#critical injury angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reiding-writing · 4 months

Note

since you are a person of angst, i was thinking about spencer x reader where in the heat of an argument, spencer says he will only forgive her when she dies.

so in one of the cases the reader is shot by spencer and sighs "now you can finally forgive me"

happy or sad ending, whatever you want

muah 💘

forgiven [ s.r ]

Summary:

You lied to him with good intentions, but when he finds out the truth he says something detrimental in the heat of the moment. After weeks of radio silence any chance of reconciliation is almost lost after you get critically injured in the field.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR IAN DOYLE ARC, harsh arguments, death wishes, gun mentions, major character injury, details of gun related injury

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: ANGST with a happy ending

wc: 3.7k

masterlist!!

a/n: left the ending up to majority vote and majority vote said happy ending, you guys are so boring /j

happy ending or not this is still nice and jam packed with angst for all my angst enjoyers <3

Emily Prentiss had been buried for seven months.

So how on earth was she stood five feet away from Spencer with a half guilty expression on her face like she’d put salt in his coffee rather than the fact that she’d been in Paris, fully alive and well whilst he mourned her ‘death’ for months.

But he couldn’t be mad at her. Of course he couldn’t.

Instead his gaze turned towards the way Hotch, JJ, and you were stood at the head of the table, completely unfazed whilst the rest of the team stood in shock at the fact that the friend that they’d buried was still alive.

He couldn’t help that small feeling of loathing mixing with the shock when Emily pulled him into a hug, his arms loosely rested around her back as his eyes narrowed slightly in your direction.

He’d let you see him at his absolute worst, an emotional, crying, pathetic mess of a person who was desperately mourning over the loss of one of his closest friends.

And you’d let him. Whilst knowing that Emily was still alive.

His emotional state had gotten so bad over the last few months that you’d even temporarily moved him in with you to make sure he wasn’t endangering himself.

He’d spiralled into a state where he couldn’t be trusted to live on his own. And you’d let him.

He didn’t speak to you during your drive home that night, and you knew why.

You knew he was going to be angry at you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

What you didn’t expect, was for him to immediately start unrooting himself from your apartment; Clearing out drawers and stuffing his clothes in the suitcase hidden in one of the cupboards.

“Spencer what are you doing-” You barely manage to step out of the way before Spencer walked right into you with an armful of books in his hands as he pulled them from the bookshelf in your living room.

He stacks them neatly in the corner of the open case laid on top of his bed as you stand in the doorway of your guest room turned Spencer’s bedroom, clear concern written all over your face.

“I’m going home.” Spencer’s reply is blunt, flat, with the tiniest amount of hurt lacing his tone if you were to listen closely enough.

“Spence-” You block his exit from the room with your body as he attempts to make a second trip to clear your shelves of his books. “Can we just take a second to talk about this?”

“About what? The fact that you lied to me for seven months?” He takes a step back from you as you block the doorway, looking you directly in the eyes to make sure that you could read every semblance of hurt, loathing, and betrayal that swam in his irises.

“The fact that I trusted you to the point where I let you see me at my lowest and you knew everything I was grieving over was a lie?” Spencer had given up trying to leave the room, clearing out anything left in the bedroom instead and zipping the suitcase shut.

“The fact that you let me spiral to the point where I was considering relapsing and couldn’t be trusted to live on my own?”

“Spencer-”

“I confided in you. I told you everything. All those nights I spent sobbing in your arms talking about how I just wanted the pain to stop and you left me in the dark.” He was borderline shouting at you by now, his eyes glassed over with tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and a lump in his throat that rended his composure shattered.

“I wish I could’ve told you Spencer but I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t?” Spencer cuts you off before you have the time to try and explain yourself. “Or you wouldn’t?”

“I couldn’t- Spence I wanted to tell you I really did but Emily’s life was in danger-” You try to explain yourself whilst he’s giving you the time to do so, words falling out of your mouth as fast as your brain will let them form. “I couldn’t say anything without risking breaking her cover and sending her right back into Doyle’s grasp..”

