#I truly understand I forced you into a role. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintobio · 2 months

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sincerely yours. (10)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. depression, intoxication, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships,

notes. important announcement ! as you all know, this series has always had an extensive approach into detailing the events in its side stories (ie. sera x sukuna x naoya, yuuji x megumi, maki x yuuta x miwa, etc), but while writing the chapters, the word count and the plot building had become too exhausting for me to produce consistently, esp with the amount of scenes and side stories i was introducing to the story, so i've decided it's best for me to stick to the main characters, reader & gojo, and will only add side stories as necessary. this really hurts me knowing that i can't achieve the level of comprehensive writing and world building that i did for sincerely not, but i really want to finish sy as soon as possible and removing a chunk of side stories would be some of the things that'd help me achieve that 😭 i hope you guys understand. hopefully i'll figure out a way to write those side stories instead of completely abandoning them mid-way in this series. but as always, thanks for ur continued support <3

series masterlist -> episode eleven

“It’s a little weird.”

What was supposed to be her bed time had turned into a moment of reflection for Sera who, instead of being fast asleep at this time of the night, had unconsciously brought herself inside Sukuna’s home office to join the up-and-coming tech mogul in his late-night programming.

She wore her silk pajamas, pacing back and forth in her boyfriend’s office as her mind flew back to the recent encounter she had with her ex-boyfriend. Who knew that Satoru’s kid would look just like a carbon copy of him? No, actually, the question should be: who knew it would be a different woman by his side acting as the mother of his child? Sera had to laugh at herself, shaking her head as she realized how truly and undeniably ridiculous her ex was. It was clear that day that he wasn’t really as loyal of a partner as he claimed himself to be.

Did he really just go through all those crazy things with you, only to look like a whore-hopping fool now?

If he was bound to end up with someone else other than you, then why did he have to make Sera’s life miserable in the first place?

She may have done terrible things before as a selfish and materialistic lover of his, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Satoru also contributed to her role as the side-piece in his marital relationship. He allowed her to cling to him like a mistress. Being his side-piece wasn’t even something that she had forced upon him. It was his promise, an idea that he planted on Sera’s head, saying that she would need to stay by his side and that he would marry her guaranteed that he had already secured the merger and divorced you. He swore like a fool that he would divorce you. But guess what? The jerk ended up falling in love with his wife and suddenly had no use of Sera. Suddenly, he was such a good husband who couldn’t be more loyal. Suddenly, he was a lovestruck man who had always been in love with his childhood friend. If he had downright dumped Sera the moment his engagement was announced, if he had not been prideful and ambitious since the beginning of his marriage, he probably would have had better luck at having that healthy relationship he yearned from you.

But how come the blame of being the third-party was all on Sera when her only mistake then was loving the person who promised her all the good things in life?

Now, you see, this was all just bitterness brewing at the back of her head. She knew what she did was still wrong and that she wasn’t innocent. Sera swore to herself that she would never look back on those awful days ever again, but seeing how Satoru was running around freely with a different woman just reminded Sera of his days as a spiteful, two-timing man. Somehow, it felt like he had changed and yet didn’t at all.

Ha ha ha. How ridiculous was that?

“What’s funny?” asked Sukuna, her present boyfriend and thankfully so. He was Sera’s blessing, because she never would have thought that a man like him could still exist in a world full of Satoru’s and Naoya’s. “You look cute smiling to yourself, though.”

“I know,” she responded to the compliment, shifting to settle herself on his lap, though his attention remained fixed on his laptop screen. “It's just strange to me,” she continued, her voice thoughtful, “how Gojou appears his usual self, yet there's something off about him.”

The question clouded Sukuna’s eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he tried to comprehend her description. “You mean dude got uglier?”

I wish, Sera thought. “No, he’s… he’s different. The vibes are different. For a second, he even looked like he was dissociating the whole time he was with that girl,” she said, referring to Satoru’s new girl as though she was your cheap alternative, “But then again, why is he with her in the first place if he looks absent-minded the whole time, you know what I mean?”

“Was he like that with you before?”

“At times, but it’s not like the way he’s acting right now… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. The energy is off. That’s just not how he acts when he’s really, really into someone.”

To be honest, Sukuna didn’t give a damn about Satoru Gojou’s life and any normal boyfriend wouldn’t really like hearing their girlfriend talking about another man, especially her ex at that, but he knew Sera found joy in old money gossip and he was aware of the demoralizing past she has had by associating herself with them. Sukuna was acting all engaged in their conversation because he wanted to make her feel heard and that he shared her simple joys in life. Besides, it was through her that he learned so many inside scoops about the people that ran the country’s biggest conglomerates. It was like watching one heck of a messy episode of Dynasty.

“Didn’t he get into a car accident?” he recalled, remembering the headlines on the news that day, “Then, we saw him at the expo and he couldn’t really remember you. The guy’s probably got his head all messed up.”

Sera was bitter at the time thinking that Satoru was toying with her when he asked who she was, when the truth was, he was actually diagnosed with amnesia. It was such a shock to her, truthfully, because having amnesia felt like something you would only see on a movie’s screen. Well, in that case, she could also say karma’s a bitch. The director might be onto something here.

“He’s probably not mentally fine, but still…” she thought carefully and played the scene in her head again. What was it about the Gojou that she saw the other day that was different? “He just has a different vibe to him that it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s rude, but not so rude? He doesn’t have much of a personality anymore. Like a complete stranger.”

“Maybe it’s the new girl rubbing off on him.” Sukuna was back to typing on his laptop as he said that. Frankly, he was just saying anything at this point.

Sera shook her head in response. “Well, I don’t know about that girl he’s seeing and I don’t really care, but it’s common knowledge to the filthy rich that she’s Y/N’s best friend. That’s why I recognized her right away, and that’s why it disgusted me,” she pressed on, “Tell me, would you—and be honest about this—would you fuck your best friend’s ex?”

The humor on her boyfriend’s face came right as she asked that. “Babe, you fucked a married man. It’s worse than fucking somebody’s ex.”

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she got up from his lap and sighed, but Sukuna wasted no time in pulling her back onto his lap. His chuckle was mingling with the gentle kiss he had planted on her cheek, unaware that his actions made Sera’s heart flutter. “Forget it. I shouldn’t even be talking about Satoru with you.”

The man stretched his arms and finally closed his laptop, patting Sera’s thigh afterwards. “On that note, I do have another ‘dude from your past’ that I gotta meet tomorrow.”

Her reaction alone was a response for him. “Naoya?” she protested, face contorting with disgust. “What for? I told you not to take on that project.”

“Yeah, I considered it, and you know, the partnership could really benefit CleaveTech,” Sukuna reasoned, leaning back as he outlined the situation to her from a business standpoint. Given her own background working for the Gojou Group before, he expected her to grasp the significance of this partnership and set aside any personal grievances or emotional attachments. “The Zen'in Group is a major client. It’s all pros and no cons here.”

“The contra is the guy you’re gonna work with,” she highlighted with a hint of annoyance rising from her throat, “Naoya is nothing but an opportunistic motherfucker. Mind you, he’s a stupid elitist, too.”

He held back a laugh, not even threatened by a man who had a terrible history with his girlfriend. “Nah, I’ll deal with him. Just trust me on this.”

As much as Sera wanted to object, she knew Sukuna had a point and that she really shouldn’t hinder his company from being partnered with such a large conglomerate. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend being around a man who manipulated and humiliated her to the point where she had been blacklisted by multiple companies, leaving her to resort to being somewhat of a prostitute just to make ends meet.

The world was harsh for the not-so-rich, and all Sera wanted was to give those upper class people a taste of their own medicine. But seeing as her desire for revenge would clash with her boyfriend’s chance at company growth, she had to set aside her personal grudge and support him on this one.

Still, there was nothing wrong with being curious. “Is there any other reason you agreed to this partnership?”

Sukuna smirked as if he expected that question from her. “Blame it on my little brother, he’s been bugging me ‘bout it.”

“Yuuji?” Sera asked, clearly confused.

To which her boyfriend quickly answered, “Yeah. He said it’ll give him an opportunity to work with his best friend. You know that kid, Fushiguro, right?”

Ahh. Toji’s kid aka the heir to the Zen’in business empire. Sera had met Megumi before, and while that other brat Mai used to be unreasonably rude to her, the younger boy was always civil and respectful at least. He never even once treated Sera like dirt when she was spending time with Naoya at their mansion. Perhaps their upbringing really differed because he was raised by Toji and the other Zen’ins were raised by demons.

Nevertheless, with a connection now established between Sukuna and Naoya through Yuuji and Megumi, Sera couldn’t help but feel that her peaceful days as a nouveau riche were about to become far more intriguing. Depending on the cards she would choose to play, they could even turn into a living nightmare.

— —

You weren’t exactly abandoning your company; you were merely taking a break, a necessary pause given your current mental state after the whole break-up with Toji and the Osaka thing. Your mind was just too overwhelmingly occupied to even properly function. Each day, mustering the energy to show up at Hearte's head office became increasingly challenging, especially when faced with individuals who relied on you for major decisions and creative direction.

To make matters worse, Akemi’s sudden resignation hit hard.

You received her decision by a simple letter, a mere piece of paper, without even having the guts and decency to meet with you in person. Was she scared? Or was this her way of rubbing salt on the wound, shoving it in your face that she was now taking things to the next level with your ex-husband?

She did cite in her resignation letter that her reason for resigning from the role was due to conflict of interest. You wanted to laugh when you read that part. No, you wanted to choke in your fit of laughter after reading through her asinine reasons. She could have been upfront and mentioned that the so-called ‘conflict’ was the very man her best friend had previously married.

Obviously, everyone in the office felt sad knowing that a core member of the company left without at least a 30-day notice, but they were all also aware that her resignation was due to personal albeit controversial reasons. Did Akemi not care about her image at all? The same colleagues she had trained, managed, and collaborated with would now likely gossip about her behind her back. She would become a hot topic of disrespect among the people that once heavily respected her. Did she also not care about the company you two created together anymore? This was the same company you two had passionately dreamed of during your late-night conversations on a New York rooftop. She was the one who wanted to build a fashion house together with you.

Yet, it seemed she was willing to throw it all away for a man already entangled in complicated familial dynamics. Her immediate resignation and refusal to speak to you in person just further confirmed it to you that Akemi was willing to forsake your friendship by choosing a man who already had a child with someone else.

Since she chose that path, you couldn’t help but interpret Akemi’s actions as a deliberate slight against your friendship. It seemed clear that she no longer viewed you as a friend and was essentially cutting ties with you. Otherwise, why would she take such a step? Akemi wasn’t the type to be vindictive; she likely believed she was sparing you further pain by severing your connection. However, regardless of her intentions, her actions felt deeply disrespectful and hurtful.

If this was what she wanted, then kudos to her and her unbelievable confidence to choose a man like Satoru Gojou. Besides, it didn’t even take you a week to find another replacement. Your family connections were powerful after all. You readily had a pool of potential candidates for the role of the Head of Sales, Retail, and Merchandising—all from prestigious backgrounds and unparalleled expertise. While the competition was tough, you selected the person you deemed was the most qualified to be your second-in-command. This was someone you had esteemed since college, a person who excelled in both business acumen and creative vision.

Yuki Tsukumo. She was influential in every sense, and you trusted that she would be able to manage the high pressure environment of a start-up fashion house and transform it into an iconic brand, a household name that would one day rival Chanel and Miu Miu.

You may have succeeded in replacing Akemi. You may have shown her that her position in the workforce was easily replaceable, but her role as your friend still left a lingering, repugnant mark that proved far more difficult to erase. This underlying sentiment could explain the unreasonable anger festering in your heart—a visceral reaction born from feelings of backstabbing betrayal.

It was hard enough for you to travel all the way to Osaka with a broken heart, but it became much more agonizing to watch your own son run up to Akemi like she was his mother. It was a goddamn slap to your face, indeed, to see that your ex-husband had already chosen a woman to have his happy, little family with. That he wanted to be a good man and be everything you wished for in a husband for her.

As they say, nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman.

And honestly? You cried so much on the way home that you became numb. Now, you were just trying to get over it. You were trying to bury the searing pain in order to forget the betrayal you felt. It was all too much for a person to handle and it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone through the same old shit before. Wasn’t it worse before with Satoru actually cheating and all? He technically wasn’t crossing any lines here, so it shouldn’t hurt you. It shouldn’t. You had been here before. If you had managed to get through such an awful time as his previous wife, his relationship with Akemi shouldn’t be too hard to accept. No, you weren’t trying to lowball your pain, but it was better to be an optimist in this situation than be a suicidal, self-destructive person. You had a business to run and a child to raise. You had to be strong.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself. That was what you had been telling yourself over and over, each time you got up from bed forcing yourself to have a false positive mindset. In fact, that was also why you had to take this extended break because you had to have your peace of mind. You had to have some form of release to remember why you needed to stay alive and keep yourself going.

Not just for Sachiro’s sake, but also for your own.

Your safe haven for now was at the horse ranch, where the tranquility of riding and the beauty of nature provided the perfect ambiance for reflection. How long has it been since your last visit to Willow? Your father had been joking that you shouldn’t be leaving a beautiful, white Friesian horse unattended for years, especially not for the expensive price he paid her for. True enough, because the moment you saw the mare again, you almost forgot how majestic she was for her breed. Willow was a completely docile and graceful horse, so alike to you in many ways. However, one thing that was unlike you, was that she lived in peace, existing solely for herself and not for anyone else.

If only you could be like her.

As you reached out to stroke your rare-breed horse, a new and unfamiliar stallion in the stable caught your eye. To think of it, your family shared this equestrian estate with the Gojou family. This realization meant that the strikingly elegant and tall gray horse in the adjacent stall belonged to none other than Satoru.

“It’s a Thoroughbred,” the equine caretaker informed while guiding your horse out of the stable, “Mr. Satoru got him recently and named him Six.”

A gray Thoroughbred, renowned as the most expensive horse breeds out there. It could fetch a price as high as $70 million, and of course, Satoru was the perfect owner for such a prestigious horse. The stallion embodied his essence completely—its color, its build, its rarity. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but find his naming convention by number a bit odd. His previous black stallion was named Eight. This time around, it was Six. Couldn’t he be more imaginative?

“He’s beautiful,” you mumbled, nonetheless, in awe with the regality of the horse.

“He’s a good boy, too,” added the enthusiastic horsekeeper in a thick country accent, “Mr. Satoru was here yesterday and played polo while riding him. They were perfectly in sync even if it was his first time riding him.”

Of course, he would play polo. That was one of his favorite recreational sports. The burning question at hand was, who was with him during his visit? Because if the caretaker mentioned Akemi, you would certainly lose it. This was your private space with him. This estate was a place that none of his other women had access to, not even Sera. This was a location filled with memories from your childhood. For him to bring another woman here would be crossing the damn line.

“Did he bring anyone with him?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you dusted off your boots.

The caretaker denied. “No, he was alone. He just came to play polo and check the horses he recently bought.”

Oh… “He bought more than one?”

Did he seriously get Akemi her own horse? Your heart was racing at the thought, but the caretaker led you to the stable near the exit to show you the other horse than your ex-husband had purchased. It was a brown Shetland pony.

“He got a fully trained Shetland for your son,” the horsekeeper proudly declared, showcasing the pony as if he had been instructed to do so in anticipation of your visit. It was obvious that Gojou had already briefed him on introducing Sachiro’s new pony to you because he knew you would be asking about it. “His name is Elmo. He is kid-safe and very friendly.”

Frankly, you wanted to sigh in relief, but at the same time, it warmed your heart to know that Satoru got his son his own horse at such a young age. You could already sense him planning to make Sachiro take equestrian classes when he gets older, and probably join him on his horseback riding sessions, too. You could imagine just how perfect it would be to see the father and son bonding here, racing together, playing polo together… yet it would not be you who would be watching them on the side.

This future he was setting up with his son would be an experience he would share with Akemi.

There was no you in that vision anymore.

The caretaker likely questioned your sanity when he noticed the bitter smile on your face as you mounted your mare. He might have even doubted whether you were sane enough to ride alone, without a guide, particularly through the woods since Willow had not been ridden for some time now. However, you had done it countless times before and were quite familiar with the trail, and so you dismissed his offer to lead you and assured him confidently that you knew your way back.

You needed this solitude. You craved this moment of peace, alone with your thoughts and surrounded by nature, to reflect on the ceaseless torture of your life. It was just never-ending, squeezing every drop of happiness out of your system to make sure that you would only live to suffer. You really thought you had your happy ending with someone else? You actually believed you had found the perfect man to be your actual husband?

Well, unfortunately for you, Toji was not the one.

At first, your mind flew to Toji as you went on to the trail, allowing the mare to continue trotting as you held the reins to control her. You remembered Toji’s text that morning, asking you for the hundredth time if he could meet with you. He likely wanted to apologize in person, but you doubted he would change his mind and take back the things he said. Because they were true. He could never fill the void left by his deceased wife by being with another empty soul. It was painfully, unmistakably true. You were better off dead if that was the case, because even if you did end up marrying him, you would never be regarded as the person he loved the most. After all, your role in this world seemed to always be the second option. You were never the first in other people’s books. Not with your ex-husband. Not even with your family, especially with Gen around. You were meant to be a bystander, watching others live their perfect lives while you were forced to be in your misery. Someone like Toji would not have a guaranteed blissful marriage with you and you had to spare him from that. You had to draw the line and step back from this charade that you were playing with him, knowing that you were never the right person to be with him, so at some point, you had to accept his drunken words. They came from a place of truth, and that truth would set the both of you free.

Even it hurt. Even if it fucking hurt to hear his words. You couldn’t deny them.

You could easily forgive him, but his words might take a while for you to forget because even thinking about it now was bringing a wave of pain into your chest. You didn’t even notice that you were losing control on Willow’s reins by the time you entered further into the woods, bouncing on the saddle as you galloped along the challenging path. With the speed you were riding right now, inexperienced riders would certainly find it unsafe and scary. But for you? It was just what you needed. The breeze of fresh air, the thrill of riding alone, the peaceful sound of nature—you could die there and be at your happiest.

Maybe that was where you had to be; to disappear and leave them all behind. Wouldn’t that be best for everyone? If you were to vanish, they could finally be free. Your presence, even from the beginning, was a burden for everyone—for your dad, Gen, Satoru, Toji, and even Akemi. The people you trusted the most would be the same people who would secretly celebrate your demise. So, what else was hindering you from taking matters into your own hands and ending it all yourself?

“Giddy up!”

Was it Sachiro? Definitely. But now he had his father, and he was likely starting to see Akemi as a mother figure as well. Your role as his beloved mama could be easily replaced if you were to leave him now. It wouldn’t hurt him as much that way. Three years with Sachiro seemed sufficient enough, and he was at an age where he could grow up alongside his father. In this short span, he would have lasting memories with you, yet not enough to deeply grieve your absence. He was a young child, surrounded by people who would offer the whole world to him. At least, for that, you were eternally grateful. It brought you comfort knowing that your son would have support after you were gone, and that he would find a mother figure in Akemi. Given the brief time he spent with you and the rest of his life with her as his stepmother, Sachiro would likely come to love and accept Akemi as his own mother. This was the best outcome you could hope for.

My child, my son, my baby… please don’t get mad at mommy.

Tears were gushing out of your eyes and you hadn’t even realized it until they started blurring your vision. You were far too lost in your own thoughts, unaware that you were now in an unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous part of the trail. The path was getting a little bit too steep and poor Willow was clearly stressed at your inconsiderate handling. There were multiple obstacles on your rocky terrain and you weren’t as steady and controlled as you wanted to be because the horse wasn’t comfortable navigating such a difficult path with the pace you were forcing her to.

“Ah!”

Your attempt to balance was interrupted by Willow’s loud neigh, signaling her distress before she bolted into a full rampage. She was sprinting at an estimated speed of 20 miles per hour. Not even a skilled rider like Satoru himself would be cantering that fast on unfamiliar terrain and an unfit horse. But you, you clearly had a death wish, because instead of fearing for your own life, you were far more concerned at the thought of how dreamy Satoru and Akemi’s wedding would look like after your demise. They would definitely make Sachiro their ringbearer. Suguru would be the best man. Shoko, the maid of honor. People on the internet would praise them for being an attractive couple. They would anticipate their beautiful kids together, living in the same mansion he bought as a gift to you. He would kiss her good night, tell her loves her, and offer the whole world to her. They would exchange vows and promise themselves a lifelong commitment to be by each other’s side through sickness and in health, and only in death would they part.

“Willow!”

You let out a shriek as the reins slipped from your grasp, causing you to tumble off the saddle and crash onto the ground. The impact was first felt in your elbow, and a sharp, searing pain then radiated through your body. There you lay, sprawled on the dirt, helplessly watching Willow galloping out of control up the mountain, and then tragically plummeting off a cliff.

