity. He coos as if to cheer you on. Fuuuck. He’s not done. There’s no way. Droplets of your juices taste like dews on his tongue; so much he wants to do, but he only has two hands.

As you reel, incapacitated with the afterglow of your orgasm, his palm lets go of your face to wrap around the flushed tip of his cock, giving a few sharp pumps, imagining what it feels like to be buried in your warmth. Well, he won’t have to imagine much longer.

“So pretty, you’d put every other girl to shame,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and another to your lips, silencing your whimpers. “I hated you, god, but turns out you’re good for at least one thing.”

“Let me… let me go…”

“Nah. But did it feel good?” He wants to break you. He wants to see you drowning in so much pleasure that you collapse and black out and crave nothing but his cock.

Your face scrunches up. You’re looking at him, he thinks. Though your expression looks weird, and you’ve stopped struggling.

“Mikey… Mikey’s gonna… he’s gonna be so mad,” you start to hiccup, tears dripping silently onto the marble, bottom lip trembling. Haruchiyo goes still, watching you cry at a loss for words.

He’s confused.

Mikey? Really? At a time like this? And he sees it again. That blatant softness that filters over your eyes — that ickiness. You’re so in love with his King that it’s pathetic.

It hadn’t been obvious before, but it is now. It’s thickening the skin between your heart and the outside world: it’s still there, the veins permeating the layer of visibility just barely, but the pulsing is faint.

And he sneers. Who do you think you are?

“You came because you’re a disloyal whore and you know it. Looks like you didn’t really love him after all, huh?”

At his words, you let out a hurt-filled gasp, as if they made their way into your heart and deposited lashes of agony there. Your mouth hangs open with tears still streaking down your face. The sight makes him want to coo at you.

“Look — you’re all messy and slick down here.”

Before you can tell him to stop, his fingernail scratches your abused clit, hard and fast as if trying to coax another orgasm out of you. Just one more. You can endure it, right? He’s watched Mikey do worse to you. He’s watched Mikey splay your legs open at his mercy and threaten to let every man in the room have their way with you.

Your body thrashes in retaliation but it’s no match for Haruchiyo’s strength, helpless to fight back as he pushes you further and further until you splutter and give a keening cry.

“What would Mikey think if he saw you like this?” he laughs, tuning out your pleas to slow down. “He’d fucking kill you.”

Another spray of your juices — another sharp scream of pleasure. By the third, fourth, your body starts trembling in overstimulation.

“I’m going to make you cum, again and again. Until you regret ever coming here. Make you regret trying to tempt my King.”

Haruchiyo mindlessly nibbles at your ear, before brutish hands reach down to force your legs wider. It’s about time, isn’t it? His cock throbs painfully at the wait.

“No, no, no… you can’t—”

He ignores you, rearranging his hips so they align with yours, gripping your abdomen like a vice as if trying to bruise. More, more, more. All his filthy fantasies start to spill out of the crevices in his brain. All he can do is watch the lavish black rush out in an endless downpour, and he, wrought with an incurable thirst, helps himself to your body, spellbound by the adrenaline you incite in him and the softness and warmth that you—

Ouch. He feels a prick.

From his shoulder, a tiny cut. A warm drop of blood beads at the broken skin. Ah. you’ve got your puny, trembling fingers on the handle of the scalpel.

How clever. A laugh bubbles from his throat.

“Oh, little bunny. Are you sure you want to do that?”

His hand removes itself from your body, snatching the blade out of your grip. You panic and try to retrieve it, but in your moment of desperation he chuckles and slides his cock in, stuffing you with inches of his length at one go, stretching you out like a cushy sleeve.

You yelp, foal legs kicking at air. Haruchiyo takes the time to tuck the blade away.

“Stupid, stupid,” he clicks his tongue as you wail in defeat, tiny paws padding at his chest like you want him to pin you down harder — like you crave for him to abuse your little hole until you can’t walk for the rest of the year. “You’re just a little stupid, aren’t you? Gone all mush-brained from me teasing you?”

He wastes no time in bottoming out, leaving the tip brushing against your womb, beating on the squishy walls again and again. His pace is manic, uncaring, straight from the get-go. Nothing can compare to you. Your tight, slick walls accommodate him so lasciviously, so perfectly, that he swears you know what you’re doing.

“You know what? I’m not even mad. Not when you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” His King has an eye for quality, he thinks, adjusting his grip so he can thrust deeper in you.

A mess of blood, cum, tears — a mess that he has made you, forced onto you like ink on a canvas, and he bled a bottomless black. You’re coming around slowly, letting the ink sink into your putty flesh and submitting yourself to the sensation, hips unknowingly rising to meet the timing of his thrusts. That’s more like it, he licks his lips. You’re cute. Obedient. He wouldn’t mind taking you home.

“Hey, hey. Here's—uh—an idea. Why don’t you become my own cocksleeve? I’ll tell Mikey that you—hah—fought real hard, but you just couldn’t resist putting a thick, hard cock inside you. I’ll tell him you couldn’t help it.”

Haruchiyo chuckles mid-pant, having grown rather fond of you and your insides. He’s heaving like a beast, sweat gathering at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut to ride out this pure bliss. It’s a first for him. Has he been doing sex wrong his whole life?

“After my King disowns you… after he throws you out on the streets… I'll pick you up and give you a home. this little pussy… I’m going to make it my own.”

“Ah, ah— sto— ah…”

You’ve gone stupid for good, now. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mindless babbling spilling from your lips (he can barely make out Mikey’s name in poor, broken syllables), your breasts bouncing and pussy twitching as it overflows with juices. All words are lost to you in this state.

And yet you’re still hugging his thickness diligently, just like a custom-made cocksleeve. He really ought to reward you. Haruchiyo reaches down to stimulate your clit and shudders at the feeling of you clenching tighter.

That far-off look in your eyes, your thighs periodically convulsing with spurts of cum spraying out pathetically between your folds — it’s almost too good to be true. You’re spent, brainless, mouth agape and tongue lolling out with drool overflowing from the sides when Haruchiyo finishes in you. He can make out broken parts of your speech: feeble efforts of voicing his name.

Not Mikey’s. His.

“You’re mine to play with now,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter at your pitiful mewls. “What do you think? You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Without thinking, with a heightened lust that betrays all logical thought, he sheathes himself again, all the way to the brim with a heady groan. The cum still potent and thick inside your hole spills out and paints his cock in a hot mess of liquid.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes glazed over with so much pleasure that you look as if you were far, far above the clouds.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

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