“What about my life?” Spencer’s voice cracked slightly as he looked at you, a light flush covering his face from his frustration. “I spent ten weeks under 24/7 supervision because my mental state was so bad-”

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t have said anything. And you let me ruin my own mental state anyway.” The end of his negation of your explanation is marked by the suitcases wheels hitting the wooden flooring.

“Look i’m sorry okay? I didn’t-”

“What? didn’t mean to let it go so far? Didn’t mean to let me consider relapsing and washing any progress i’d made over the last four years down the drain?” He pushes past you with considerable force to make his way towards the front door of your apartment with his suitcase in hand. “Well it’s too late for that isn’t it?”

“Spencer wait-” You grasp at his wrist in a moment of desperation, silently begging for him not to leave. “I’m sorry,”

“I’m so, so sorry and you have every right to be angry at me and I know that keeping it from you was wrong-” Your desperation shows through your voice, through the stray tear that rolls down your left cheek and pools under your chin. “Just- let’s talk about this, please,”

“We just did.” Spencer’s voice is much harsher than you’re used to, although he removes your hand from his wrist with a whisper of his usual gentle nature that you wish would take over the rest of his personality as he pulls your door open to leave.

“I was just trying to protect her-” Your voice hitches at the end of your sentence, stray tears turning into a steady flow that dapples your white shirt in damp circles. “..please forgive me…”

Your voice is hardly a whisper by the time you’re finished, although Spencer’s expression does not match the softness in your tone.

Nor does his response.

“I’ll forgive you when you’re six feet under like she was.”

“Spencer-”

You barely have time to be shocked by his words before the front door of your apartment is closed harshly in your face, Spencer’s presence replaced by the ghost of his cologne and a sharp coldness that runs its way up your spine.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been three weeks.

And aside from asking Morgan to keep an eye on him you hadn’t so much as mentioned Spencer once.

It was a little difficult considering his desk was directly opposite yours, but a mix of wanting to respect his personal space and still being hurt by his comment allows you to keep to yourself no matter how close he was.

You’re thankful that the team hasn’t said anything, but you’re sure they’ll only respect your privacy until it interferes with the case you’re working on.

Emily had tried to talk Spencer down from his underlying anger to no avail during the plane ride, and despite the countless times that Hotch had taken full responsibility for keeping Emily’s living status a secret, it didn’t stop Spencer from sending you half-glares across the station or refuting any suggestion you gave with an overcomplicated explanation of why you were wrong.

By the fourth day you were on the verge of snapping at him, the Texas heat melding with his snark and making you want to tear all of your skin from your face.

You definitely weren’t in the right mental state to enter an active shooter situation, but as you followed Morgan into the building with your 9mm planted firmly between your hands, all you could think about is the conversation you were going to force Spencer into having with you once all of this was over.

You were so tired of being in this stalemate with him, you just wanted your Spencer back.

The one who would trap you on your couch so he could explain the Doctor Who lore in explicit detail with that bright starry look in his eyes the longer you let him ramble.

It was just radio silence. And you couldn’t bare it anymore.

Your mind was clouded by your own thoughts as you swept the building, and you suppose you only have yourself to blame for not hearing the unfamiliar footsteps behind you until it’s too late.

You turn on your heels towards the noise, expecting it to be Morgan or even Spencer, finished with sweeping the floor and ready to move on.

Instead you’re met by a sharp bang that rings through your ears and a pain in your throat that makes your breath catch and your legs fail underneath you.

Your left hand comes straight to your throat, immediately coated in the dark red liquid escaping from the new hole created in your body, and you manage to fire a shot in the direction of your assailant as he runs, although whether you actually hit him or not you’re not sure.

It takes less than ten seconds for your team members to arrive at your side, and you desperately point in the direction that the UnSub had ran off in as you try and refrain from coughing up blood and in turn flooding your lungs.

Morgan and Emily share a look before running off in your pointed direction. Spencer however, ignores your arm completely and rushes to kneel at your side, dropping his gun on the floor in the process and frantically holding the radio button on his watch to yell out his need for medical services.