“Nooo! Willow, no!”

Utter hysteria overtook you. You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to determine which pain was more agonizing—the clearly broken elbow, the loss of the horse you had inadvertently led to its death, or the heart-wrenching reality of Satoru starting a family with someone else.

You were pathetic. You were such a pathetic excuse of a human being and this was why you deserve hell.

“Willow!”

Toji couldn’t love you. Your own son didn’t want to be around you. Satoru had gotten over you. And now, you drove a poor innocent horse to its demise because of your recklessness!

You were crying hysterically as you held your pained elbow, crawling by the cliff’s edge as you screamed for your horse’s name, but in the end, there was nothing you could do. You could only apologize to poor Willow for having such an irresponsible owner, and now she was dead because of you. 16 years of her life, she was able to live in peace until you came and ruined it all for her. It should have been you. You were the one who should have jumped off a cliff. You should atone for your sins and follow her, but you were too weak, far to overcome by the excruciating pain on your hip and your broken elbow to move or do anything at all.

That was, until your mind had completely shut down, leaving you as a mere body to be discarded alone in the darkness of the woods. You hoped that no one else would find you soon.

— —

“A-Angina?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. His whole world stopped before him.

“Yes. She was diagnosed with stable angina,” Dr. Mori confirmed, much to your husband’s horror. “But there is another factor that requires her to have more rest. You need to take good care of your wife, Mr. Gojou. Her body needs a lot of nutrients so she can carry safely.”

He could barely process the whole thing in his head because the news kept coming one after another, leaving him in a befuddled state with a flood of unanswered questions running through his mind. “What do you mean…?”

“Your wife is seven weeks pregnant.”

…

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

You could barely pry your eyes open, but when you finally managed to, you were met with the concerned expression on Gen’s face. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent confirmed to you that you were in the ER, likely an hour or two after the incident in the woods. The memory of the trail quickly flooded your thoughts, and a pang of sorrow gripped your heart as you recalled Willow's final moments before she fell off the cliff. The poor horse had lost her life, while the one responsible for her tragic death remained alive, save for the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“Why did you ride into the woods alone?” Gen persisted with her barrage of questions, standing by your bed as you attempted to sit up. “Are you suicidal or what? Riding your horse in a dangerous trail like that—”

“You know what, maybe I should have just died back there!” you snapped, wincing from the pain in your elbow. Her choice of words struck a nerve in you. “Maybe I’d prefer that over sitting here, listening to your sanctimonious lecture like you're so perfect yourself! How obnoxious.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t be riding so recklessly and causing alarm to everyone else!”

“Did I literally ask you to come save me?!”

The atmosphere around you two just became even more uninviting, with discomfiting silence seeping through as you and Gen were engaged in a sharp glaring contest. Your father stood behind her, clearing his throat to cut the tension.

“That’s enough, Gen.” Your dad placed a hand on her shoulder, and although she wanted to protest, she knew better not to keep stirring the pot after receiving his strict gaze. “Let’s just be thankful your sister is safe. There’s no need to be so overwhelming.”

You rolled your eyes, drawing in a deep breath before you looked away from them. None of them would ever understand your pain unless they were in your position. They didn’t carry the same baggage as you, so they would never fully comprehend the weight of your suffering. You had already dealt with similar pain on your own before and that was why you didn’t need any of them to come to your aid, meddling with your life like they knew exactly what you were going through. “Just leave me alone, you guys. I wanna rest.”

Since when did your relationship with your sister start to get rough? It wasn’t really like this before, but ever since she started to become too overprotective over you and your choices in life, particularly choices linked to Satoru, Gen had started to become insufferable in your eyes. She was acting too much like a mother; controlling your decisions, lecturing you about your personal relationships, being too involved with your private life. There, ever since that, you started to distance yourself from her, and she didn’t like that. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to cease acting like this mature, picture perfect big sister to you.

With that said, Gen would have normally gotten annoyed when you asked them to leave you alone, but this time around, she seemed to have reflected on her insensitivity a lot better with your father around. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said, her tone still tinged with stubbornness, “I just got worried. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to put yourself in danger like that, but… please, Y/N. If you’re going through something, you can always speak to us. Dad and I, we’re here for you.”

To be fair, if you had to put yourself in their shoes, it really would have been alarming to know that your sister almost died. This wasn’t the first time you were at death’s door either, so they were probably scared shitless when they were informed of your situation. Your absolutely reckless situation. You didn’t mean to cause a scene, neither did you intend to bother them on their already busy schedules. You just had so many things in your mind while you were horseback riding, too engulfed by your own sorrow that you didn’t realize the repercussions after the incident had already taken place.

“I’m sorry, too.” Your voice softened with humility. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. It was just really an accident.”

Of course, Gen suspected it was more than just an accident. Your dad did, too. It was obvious on their forlorn faces that they were worried for your mental and emotional well-being, but none of them dared address the elephant in the room. It seemed they didn’t need to, anyway, since one of the many reasons that contributed to your earlier breakdown took a peek from behind the curtains, clearing his throat and sending you a look of sympathy.

“Y/N?” Toji looked at your father and your sister for approval before stepping further inside your space in the ER. “Can I talk to you?”

There was no escaping Toji’s presence anymore. No more hiding, no more avoiding. You knew you had to have this talk with him no matter how many times you ignored his flood of texts and calls. While this may have struck as an opportune moment for him to speak to you in person, facing the painful truth of your situation weighed heavily on you. Besides, hadn’t the irony presented itself right there? If Satoru were the one trying to speak to you, even if he was the father of your child, Gen would have been quick to lash out at him. Yet with Toji, even with the general knowledge of what had transpired between you two, your sister still showed no hostility towards him, allowing him to approach you freely and without interference.

But then again, Toji was far from being a cheating, manipulative scumbag who not only caused you suffering but also sought to selfishly acquire your family’s company. Therefore, he wasn’t considered a threat.

Alright, then. Since Toji genuinely wasn’t a threat to your current emotional state, you agreed to talk with him. It was the first time you had seen the not-so-confident side of Toji Zen’in. He was typically a man of virtue, often holding his chin high, offering the best advice, and having insightful perspectives on life. However, it seemed you had shattered that confidence in him. You could sense his cautiousness around you as he stood by your side in the ER, assisting you with your needs, and eventually agreeing to your request to walk you to the rooftop garden.

“I don’t really think there’s anything else we should talk about.” It was you who first broke the silence, staring at the cityscape while sitting on a wheelchair. The calm breeze allowed your mind to seize the moment with a peaceful mind. “I already heard what you had to say.”

Toji found it better to kneel down in front of you to meet your eyes as he spoke to you in a sincere and earnest voice. “Y/N, I was drunk when I said all that shit back there. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to hurt you with my callous words, and I feel awful that you had to hear them from me. You trusted me. You sought comfort from me. I wasn’t thinking like a normal person when those things came out of my mouth.”

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t true,” you replied with quiet resignation. It was the acceptance in your face that seemed to have caused Toji’s heartbroken gaze. “It’s okay, Toji. I think, when you said all those things, it actually made me realize some aspects of our relationship that had to be addressed. It made me more self-aware and it opened my eyes on the bigger picture.” You touched his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you mustered the courage to speak your next words. “It’s for the best that we part ways. It’s not fair to me to become a placeholder for your wife the same way it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with my ex-husband always being present in my life. Our unresolved feelings won’t really be resolved by being together.”

“Y/N…” Toji’s voice hinted at his vulnerable emotions, though he restrained himself from showing it fully. And you didn’t miss the apologetic look he had presented to you. “Despite all that, I hope you know that I’d been true to you. I do love you and will always love you. I’ll always be someone you can rely on, someone you can seek comfort from, someone you can turn to when you need help…”

Damn it. Why did he have to make it sound like an actual break up? Now, it tugged at your heartstrings and hit you in a place it shouldn’t have. You weren’t good at these things and it certainly was your first time dealing with such a mature and mutual separation, but wasn’t that a good thing? No further drama was to happen, leaving a stark comparison to your separation with Satoru. While this one didn’t hurt as much, it still brought a hollow feeling in your chest.

“Same for me,” you agreed, displaying a weak smile. “You’ll always have a spot in my heart, Toji. I’ll always be grateful that I met you.”

Sometimes, two people didn’t need to be together to love each other. Friendships could still thrive between ex-lovers, and that was why closure was so important. It not only closed a certain chapter of your life in a healthy way, but also allowed you to heal and open yourselves to a new beginning without any bitterness left behind.

It shouldn’t be considered bad to remain friends with an ex. It also shouldn’t be bad to give a parting kiss from said ex, right?

You weren’t the one who initiated it, after all. It was Toji’s hand that gently stroked your cheek. It was him, who leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It wasn’t forceful, but neither was it passionate. It was simply a tender kiss of goodbye, feeling the warmth of each other’s lips for one last time before you two would transition from being lovers to friends. What you didn’t understand from this supposedly bittersweet moment was the faint tears that somehow managed to escape your eyes, perhaps because you knew that once Toji left, you would be alone again.

You had no one by your side to love you, cherish you, choose you, and offer their entire world for you. You were meant to live this cruel world all by yourself.

As he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Please learn to love yourself before anyone else, Y/N. It’s what you need and what you deserve.”

That night, while you were getting your MRI, your mind kept flying to the possibilities of a future without having anyone by your side. Any normal person would tell you to focus on loving yourself first, as Toji did recently, focusing on what matters most, and ridding yourself of the toxic things that hinder you from moving forward with your life. Things weren’t as easy as they sounded. Besides, it was different being on the receiving end of the said advice. How could you do those things when the primary cause of your pain was someone whose life would always be linked to yours forever?

Based on the result of your MRI scans, your doctor recommended that you undergo elbow arthroscopy. It was just a minimally invasive procedure compared to open surgeries, but considering how much of an overthinker your dad was when it came to your health, he insisted on your confinement at the hospital until you had been completely cleared of any other issues. He really placed a big deal on your condition and emphasized to the doctors that they make sure nothing was missed. It could have been worse; you could have had a broken hip or a fractured leg, but at least you only had a dislocated elbow. Nothing that couldn’t be easily corrected by surgery and physical therapy.

The decision was for you to stay there for two days, and on your first night, a crying Sachiro ran inside your private room because his ‘mama has a boo boo’. Gen said he was picked up from daycare and dropped off at the hospital because the poor kid was looking for you. She didn’t mention who dropped your son off to you, but you could tell it was Satoru. You could sense it by the glances she exchanged with Ian after you asked how Sachiro came to the hospital.

So, in that case, Satoru must have found out about your little incident and didn’t care enough to see you. Did he not even have an ounce of care anymore? Or was it Gen who stopped him from seeing you?

“Did you ask him to leave?” you confronted Gen in a mellow voice, rubbing Sachiro’s back as he snuggled into you on the hospital bed.

Your sister knew exactly which man you were referring to, and she denied having done such. “No, I didn’t even talk to him. He took Sachi here and left.”

You didn’t know why you looked at Ian to confirm the truth of his wife’s words, but hurt yourself upon seeing his bowed head. It was an apologetic expression that did signify your ex-husband’s blatant act of ignoring you. To hear about your near-death experience and simply leave without even checking on you should be your wake-up call. He didn’t care anymore. No, why should he care? He had Akemi. His only responsibility with you was to be a supportive father to your son.

Why did the pain in your heart feel far more agonizing than the discomfort on your dislocated elbow?

If anything, you wanted to ask for the strongest anesthetic they could offer to numb your pain. You were desperate to have anything even if they had to put you into an eternal sleep. That would have been much easier to deal with than feeling disregarded by a person you supposedly had moved on from. Satoru did nothing wrong here. It was you who had that expectation, only to disappoint yourself when things didn’t happen as you imagined.

And just when you thought things would get better as long as you ignore your torturous thoughts, it didn’t help that being in the hospital kept giving you flashbacks of the time you were in this exact room, hearing Satoru crying helplessly from outside and begging for you not to terminate his child. What comes around certainly goes back around. Or worse.

Such depressive thoughts had you occupied throughout your stay there, and your unusual placidness alarmed the nurses instead of being assured that you were doing well. You heard your doctors telling your father and sister to always keep a close eye on you as the incident may not seem serious, but the trauma would undoubtedly be present somewhere and somehow. Were they aware? Of your intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself?

The elbow arthroscopy was successful and by the second day, you were free to go home. You were placed on certain medications to help with the swelling and the pain, and while you were walking around the hospital with a listless mind, you happened to pass by the Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. What a deja vu it was, remembering the time you had seen Satoru there waiting outside for Sera. Back then, it was one of the climactic events in your life that led to a domino effect on the downfall of your marriage. Not that you were reminiscing, but it did remind you that Shoko was probably there in her consultation room and it would be nice to talk to a friend who had witnessed the wild history of your marriage.

You asked Gen to wait for you in the car while you headed to Ieiri’s consultation room, assuring your visibly worried sister that everything was fine and that you wouldn’t take too long. You had to give Gen some slack, because despite the strains in your relationship as sisters, she was still always there for you. At the end of the day, she was family.

Shoko, on the other hand, was the next closest thing you had for a sister. She welcomed you inside her room in a very worried embrace, telling you that if she had known about the incident, she would have gone straight to your hospital room on your first day, but you told her not to worry about it and understood that being in the medical field already had her schedule tight.

“Well, I guess it’s perfect that you’re here, too.” Shoko smiled warmly, sitting behind her desk. She had exciting news to offer, it seemed. “I just wanna say that… of course, I’ll still be sending you a formal invitation and everything. I actually have a few gifts along with it.”

You shared her enthusiasm. “Hmm… is it what I think it is?”

The wedding. The most eventful day of her life would be arriving soon and you were the first one to hear it.

“Yes!” she answered, with the utmost joy coruscating from her eyes. “I want you to be my maid-of-honor, Y/N. I’d be extremely happy if you could make it. I know you just got into an accident, but it won’t be until two months, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You eased her worries by chuckling. “I’m completely fine, of course I’ll be there. I can’t miss it.”

Shoko was grateful to hear your answer, relieved even, because by asking you to be her maid-of-honor, you should already understand who Suguru’s best man would be. That was a touchy subject for you and she was keenly aware of it, but you didn’t want her to worry. You didn’t want your relationship with your ex-husband to have a negative impact on the relationship of all the other people surrounding the both of you. It was already bad enough that Shoko and Suguru almost called off their engagement after they fought over their morals as you and Satoru’s friends, and you were glad that they somehow made things work. They somehow set aside their disagreements and ultimately chose their love over anything else.

Their love was beautiful, and while that wasn’t something you could easily have, it was something you deeply admired.

“Where are you guys planning to hold your wedding?” you asked, steering the conversation away from any mention of your ex-husband. “Here or overseas?”

She delighted you with her answer, sounding as if this was the perfect wedding she had always dreamed of. “It’s an intimate wedding on the lakeside. Suguru chose the location, actually, since he wanted our wedding to have the view of Mount Fuji.”

“That’s perfect,” you said with wide eyes. “Lake Kawaguchiko?”

“Yep. That’s exactly where it’d be.” She smiled with her eyes. “You know this resort… Hoshinoya Fuji? We already booked the place, and we have a luxury cabin for friends and families to stay at.”

You had been there before, but you were too young to remember. All you knew was that it was a high-end resort that had the best panoramic views of Lake Kawaguchiko and Mount Fuji. The hotel owner was also a close friend of the Gojou family, so that was probably why they were able to rent the entire place for the wedding, especially at a peak season for tourists.

Since the fall season was arriving, you could only imagine the stunning views of the autumn foliage there. It offered the perfect weather, too. It wouldn’t be as hot as summer, nor as freezing as winter. Surely, it would be nice to do some nature walks and stargazing, maybe ride a boat or bathe in a hot spring. You looked forward to it, except for the fact that your ex-husband would also be there.

And just what a perfect timing it was, because as Shoko sorted through her patients' medical records above her desk, a file slipped from the pile, revealing the name of your very friend, Akemi.

“Oh,” Shoko murmured apologetically as she retrieved the record, not wanting to ruin the mood of your conversation. “She, uh, came by a few days ago... with Gojou.”

You didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to hear any further detail. Akemi’s visit likely revolved around her desire to conceive, as she wouldn’t have visited Shoko otherwise. Why? If it were simply to monitor her polycystic ovary, why did she choose Shoko instead of her own gynecologist? Thinking of how your ex-husband and best friend were attempting to start a family together left your heart shattered in unimaginable pieces, stirring up painful memories of your pathetic marriage with Satoru and reopening old wounds you thought had already healed from. Wasn’t it ironic that a couple of years ago, you were crying over the same situation with Sera?

You couldn’t stand this feeling anymore. You thought you had already freed yourself from the pain of loving him, yet here you were suffering from the same heartbreak over and over and over again. Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, the ache in your chest too raw to confront just yet.

“It’s funny.” Although you displayed an outward smile, the sadness in your voice reflected your otherwise inward thoughts. You didn’t know why you said that. You were just too… too emotional. Almost like you couldn’t breathe. “He was never this passionate with me. They seem so in love.”

Ieiri’s eyes carried sisterly concern in them. “Y/N, it’s not really what you think.”

Was it? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore. You certainly weren't there to hear it anymore, either. Satoru chose her, just like what you wanted for him to do. Just like what you asked him to do. He had moved on, he had found someone who would love him for who he was, he had chosen the woman he would share the rest of his future with. Call yourself ridiculous for even feeling hurt about it, because you had no right to be and you definitely chose this. Either you own up to it, or you cry about it for the rest of your life.

Both choices had no happy endings.

— —

When Satoru learned about your incident in the woods, he thought he was going to lose his mind.

Was it out of love that he swiftly left the office in the middle of a meeting just to get to where you were?

He still had to pick up Sachiro from daycare, and he felt bad telling his son on the way to the hospital that his mother was hurt. It actually gave Satoru a hard time explaining to the 3-year old that they had to go to the hospital because his mommy was there and that she had an unfortunate encounter while riding a horse.

“Dada, is… is mama okay?” Sachiro pouted with wide, tearful eyes as he clung to his father’s hand. “Sachi wants to go to mama!”

“She’ll be okay, Sachi.” Gojou carried his son and soothed him as they went inside the hospital, searching for you. “Mommy’s strong, remember?”

Was it out of love that he wanted to be the person that brought your son to you when you most needed him?

According to the nurse, your room was on the seventh floor, but when he got there, your room was empty. It was Ian who told him that you went up the rooftop garden to get some fresh air, insisting that if Satoru wanted to go and talk to you, that it was best to leave Sachiro with them.

And so he did. He ran hastily, almost out of breath, until he reached the rooftop, scanning every face within the vicinity until his tired blue eyes finally landed on you.

Satoru laughed in disbelief. He scoffed bitterly, with each breath full of disgust. The tips of his fingers felt cold, while his breathing grew thin and ragged. He could feel his stomach clenching at the humiliation of seeing you engaged in an intimate make-out session with Toji Zen’in.

How sickeningly sweet.

At that point, he was laughing at his own expense, ignoring the elderly lady who looked at him like he was a crazy person. He stood there frozen for a few minutes, watching you kiss another man before it finally woke him up from reality.

It was out of love that he let you go.

You see? This was where his attachment to you would lead him. It was pure and unreasonable selfishness, but he would gain nothing at all from even seeing you. He didn’t need to care for you at all, no. You had Toji. You seemed to be goddamn happy with your life with Toji. And what a romantic fucking moment that was, too.

Satoru couldn’t think straight when he hurriedly left the hospital and got inside his car. He desperately wanted to forget the painful image of you locking lips with somebody else. How? How would he? Fuck! He was mad, mad at himself for choosing to come to your aid like he still had any role in your life. He was disgusted at himself for ignoring Akemi’s calls after promising her a movie date after work. He couldn’t believe he had her waiting all by herself in that cinema, waiting for him to come while he was stupidly running around the hospital to see his ex-wife.

You chose Toji, then you better be happy. Satoru hoped you were happy, and that wish came from a place of genuineness. He genuinely hoped the best for you. Because for him, it was time to fully let go and stop himself from trying to be the superhero whenever you were in danger. You weren’t his wife anymore.

So, was it out of love that he headed straight to Akemi’s apartment that night with a bouquet of red roses?

She didn’t know what happened nor was she given the full detail as to why he unintentionally stood her up on their date night. He had just briefly explained that he had to drop Sachiro off to you at a hospital because you got into a small accident. Akemi, being your friend, got immediately worried upon hearing the situation and asked if Satoru was able to check on you.

He said no. He said Toji was there. He said he left as soon as dropped Sachiro off.