“You’re going to be fine- Everything’s going to be fine-” You can practically feel the panic emanating from his body, his hands trembling as he tugged his bullet proof vest from his chest to tear at the hem of his shirt and use it to block the bullet hole in your throat as your hand compression weakened with your blood loss.

You can tell he was trying to reassure you, but it didn’t sound all that convincing, even to himself.

His right hand added a copious amount of pressure to the front of your throat as he aided you into the recovery position, checking the nape of your neck for an exit wound. Nothing.

A soft “two minutes” echoes back through the radio speaker in his watch and though he tries to mutter it under his breath to not freak you out any further, you can hear his uncertain “that’s too long,” even through the tinnitus plaguing your ears.

You cough up the clotted chunks of oxidised blood stuck in your oesophagus onto the floor beneath you, and Spencer makes an effort to protect your head from the floor by elevating it on his thigh.

“You’re going to be fine-” Spencer sounds more panicked than you as his eyes blink with tears, unable to be wiped as they fall down his cheeks from the red staining against his fingers and the ever present pressure he’s adding to your injury.

“Does this mean you’re going to forgive me now?” You choke out the words alongside what could barely be considered a laugh as it leaves you hacking up more blood through your mouth, your attempt at lightening the mood falling on deaf ears as it sends Spencer into a fit of tears.

“I’m so sorry-” Spencer’s tears run hot against his cheeks, pooling at his chin and falling onto the ripped fabric of his shirt he was using to try and stop your throat from bleeding. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you and barging out and just being awful to you I’m sorry-”

The distinct sounds of sirens sound over Spencer’s profuse apology and you can see the relief flood his face as he hears them. “You hear that? You’re gonna be okay, they’re gonna get you to a hospital and you’re gonna be fine,”

He nodded determinedly at you, more like he’s trying to convince himself than convince you.

He neglected to tell you about the fact that gunshot wounds to the neck held a 78% mortality rate, or how when they obstruct major airways that number jumps to 92%.

It was fine. You would be fine.

He can hear the pounding footsteps of the medical team as they breach the building, yelling out in their direction with as much composure as he can muster.

He helped the medical team carefully position you on a stretcher so they could rush you into the ambulance, and he runs alongside you, giving the EMTs as much information as he can.

“They were shot by a 7.5mm two minutes and forty seconds ago, it breached their trachea but there’s no exit wound so it’s likely lodged in the back of their oesophagus-” Spencer speaks through heaved breaths as his body fights to take in oxygen over his will to help the EMTs treat you as quickly as possible, following them into the back of the ambulance.

“They’ve been conscious the whole time this far but I think they’re going through pulmonary edema and-”

“Spence-” Your voice is barely audible through your struggle to breathe, joined by the pressure on your throat as well as under your diaphragm as one of the EMTs checks for signs of your lungs being flooded. “Don’t backseat doctor-”

The fact that you’re still conscious enough to lightly chastise him makes Spencer feel a little less panicked, although removing a pebble from a mountain doesn’t affect its height.

By the time you reach the hospital, you’re unconscious but not yet critical, and he almost follows you right into the OR until he’s blocked from the door by one of the nurses and escorted into the waiting area.

“Well let you know the second anything changes Dr Reid,”

He nods hastily as he sits down, fiddling with his fingers and tapping his feet against the linoleum floors.

You weren’t critical yet, but that didn’t mean that you’d pull through. You had flooded lungs and a bullet lodged somewhere in the back of your throat that they were going to surgically remove.

If something went wrong, that was it.

Spencer spends the first thirty minutes mentally beating himself up.

Why did he lash out at you? You were only doing what you thought was best to protect Emily.

Why did he say he’d only forgive you if you died? You didn’t mean to cause him any harm.

Why was he constantly managing to ruin anything positive that was happening between the two of you?

Maybe he was cursed.

Cursed to live a life of eternal suffering as the perpetual cost for the gift of his intelligence.