And in an effort to apologize for not paying attention to the current woman in his life, Satoru pulled Akemi in a tight embrace. He held her in her arms, drunk from the sweet and citrusy notes of her perfume, before pulling away to kiss her. He kissed her with the same passion as you did with Toji. Perhaps even more, even better. He completely devoured her lips, with a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. The taste of her tongue was sweet like strawberries, while her lips were red like cherries.

This woman was all he needed.

But was this love? He didn’t know. It was too soon to tell, too early to answer, too hasty to even consider.

— —

The current situation you were in reminded you of your younger self after your mother had died. It was the same before; you never left the house, often locking yourself in your room, shutting yourself off from the world, and drowning yourself with the pain and loneliness of losing somebody important.

Sure, no one really died for you to be acting this way right now, but the feeling was still the same. Was this really a comeuppance to all of your wrongdoings before? But just how terrible were you of a person to be hit by this unbelievable truckload of sorrow? You might as well spur on the physical pains of your angina again if this torment continued. Otherwise, how else do you avoid it?

You were being a terrible mother, too. You were too engrossed by your own misery that you couldn’t even properly take care of Sachiro. He didn’t deserve to have an incompetent and irresponsible mother like you. He deserves someone better, someone like Akemi, who not only has all the motherly traits a woman should have, but also the physical and mental capacity of being a true, strong woman.

Sachiro was bound to have that, anyway. Now that his father was planning his lifelong journey with another woman, and now that he was trying to build a happy family with her, you were no longer needed in the picture. There was no need for you.

How many more times would you tell that you have accepted it?

Because, god be damned, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were lying to yourself when you said everything was fine, lying to Satoru when you told him you didn’t need him in your life anymore, lying to Toji for telling him that you wanted to marry him, lying to Akemi that you didn’t care if she was seeing your ex-husband, and lying to Sachiro when you promised to him that you would never leave his side. You were a liar. A terrible liar. A pitiful, terrible liar.

How would you tell the universe that you couldn’t take it anymore? That, for once, you wanted to be showered by happiness and all the good things in life?

Sera was right. Not everyone could have it all. There were people of lesser fortune who weren’t blessed to live a lavish life like you, yet still work hard to achieve what they want. Why couldn't you achieve your own happiness without blaming it on the universe? If this was simply a lesson, then weren’t you the top student at this rate?

God. God, help me. You really didn’t know how to deal with this life anymore. You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn’t rely on anything other than the bottle of alcohol on your hand—what was once full was now half empty after you took another swig. This was your second bottle already, wasn’t it? Or third?

You got up from the floor and failed to walk in a straight line as you made your way towards the balcony. Your steps were unsteady, wavering like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. With each attempt to move forward, your body swayed from side to side, struggling to maintain balance. You almost lost grip of the bottle you were holding. No, it did, in fact, slip from your hand and ended up crashing into the floor. Shards of glass lay across the ground, ready to pierce the soles of your feet to mirror the same physical pain your heart was experiencing.

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, begging for your chest to stop hurting. But it only worsened, and your antidote to that was to wash it down with even more liquor. No matter how expensive it was, you didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. You hated the sting on your throat whenever you drank it. You despised the bitterness it left on your tongue. However, it did great at numbing your emotions.

It just felt wrong in many ways that you were seeing Satoru’s face whenever you closed your eyes. You could see his smile, his loving eyes, his beautiful lips. You missed his embrace, his kiss, his touch. You missed hearing his I love you’s. Him. You missed him. You yearned for him. Three goddamn years, and you were still undeniably in love with him.

“Satoru…” you cried, sitting on the floor. Each breath made it harder and harder for you to catch as tears continued to stream down your face. You were tired of pretending, denying that you no longer had feelings for him when you knew deep down that you would always choose him. “S-Satoru… come back to me, please.”

Was it him coming inside your room? Or was it your vision making a fool out of you?

“Baby, what are you doing?” Satoru’s expression was engulfed in immense worry as he knelt down and reached out to you, touching your cheek and looking at your eyes somberly. “Don’t do this yourself, Y/N.”

Your head hung low, your gaze unfocused and glazed, as you fought to keep your eyes on the path ahead. You had to reach him. You wanted to touch him, hug him. And despite your best efforts, your movements were disjointed and erratic, betraying the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Gen had to use force just to be able to snatch the bottle away from you, forcing you to wake up to the reality where Satoru no longer existed to be there for you. It was her who came rushing inside your room in the middle of the night. The bottle of liquor was now spilled all over the floor. The same could be described with your emotions. “Get it together. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately!”

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in delirium after having dealt with all the terrible things the world had thrown at you. If you couldn’t drown yourself in alcohol, how else would you have been able to numb the pain? How else would you have been able to… forget?

As much as your sister tried to hide the obvious sympathy in her voice, even your drunken mind could recognize it. “We all know you’re going down the depression lane again, but never to this extent.” Her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, cradling you into her arms as a tear fell down her face. The Gen who would usually lecture you, was now holding you in her arms as her only baby sister. “Stop this, Y/N, please. Don’t ruin your life the second time. I-It’s hurting me. It’s hurting Dad. Do you… do you realize what Sachiro’s gonna think of you when he sees you like this?”

“Gen…” Muffled sobs unwillingly came out of you, leaving you with such excruciating pain in the chest, so much so that it didn’t even feel like you had done surgery to fix your (quite literally) broken heart. “I w-want him back,” you continued to cry, “I want my husband back. I want to be with h-him, Gen.”

“Y/N.”

“Where’s S-Satoru…? D-Did he leave? Please take me to him—”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pained eyes. “You’re intoxicated. He was never here, and he’d never come for you. You have to let it go.”

“But—”

“He’s not good for you. He never will be.”

— —

It had been two weeks since Satoru last heard about you. Miwa was the one who updated him that you had already returned to your family’s mansion, letting him know that you were okay and that you were recovering well. Frankly, Satoru was starting to get annoyed at the fact that his secretary was still giving him updates about you. What did he care? He wasn’t your husband anymore.

Besides, Toji was probably visiting you every day, so why did he have to worry about you? If there was anyone he should be worried about, it was Akemi. She had been experiencing terrible pelvic cramps lately, which needed to be given serious attention, but you would never see her being dramatic about it. The only thing she needed was for Gojou to accompany her visits to the OB-GYN, and even then, she never showered herself in self-pity. She carried herself like an independent woman, and that was exactly what Satoru needed in his life right now.

He had a son to raise. He had a company to run. It wasn’t the perfect time to commit himself to someone lawfully. Heck, he didn’t even believe in marriage anymore. He realized that two people could still love each other without getting married. As long as Akemi didn’t pressure him about such things, he was fine with having her around. She didn’t ask for anything much, anyway.

As for you, well…

“What are you planning with that mansion you gifted Y/N?” asked Nanami, seated on the couch inside Satoru’s office, casually reading a newspaper. “Do you even remember that?”

He certainly did. “What about it?” he questioned, idly toying with a pen on his desk. “It’s her property now. She can sell it if she wants.”

Better yet, you should let Sachiro inherit the property someday. His son was already set for a life of privilege having wealthy parents on both sides, but wouldn’t the mansion be a substantial addition to his assets in the future? Satoru couldn’t help but envision the kind of man his son would grow up into. He hoped Sachiro would not inherit his father's immaturity and pettiness but would embody the kindness and altruism of his mother. From a business perspective, however, Satoru planned to groom his son to be a leader, as he was the sole heir to the Gojou Group. Additionally, he would also inherit half of Creston and the entirety of Hearte. No wonder Sachiro was recently listed as the wealthiest kid by Forbes Japan. He even beat Megumi Zen’in from the list even though the teenager was the heir of the Zen’in business empire.

These were the thoughts that should consume Satoru—the future, not the past. His kid, not you. And he was right about doing so, because when he came home to his penthouse, he was told that he had a visitor.

A visitor on a Wednesday afternoon?

Your brother-in-law, the esteemed prosecutor who sent his evil stepmother to jail, appeared on his front door, carrying Sachiro in his arms. It was hard to tell what type of emotions were visible on the man’s face, but he definitely didn’t bring any good news.

“Ian?” Satoru promptly made way for the man to come in, ushering him into the penthouse and allowing him to set Sachiro down. The young boy was quick to dart off to his playroom, leaving the two men in an uncomfortable silence. “What’s going on? Weekends are usually my schedule with Sachi.”

Ian cleared his throat, a hand on his pocket. “Do you mind looking after Sachiro for the time being?”

By saying ‘for the time being’, it seemed like Ian wanted to actually say ‘until further notice.’ But that confused Satoru even more, because what was happening for the man to come here and ask him to let Sachiro stay beyond the agreed schedule with his father? He couldn’t read through Ian’s expression and it was making him uneasy.

“I can, but… why so suddenly?” Gojou asked, glancing at his oblivious son.

“It’s Y/N’s idea, Gen doesn’t know about it.” Ian released an awkward chuckle. “You know how my wife is.”

Gen would absolutely hate it, Satoru was aware for sure. Though the questions lingered in his mind. “Why would Y/N want Sachi to stay with me? Where’s she?”

Was it him or was Ian having a hard time explaining the situation? It felt like he was walking on eggshells, deciding between what had to be said and what shouldn’t. He was careful with his words when he spoke again, “Y/N flew to Monaco this morning and will be back when she’s ready. She says Sachiro should spend all of his time with you while she’s gone.”

Monaco? Why would you be there?

Confusion bathed Satoru’s eyes. “Is it for a fashion event or something?”

“No, she’s just…” Ian struggled heavily. “Well, to sum it up, she has to go there to sort some things out. It’s a personal thing, but she really needs this time for herself and we think it’s the best for her right now. I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay there or when she’ll be back, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

No, he didn’t. Satoru found it difficult to fathom his ex-brother-in-law’s words, seeing as he had no general idea of what was truly going on. But if you were flying to Monaco, surely Toji wouldn’t allow you to go there all by yourself?

Ahh. It made sense now. I see what’s happening here.

Satoru’s lips curled into sarcasm. You would be vacationing with the love of your life. Is that what it was? Planning your halted wedding? Choosing wedding gowns? Looking for venues? There was no way you would be flying to Monaco alone, especially without Sachiro around when you two had been inseparable since his birth.

“What kinda mother is she?” Satoru muttered in disgust, unaware that Ian had overheard him. But Ian had heard loud and clear. How could you leave your son behind like this? Couldn’t you face your ex-husband to discuss it, instead of just dropping Sachiro off as if he were some unwanted toy?

“Hold it right there,” Ian interjected, becoming defensive at the accusation. “You have no idea what she’s going through.”

How would he know? No one was telling him shit. No one was giving him details, so did they expect him to understand things and accept them as they were? Did they do the same thing to Satoru when he was at the verge of losing his sanity asking everyone for forgiveness over and over?

“I've never taken sides between you two, Satoru, you know that,” Ian continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and speak with clear judgment, “But one thing I’m not gonna let you do is call Y/N a bad mother.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at Ian's words, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn, but the pain and resentment were too raw to contain. It felt like you were abandoning him and your child, like you were off to a new chapter in your life again, and leaving everything behind. Perhaps this was his trauma from the New York thing crawling back at him, but it definitely reminded him of the day you had abandoned him. For three fucking years. How long would it take you to return now?

Why do you keep doing this? He was sick of it. You kept running away instead of talking to him. He gets it, people change, circumstances change, but couldn’t you at least have the decency to talk to him about it? Was it wrong for him to wish you’d handled this differently? To wish that you’d talked to him, involved him in the decision-making process, instead of just making this unilateral decision and leaving him to pick up the pieces?

Satoru took a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of Sachi,” he reassured, “I’ll take some time off work and have ‘Kemi help me out.”

He looked back at Ian, his eyes pleading for further details, for answers, for some semblance of clarity in the midst of this emotional turmoil.

Yet none of it was given.

And so, would it still be wrong to assume that he could now completely forget about you? That this opportunity to be with Sachiro would allow him a chance to share it with someone else? If you spent three years of your life playing house in New York with Toji, would it still be unfair for Satoru to do the same with Akemi?

#series: sincerely yours #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst

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sunderingstars · 4 days

Note

don't be a coward, roll the dice 🎲

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ DICE ROLL #43 — A BLOODY KISS ⌝

based on this post!

word count: 1.4k

what the stars reveal: boothill x reader, gn!reader, boothill calls reader "darlin'," slight mentions of blood, i'm allergic to not putting a Narrative™ in everything i write

— thank you for the excuse to write angst cheerisse >:3

Three days. That’s how long it had been since Boothill told you he’d return. Three long, grueling, torturous days. You thought you’d be used to it by now — the stretches of time he went radio silent for one reason or another, flickering out of your life like a candle. Yet, it was impossible to truly release.

Despite occupying such an important role in his life, a partner in all its meanings, it was so easy for him to dissipate, to leave wisps of smoke behind as his flame dwindled. It was the fleeting nature of a Galaxy Ranger, you knew, but you couldn’t understand. What was the point of making you worry? What was the point of those sleepless nights?

On day one you had forced yourself to be patient. Quiet. You molded yourself to the chair at your workstation and sat, eyes roaming over the bits of machinery and time-worn tools scattered about. Once in a while, you’d even let yourself tinker with a piece or two, just to make sure everything was ready for his arrival. You had an important job after all; not just the maintenance of his body, but of his soul and mind. Nothing was quite as sweet as the moments your eyes met while tuning him.

But the second day began to gnaw at you. Twist, in your stomach, like snakes. Their sour venom began to leak into your mind, swirl your worries in a cocktail of potential tragedies, and you contemplated sending him a message. Just one. Enough to ease your mind, to let him know a small blip of you was waiting for him back home. After a few hours of pacing back and forth in your shared kitchen, you worked up the determination to do it.

… No response. Not at dinnertime, not in the evening, and certainly not in the early hours of the morning — most of which you lay painfully awake during. Only the cruel static of a blank screen remained, blinking once, twice, as it tried and failed to reach him among a sea of stars.

The third day was the worst. Everything seemed to compound, balloon out in your mind to the point it began to seep into other parts of your being. You bounced your leg, bit your fingernails, peeled at your lip without even registering it. Eventually, you made your way to the storage closet for some whiskey, if not to take the edge off then to at least give your mouth a diversion.

You had just popped open a bottle when you heard a clank. Immediately, you stilled. Listened again. The bottle, prone, hung in your grip.

Clank.

It was outside, not in.

You were out the door faster than you could blink, legs weaving around rocks and brush as you trampled anything too small to get caught on. The sun was beginning to set, casting the arid landscape in darkening hues of pink and gold, but you knew this place like the back of your hand; the lengthening shadows did nothing to stop your pursuit. Under normal circumstances, you’d be more concerned about threats — wild animals, loose tools, even the stray IPC guard who managed to track down your location, but you didn’t care about any of that now. Not when Boothill was on the line.

So you persisted. Drew closer to the noise as much as you could, eventually picking up an increase in frequency and the soft humming of a tired engine. You squinted. Then, you almost collapsed in relief; trundling down the paved dirt road was a motorbike. Boothill’s motorbike. It was a ghost of its former self, laden with loose parts and constant stuttering and a headlight practically severed from the rest, but it was his.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you picked up your pace with a clear destination in mind. It’s not like he could properly run you over anyways. You were surprised the thing was even moving.

“Boothill?” you called into the dusk. Out-of-breath and ragged, your mind began to filter through your fears, fearing silence, fearing stillness.

However, as the silhouette slowly resolved into familiarity, so too came a voice that pricked tears at your eyes.

“Yes, darlin’?”

Whatever sharp spark of anger coasted through your chest at the causal response fizzled into nothing once you laid eyes on his face. That signature smile, those red-tinted eyes, all backlit against the rays of a dying sun. Healthy. Whole. Alive. Once again, you felt as though your legs might give out.

You made it just far enough to lean against the shuddering fuel tank before using the last of your willpower to vault yourself towards the open embrace of Boothill’s chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. A hearty laugh sounded against you.

“Missed me that much, huh?”

You mumbled an unintelligible response. The loud hum of the bike became an irrelevant backdrop to the soft hum of metal and leather, the feeling of machinery quietly whirring against the skin of your cheek. No stutters, no pauses. Unlike the dying corpse below, Boothill was running smoothly. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Why…?”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence before a sigh crested against the crown of your head. A hand, firm and comforting, came to rest on the back of your neck. “’M sorry, darlin’. Damn phone got busted. I knew you’d worry, but tryin’ to make a call in IPC territory was too risky.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, breath hitching in a vain attempt to keep tears from falling. “I’m just happy you’re— you’re safe.”

In your arms, the leather of his jacket shifted. A warm weight pressed to the small of your back.

“Aw,” he cooed, breath fanning across your cheek as he shifted you into a more comfortable position, “it’s alright. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Something about the combination of his words and actions, the familiar smell of gunsmoke and malt clinging to him like home, made it all bubble over. Before you knew it, you were tilting out and up, cupping your hands against Boothill’s cheeks, bringing him home. In the last painted rays of the sun, your lips met in a stroke of vibrant color.

It felt like everything you had wanted over the past half-week — brightness, relief, the surety of something alive and warm against you. An immeasurable weight left with the tear-tracks down your face, each fear dissipating with a new round of wetness. His lips slotted against yours with the ease of practice. Drifted with purpose to wash away your worry. By the time you tasted tang, you thought it must have been you. It wasn’t uncommon for a part of your lips or tongue to get caught in Boothill’s sharp canines, rupturing the skin ever so slightly to form a pinprick of blood. However, it became clear this wasn’t the case when you surfaced for air.

As your eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, you began to make out faint, dark splatters against your partner’s face.

Fear returned to you in a rush. You hadn’t even checked for flesh injuries when you first saw him, too caught up in the relief of seeing him again.

“Boothill—” you said, fingers tracking carefully along the edge of his mouth where you could see a blossom of dark blood emerging, “—Boothill!”

The man in question hummed in confusion. Slightly frantically, you traced the pads of your fingers along the edges of the splatter. It was fresh. Oh, Aeons, it was fresh, and you hadn’t even thought—

“Woah, hey.” The low timbre of Boothill’s voice brought you out of your spiral. The hands on your back rubbed soothing circles, the kind he used when trying to calm a horse. “It’s nothin’, darlin’.”

“‘Nothing?’” you asked incredulously.

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you’re askin’.” He shot you an infuriating smile. “A few folks from the corporation got on my nerves, that’s all.” Then, when your skepticism remained: “Promise.”

You bit your lip, trying to tamp down the fluttering revival of fear in your chest. You couldn’t deny it, though — even in the night, the drying splatters clearly arced in a passing motion rather than a bleeding one. For what felt like forever, you focused your eyes on the spot near his mouth, burning it into your mind until it dispelled any doubt.

Eventually, you slumped, more out of fatigue than anything else. “Okay.”

“Alright?”

“Okay,” you repeated, “but we’re going inside first. And I’m still checking you over.”

Boothill chuckled. “‘Course. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Then, he smiled, and you found yourself silently glad for the darkness, for the ability to see the radiance of the man before you in place of a sun.

It was beautiful.

#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#⌞ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⭑ ⋆⁺₊⋆ constellation: cheerisse ⛵️ ⌝#fanfic #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #gn!reader #boothill #hsr #boothill hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai: star rail x reader #x reader #boothill hsr x reader #boothill x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #boothill x y/n #hsr x y/n #honkai x reader

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bluegiragi · 22 days

Note

Hi friend!! I've been following you on a couple platforms when it comes to your amazing art!! I know you've talked about ghostprice, but I saw the Price's hand on the back of Kyle's neck and was wondering if you could talk about the relationship between price and gaz? I loved the ghost price one, but I totally understand if you don't have the same write up for these two lol

!!! thank you so much for this ask, because i love thinking about this dynamic in my free time.

lots of reading under the cut!

so, because I like to cherry-pick influences from canon, in the monster au, Gaz and Price met before Gaz got drafted into the 141. Gaz was the harpy escort to a standard military op that got off-track when doing recon, and ended up wrapped up in a territorial dispute with two griffin hybrids. The whole team got stuck sandwiched between the two with neither side willing to let them move, and when Gaz tried to fly above to do some surveillance he got beaten out of the sky by both of them (they don't take kindly to interlopers interfering with griffin disputes). They had to request emergency assistance from the closest party which, by chance, happened to be Price's team.

This all happened after Price lost his wing, and on this mission he collaborated with Gaz to help get (most of) his team out safely without having to rely on his skill of flight. They both made strong impressions on each other then, with Gaz forming the first seeds of a long-term loyalty to Price. When his contract with his current station ended, he was all too happy to get poached for the 141.

Coming from a more interpersonal perspective - Gaz is a harpy, which means he's fiercely independent and bases a lot of his identity on not being reliant on anyone. Price is a dragon, which comes with a lot of pesky hoard instincts that instruct him to 'provide' for his hoard. It means that Gaz dislikes being taken care of and a strong instinctual part of Price is unhappy about that. When they're more intimate, Gaz insists on giving as much as he is getting (if not more) and is always seeking ways to contribute and prove his value to the group. Even though he might be chill by harpy standards, Gaz is still very proud and he gets flustered when forced to accept things without 'earning' it.

(also he might have a little bit of hero worship for price lingering in the recesses of his mind)

Price only having one wing and being essentially grounded also adds an extra layer to their relationship. Harpies put a lot of stock in their flying prowess, so the loss of a wing is truly a world-ending event in their culture and he's extremely uncomfortable broaching the subject with Price even though he'd be happy to talk about it if pushed. He also feels that it is his role to be Price's 'wings' now, which is a sentiment that he hasn't shared to anyone but puts a lot of pressure on himself to live up to. He doesn't think this way out of any sort of pity for Price - his captain has proved time and time again to be the kind of monster worth following - instead, this mentality is him militantly breaking himself down to how useful/valuable he can be to others.

tldr; gaz is bad at accepting care, price wants to take care of him so bad and is slowly figuring out loopholes

#their relationship together is affectionate but still sort of surface level at this point #not that price isnt trying #gaz is just very proud #askbox #pricegaz

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 month

Note

you know what's delicious? yn who started wearing flavored lip balm/lip tint because of suguru — so that every time suguru ate a curse, he could just easily pull the man into a kiss to get rid of the disgusting taste suguru hates so much ((bonus points if yn also pops in a candy/sweet/chocolate in his mouth before feeding it to suguru through a kiss — anything to help suguru forget the taste of curses)) yeah... just... suguruyn for the win man 😋🫶

((even more bonus points when satoru finds out later and he gets all jelly because 1. he doesn't know the lip balm/lip tint can come with a flavor so he felt blindsided and of course, he humphs and puffs because of it and 2. he wanted a chocolatey sweetness kissies too!!!! and of course lastly, 3. he felt left out because he never knows that suguruyn always makes out every single time suguru ate a curse so he's all pouty about it — ask him to join in next time!!!))

❝ He's just like candy, he's so sweet ❞

polycule (Satoru x r! x Suguru)) | alternate universes (Suguru is not a cult-reader), fluff, NSFW | vers. bottom. reader (AMAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.6k

warnings: foodplay, threesomes, pouty satoru & smug suguru, semi-public sex, d/s dynamics

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

author's note: in this au, they slayed the links that made me lose my mind (thank you @xuxitheii for making me squeal and kick my feet): geto suguru : gojo satoru : gojo satoru being a big baby

Curses. Ugly as sin and tastes just as foul. Suguru remembers the first time he discovered he could devour them; how awful it felt as it went down his throat, bulging out and staying there — blocking his airway as he struggled to find it in himself to swallow.

The way his teeth ached. His throat convulsed and his instincts forced it back up but his fingers blocked it from doing so. It warbled in the back of his mouth, begging to be let out and 7-year-old Suguru just knew he couldn’t bear for it to disturb him again. He couldn’t handle it speaking nonsensically into his ear, slinking under his bed or even staring right at him as it grinned so wide Suguru swore he could see his reflection in its yellow, wicked-sharp, teeth.

The pills his parents (his poor, non-sorcerer, parents) had given him to help with his “hallucinations” made him feel as though a thick fog was obscuring his brain. His thoughts faded and his movement groggy, his emotions caged while his body still felt the anxious tremors that ran through him when he saw them.

The curses made him feel like he was constantly in a deep pit of despair. Everything wrong in the world, the depravity and impulses of humanity that manifested into these grotesque creatures in the palm of his hands made his nose sting, till this day, as an 18-year-old; it made his eyes well with tears.

Suguru can't describe it in a way people could understand. But if asked, he’d used the viscera of a vomit rag being forced down your throat.

But the strong protect the weak. While your lips protect them from his ire. This one goes down with a loud gulp, his fingers blocking his lips as he tosses his head back. The worst is almost over, the aftertaste will linger but not for long. Because then, he feels your weight on his chest and Suguru is pliant as you gently pry his fingers away.

“You did a good job, baby.” Suguru flutters his eyes open and he can’t help the way his lips twitch eagerly. Your lips are glossier than usual, he can smell the cherry flavour on them. His hands wrap themselves around your waist. It’s a firm grip.

Mine, he says without speaking, mine — all mine.

He pulls and a huff of air escapes you in a series of chuckles. “I know we haven’t been out in a while, but did you miss me that much, Su-Su?” Suguru frowns at your jest. It’s rare for him to pout. That role is often delegated to your boyfriend, Satoru. So this must truly upset him.

Because, yes, he did.

You’d been called overseas to complete a mission. It was the norm for sorcerers considering the population of sorcerers in Japan; outsourcing they called it. Your curse technique was needed for this mission and truly, it didn’t take long but Suguru had done solo missions and he missed you.

Three solo missions. Three disgusting, dog-shit, vomit-stained rags, down his throat. Three days without you by his side.

He hated it.

“Don’t ask a silly question like that ever again,” he mumbles. Silly. The way he scolds you always makes you smile. Never crass or rude — his voice reminds you of the symphony of leaves singing with the wind as they danced and speckled light onto the forest floors and cool water bubbling over rocks.

“Why? Why can’t I ask silly questions?” You tease, placing your elbows on his shoulder and hanging your hands behind him. Purposefully lax despite the coquettish smile on your face.

“You already know the answer.” He speaks with such sincerity. Every word is heavy with nothing but candour and adoration. It makes your eyes soften and Suguru squeezes you closer.

“I do?” He nods at your words, the tip of his nose brushing over yours and his tan skin so flushed on the apples of his cheeks.

“Kiss me like you miss me, baby.”

Suguru’s lips land on yours like a feather. Supple as always he begins it with a long-lasting peck. Pouty lip against pouty lip. His hands climb up your back and he presses between your shoulder blades to somehow hold you closer; his jaw opens and yours does the same. There it is — that heaven that’s your mouth. Suguru groans and you feel his tongue sneaking in, devouring you like a starved man.

The cherry flavour on your lips, the sweetness of the candy you let melt on your tongue, the way your fingers grip his hair, the way he can feel your breath on his cheek as you try to breathe. He wishes that the two of you never needed air. Suguru wants nothing more than to kiss you forever and ever and ever —

“Hey!”

You part with a gasp, cheeks warm and lips almost bruised as the line of spit between the two of you breaks. At the mouth of the alleyway was your boyfriend; Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed and he taps his foot in a cartoonish fashion. Despite that, both of you know that the frown on his face is very much real. “What gives? I exorcised the other curses and I came back to the two of you making out. So unfair!”

Suguru parts with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the side and pouting his lips to the side as he muttered about Satoru having FOMO. It makes you giggle and he smiles when you lean forward to place your face right under his jaw.

“S’toru, you’re being a baby. Suguru did a lot of work and I was just thanking him.” Satoru unfolds his arms and flaps them around in protest.

“I did work too!”

And it has begun — Satoru’s famous little tantrums. Oh, he could go for a full hour if he was really worked up but there is a saving grace in him having them. He closes his eyes when he’s yappering. Suguru is listening to his huffy boyfriend but then you kiss his chin and he tilts his face down to look at you.

“Hm?” your teeth brush over his lower lips, then plant firmly on his. “Baby?” he smiles in the lip-locking and you whine about it because his lips should not stretch into that handsome smile, they should be pursed outward and part to let you in.

He tastes chocolate on your tongue. The creaminess of the chocolate makes him groan along with the citrusy notes. That combined with the fruitiness of the cherry tint on your lips makes the taste of the curses he’d ingested (exorcised) all but disappear. Your hands climb to the lobe of his ears and his breath hitches when your fingers trail the curve of it, he protests a bit as you undo his bun; then you whisper his name and Suguru tightens his grip on your waist.

“Hey!”

Satoru is whining again but this time he’s closer. Close enough for Suguru to grab a fistful of Satoru’s white button-up and pull him in. As his face turns you giggle, wiping away some smeared gloss as you watch Satoru turn red from Suguru’s heated kiss.

Satoru groans with his eyebrows twitching. Listless in his attempt to remain angry at Suguru. He pounds his fist against Suguru’s shoulder and attempts to crane his neck away. When he turns, he gasps as you steal his breath.

Satoru’s graceful legs tumble over themselves as his boyfriends press him to the rough wall of the alleyway. There’s a constant hum of an A/C machine and the noises from the pipes keep the intimate noises between the three of you contained. Suguru’s blunt nails drag onto the faded plastered-on advertisements — yours grip onto the bars of the window that had been covered up by old newspapers.

Satoru’s grip onto the front of both of your shirts. His glasses go askew as he struggles to keep up with his boyfriends. Suguru misses Satoru so much. He’d been away too, the Higher Ups sending him overseas at the same time as you and Shoko had to deal with a depressed Suguru for those 3 days.

“Mah, Satoru,” you drag your lips to Satoru’s sensitive neck. His hands don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. It grips and pushes and stutters. “I always give Suguru special kisses after a job well done, you’ve just always been too busy to notice.”

“S’not fair,” Satoru retorts with no real venom in his words. “I deserve special kisses too, don’t I?” Suguru chuckles, forcing Satoru to look his way and shut him up. Satoru glares over the rim of his crooked glasses as Suguru’s thumb presses down on his canines.

“What a jealous brat.”

“Can’t even handle a little teasing.”

Satoru would heavily disagree with that. A little teasing? You called being pushed to a wall, groped, kissed, and bitten by your handsome and powerful boyfriends a little teasing?

Satoru was a sign of change, his birth instantly tipped the scales of the sorcerer world, but he was still human!

Suguru grins that irritatingly pleased grin when Satoru’s protests die out thanks to your hands slipping down his pants. “Oh shit,” he hisses. His speech is odd with Suguru’s thumb in his mouth, casually inspecting it. But you laugh anyway.

“You know, since he has been away too, maybe he does deserve a bit of sugar from you, (Y/N).” You glance at Suguru, your cock chubbing up in your pants as he pointedly motions his gaze to the ground. You kneel in front of Satoru and drool slips down his chin as his pupils chase after you. Suguru chuckles, wiping it away and wiping it off on Satoru’s shirt — to which he hears no complaint. Suguru stands behind you, bending at his waist to peer down. It’s unfair how pretty he is from any angle. The Gods took their time making him. Of that, you are certain.

“Ready, sweetheart?” you nod, opening your saccharine-sweet mouth; Suguru pats your cheek as praise and undoes Satoru’s pants for you. His cock springs out, nearly bumping into your nose as it strains and twitches in the open air. When Suguru holds it, Satoru grunts and raises his hips. Fucking into his fist like a dog in heat. Suguru regards this with a shake of his head and guides Satoru to your mouth. You form a fist around your thumb, looking up at Satoru through your lashes as you wrap your lips around him.

Suguru straightens his composure. He takes in the sight.

Satoru and you know better than to be handsy. The pale-haired man grabs onto the bars of the window behind him, breathing through his nose as the toe of his shoes dig into the floors. You slip your eyelids close and languish in the taste of Satoru’s cock — breathing through your nose as well as you bob your head.

Fuck, Suguru missed this. He really did. He could get off on this alone. Just watched as both of you enjoyed the other. His darling boyfriends, who so obediently listen to his whims even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Who could ask for more?

Suguru strokes over your eyebrow and barely stifles a laugh when you tilt your head so Satoru’s tip pokes your cheeks.

“Good boy. My sweet boy.”

His voice alone makes you want to give in to whatever it is he asks of you — it’s insane how much power and sway he has. Your charming Suguru.

Satoru moans, swiftly reaching out and gripping onto the collar of Suguru’s top. They kiss. Fighting for dominance because Satoru needs to be pushed into submission. He relishes being put in his place — smacked around a little.

You could pinpoint this kink originating from his frivolous childhood and naturally talented self needing some sort of edge to sink down into a more fuzzy headspace.

Or perhaps Satoru was just a brat and he trusted his lovers enough to relinquish that control. Both theories worked.

Suguru grunts as Satoru tugs at his hair, the pleasant tinge of pain making his dick strain against his loose pants. You spot it from the corner of your eyes, an obscene slurping sound coming from you as you attempt to not make this blowjob too messy. An impossible task, really. But a worthy effort.

“Your lips taste like cherry, why?” Satoru’s question catches Suguru off-guard. He expected Satoru’s usual quips and huffiness. He indulges.

“(Y/N) wore cherry-flavoured lipgloss.”

The proof is in the coloured streaks on his dick. You feel it twitch on your tongue and pull away, your hot breath on his cockhead making precum leak out of his blushing tip. You rest it on your velvet tongue, unabashedly pouting to kiss the tip and then taking him inside again. Those slightly shimmery streaks made Satoru grit his teeth.

“I didn’t know those came in flavours,” Satoru moans. “How come you don’t wear that for me too?”

“Because it’s for me, you little shithead,” Suguru growls lowly. Their foreheads touch as he tightens his grip on Satoru’s neck, the pressure making Satoru’s eyelids flutter for a second. “It’s my prize for exorcising curses.”

“You jealous?” you wonder out loud. The answer was clear but there was a rush to make Satoru admit it.

“Yes, I am!” He curses for a moment as you descend further down to lick at his balls, looking up at him still as if this conversation was taking place over a dinner table and not in an alleyway with society just a few meters away. As if his dick wasn't on your face while you feel his balls tightening up on your tongue.

Seriously, if somebody peered down long enough they would most definitely catch sight of the three of you here.

“I just – just...fuck, I missed the two of you too. It’s completely unfair you’ve been keeping this from me too! I’ll never forgive you.”

Suguru grabs the back of your neck and pulls you backward. His large hands effectively push your head down further and further until your nose is at the neat patch of pubic hair Satoru has. You relax your throat and jaw, eyes watering while you brace your hands on Satoru’s thighs.

“So why didn’t you just tell us that, darling?" Suguru purrs. "Instead, you chose to be a brat and stomp around. You’re better than that, Satoru. Aren’t you? Hm?”

You gag but Suguru holds you in place. His hand barely has any real strength behind it. If you jerked backward, he would not hold you in place. No, no. Suguru’s power comes from the lack of strength he needs to exhibit. His dominance is in the ease Suguru commands it.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed him inside of you.

“Screw you, Suguru,” Satoru chokes out.

He pulls you off. You cough, spit staining your chin as you smile loosely at them. Suguru then pulls you onto your feet, pushes you to the wall, and undoes your pants. You bite down on your lower lip, staring at Satoru as you brace your hands onto the wall just next to him. Satoru watches on, trying to keep himself strong by pretending he isn’t affected by the sight before him.

Suguru gathers spit in his mouth but pauses as he feels the candy wrapper in your pockets. The chocolate brand makes his brows raise. It’s expensive. No doubt Satoru’s influence had rubbed off on you. Only one company in the world made this chocolate, its pink colour is a dead giveaway. No wonder your cherry-flavoured gloss tasted so strong, it was complimented nicely by the leftover taste of this ruby chocolate.

He lets your pants pool around your ankles while he takes a bite. It wasn’t disgustingly soft, but your body heat made it melt quickly on his tongue. He spreads your ass apart and spits a thick glob of his spit and pink chocolate. The sensation sends shivers up your back and you arch your back further, unsure about the new sensation.

“Suguru, that was expensive — ngh!”

Your eyes widen as he presses his cock inside. You were thankful for your morning romp with them. It loosened you up enough that Suguru’s impatience didn’t cause pain and only mild discomfort — he reaches forward to jerk your cock off to ebb it away and you moan out his name.

“Shh, shh, not so loud. We’re still outside, baby.”

Satoru groans, reaching to toss his glasses away as he turns his back to the entrance and gives you his full attention. He’s craving touch. To taste or to mark you up. To do anything, really. He is goddamn hypnotized by the way Suguru’s dick thrusts in and out of you. Suguru gives you a good fucking for too short of a time — pounding into you like a jackhammer and making you nearly bite your tongue off in an attempt to keep quiet before he pulls out.

Your knees buckle, thighs twitching as you try to keep yourself upright. Satoru’s knees thud onto the floor and he greedily laps at Suguru’s cock, moaning at the creamy taste. The same flavour leaks out of you while you catch your breath. The mouth of the alleyway is quiet but there are still the faint noises of the city just there. A few big strides away. But there. It excites you. You imagine it’s exciting your equally perverted boyfriends too.

"Satoru," Suguru groans at the sight of him. You peel yourself from the wall. Shoulders thudding onto the hard surface while your pants drop to your ankles. Shakily, you use your feet to push it all the way off, eyes trained on Satoru savouring the flavour of Suguru and the ruby chocolate. He pulls away with a breathy 'pwah!' and strokes Suguru's creamy dick.

You're tempted to join Satoru. Just sharing Suguru's cock, kissing Satoru with his cockhead between your lips. Fuck, just the thought has your dick slapping lightly against your navel. Suguru plants a hand near your head, turning his head to kiss you while the other is tugging on the roots of Satoru's head. a

"Both of my boys are being so obedient," he says after a deliciously deep groan of Satoru's name. "We missed you," you reply in a whiny whisper.

"Missed you so much, S'guru..."

Satoru moans, pulling away as he catches his breath and shares a heated gaze.

"Fuck, I missed you so badly. Missed this dick too," Satoru turns to your crotch and kisses the underside of your dick. It makes your breath hitch, hips jerking forward. The wetness of your precum smears on Satoru's cheek a bit but he doesn't even mind. Nor does he seem to notice.

"These cocks are the only ones that make me this hungry."

Suguru glances at the alleyway. You're not loud enough to draw attention. Still, better safe than sorry.

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure." You throw your head back to laugh. A veil was meant to conceal, protect those outside of it, and maintain secrecy. To use it so improperly.

The three of you were truly perverted.

"What's got you all giggly?" Suguru speaks against your lips. Tilting your chin upwards then squeezing the sides of your neck just to relish in the way you bare your neck to him.

"You used a veil," Satoru speaks for you. He raises, ignoring Suguru's pointed glance in favour of unbuttoning your shirt and kissing down your chest. His lips are sticky, smears of pink tainting you but you find it hard to care. "He's laughing because he thinks we're perverts."

"What are you? A mind reader now, Satoru?" You huff.

"I might as well be, huh?" Satoru smirks. He's so handsome that it makes your chest hurt sometimes. You're against the wall, exits blocked by Suguru and Satoru and you wouldn't have it any other way. "You know, I missed you too. It's been weeks — "

"Three days," Suguru and you corrected.

"Weeks. And this morning wasn't enough. We did such a good job, those wrinkle bags can't complain if we just so happened to work overtime, right?"

Ijichi can't stop his cheek from heating up. It's painfully, painfully, obvious why the three of you took your time for this mission. He had waited in the car for the first hour, then occupied himself with some coffee at a nearby cafe but by the third hour, Ijichi almost called Principal Yaga.

Three Special Grade Sorcerers took that long to exorcise an abandoned building. Surely, something must have happened!

Yet, seeing you sleeping on Suguru's lap with your legs across Satoru's lap confirms the real reason why it took the three of you that long.

Satoru has a weighted eye mask, head tossed back as he recuperates. This gives Ijichi a clear sight of his marked-up neck. Your shirt is wrinkled, hitched up from the bend of your waist, and giving him the whispers of handmarks. Suguru met his gaze from the rearview and Ijichi whispered out an apology.

"No, please. We're sorry for keeping you waiting." Suguru is brushing your bangs back, gently wiping down some residual stickiness on your cheeks with wet wipes (that Ijichi had made a point to stock up on in the car after earlier missions involving you three).

"No, I understand," he says with a shaky voice. Sighing a little he laughed awkwardly from the driver's seat.

"You must've been missing them a lot for those three days they've been gone, Mr Geto."

Suguru's expression softens, leaning one shoulder down when Satoru leans to place his head on his shoulders.

"It's hard not to. I love them."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #gojo satoru x male reader #geto suguru x male reader #jjk x male reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x male reader

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theerurishipper · 1 month

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I feel like people really underestimate the importance of Dick being the first Robin. Like, reverse Robin AUs are interesting and such, but I just hope people realize that in the context of canon, they would never work. The reason Batman and Robin ever works is because the first Robin was Dick Grayson specifically. Because Bruce would never have taken in any child if Dick's tragedy hadn't specifically happened to mirror his own experience. Dick Grayson was the only one Bruce truly saw himself in first, because the fundamental event that defines them is the same. And he sees the opportunity to help someone the way he was never helped, to make sure that Dick didn't go down the dark path he did. So, my point here is that the only one Bruce actually made the choice to take in, the only one who could kickstart it all, is Dick Grayson, because he is the only one with whom Bruce could immediately empathize and connect with.

This never happened with any other Robin. He took in Jason because he missed Dick, he took in Tim because Tim forced himself into the role, he took in Steph because he was trying to make Tim come back to being Robin, and Dick made Damian Robin. Of course, he loved all of them, and they all have their unique relationships with Bruce that are very important and inform their characters, and he does need them too. But he specifically formed this connection with Dick that made Dick the only person he ever considered taking in. It took a very specific set of circumstances in Dick's backstory that made Bruce commit an impulse adoption that just isn't really present in any other Robin's story. And the reason Jason or Tim or Steph or Damian or anyone else whom Bruce has taken under his wing even got that chance is because of the work Dick Grayson put into Bruce Wayne.

Before Dick, Bruce was reckless and didn't care at all about himself, to the point of almost being borderline suicidal. He was more brutal, more violent, etc. The reason all this changed, is because of Dick Grayson specifically. He was the one with whom Bruce opened up, with whom Bruce was forced to grow up, to take responsibility and learn to take care of both Dick and himself. Dick, to Bruce was the one who brought "color to their [his and Alfred's] monochrome lives." Dick Grayson's specific brand of happiness and joy changed Bruce for the better. Dick gave Bruce hope. This is true for other Robins too, but only because they followed the precedent that Dick Grayson set, only because they slid into his role (they have their own interesting relationships with Bruce, but this specifically is from Dick that other Robins carried on. A legacy, if you will). Dick Grayson turned Bruce into the kind of man who would become a serial adopter.

Without his influence, without his precedent, there would be no Batfamily, because Bruce would never have gotten to the point where he would be able or willing to take in someone else and care for them properly (It took living through his trauma again to get him to take Dick in lmao). Hell, there would be no Batman because Bruce would have gotten himself killed a long time ago if Dick hadn't helped him learn self-care. Dick knows Bruce best, because he understands him on a fundamentally deeper level than anyone else in the world. And he's the only one who can make Bruce open up at his rawest, most downtrodden state. He is the only one who can give Bruce at his lowest that kind of hope. There is no Robin without Dick Grayson. It's literally a tribute to his parents, using their colors and the name his mother called him. He created that identity as a symbol of hope. He helped Bruce become the kind of man who could and would let other people that he had to care for into his life. Without Dick Grayson, you can simply forget about any other Robin or the Batfamily as a concept even existing.

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cassandraclare · 4 months

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*sighs a bit* Okay. Guys. I have been asked this question a lot, and answered it a lot. I don't know how to give a better answer — Dru & Ty&Kit share significance as main characters — so I guess I'll talk a little about comparison and structures.

First, all series have different structures. I don't think it's super useful or predictive to try to map an upcoming, unknown book series onto an existing series. In TLH the main character was Cordelia, everyone else was secondary to her, and people's roles and the significance of them altered from book to book. It was a big ensemble cast and they mostly stayed put in London especially in book 1.

TWP focuses on a smaller group of people. It also has a very different structure. In book one, Dru is not with Kit and Ty. They are in different places, both of which have their own stories that are significant to the plot. There is no way to see Place One without following Dru. There is no way to see Place Two without following Kit and Ty.

I know that TWP is a long way off. I know there are people who are very angry with me that there's such a gap, but there isn't anything currently I can do about that, or about the fact that I don't yet have the schedule for my upcoming books. That rests in the hands of several different publishers who must coordinate the release times and production schedules for four different series. I am not withholding any information about when these books come out. I simply don't know it yet.

I understand that TWP being a long way off makes for anxiety, and that those who are worried Kit and Ty will somehow be secondary are looking for tiny clues in microscopic details — micro-reading the of placement of the word "and" in my newsletter and such — that are meaningless, but I get that it all comes from anxiety. (FTR, those worried Dru will be secondary are equally anxious.)

I think there is only so much I can say. Because there's a big gap between TLH and TWP everything I do say or every image or hint about it is freighted with a weight of assumption it can't really support. Anxiety is always going to trump reassurance. And truly, at the end of the day, if you only care about Kit and Ty and find the idea of a Dru story tiresome, you will feel like they got shafted because when you absolutely hate a plotline, you will always feel like it's taking up way too much space. That's just how our minds work.

I've been doing this long enough that I know no book can survive a hostile reading. I know that Book Three of a trilogy is the one people hate until they don't. (When Clockwork Princess came out people hated it so much I considered quitting writing!) I know that it's wonderful to love a character but can also be a problem for people when I put out books that aren't about that particular character or dynamic. I know that for a lot of people, Sword Catcher and Ragpicker King are just tiresome things that have no business on my schedule because they're not Shadowhunter books. And I get it. But I also have to block it out, because I've been writing a long time, and I've gotten to a point where I know that I have to write the thing I want to be writing, because if I don't, if I sit down and try to force myself to write something I'm not feeling like writing at that time, I'll be making myself physically and mentally sick. And that's no good for anyone, really.

I suppose the positive thing is that, while this would not have been true five years ago, I am at the place where I want very much to be writing Wicked Powers. I missed these characters and am glad to be back with them. I consider this a story in which there are three main characters. And that is all I can say right now because it's all that I know.

(And this was much more of a general response to a lot of things than a specific response to this question, but I did feel like it was stuff that I needed to say. Creators are at the end of the day, just people. Sometimes we are powerless to reassure. Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are wrong. Sometimes we try things and they don't work. Sometimes we can't explain to you what our story is going to make you feel, because only reading it is going to tell you that. This may be one of those times.)

#the wicked powers

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st4rfckerz · 13 days

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The Serpent and The Lamb | Priest!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings: dddne, religious themes, infidelity, masturbation (f), oral sex (m), unprotected sex, praise, aftercare, not proofread

summary: Your family’s beloved priest suggests at home tutoring to help you with your bible studies.

The weeks since that encounter with Father Anakin had been a whirlwind of emotions, leaving you feeling conflicted and guilty. But you had promised him, and you couldn't break that trust. He continues to be your trusted priest, guiding you through your faith, but there's a new layer of understanding between you. Every touch, every whispered word, carries a heavier weight, a promise of more to come. You try to fight it, but the attraction is too strong, too consuming.

As you sit at dinner with your family, you couldn't help but think back to the last time you saw him. The memory still sent shivers down your spine, even though you knew it was wrong. You glanced around the table, watching your family enjoy their meal, before bringing your attention back to the food in front of you, forcing a smile onto your lips.

Your father cleared his throat, taking a sip from his glass of water. “So, I spoke to Father Anakin today,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “He was asking about you, sweetheart. Seems he missed your presence at church this past Sunday.”

“Oh?” you squeak trying to keep your voice casual, hoping your nerves didn't show. Last Sunday, instead of attending church as usual, you stayed home, tucked away in bed with a small cold. Your mom chimed in, recounting their brief conversation. “He asked how you were doing and expressed his concern for your well-being,” she said with a warm smile. “He truly cares for you, dear.”

“I appreciate his concern.” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Thoughts swarmed in your mind like bees to honey, questioning Anakin's motives for asking about you. Was it genuine concern? Or was there another reason behind his inquiries? A part of you couldn't help but wonder if he was as affected by your encounter as you were.

Upon hearing that you'll be attending church with them tomorrow, a pang of guilt hit you, knowing that your secret affair with Anakin was far from what God intended. You prayed silently, asking for forgiveness and guidance, seeking clarity on your path forward. Deep down, you longed for Anakin's touch again, craving the lust that had consumed you, while fearing the consequences it may bring.

The following day, you found yourself standing outside the church, heart racing in anticipation of seeing Anakin again. As you walked through the doors with your family, your eyes scanned the familiar surroundings, searching for a glimpse of his imposing figure. Anakin and his wife, Padme, approached you and your family, a serene smile playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment.

“Hello, Ma’am,” he greeted, extending a hand towards your mother. “How are you this lovely morning?” He turned to your dad next, shaking his hand firmly, the two men exchanging pleasantries while you stood nearby, trying to remain inconspicuous. Throughout their conversation, Anakin's gaze kept drifting back to you, a kind expression etched on his face that belied the intensity of their previous encounters. It was as if they were playing two different roles, one public and one private - a dangerous game of cat and mouse.

Anakin's gaze turned towards you, his eyes softening with concern. "And how is our little church mouse doing?" he asked, addressing you directly, a tender smile playing on his lips. "We missed you last week."

Your cheeks flushed pink, heart racing in response to his words, and you nervously fidgeted with the small, silver cross necklace perched on your chest. "I’m well, thank you for asking," you managed to respond, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your voice.

Anakin turned to your dad again, adding, “Now that you’re here I should mention that we’ve started providing extra guidance to some of the younger parishioners. If you ever need help with the Bible, please feel free to have them reach out to me. Our home is always open for such discussions.” Your dad nodded appreciatively and nudged your arm with his elbow.

“It might be a good idea, dear.” Your dad nodded in agreement, adding that it would allow you more time with Anakin, which would benefit you spiritually. Anakin and Padmé walked away, their conversation seemingly innocuous, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy seeing them together. However, you quickly pushed it aside, and sat with your family to listen to today's sermon. Anakin began to speak, his words resonating through the hallowed halls, reminding you of the divine presence that should guide your life.

You knelt down to pray, your mind was flooded with images of Anakin, the serpent in the garden of your faith; his touch, his voice, and the intense feelings he evoked within you. The sacred space of the church seemed to close in around you, suffocating you with its silent judgment as you struggled to focus on the words of prayer. Your heart raced, your breaths became shallow, and the line between your reality and fantasy blurred, threatening to drown you in a sea of forbidden desires and hidden sins. The holy water of the baptism seemed to lose its sanctity, tainted by the impurities of your thoughts, and you swear the cross of the rosary you held onto felt just as hot as your insides, like a branding iron searing its mark onto your palm. In the quietude of the church, enveloped by the scent of incense and the whispers of penance, you found yourself drowning in the whirlpool of your own transgressions, desperately seeking salvation in the arms of the man who had led you astray.

Confession time arrived, the somber atmosphere of the church amplifying the heaviness of the act. You stood in line, heart pounding in your chest, as you waited for your turn to enter the confessional. The dimly lit booth loomed ahead. Your palms felt clammy and your hands quivered slightly, as you tried to prepare yourself for the upcoming confrontation. Each person ahead of you seemed to move in slow motion, the minutes ticking by like hours, stretching the moment into an eternity.

You finally reach the confessional booth and sit on the little bench, the partition separating you from Father Anakin feeling as thin as gossamer. The dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows across the wooden walls, as if mocking your impending reckoning.

“Father, it’s me.” you whisper. You could hear his soft chuckle on the other side, his soothing words resonating through the screen that served as a link between you and him.

“Oh hello little lamb, I was waiting for you,” Anakin's voice resonated through the dimly lit confessional, his tone a swirl of kindness and authority, a perfect blend that had lured you in from the very beginning. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible, struggling to keep the tremors at bay. “I don’t have any confessions today.”

Anakin's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. "Are you sure?" he asked gently, his tone inquiring but also cautious.

“Well, I wanted to talk about the last time I was here.” you explained. Anakin leans in more towards the screen, and his voice drops down an octave.

“We can’t talk about this here, I’m running out of time,” he said, his words carrying a warning. “Listen, tell your parents that I’m having a session tomorrow at my house and we can talk there okay?” Anakin brings his hand up to the mesh screen and you brought your own hand up to meet his. The contact, fleeting as it was, sent a jolt through you and electrified your senses.

“2:30 tomorrow little lamb. Be there.” a hint of a smile played at the corners of Anakin's lips, a silent acknowledgement of your gesture, a promise of something more that lay beyond the confines of the church.

As you approached your parents, you could feel the weight of your lie pressing down on you, the guilt threatening to consume you. You forced a smile onto your lips, your voice steady as you spoke. "Father Anakin has invited me to his home tomorrow to review the Bible and discuss some aspects of our faith," you explained, your eyes darting between your mom and dad. "He believes it would be beneficial for me spiritually." Your heart raced as you awaited their response, praying that they would accept your explanation without suspicion.

Your mom nodded, her face reflecting concern but also curiosity. "That sounds like a good opportunity, dear. Just make sure you keep us informed." Your dad, ever the protector, added, "We trust Father Anakin, but we also want you to be safe. Make sure you let us know when you arrive and when you leave, okay?" You nodded, grateful for their trust, even as you knew you were leading them down a dangerous path. The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the clock ticking down the minutes until you could flee to Anakin's embrace, the illicit thrill of your secret affair coursing through your veins.

��ৎ

Later that night, you relentlessly tossed and turned in your bed, your mind consumed by thoughts of your family’s beloved priest. His touch, his voice, his intense gaze - each memory was a sharp blade, slicing through the layers of your deception, exposing your deepest desires.

The intensity of your feelings took you by surprise, the arousal coursing through your veins like fire. The sensation of your flesh against your fingertips caused prickly goosebumps to appear all over your arms and thighs as your fingers sank into your pajama shorts. A soft moan slipped past your lips as your fingers danced around your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. your fingers delved deep inside your aching cunt, your breaths became ragged and your body trembles with force.

You struggled to stifle your sweet moans, the sound of your surrender echoing in the silence of your room. Your orgasm was sudden, powerful, washing over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and spent. The intensity of your climax had left you drenched in sweat, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your transgression.You laid still and stared up at your ceiling. your body still throbbing with pleasure, you knew that the price of your sin was a heavy burden, one that only Anakin could ease - at least for a moment, in the safety of his arms.

As you drifted off to sleep, your thoughts were consumed by the anticipation of tomorrow, the thrill of your secret rendezvous with Anakin.

౨ৎ

Through the hushed streets, you walked towards Anakin's home, the anticipation of your secret meeting thrumming in your veins. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced along the cobblestone paths. The temptation of the forbidden fruit was too sweet to resist, the pull of Anakin's darkness too strong. The confessional's warning seemed like a distant memory, the allure of your illicit acts were like a siren's song that called to you from within the walls of his home.

After knocking a few times on the big door decorated with a plaque reading ‘Skywalkers’ the door creaks open and Anakin stands there in the threshold, his eyes locking onto yours. “There you are, I wasn’t sure you’d show,” he greeted, his voice a blend of charm and command. “Come in, come in.” He beckoned you inside.

You stepped into Anakin's home, you couldn't help but notice the opulence that surrounded you. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, the floors polished to a high shine. Your eyes roamed the room, taking in the grandeur of his sanctuary. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, the flames crackling softly, casting a warm glow over the room. A plush sofa sat before the fire, inviting you to relax and surrender to the comfort it offered.

Anakin's voice was low and soothing as he guided you towards the plush sofa. “Please, sit down,” he urged, his eyes never leaving yours. “We have much to discuss, and I want you to feel comfortable.” As you settled onto the cushions, he took a seat beside you, his body radiating warmth. “I've taken the liberty of ensuring we are alone today. Padmé is not here to disturb us.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the implication clear. You sat down on the sofa, the soft cushions enveloping you in comfort.

“Are you ready to learn?” Anakin's question hung in the air, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only person in the world. You hesitated for a moment, feeling a slight confusion creep in. The Bible? What happened to the real reason why you were here? You forced a smile onto your face, trying to hide your confusion. “Oh, yes,” you said, your voice steady. “I'd love to discuss the Bible with you.” Anakin's face lit up with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Excellent,” he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “Let's dive right in, then.”

Anakin opened his Bible, the leather-bound book creaking softly as he flipped through its pages. “Let us discuss the nature of our relationship with God,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “In the book of Matthew, Chapter 22, verse 37, Jesus says, ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’”

He looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “This is the greatest commandment, little dove. It is the foundation upon which all other relationships are built. But what does it truly mean to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sheepishly, not really knowing how to answer such a tainted question.

He closed the Bible, his gaze never leaving yours. “It means to surrender ourselves fully to Him, to trust in His will, and to obey His commands. It means to love Him more than anything else in this world, including ourselves.”

Anakin's eyes never left yours as he asked, “How do you communicate with God, little mouse? How do you express your love and devotion to Him?”

You felt a flutter in your chest, unsure of how to respond. You had always believed that prayer was the way to communicate with God, but Anakin's question made you realize that there was more to it than just speaking words. You looked down at your hands, feeling a sense of inadequacy. “I'm not sure,” you admitted. “I've always thought that prayer was the way to communicate with God, but I've never really felt like He's listening.”

Anakin's expression softened, his voice taking on a gentle tone.

“Why don’t you show me how you pray?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you obeyed, getting down on your knees before him. Your hands clasped together, your eyes closed in reverence. You began to speak, your voice a soft whisper as you poured out your heart to God. But as you prayed, you became aware of Anakin's gaze upon you. You could feel his eyes burning into your skin, his presence intense and overwhelming. Your words faltered, and you opened your eyes to find him watching you with an unreadable expression. He reached out, his hand gently brushing against your cheek. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “So beautiful.”

Anakin's thumb ran along your bottom lip, you felt a jolt of arousal shoot through your body. His touch was possessive, claiming you as his own. And when he slipped his thumb into your mouth, you felt a surge of desire wash over you. The taste of him was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but suck gently on his thumb, eager to taste more. Anakin's eyes gleamed with desire as he watched you, his thumb moving in and out of your mouth with a slow, deliberate pace. You could feel his power and control, and it only added to the thrill of the moment.

“Such a good girl.” he coos sweetly, he removes his thumb from your mouth and begins to rake his hand through your soft hair. As you gazed up at Anakin, your eyes landed on the bulge in his pants. Your heart raced with excitement as you reached out, your hand wrapping around his erection through the fabric. You could feel the heat emanating from him, and your palm began to move in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Can I help you Father?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. He nodded slowly, his voice low and gravelly as he spoke. “Yes, please.”

You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as you unclasped the metal buckle and pulled it through the loops. The belt fell to the ground with a soft thud.

The moment he released his hard cock from the confines of his boxers, it sprang free, standing tall in front of you. Your eyes locked onto it, your mouth watering.

“Do you know what you’re doing angel?” he asks cautiously. His pupils were completely blown, making his eyes seem dark and intimidating.

“I know enough.” you give him a shy smile.

Anakin's fingers tightened in your hair, urging you forward. You leaned in, your lips brushing against the head of his cock, before you took him into your mouth. Anakin's breath hitched, his hand gripping your head as you began to suck on him, your tongue swirling around his shaft with a slow, unhurried pace.

“You're doing so well, sweetheart.” He purrs, his hand stroked your hair, a soft caress that sent shivers down your spine. “You're a natural at this. I knew I could trust you.” Anakin's hips began to buck, his thrusts both desperate and controlled. He groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair. He quickly reached his peak, his hot seed spilling into your mouth.

“Swallow every drop, show me how devoted you are.” You swallowed eagerly, pleased to have brought him such satisfaction. As he pulled out of your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps, you looked up at him, adoration shining in your eyes.

Anakin pulled you in for a deep, carnal kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as he devoured you. The taste of him still lingered on your lips. Then he lifts you up, takes off your panties, and places you on his lap with your body curled up against his. He ran his fingers along your wet folds, his touch gentle yet electrifying. “Fuck, you drive me crazy.”

As you sat on Anakin's lap, you realized that this was the first time you had kissed him, your lips having only tasted him in another way. But in that moment, the line between the sacred and the profane blurred, the kiss a fusion of affection and the lingering taste of your sin.

The kiss broke and you looked deep into Anakin's eyes, your voice shaking slightly. “I need you Anakin.” you admitted boldly.

Anakin's beamed excitedly. “I want to see you do it this time, okay?” You hesitated, feeling a little shy, but Anakin's commanding gaze urged you on. “Don't be afraid, little lamb.” he reassured you, his voice a seductive growl. His words were a comfort, a balm for the guilt that nibbled at the edges of your conscience. You bit your lip, your confidence growing. You leaned forward, positioning yourself over his erection. Taking a deep breath, you slowly lowered yourself onto him, the sensation of his size and girth filling you. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming. He began to move in rhythm, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one driving deeper into you.

You looked into his eyes, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. “There you go, you got it.” Anakin says breathlessly.

You and Anakin found a steady rhythm, your movements synchronized. You rode him with a newfound confidence, your body moving in a way that seemed both foreign and exhilarating.

Anakin's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, a silent claim of ownership. “That’s my girl, taking cock like she was made for it.” he encouraged, his voice a low, commanding growl. “My big, strong girl.”

Your moans grew louder, your body responding to his words. You could feel the tension building within you, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

“Anakin,” you gasped, your voice tinged with desperation. “I n-need,”

He smiled, his eyes shimmering with a predatory intent. “What do you need, angel?” he asked, his voice a wicked whisper.

“Make me cum, please.” you panted, your body trembling with need.

“I got you sweet girl, let me hear you.” he ordered, his voice a low, commanding growl. You felt your body surrendering to your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy washing over you. You cried out his name as you came, your body shaking in his arms.

As you clung to him, your body still trembling, Anakin followed closely behind, his own release spilling into you. He groaned your name, his body shuddering as he found his own climax.

You collapsed onto his chest, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, Anakin wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I didn’t break you did I?” Anakin asks playfully as he runs his hands up and down your back.

“No, I’m fine.” you chuckle. Anakin's hands gently urged you to sit up on the couch cushion next to him, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Stay here one second.” he instructed, his voice a soft rumble. You remained in the living room while Anakin made his way to the bathroom, his body taut and powerful as he moved. You watched as he returned, a washcloth in hand, the steam from the warm water still clinging to the fabric. He approached you, his eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness.

“Lie back, angel,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble. “Let me take care of you.” Anakin knelt down in front of you, his hands gently wiping away the evidence of your sins. His movements were both tender and deliberate as he cleaned you up, his fingers tracing over your skin, lingering in places where he knew he could elicit a reaction. As he worked, his lips trailed kisses down your calf and along your inner thighs.

Once Anakin was satisfied that you were clean, he helped you put your panties back on, his hands lingering on your hips before withdrawing. “There, all clean now.” he murmured, his voice gentle as he smoothed down your skirt. He leans forward, his arms wrapping around you, his lips claiming yours in a tender kiss.

As you and Anakin shared a tender kiss, you heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. You both froze, your hearts racing as the door slowly creaked open. Anakin quickly released you, his face a mask of calm as he turned to face whoever had entered the room. Padmé walked in, her smile bright and welcoming. She was completely oblivious to what had just taken place in the living room.

“Padme, honey,” he greeted her, his voice smooth and untroubled. “Did you have a nice day?”

Padme’s gaze shifted to you, her smile growing even wider. “Lovely to see you again,” she said, her voice filled with genuine happiness. “I trust the lesson was enlightening?”

You smiled weakly, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to regain your composure. “Yes, Padme, it was.” you answered, relief washing over you as the normalcy of the situation returned.

After a brief conversation, you excused yourself, claiming that you needed to head home. Anakin walked you to the door, his hand brushing against yours as he opened it for you. “See you soon, little lamb.” he whispered in your ear, his voice thick with promise. You gave him a small smile, your mind still reeling from the events that had just transpired.

As you left the house, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. The thrill of your transgression still coursed through your veins, mingling with the lingering guilt. But through it all, you couldn't deny the connection you had formed with Anakin. You walked home and the world around you seemed to blur, your thoughts filled with the forbidden pleasures you had just experienced. You knew that you had crossed a line, one that would have far-reaching consequences.

But for now, all that mattered was the promise of more sinful delights to come, the weight of your sins growing heavier with each passing moment. You had given yourself to Anakin, both body and soul, and there was no turning back now.

#nai writes ୨୧ #priest!anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #st4rfckerz

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 5 months

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It's quite important to me that Jason and Bruce's conflict is not a misunderstanding.

I truly believe that if each of them had perfect omniscient knowledge of every detail of what happened surrounding Jason's death, not only would they still have conflict, but they would still have the SAME conflict. Neither the question nor the answer of Under the Red Hood's climax would change.

Sheila's betrayal is often known about in canon (frankly there is no way anyone but Jason should know; it is deeply unclear to me why comics allow others to be aware of this) and it does nothing to change anything.

Bruce's one off attempt to kill the Joker at most changes a few lines during Jason's plea to let him kill him ("Please! I know you wanted to, I know you tried to once, what changed? Did you forget about me? Did you stop caring? Did you fucking well forgive?! You for whom vengeance is your only life?")

Learning about the people Jason saved doesn't do much to assuage Bruce's horror at what Jason has become ("Each life is precious, unique, irreplaceable. It does not absolve him.")

Learning exactly what was done to mourn him modifies the depth and force of Jason's fury some ("You buried and destroyed all trace of me, the actual person, didn't even try to tell Dick, and then blamed my death on my own irresponsibility?!") But otherwise does very little.

Talia's involvement being revealed does nothing, because frankly she didn't do much of anything except stall this confrontation and give him a knife. It's a really cool knife, granted, but it sure as fuck didn't convince Jason this needed to happen!

The exact details of Tim's induction into the role have the largest effect - on an issue that is utterly tertiary to his main conflict with Bruce ("Oh wow, cool, great, the new kid you got to emotionally support you actually volunteered, and has parents so his entire well-being doesn't hinge on your approval. Congrats on approaching the bare fucking minimum! Now, wouldn't you agree that you have a duty to protect him by taking care of the murderer who killed me?! Instead of fucking demanding that he be good enough not to get killed?!")

I have a whole damn post on the can of worms Jason understanding the events of War Games would open! ("YOU LET ANOTHER ONE OF US DIE WHILE I WAS GONE?!?")

I am convinced that the only ways in which their conflict becomes less intense is through a misunderstanding.

And I like it that way. I'm really, really glad it's not a misunderstanding, and that it can't be resolved through better communication. Their issues are real and meaningful and cannot be swept away without one actually conceding to the other's demands.

#jason todd #got big thoughts today #damian's tomfoolery #bruce wayne

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scarletttries · 3 months

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Roronoa Zoro Falling In Love Headcanons (One Piece)

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (Live Action One Piece) x Reader

Rating: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: After lacking a bit of inspiration recently I just finished watching the live action One PIece on Netflix and am completely obsessed, especially with Zoro! So here a few little headcanons for him, and I might do a part two of relationship headcanons too. Also requests are now open for any of the one piece characters so send them in! 💗☺️

- Oh Zoro. Truly the epitome of a heart of gold hiding behind a sarcastic, borderline cold, facade. A man who pretends to be affected by nothing, despite having so much space inside him for friendship and devotion.

- Chances are he'd first come across you when he and Luffy are docked in another new town. Maybe you're a pirate whose name he's heard in passing and considers trying to capture for the bounty. Maybe you're someone who just loves and helps out the small seaside village you live in, trying to make a few Berry from the ships passing through. Maybe you're the next key step to reaching Monkey's dream of finding the piece. Whatever he expects to find when your paths cross, it certainly isn't you.

- Before he even knows you're the person he's looking for, one look at you and he knows you're important. Like you exist in a slightly brighter light than everyone else he's ever met before, and he's not sure if he should shield his eyes or if he can't bear to look away. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you, the first glimpse enough to have his heart pounding in his chest like it never has before. Luffy watches his usually stern friend let his mouth fall open in silence, baffled by his actions until Nami leans over and whispers to him. Zoro can't hear exactly what she says but he hears the word 'crush' and feels his stomach churn at the thought. He wants to run, but he's unsure whether he wants to go towards or away from you. He grips his white katana as a panicked instinct when finally you glance up and send a friendly smile to the eclectic group of pirates standing, staring at you.

- Luffy can tell before you ever say a word that you're good and kind, and destined to be aboard the Merry as a part of his crew. Zoro can't bring himself to do anything but loom over his captain as he makes a sales pitch. The part of his brain that likes to be in control hopes that you're busy and tied down, that you'll reject Luffy's offer and he'll never feel as shaken and desperate as he does in this moment again. A much bigger part of him knows that he won't survive if you say 'no'. Like without you he might never dream again, doomed to spend the rest of his days sailing aimlessly, searching for the same rush he feels every time you look up at him over his friends straw hat. Thankfully Monkey rarely asks someone to join his crew that he isn't certain will eventually say yes. And so you do, accepting it's time to try a new path and join this strange group of good-hearted sailors, hoping for a new shot at your dreams.

- Monkey, Sanji and Usopp are all friendly from the get-go. They can't wait to share stories of their journey so far, and make sure you feel as safe and at home on the ship as they do. Nami takes a bit longer to open up to you, but when she does you can understand why, and while her friendship is harder to earn, it feels all the more solid for it. And then there's Zoro.

- You notice that whenever you all walk into a room, he'll always take the position or chair next to you, awkwardly stepping in front of Sanji on more than one occasion, or forcing himself into a tight spot rather than create distance between the two of you. He doesn't often strike up conversation first, but when you ask him something about himself he always looks very relieved and happy to have something to talk to you about. If the group has to split up he'll always stick by your side, taking the role of keeping you safe to heart. Your unspoken bodyguard. It gets to the point that the crew adjust to leaving a spot next to you for him to settle into, and never asking him to go out without you. All the while Nami takes great joy in speculating on his behaviour with you, and teasing Zoro for his complete inability to act like a normal human being. Sanji has to lay off his harmless flirting with you after he notices the daggers Zoro's shooting at him, and he's sure one night at a bar he heard him start to draw his sword when he put a hand on your leg.

- It doesn't take many conversations with Zoro, or many chats with Luffy who spends a lot of his time telling you about how wonderful and impressive Zoro is, for you to start finding his strange behavior more than a little flattering. The tall, talented swordsman can't help but soften under your gaze, and you feel yourself slowly leaning closer to him every time he settles at your side, before long finding yourself practically draped against him when the group find themselves at some gaudy bar on the outskirts of a marine base, failing to keep a low profile. Usopp insists on dragging you onto the dancefloor, and thankfully Nami asks Zoro to come dance with her before he has to either sit without you, or volunteer to dance of his own volition. Despite his athleticism, of course he's a terrible dancer, all uncoordinated movements and awkward energy as he fails to copy Usopp's charismatic moves. Taking pity on him, you take his hand in yours, letting him hold you closer as the rest of the group seem to fade in the crowd behind you having seen more than enough of his desperate longing to stick around for this. As Sanji and Usopp slink off to find another drink, Nami and Luffy can't resist keeping just in view so they can watch on as they finally see Zoro smile widely and let his guard down, relaxing against you as the pair of you sway. Nami wants to make a bet on if Zoro finally gets the nerve to say something about his feelings, but after a few months of being her closest friend she decides to just root for you both instead, trying to pull Luffy just far enough away to give you two some much needed privacy.

- As you feel his arms encircle you, a soft sway in his hips that matches yours, his mouth drops open and closed a few times over. It's always hard for him to find the right thing to say to you, but when he has you this close, with your eyes sparkling up at him, it's almost impossible to even think. It's all consuming living on the same ship, his heart jumping in his chest every time someone enters his cabin in case it's you, his feet taking him to stand outside your quarters almost every day just willing himself to knock on the door and finally put words to his devoted actions. He couldn't fight his longing to be near you for even a day, and watching you open up to him and start to inch closer yourself, he can't help but hope that you might be feeling just a drop of the ocean of affection he navigates for you. His eyes focus intensely on yours as he tries again to speak, stumbling over the word 'I' a few times before resigning himself to silence for another night.

- You could see the conflict of fear and hope in his eyes, the man of few words clearly straining to explain things his training had never left room for. He was trying, and you were sure you knew what he was going to say, but you didn't think you could be the one to articulate it for him. That didn't mean you couldn't give him a bit of encouragement.

- Trailing your hands over his arms to settle on his shoulders, you stepped flush with his body, the extra contact enough to stop his gentle sway and turn his whole frame rigid. With the softest smile you could muster you leaned up onto your tiptoes, giving him a moment to pull away before letting your lips press softly to his. It was just for a second. A mere moment of soft, sweet, contact. The kind Zoro had never even let himself imagine because it felt so far out of reach for him. But it happened, and it was perfect. A wide grin spread over his face at your action, finally feeling like he might be able to share his life with someone other than the ghost he carried with him on his hip.

"WAHHOOOOOO!YES YES YES!"" A deafening cheer echoed through the bar, shaking the light fixtures and turning every single head towards your ecstatic captain. Nami looked mortified as Luffy continued to punch the air in celebration of his first mate finally achieving a dream a little less violent than he'd first set out for, his joy for his friend all consuming and without an ounce of tact.

"Luffy! Stop it! We'll leave you to it." Nami had to physically drag him away as you heard the unfamiliar sound of Zoro laughing to himself, the grin across his cheeks only spreading as his focus returned to you. Leaning back in to find your lips again, he whispered,

"What Luffy said."

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skzdarlings · 6 months

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part ix: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 11,700 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics. child abuse history. reader in peril. violence and death. explicit sexual content.

(THE SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER! <3)

You move back into your father’s house after graduation. You are surrounded by all your old pains, your childhood and adolescence written into each familiar brick and tile. Your past overwhelms you at every turn. It is a fight to focus on your future.

But you are ready to fight.

The only question is how, especially when you are battling your own emotions in that house.

Your reprieves are small. You find some solace in routine and the distraction of your job. Your father gives you an internship at his company. The role is honestly superfluous, comprised of busy work and redundant tasks, but it is clear he is not ready for you to meddle in any real business affairs. You are not sure if that is because he does not trust you or because he does not trust his business people with you.

You still see Jeongin and Seungmin, less than you did but often enough. They are both pursuing higher degrees so when you meet them at that campus coffee shop, it feels like a moment back in time. But lingering on the past, even the good memories, is no greater help than lingering on the bad ones.

Because there is also Felix.

You return to silent, secret communication. He will make you feel flushed with just a glance, so much thought in his gaze that you feel it to the depths of you. It seems like he does not even need to touch you to make love to you.

But when he does touch you, it releases you from the prison of your house and your mind. You put your body in his hands for a few precious moments and he takes care of it. And in the long days in which he bears the dehumanizing commands of your father, wearing the identity of a non-person to never arouse suspicions otherwise, then he places his humanity in your hands for safe keeping. You give it back to him with your own glances and careful touches.

It takes so much effort to take care of each other, so the idea of active offense seems nearly impossible. Felix certainly thought it was impossible, the one time you asked, but that was years ago. Things have changed. You and Felix have changed.

You do not know what your father is holding over his head. You only know it is something, and you think it might be time to find out what.

You want to do this right. Felix does not have to carry his burdens alone anymore. You need him to truly understand that you want to protect him as much as he protects you. You know there is a part of him that still believes he does not deserve it.

All your plans are thrown into flux the day your father calls Felix into his office.

Usually when your father summons Felix, it is for routine updates. But this is a long meeting. It lasts at least two hours with the office door sealed shut. Your mind races with the possibility of what is being discussed.

You find yourself gravitating to that side of the house, anxiety worsening the longer that door stays shut. As the clock ticks, your nerves get the best of you. You wander closer, hoping you can hear from the corridor.

The guard at the door stares at you. His scrutinizing regard gets under your skin. Before you can stop yourself, you snap at him, “What? I’m just walking.”

“You don’t need to walk here,” he says and waves you off, dismissive as always.

A lot of the men in your father’s employ seem to get some perverted joy out of dismissing or punishing you. They have since you were a child. Their surveillant eyes played host in your nightmares for years. His smug countenance coupled with his threatening stance makes your blood boil in helpless frustration.

“Fuck you,” you say. You want to hurl it at him, but it spills out of your lips no stronger than a whimper. Your fists are balled at your side and your brain is screaming to walk away, but your body goes cold.

“Do not take a tone, bitch,” he says.

The unwarranted name-calling feels like a slap. It is him flaunting the obvious truth: your father has never taken your side and he never will. You are nothing but a problem that needs to be solved. You are still just a stupid, emotional child who needs a fist closed around her to keep her safe from the greatest danger in her life: herself.

“I said walk away, little girl,” the guard continues. “Your presence is not needed.”

“I’ll go where I want,” you say. “This is my house.”

“It’s your father’s house. Now walk away or I will escort you myself.”

“I dare you to try.”

You feel like you are outside of your body, watching this ridiculous scene unfold with no way to stop it.

He takes a menacing step forward and you stumble back. You bump into the wall and hit a small mirror, barely a nudge but enough to knock it off its hook.

It shatters at your feet. Yu step on a shard of glass and sharp pain lances through your foot. It feels like someone driving a knife straight through it. You scream, the sound ripped out of you in surprise.

The office door swings open and your father storms out. For a moment, he looks alarmed, eyes wide and brows high, but this only fuels his anger when he sees you are unharmed. Fury conquers fear in moments.

“Look!” you cry in protest. You lift your foot because you must have a massive shard of glass protruding from it.

Your father does not even look down. He marches into his office and shouts something that you are too disoriented to register. Your attention has narrowed to a pinprick of a point, centred entirely around the gash in your foot.

You only register what is happening when a familiar face enters your vision. Felix is in a black t-shirt and jeans, his hair in a short ponytail with not a strand out of place. Whatever transpired in that office was clearly not confrontational. He is completely fine.

His thick boots crunch over the glass. On your father’s order, he swoops you easily into his arms and carries you into the office.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you say. Your tears infuriate you. They are the result of physical pain but it is only exacerbating the hurricane inside you. “God, it hurts so much. How big is it—”

“A foot wound hurts more than usual cuts,” Felix says.

He puts you on the couch in your father’s office. You father is standing by his desk, drinking coffee and rolling his eyes. You want to shout at him, purely on instinct, but your coherency is shot when Felix pulls the glass out of your foot.

More tears fall, some in relief. Then you look down and see an impossibly tiny shard. You cannot believe how small it is. It truly felt like it went deeper, like it slashed right through your foot.

“Show me,” your father says.

Felix meets your gaze, his eyes apologetic. He lifts the glass for your father to see. Then another glass breaks when your father smashes his coffee mug in a fit of frustration.

“It really hurt!” you protest, feeling as pathetic as you sound.

“Ridiculous, dramatic child,” your father says. “Felix, close the door.”

Felix obeys. He cannot show any hesitation. He is the emotionless robot that your father wants.

Felix closes the door as commanded then stands against it. He folds his hands behind his back and stares ahead, not sparing you another glance. He looks every inch a waiting soldier. Someone who would sooner drive a knife through his own hand than disobey an order.

“You want to cry?” your father asks, as if you are not already hiccupping on half-aborted sobs. “Do you have any idea about the scale of work I have to accomplish this week? Do you think I play games behind these doors? For you to – to – to waltz around, acting like a child and throwing a tantrum over nothing—”

You must be dripping blood on the hardwood but he does not even care to look. He stalks to his desk where he sits.

“Felix,” your father says, his rage barely suffused in the address. He gestures to you and says no more.

You and Felix meet eyes. He conceals his alarm fairly well. You doubt anyone else would see fear and concern in the subtle crease of his brow. He makes it look contemplative, but you see it. You see him.

And you know he is making a mistake before he even says anything.

“Sir?”

Your father, who was looking at a file on his desk, lifts his head.

You and Felix have been in this office many times. He has watched your father beat you, and you have watched him take as many strikes on your behalf. Your father’s instructions are implicit in the environment, under the circumstances. He is asking Felix to deliver a beating on his behalf. Experience and common sense should be clarity enough for a soldier like Felix.

This confusion, feigned to buy himself a moment, is worthy of your father’s furious stare.

“What?” your father snaps.

Felix hesitates, then approaches.

That moment of hesitation is enough. You look at your father. Just like you can read Felix, you can read that man. You can see the calculation behind his eye. Everyone is a thing, a statistic, a number, something that be crunched and calculated, something that can be used and discarded if the calculations are unfavourable. Things are supposed to function according to his commanded algorithm.

Felix is not supposed to hesitate.

You were correct to assume your father would never suspect your affair based on romance. He does not see or recognize an exchange of true love. But he understands violence. He understands its absence. Felix could kiss you and your father would not notice, but Felix refusing to hit you is worth a second glance.

With very little time to think, you diffuse those suspicions before they take flight. When Felix is near, you do not hesitate to swipe at him. You land a mean smack on his cheek that sufficiently surprises him.

He meets your eyes. They are narrowed with righteous anger as you play the part you must. You know he sees the apology in them. You hope he sees the forgiveness.

Felix returns the smack. He does not hit you anywhere near as hard as he could – even your father would hit you harder – but it is still enough of a crack that your head turns on impact. You clutch your cheek and your whole body quivers, like it is confused by the alternating directions of pain.

“Don’t you dare touch me again,” you say, looking at Felix. “You stupid animal. I hate you.”

That you know he cannot misunderstand.

And so it is within that mute understanding you hand yourself over, as you have so often done. Felix does what he can to lighten the severity, just as he always does, but it still requires a few good hits so your father believes your weepy surrender.

You are very quiet after. You can hear your father’s pen scratching across a paper pad. He watched it all then went right back to work.

You remember when you chased the high of his attention just to linger in a pit of despondency for hours after. You do not feel that now. Pure, unadulterated rage flows through you, hot as fire and as all-consuming. You feel no other emotion in that moment.

You look at your father, unwavering.

“I despise you,” you say.

Then pen on the paper stops. For a moment, he seems struck. But then he crosses a line on the page and resumes his work, not once looking at you, your bruises, or your blood. Not acknowledging your anger, the one trait you inherited from him.

“You’ll see,” your father says, with a fair degree of poise and equanimity. Unbothered, like he is talking about ordinary things. You suppose he is. What could be more ordinary to this man than the ominous prophesizing of his self-inflicted horror? “One day,” he says. “When I am gone and you really see the world for what it is, you will understand why I did what I have done. You will be safe and you will thank me.”

I will kill you before I ever thank you, you think, and realize with a shiver you truly mean it.

“Felix, retrieve Domino,” your father says.

Domino is the guard posted at the door. When he enters, he gives you a cursory glance, his cheek dimpled, the amusement towards your situation scarcely concealed.

Your father’s money might afford him influence over this stock of men, but they are all in the business of profitable pain. Military men, ex-cops: they are a dirty and criminal ilk who are accustomed to holding authority in their own right. It is little wonder they never liked you and you never liked them.

“Sir,” Domino says, at attention.

“Take my daughter to her room and see to it she is tended. Then send someone to clean up this mess. I have work to finish here and I will not tolerate any further interruptions. None. Do you understand?”

“Sir,” is the reply, affirmative, with a sharp nod.

“Good. Felix. Sit.”

Your father gestures to the chair across his desk and Felix moves towards it. Unlike the perfect boy soldier who once sat in that chair, Felix kicks it because he is glancing back at you.

You meet his eye for a brief moment, then the world spins as Domino picks you up. It is a grappling yank, like you grab a thing, with no care for injury or a polite touch.

You are carried out of the office and back to your room. One of the crew’s medics patches your foot. You sit through it with a cold detachment, then your room is empty and you are alone, waiting in bed for Felix so you can ask what is happening and discuss what to do.

Felix never comes.

In your wildest imaginings of what transpired behind that door, a job is not what you anticipate. It is at once too strange and too mundane.

A job is not an operation; it is an errand, a sleight of hand conducted in the shadowed crevice of a greater business scheme. It is not unusual for your father to send his men out on these jobs. But in all the years Felix has been in his employ, he has never been sent out. His only occupation is to serve as your bodyguard, and he has proven time and again how he is irreplaceable in that position.

You do not know what makes this job different. You glean only a little information from the chatter of the crew, just enough that you know it is a stealth acquisition and a rare, unprovoked move against Miroh. Your father is known for his defensive tactics, seldom manoeuvring in offense, so you suppose the inclusion of his best solider on a risky venture makes sense. Felix is likely your father’s only guarantee.

But you cannot shake there is something else. Felix is more than just a soldier and Miroh is more than just a businessman. You know their past is tangled together.

You do not get a chance to ask. The next time you see Felix is through a window. You are in the upstairs corridor, staring down at the driveway as he climbs into a van with a few other agents. Then the van pulls away and it is just you in that house with your temporary replacement bodyguard team.

Even your father leaves, though you doubt he will be involved in the physical mission itself. You overhear him telling your security that he anticipates returning in a week. You count down the hours until then.

By the second day, you are sick with worry. Sitting around with your unanswered questions makes the time drag. Hours pass in dissociation, unmoving and anxious. You decide that waiting will only worsen your state. Although you are not keen to wander around town with your security entourage in tow, you cannot sit here either.

The team is made of three men including Domino. They are all as subtle as a scream with their bulk and demeanour, and every bit like all the others.

Though they will undoubtedly report even the most mundane actions, they acquiesce and take you into town. The campus café is one of your father’s approved locations.

You are not sure if you want to run into your friends. The distraction would be a welcome one, not to mention the balm that is a smile from a friendly face, but you also have no idea how you will explain the obvious security. You are exhausted with lies. You are not sure you could spin a convincing story even if you wanted, and you do not.

The café is always quiet before lunch. There are a few students scattered around so even though you feel ridiculous, no one pays you much attention.

One guard waits outside the door, one inside by a window, and Domino stays by your side as you order your drink and take a seat.

You forgot just how invasive and uncomfortable this dynamic was. If you were not so drained, you would be snapping at them just to relieve the tension drawn tight in your chest. Instead, you endure. Every breath feels more strained than the last. You cannot focus on your work any better here. The words on your screen are just meaningless letters and shapes.

You stare at your hands, at their faint, vibrating tremble.

Then you hear your name. The guards have been addressing you as girl, sometimes subject or the daughter when speaking to each other. The gentler murmur of your name momentarily stills the shaking of your fingers, steady as a hand grasping yours. You lift your head and see Jeongin, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his dark hair a shaggy mess, and his concerned eyes flitting between you and Domino.

“Hey,” Jeongin says with that dimpled smile. “What’s up?”

“Who is this?” Domino asks. Before you can answer, he turns to Jeongin and says, “Stand back. You do not have permission to stand here.”

“Oh my god,” you say, slapping a palm to your forehead.

You are flooded with childhood memories, idiots like this intimidating everyone who tried to speak to you for longer than a minute. Whether they took the form of a guardian or masqueraded as a janitor or something else, they always made everyone sufficiently uncomfortable. Even Jisung was often disturbed by them, though he drew the wrong conclusions about their identity. He was good with weird.

Jeongin must be made of a similar mettle. He gives your guard a pinched look, lip curled like he smells something bad, but he does not move. He looks at you with a tip of the head, concern once more creasing his features.

“Do you need help?” he asks.

The poor guy must be so confused. You look like you are being held hostage in a coffee shop by a stupidly inconspicuous thug.

All you can do is sigh and shake your head. “I’m fine, Jeongin,” you say, a very unconvincing lie. “I’ll catch you around, yeah?”

“Move along,” Domino says.

Jeongin looks at him. His glance flicks up and down. Then he says, “Your fly is down.”

Domino stares at him, unblinking, as if he can vaporize Jeongin with just a glare. Jeongin stares back.

“Really, Jeongin,” you say. A genuine breath of a laugh leaves your lips. Jeongin could not even throw a punch without smacking a chair, but he is willing to stick up for you. And his annoyance tactic is the funniest defense you can imagine.

Jeongin finally leaves, but with a glance over his shoulder. You fight the urge to throw something at the guards who watch him go.

“Who was that?” Domino asks.

“I don’t know his name,” you say. “He was just a classmate a long time ago.”

You hope that is enough to make him forgettable.

You act casual, taking a sip of your coffee. Then Domino looks down into his lap, quickly checking his fly. Your snorting laughter sprays coffee everywhere.

Fortunately, this does not impact the report. You are allowed to return to the same coffee shop the next day. This time both Seungmin and Jeongin are there, books open but blathering in distracted conversation. Another young guy is sitting with them, maybe a classmate, though he has no books with him. He is sprawled in a chair, holding a coffee and grinning at whatever the boys are saying.

He notices you first, probably because you are staring. He tips his head as he looks at you, black bangs falling across his forehead. He is noticeably stocky and broad, but he smiles behind the brim of his coffee cup and it is incredibly disarming.

He is handsome but the overt flirtation brings only pain. It makes you think of Felix. You barely slept last night, tossing and turning with anxiety. Your stress only worsened when you woke in an empty bed.

You are so fraught with anxiety, your whole body feels taut like a thread about to snap.

Something is going to happen, or maybe it already has. It is bad. You know it intuitively, the way you know which hand will strike when your father is in a mood, the way you know a black car on a quiet street is an enemy, the way you have always known this life is a death sentence, a slow execution by the brutality of weathering.

You look away from the stranger’s smile. Then Jeongin sees you and his laughter fades, concern and curiosity drawing his brows together. He nudges Seungmin who looks too, tipping his head with a questioning look.

You just shrug and take a seat at a different table. There is nothing else to do.

Domino sits with you, as bored with his duty as ever. You believe your whole team is annoyed with their job. Your father would not leave weak soldiers in charge of you, but he also had to take his very best with him. These men are probably too competent for menial work and are likely offended by their assignment. They are the worst of the best.

Which is how you steal a moment to talk to Seungmin. One guard outside, one at the window, and Domino at your table. He lets you leave to get some sugar for your coffee, watching with glazed-over indifference as you fuss at the counter.

Seungmin joins you, pretending he is also grabbing sugar.

“You’re keeping some weird company,” he says in a low voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need help?”

You swallow an unexpected lump in your throat. Your friendship with Seungmin and Jeongin was only ever casual, so it is quite touching that the two civilians are so willing to defend you, even when standing at an obvious disadvantage against your thugs.

Your prepared lie gets tangled in that lump. You swallow it down. For a moment, your mouth is open with nothing to say. You both stir your coffee slowly. Eventually you take a breath.

“It’s complicated,” you say. “It’s just to do with my dad. Thank you, though.”

There is a beat of silence before he says, “We’re friends, okay? Just let us know if we can help.”

You have been trapped in solitude for days now. Seungmin provides the comforting reminder that your world is not all bad. Though he cannot do much to help, the sentiment in his simple offer is enough to temper the worst of your anxiety, at least for the time being.

“Thank you,” you say. “Really.” You spare a glance at Domino who is watching you intensely, just waiting for you to slip up and do something that warrants a reprimand or report. “I better get back,” you say. “Say hi to Jeongin, and say sorry from me for yesterday. You guys have fun with your friend.”

“Oh, we don’t know that guy. He just sat with us out of nowhere,” Seungmin says, laughing. “He says his name is Changbin. But he paid for our coffee so he can sit wherever he likes, haha.”

You smile at his playfulness. He smiles too, then he walks back to his table. Your eyes follow him and settle on the stranger – Changbin.

You want to keep smiling, want to imagine the stranger is just an awkward university kid making friends in a weird way. But Changbin is looking at you again, with the same intensity as Domino. Your eyes skirt his shoulders and biceps and his too-charming smile.

You want to chalk it up to paranoia, exacerbated by the extra stress of the last few days. But something is off about this stranger appearing here, suddenly, at a place you are known to frequent, the week your father is moving against Miroh, when Felix is gone and you are vulnerable. He is sitting with your friends, like he knows they are your friends, like he can trick you into trusting him by their proximity.

He is not like your father’s guards who are blatantly out of place. Changbin is so visible that he is invisible. Just a friendly college boy.

Just like Felix.

You are being ridiculous, you tell yourself. You cannot walk around assuming everyone is an enemy. But you cannot shake the feeling of wrongness, the awful premonition that something is going to happen.

You try to ignore Changbin as you drink your coffee but you are unsuccessful. Your hackles are raised and will not come down, made worse by the indifference of everyone around you. Domino is none the wiser. The other guards have not left their posts. Your friends are laughing with him like he is just some guy.

You ask yourself what Felix would do. You imagine he would not cause a scene or confront Changbin. He would quietly take your arm and usher you to safety, only fighting in retaliation if necessary. Part of his job has always been discretion, but he has never relished in violence anyway. It is always a last resort.

Your instincts have often propelled you into heated action until you freeze, always one extreme or the other. Now, you calm yourself and steady your shaking hands. You comfort yourself the way Felix would. You tell Domino you want to go home. He makes some agitated remark about you needing to make up your mind, that you only just arrived, but you do not rise to his bait. You close your laptop and pack your bag.

It takes one second. Changbin is sitting with your friends, then you look down. When you lift your head, he is gone. The boys think nothing of it. Your guards don’t notice. You want to scream but you know it won’t make a difference. These men won’t listen to you.

You leave with your guards. The large campus is practically a city unto itself, separated from the mainland by a stretch of woods. It is a scenic drive with a deer park in its centre, but all you see is rain ripping through branches and the shadows between each slash of grey daylight.

You are almost relieved when something thumps heavily onto the roof. But the relief that you were right is short-lived when all hell breaks loose.

You close your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself in the back seat. Glass shatters and the car skids to a rough stop, flying off the road and onto the forest terrain.

You open your eyes to the windshield in pieces, the driver frozen with his head thrown back. Domino and the other guard are out of their seats in seconds, making the same mistake as Miroh’s men all that time ago. You know how this fight will end.

You look through the broken windshield. Changbin flies into view and knocks Domino onto his knees. It takes one roundhouse kick for him to fall over, unconscious. The other guard tries to take a shot but Changbin disarms him with a couple sharp moves. You close your eyes when Changbin shoots.

He fights with the same fluidity as Felix. For a moment, you are back there, eighteen years old and frightened and relieved all at once. Except when the back door opens this time, you are not quick to rush out. It is not Felix waiting for you.

Changbin clears his throat and you slowly look over. He is wearing jeans and a leather jacket and does not look ruffled in the slightest. Dark hair falls over his forehead as he tips his head. He smiles, handsome and charming. As unassuming as Felix when his eyes crinkle up with delight and he laughs like he has never known pain. Like he was not raised for the purpose of violence, property of Miroh, of your father, of whoever else, acting as their hand because they won’t get their own fingers dirty.

Changbin gestures to you, curling his fingers, a mute come here.

“Hurry up,” he says. “Time to go.”

You imagine escaping out the other door, trying to make a run for it through the forest. You know you will not get far.

“Are you one of them?” you ask, impulsively. “Miroh’s?”

You already know the answer.

Changbin blinks at you, then laughs.

“It depends,” he says, then tuts like he thinks you are preciously naïve. “I personally think I’m one of a kind. But I guess we’ll find out. Now get out of the car.”

With little choice in the matter, you obey. Your legs wobble when you stand so you instinctively take the hand he offers.

You have not yet steadied yourself when he yanks you into his arms. Though Felix undoubtedly holds strength in his lithe form, he is more dexterous and athletic than outright powerful. He knows how to use his body to its best advantage. But Changbin is strong and he does not hide it, the bulge of his biceps crushing you in the hard, ungiving circle of his arms. Leather and muscle cage you in tightly, so unyielding that you cannot even squirm. Your heels dig at the ground as he hauls you away from the car. A belated scream claws its way up your throat but gets strangled in his chokehold.

Then you feel ice, so cold it burns. Your racing heart propels each freezing shard through your bloodstream.

You realize he stabbed you with a needle. It is a flickering thought, only momentarily realized, then you are plunged beneath the surface of that ice, drowned in black waters, and you think no more.

You are plunged into an oblivion so deep and so fast that you wake thinking no time passed at all.

You hear before you see. The patter of rain overhead is not unlike its tapping against the roof of the car. Groggy, you think you are still there, your arms wrapped around yourself while waiting for the worst.

Then your sense of smell creeps in, overwhelming you with damp and something metallic. A cool breeze pebbles your skin as it washes over you. It coaxes you out of your bleariness.

You blink awake, the blurry world taking gradual shape around you. It is not the world you left behind, no sign of a car or campus or coffee shop. It looks like an old warehouse or maybe a factory, but the room has been stripped to its bare bone essentials. The exposed pipes and rotting damp of the high walls account for the smell.

The breeze blows from your left where a garage door is open. You squint towards the grey light of the rainy day. You do not know how long you have been unconscious. It looks like early afternoon but your body tells you that you have been asleep for longer than a few minutes.

You try to gather your bearings. You see a harbour in the distance, past the pavement and the fence and what must be a drop to water below. Your university is not near any body of water. So you must have been unconscious long enough to transport this far. A few hours at least, but given the light maybe it has been a full day.

That is all you can deduce. You do not recognize the warehouse or the harbour.

You do recognize the man in front of you, though it takes a second. Changbin is no longer dressed like a civilian, wearing a black combat uniform and boots. His shirt covers his arms but fits like a second skin, his bulk emphasized. He is squatting on the ground a few feet from you. He holds a black mask in his hand, one that covers the lower half of his face when he swings it up. He lifts and lowers it a few times, absent-mindedly it seems. Then he realizes you are stirring and fastens it in place.

Your head is pounding. Your petulant side wants to bark a complaint, but even you know taunting this man would be beyond stupid. Changbin is not just any soldier. Miroh did not send one of his regular men. He clearly learned his lesson last time. Even without asking, you know Changbin is like Felix. He did not merely train as a soldier; he was born and moulded into it.

And, unlike Felix, he has had no reprieve from Miroh.

You come into your body, stretching your fingers. Your hands are cuffed behind your back and locked to your chair. One ankle is cuffed to the chair leg. Metal jingles as you move, testing your bonds.

You stop when Changbin approaches, your heart thumping as hot adrenaline melts the ice in your blood.

“Good morning,” Changbin says. “How did you sleep?”

Your body is still slow to respond, but you manage a decent glare. It makes him laugh.

“They told me you were funny,” he says. “That you make your father’s men look like a joke – not hard, to be fair.” He tips his head, looking at you like he is waiting. All you do is stare. “Come on,” he whines. “Say something funny.”

Your stomach turns over itself, not because Changbin is taunting you… but because you think he isn’t taunting you. He does not speak with the sarcastic intonation of your father’s men, dryly mocking your helplessness in his presence. His eyes are big and resolutely focussed, seeming to genuinely anticipate your retort. He is almost child-like with his attention.

This impression only solidifies when he sighs, morose, and crouches again.

“Do you want something?” he asks.

“Let me go?” you say.

It comes out rough but it makes him laugh behind the mask, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Aha, you are funny,” he says and slaps his knee. “Anything but that. But don’t worry your head.” You flinch from his touch, but all he does is pat your head like he is reassuring a frightened puppy. “This isn’t about you,” he says. “Well, not yet. Maybe later. First… Your father took something from us. And he won’t give it back.”

Changbin removes the mask so he can smile, one of those disarming smiles that is so at odds with the rest of him. Felix might switch demeanours depending on the circumstance, but Changbin flickers between faces from one breath to the next.

“We just need it back,” Changbin says. “Then, maybe, we’ll even the score. Maybe. Don’t worry about that yet. For now, you just need to sit. Are you thirsty?”

The distinct reverberation of gunfire comes from the front of the building. You shriek and duck your head, like that will do anything to protect you, gasping as you listen to bullets ricochet off the walls in some distant room.

When everything goes quiet, you lift your head. Your chest is heaving with each deep breath, your adrenaline bleeding out your pores so even the air around you feels like it is humming. You stare at Changbin who has not moved a muscle, still squatting and staring.

“I think we have lemonade,” he says. “You want that?”

You do not even know what to say. His sincere but stunted peculiarity reminds you so much of a teenage Felix even though Changbin looks older than both of you.

There is more gunfire. You duck your head and slam your eyes shut. Changbin does not move until it stops, his mouth open with another comment, but he silences himself when the far door opens. Then he is swift, on his feet with his mask secured. He stands at your side as he silently watches the approach of a small group of men.

You are still reeling from panic, so it takes you a second to realize what is happening.

“Felix!” the cry leaves your lips.

Five of Miroh’s men surround him, suited guards in various states of dishevelment, like they have been fighting for much longer than a few minutes. Felix is bound with his hands behind his back, a yellow bruise already forming on his chin. His own dark uniform is singed with bullet holes. His hair looks like it was slicked back, but he has sweat through some of the product, tendrils of blonde falling into his face.

Despite his state, his attention is all on you. Eyes assessing, scanning you from head to toe.

When you meet his gaze, the whole world falls away. These men, this place, none of it exists for a breath of a moment. Felix is here and that means you will survive. Everything will be fine. You have always kept each other alive. This time will be no different. You can see it in his eyes, in that oh-so subtle twinge of a smile. You can hear him without him moving his lips.

Hello, sweetheart. You’re safe.

They put him on his knees. His gaze flits to either side. You can see him calculating. Oh, he is here on purpose. He let himself be caught, you are certain, so he could find you and rescue you and—

“Target acquired,” a man says.

It takes you a moment to realize he is talking about Felix.

You look at the man then at Changbin, considering his earlier words.

Something your father took. Something they want back.

It hits you all at once. You have not been kidnapped as leverage against your father. You have been taken as bait for Felix. They don’t want you, they want him. An irreplaceable soldier your father stole from Miroh a decade ago, that he has paraded in front of him for years at galas and parties. Using him as a bodyguard for his wayward daughter and not as a soldier, not until now. Biding his time before using Felix against the house that made him.

You can see your father’s stupid machinations clicking into place. He is a perpetual child throwing a tantrum. His movements are sloppy and immature. He steals from his enemy, a weapon he does not know how to use, thinking it will keep him safe, letting it make him cocky. And now he is sitting somewhere as it all blows up in his face.

Or it would. In an ironic twist of fate, you are saving your father.

Because as far as Miroh knows, Felix is here as your bodyguard, acting on your father’s orders to retrieve you. All Miroh has to do is pluck him from the fray. And as a bonus, he has you in captivity for future leverage.

It would have been a good plan. It would have worked if Felix was an emotionless machine. If would have worked if Felix was here because of a command.

But Felix loves you.

He is here to save you.

In a quick move, Felix sweeps two men off their feet. He rolls on his back and propels himself to his feet, hands bound under him, leading with his core. He slams his head into an oncoming guard and the man stumbles back. Three out of five on the ground. Then suddenly one hand is free of the cuffs – he must have been picking at it the whole time - and he swings the dangling metal in another’s eye.

You flinch away from the violence, even while rooting for Felix. A few more thuds and you know all five men are incapacitated. You open your eyes and lift your head, watching Felix drop the handcuffs on the floor. He absently rubs his wrist, his gaze drifting from you to Changbin. His fingers freeze, his eyes narrowing as he perceives the stoic soldier at your side.

Felix stares, like he if he looks hard enough, he will see through the mask.

“You’re new,” Felix finally says.

Changbin rolls his eyes.

Changbin reels back and hurls a knife in a swift arc, right at Felix’s face. Felix is just as fast and catches the handle. He returns the throw. The knife clatters on the ground as Changbin surges forward.

These two are evenly matched. Watching them fight is terrifying and unpredictable. They dance around each other, delivering equal blows and blocking similar shots. In the end, Felix wins in one move miscalculated by his opponent. With an opening granted, Felix takes Changbin down. One, two, three hits to the head. Changbin stumbles backward, his mask falling. He is disoriented when he looks Felix, but Felix sees him with complete clarity.

You learned to read Felix a long time ago. You know all his expressions by heart, the crease of each smile memorized, the track of each tear committed to heart.

You have never seen this face, this mix of horror and bewilderment as a barely conscious Changbin slams onto the ground. Then it is Felix who missteps, tripping over his own feet as he reaches for the opponent he just threw down.

“Changbin,” he says. “You’re alive, I—”

Changbin swings at him but is too dizzy to land a hit. Felix catches the punch. He should throw one back, finish him off, but he hesitates. His brow furrows. He grabs Changbin by the neck of his shirt and yanks him close.

“Chris,” he says. “Chan. Chris. Where is he?”

Changbin laughs. It turns to choking when a dribble of blood gurgles past his mouth. He spits it at Felix then heaves a rough breath.

“Oh, fuck you, Yongbok,” he says. “’You’re new’ – didn’t even recognize me—”

“It—it’s been so long—and I thought you—”

“Yah, not all of us got to attend pretty parties these last years like you—”

“Stop it, you don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing—”

“Chris he says. First thing he says.” Changbin squirms but does not have the strength to rip away, especially with Felix gripping him so hard. He heaves another aggravated groan. “You know Chris died because of you. He’s been gone for years.”

“No,” Felix says, his voice pinched. His eyes rapidly water, his knuckles white from his death-grip.

Changbin shakes his head but slips further. Felix once more catches him when he should be ending him, sniffling hard as he gets on his knees.

“He’s not dead,” Felix says. “He can’t be dead—”

“Why don’t you ask your boss?”

As if on cue, your father’s men burst into the room. Felix looks at them in surprise even though he must have coordinated their arrival.

Changbin laughs. “I hope it was worth it, Yongbok,” he says. He uses one last burst of energy to throw himself forward, propelled away from Felix. He rolls across the ground then stumbles to his feet, running past the open garage door, into the rain, and disappearing around the corner.

Felix is too stunned to chase him. You look at Felix, on his knees and holding nothing, palms up like he expects something to appear in them. He closes his fists as your father’s men approach.

Then he slides his figurative mask in place, assuming his usual role. He kicks the literal mask discarded by Changbin, then finally looks at you.

“Get the car,” Felix says to the men. “And check the grounds for anything useful.”

The men disperse and Felix approaches you. He kneels at your side and picks at the lock of your handcuffs. You are crying before you can stop yourself, overwhelmed with everything that just transpired.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Felix whispers, looking at you with pain of his own. “It will be okay. Just a little longer.”

The handcuffs drop. He squeezes your hand in his.

“Just a little longer.”

You are several cities over, hours away from home and even further from the job your father was conducting against Miroh. Miroh was clearly trying to divert his enemy. He tried to steal Felix back while doing so.

Neither he or your father accounted for you, for Felix, for all the love between you.

You are in a small hotel room away from prying eyes and military men. You are scrubbing yourself clean in the bath and he sits on the rim of the tub, wiping your back with a cloth.

You checked in two hours ago. You spent most of that time blubbering incoherently, catching your breath even hours after freedom. You have not had a real conversation yet. Felix has been quiet, his eyes intermittently far away or so intensely focussed on you that it makes you hiccup with more tears.

You hiss when he presses his thumb to the mark on your neck, the little bite from the needle so carelessly plunged into your vein.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, smoothing with a gentle circle.

“This has been the worst week of my life,” you say. “And that’s saying something. Oh my god, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Felix laughs in spite of himself, though it is more of a breath than a sound. He drops the cloth in the water and you shiver as he caresses the bare skin of your back.

“I love you,” he says, like it is something he has always said, like it is easy to say. Like he could say it again and again.

The room feels so quiet. His voice is soft but it sounds like a shout, echoing back in this intimate space. Your breath catches. You go very still.

Then he says your name in a breathless murmur that is exhaled with more adoration than the word love itself.

“No games,” he says. “No jokes. No hidden meanings or secrets.”

“Felix,” you say. It is all you manage.

“I know,” he says weakly. “I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything, I just…”

His hair is wet from a quick shower, combed back neatly, more composed than the rest of him. You look up as he runs his wet fingers through it. The bruise on his jaw is darkening, a burned gold that looks incredibly painful. He shed his outer layers, is wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. He has a silver army tag, or something like it, marked with your father’s name and not his own. It’s new. Something the field agents wear. Good as a collar.

You reach out and take hold, ripping it off his neck. He looks at it dangling from your fist, as surprised as you that it broke so fast.

Maybe it really is it that easy.

His hurt jaw wobbles. He touches the bruise and looks down, away from you, head bowed as if in supplication. Worshipful. Penitent.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lighter than a whisper. “I will tell you everything. I just want to be a person for you a little longer.”

“Felix,” you say, dropping the tag on the floor. You kneel in the bath and reach for him with your wet hands. He does not lift his head when a silent sob wracks his body. His shoulders shake when you touch him. “You have always been a person to me.”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking. “I know, sweetheart. I owe you so much—”

“You don’t owe me anything—”

“I owe you everything.”

He looks at you then, his dark eyes wet with tears, his expression serious. He breathes a shaky exhale then leans away, grabbing a towel.

“Come here,” he says, and stands.

Moments later, you are standing on the floor, wrapped in the towel in his arms. He bundles you tightly and you rest your head on his shoulder, safe and secure with his strong hold around you.

“I love you,” he says, his wet cheek pressed to yours. “Even if you hate me, even if you don’t, even if you can never say it back, I love you and all the life you have in you.”

“I’m a mess,” you say, trying to laugh, but it comes out weak.

“You’re alive. I don’t think anyone understands better than you, what it means to have a life,” he says. “The way your life fills you, the way you hold onto it no matter how many times someone tried to take it away.”

You are hiding your face in his neck, embarrassed and amorous and teary all at once. Then he lifts you up and turns around, perching you on the counter. You wriggle your arms free, tucking the towel beneath them. You steady your breathing as he picks up a cloth to wipe the smudged vestiges of make-up off your cheek.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he says. “I’ve always been so scared. I hide it, yeah? But it’s there. Miroh, your father, everything about them… It was like living in a nightmare. They were bigger than life. They controlled dangerous people. I couldn’t imagine anyone standing up to them.” He smiles now, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. “Then you burst into the room and started a fight with one of them. I was shocked. I thought, is this girl crazy? What have I gotten into?”

“That girl was crazy,” you say, laughing.

He laughs too, but shakes his head. “She was the only sane one,” he says. “God. You had more passion in your little finger than I had ever felt in my whole body my whole life. And I thought… I will never feel that much emotion. I knew it was too late for me. I wasn’t living for myself and I was fine with that. I couldn’t be saved.” His eyes are teary again. He takes your hand and looks down at it. “You took my hand. Even in your anger, even in your everything, you saw something… You touched me once and it was like life rushed into me. And I hated myself everyday after that because I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t what you needed. I could take your beatings but I couldn’t save you because I was a scared coward and you were stuck with me—”

“Shh, stop that,” you say. You run your fingers through his hair, smoothing the pieces he rucked up.

He wipes his cheeks. He plants his hands on the counter, on either side of you. His eyes are closed when he takes a deep breath.

“Miroh couldn’t kill your grandfather,” Felix says. “He tried and he failed. Your grandfather was willing to sacrifice everything for himself. Your mother died in his place. You and me were on opposite sides of the world, both just babies. You never knew your mother. I never knew my parents. Miroh decided he needed a new generation of soldiers. There were a few of us, all over the world. When we were old enough to speak and run and fight, he recruited the best. I was one of the best. So was Changbin.”

“And Chris,” you say, remembering the exchange in the warehouse.

Felix’s face scrunches in pain. He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “We travelled together. We trained together. We were like brothers.”

“What happened?” you ask. You lay a hand on his chest and he takes it, holding it there.

“I was stupid,” Felix says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I believed Miroh. I thought… there are bad guys out there, simple as that. If we get rid of them, then we won’t have to be scared anymore, yeah? They wouldn’t have to hurt us if we just got rid of the bad guy. But it wasn’t that easy. I killed your grandfather and it didn’t end anything. Chris was right. Because he always knew. He said it wasn’t right, what Miroh was doing. Chris could have been the best if he could let go of who he was, and just be what he was supposed to be… but he didn’t. I… I felt like I… I couldn’t afford to be that way… If I wasn’t the best, I was nothing. If I couldn’t kill, I was going to be killed. And by the time I realized he was right, it was too late.”

He finally meets your gaze, squeezing your hand in his.

“I almost died on a job and Chris saved my life. He wasn’t supposed to. In Miroh’s order, if something happens to a soldier, you leave them behind. You don’t waste resources on the weak. Chris disobeyed orders and all his training to save me. I told him I wouldn’t have done the same and he said I know, that’s not why I’m doing it. It’s just the right thing, Felix. I thought, how can someone like this even exist, after everything he’s seen and done, how does he still try to find the good? I didn’t know if he was stupid or smart. Then a commander found out what he did and they took him out of our order for re-training. I still saw him but we couldn’t talk. He had so much potential and the organization didn’t want to throw it away. They tried to break him. It wasn’t working. It broke me instead. I realized I had to get us out or die trying.”

He looks at you and says, “You get it, don’t you? The way Jisung saved you. The way he was your friend. The way he was just there. That was Chris for me, yeah?” His voice is rife with desperation, like he needs you to understand this more than anything else.

“Yeah,” you say softly, feeling that very heartache all over again. “I do. I get it, Felix.”

“Then you know,” he says, voice breaking, “how I felt when I let him down. I let everyone down. I fucked up a job, trying to undermine Miroh. I thought I could outsmart him but I didn’t. It just opened a door for your father to get in. There was a stupid skirmish over a politician in Miroh’s pocket. Your dad was trying to buy him out and it ended in a fight. Three of our best men dead. Including Changbin, I thought. Just someone else I let down. I was taken alive. I knew if I went back to Miroh, I was dead. If I ran off on my own, Chris would never escape, and they would break him eventually, or kill him trying. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t take Miroh on my own. So I made a deal with your father.”

And what I get is a life worth more than mine.

You remember those words. Felix once spoke them in an emotional moment, lost to his memories. You never knew what he meant. You realize now he meant Chris, the friend he left behind, the friend he sold himself to save.

“You gave up your life to my father,” you say, “and in return—”

“He would rescue Chris,” Felix says. “It was a win for us both, yeah. Take out Miroh, steal his assets. My friend gets his freedom. Your father gets a soldier. I was willing to give up my life. I figured I never had one. I wouldn’t miss it. All I knew was how to be a soldier. I didn’t even know how to want something else. But then you… You.”

“Felix,” you say, overwhelmed with his confession and the depth of his feeling.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I let you down.”

“What? How?” You touch his face, cupping his chin in both hands. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t save you,” he says, voice rasping and light again, speaking above a sob. “At first because I couldn’t leave, not until we rescued Chris. And there was never an opportunity. I waited years. Years. And by then I had to keep waiting, because I couldn’t have wasted all that time for nothing. I had to save him. I had to save someone. Or else I failed everyone. It had to mean something. I couldn’t—”

“Felix,” you say. “It was an impossible situation. We were kids for half of it. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“I do,” he says, barely more than a breath, a faint whisper against your skin. “I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t do enough.”

“We have no way of knowing what else could have happened,” you say. “We did our best. And now—”

You cut yourself off. And now? What happens next? You heard their conversation in that warehouse. You know why Felix looked so torn apart.

“Chris,” you say. “Is he…?” Dead. “Was Changbin telling the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Felix says.

Dead. For years. Because of Felix. Because of your father.

It does not take much to piece together the implications. Your father is a cowardly, underhanded schemer. He poisons teenagers and beats his daughter and hides in his mansion except when he’s lashing out for attention. He put Felix under contract, but the only guarantee of servitude was his honour and one stipulation. Honour would mean little to your father. But a person, that he could leverage. That he could calculate and control. So long as he could dangle Chris over Felix’s head, then Felix would be bound to him.

And the best way to guarantee he would never have to fulfill his end of the bargain, the best way to guarantee Chris would never escape, would be to kill Chris himself and never tell Felix.

You see it written all over Felix’s face, the horror of this very plausible idea. That in his effort to save Chris, he actually got him killed.

There is a long moment of quiet. It is a very empty silence. There is no way to confirm if Chris is truly dead, and so Felix cannot truly mourn him. There is also no way to prove he is alive, so he cannot take any action.

You hold his hand. It is all you can do right now. You look at where your palms touch, where your fingers lace. The caress of his skin against yours never fails to touch your heart. Even this simple touch warms you. It affects him too, because he exhales and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

You want to comfort him but your shiver betrays you. The heat from the bath is diffusing and you are in nothing but a towel. Felix laughs and shakes his head, withdrawing.

“Sorry,” he says. “Let’s, uhh, get you dressed first.”

“Or at least under some covers.”

“Someone could come knocking,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say with a jut of your chin. “And?”

He stares back at you. This silence is not so empty, a heady and contemplative regard as he glances at your lips then the rest of you. Then he sweeps you into his arms and carries you into the room.

You kiss his cheek, just above his bruise. You are not sure if he winces from the pain or the affection.

The moment your head touches a pillow, you feel your eyelids drooping. Exhaustion hits you instantaneously. You groan and snuggle under the covers, quite convinced this plain hotel bed is the comfiest bed in the world.

Felix hovers at the bedside, folding your towel. You look back at him with sleepy eyes. It is early evening but he must be as tired as you, from the physical exertion if not the emotional one.

“Aren’t you sleepy, baby?” you ask.

He drops the towel and has to fold it again. It is messier the second time, then slides off the dresser into a lump on the floor. He ignores it, approaching the bed. You pull back the cover in offering.

You think he strips down to his boxers, but you are fast asleep before he even unzips. You stir a little when he climbs in the bed, but his presence is so comforting that it sends you right back to sleep. It is the most restful sleep you have had in a while. But, predictably, falling asleep in the early evening means you wake up in the dead of the night, bright-eyed.

The room is dark. The clock reads 2:17 AM, blinking in red, the only light in the room other than a blue wash of moonlight pouring through the translucent curtains.

Felix is curled up behind you, an arm under his head and the other over your hip. When you wake, he follows but slowly, shifting and grumbling. He does not usually sleep so deeply. It is a testament to the day.

You sidle up to him, your back to his front. He is in his boxers and nothing else, bare skin against yours as he hauls you up against him. You lay your hand over his, resting it on your stomach then on your breast. It is not especially flirtatious, merely intimate. He touches you and you sigh contently, too awake to lose yourself but enjoying the comfort nonetheless.

He exhales. It sounds a little ragged. You look over your shoulder, at his dishevelled bed hair and dark freckles, the bow mouth you so missed, the tenderness in those dark eyes when he gazes back at you.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Hmm? For what?” You roll onto your back to look at him better.

He scrubs a hand down his face then pushes back some unruly hair. “I think, um.” He looks up at nothing. “A part of me always thought a day would come when you would hate me for real. I’m, uhh, a little… I guess I just… was more prepared to be hated than, um, cared about, after everything.”

You lean over him, propping yourself on one arm. He meets your serious gaze, licking his lips under the intensity of your stare.

“Do you see me that way?” you ask. “That I would be that unforgiving and fickle?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Of course not. It’s not how I see you, it’s… myself.”

“Well, I don’t want you to see yourself that way either,” you say. “It offends me.” You say this was a dramatic air, making a point of shoving your nose in the air.

It makes him laugh, a real smile pulling at his lips. You swear it brightens the room.

“Does it?” he says. “I’m very sorry. I’ll have to make it up to you.” He reaches for your face, strokes his knuckles over your cheek, but you pull away.

“That won’t be necessary,” you say, in the same playful tone as him.

“Oh?” he asks, chasing, stroking your other cheek.

“Yes,” you say. You catch his hand and lower it. When you speak again, it is sincerely, without any joke or artifice or double-entendre. “I don’t just care about you, Felix,” you say. “I love you. And you don’t need to thank me or pay me back. You just need to believe it.”

He blinks up at you, surprise written all over his face. You feel flushed with heat even though the admission is obvious. Saying it out loud, truly and honestly, makes your heart flutter anyway. Love and want tangle together in a knot inside you, making you feel soft and desirous at once.

His lips part with a breath as he stares at you. You chase those lips, leaning down and sealing his mouth in a kiss. It takes only a second for him to kiss you back, cupping your cheek and parting your lips with a swipe of his tongue. His bruise must not hurt too badly, or maybe he is just ignoring the pain, but you are careful with your light kisses despite his attempt at more.

You always happily concede to his more dominant guidance. This time it is a little different. You are telling him something with your kisses and you want him to hear it, without any games or distractions. So you take both his wrists and push his hands into the bed, at the same time swinging on top of him. He looks surprised a second time, looking at where you press his hands into the sheets.

He could easily buck you off, but he lets you kiss him like that. You kiss his cheek and under his jaw, avoiding the bruise, then down his neck. His hips lift under yours, rolling against you to get hard. You are already wet and naked, making him moan, a low, dark sound as you grind your softest parts against the hardening line in his boxers.

It makes you want to skip right to it, but you are determined. You kiss down his chest and he laughs when your tongue swipes his nipple, evidently a little ticklish. You smile and keep going, until your lips hover above the hard bulge in his boxers. You kiss him through the material then tug it down. He shuffles quickly, ripping them off and tossing them aside. Then his hand is on the back of your neck as you take him in your mouth.

The hotel room affords some privacy. He makes a little more noise than usual. Or maybe he truly does not care anymore.

Yes, you think, loving at him with your mouth and hands, let yourself go.

He must be getting close because he squeezes the back of your neck and lets out a groan. “Slow down,” he says. “Please. It just—”

“Feels good?” you ask, a little cheekily, but he answers earnestly, with a nod and shaky exhale. “Mmm, okay,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”

This gives him momentary pause. Then he grips your neck more possessively and guides you up.

You follow his direction, lifting your head until your pretty raw lips are hovering just inches from his.

“Get back on top me,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Oh. Well.” He has said far dirtier things in the past, but usually in the context of your role-play, where you are the worst versions of yourselves, the real you just laughing under it. It is a little different for the real him to so blatantly state his desire.

It leaves you just as weak in the knees. It is a miracle you manage to swing a leg over him, but you get there. He helps line you up, then he holds your hips and slides you right down until he is fully inside you. It is a lot all at once, especially after time apart. You did not have many opportunities for sex before that either. But you are so wet, despite the sharp burn, it is a smooth fit, and you adjust quickly, mostly because he wastes no time rolling his hips up into you.

“Oh,” you say, hands on his shoulders and mouth falling open.

“That’s it,” he says, taking complete control even though you are on top, holding your hips, guiding you to match his rhythm. “Could – uh, yeah – could have you on your knees, begging for it, without doing anything. So easy for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, gasping. “Just for you.”

“Just for me,” he says. He pushes himself upright, wrapping an arm around you and pushing your face into his shoulder. He holds you there, fingers stroking the nape of your neck as he fucks you, drawing all those soft, whimpering sounds of you. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s my girl. Just for me. Hold onto me. I’m gonna come. Spread your legs, your pussy can take it. Good girl. Just like that.”

You are wrapped tightly around him, clinging to him as he comes as promised, deep and hard inside you while you tremble and sigh in his arms. Then he lifts your head to kiss you, a quick peck before he presses your foreheads together to just breathe.

“Can you…” Your voice comes softly. “Can you maybe stay inside me, just another minute.”

“Fucking… fuck,” he says, making you laugh. He smiles too. “Yes. I can do that.”

He keeps you in his arms as he lays back. You lay against him, his heart pounding against your chest. You stay like that for a while, almost drifting to sleep when he slides his hand up your spine, reawakening every sensitive nerve in your body.

He says your name, that loving murmur of a sound. You lift your head to look at him. His gaze darts to your lips then back to your eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade places with any of them,” he says. “I want to be your bodyguard. I want to set you free. I want to keep you safe until the day I die.”

“On a few conditions,” you say. “The first, that you cannot die for a very long time. The second, I will only be free when you are. And finally, you can be my bodyguard, but only if I’m your bodyguard too.”

He smiles, his eyes bright and his cheeks dimpled. His nose nudges yours.

“All right,” he says. “Consider it a promise.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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