He would give up every IQ point he had if it meant that you would recover with no complications.

He would sacrifice his eidetic memory in an instant if it meant he got to make new ones with you.

He’d give up everything that he was prided on as long as you were okay. You needed to be okay.

The next forty-five minutes was spent in an anxious silence. The team had rushed to the hospital as soon as they’d secured the UnSub’s incarceration, only amplifying the tension in the waiting area.

As the nurse calls out your name to the room, the team immediately stands to rush over, everyone silently praying that you’re okay.

“We’re glad to say that the surgery was a success,”

Those words are enough for the anxiety to dwindle in the group, a wave of relief overtaking it.

“They’ve had to have a temporary tracheotomy, and due to the placement of the bullet lodged between their vertebrae, a spinal excision, but both procedures progressed with no issues, meaning they should recover perfectly fine,”

Morgan and Emily share a audible sigh of relief, overshadowed by Spencer’s voice, less anxious but still filled with adrenaline. “Can I see them?”

“They’re currently under supervised care to make sure they don’t destabilise, but if you leave your mobile number we will contact you when they wake,” The nurse passes Spencer a small post it note and a biro pen from her clip board and he doesn’t hesitate to scribble his name and number down before handing them back.

“They’re strong, most patients don’t remain conscious for more than a minute or two after an injury like that,” The nurse takes the pen and post it from Spencer with a small smile. “I have full faith that they’ll recover perfectly fine,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer extends his stay in Texas indefinitely.

The rest of the team had left for Quantico two days ago to file out all of the necessary paperwork for the case, with Spencer opting to remain in Texas until you were fit to fly home with him.

Home. He wonders if you’ll let him come home with you. To stay with you in your apartment again and live side by side with him once more.

Maybe he can convince you through your recovery; That patients recovering with spinal injuries need 24/7 attention just in case something happens.

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

Spencer’s plans for taking you home were interrupted by the shrill ring of his cellphone, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

His heart rate increases as he picks the phone up from his hotel room’s coffee table, his hands trembling by the time he holds it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“McAllen County Hospital, am I speaking to Doctor Spencer Reid?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer is in his rental car almost before he hangs up the phone, driving the speed limit as he tries to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

He runs what he’s going to say when he sees you over and over again in his head on the way there, but by the time he reaches your hospital room his mind goes completely blank, and he just stands in the door staring at you.

“Hello to you too,” Your voice is very clearly strained and raspy, still recovering from the emergency tracheotomy you’d been given during surgery.

The sound of your voice, as dry and strained as it is, immediately sends Spencer into a fit of tears, and he rushes to take a seat on the plastic chair beside your bed with the most upset, regretful expression you think you’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry,”

“Spence…” You reach out your hand out from the hospital bed, laying it against his lower thigh and squeezing it lightly.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you I know you were doing what’s right and I didn’t mean what I said I don’t want you to die I promise-” He takes in a sharp breath through his nose once he’s finished his ramble, and you wait a few seconds to make sure he’s actually finished before speaking yourself.

“You’re fine Spence…” Your hand trails up to grasp at his own, intertwining your fingers with his and giving them a small squeeze. “You had every right to be angry,”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly at you. “No, i’m sorry. What I said was wrong and you didn’t deserve that,”

Spencer exhales softly through his nose, his voice wavering and his hands trembling against your own. “Can you forgive me..?”

You question whether to make a joke about whether he’s close to dying or not, but opt out of it considering his fragile emotional state.

“How about we both forgive each other and call it even?” You let out a small chuckle at the end of your question, turning into more of a cough as it dries out your throat, and Spencer grabs the glass of water left on your bedside table with his free hand.

He holds it up to let you drink from it rather than unlinking your hands to let you hold the cup yourself, placing the styrofoam back down once you’re finished.

You give him a mildly embarrassed smile that he returns with one of his own, leaning forward to gently rest his forehead against yours.

If you weren’t recovering from a spinal surgery he would’ve had you in a bone crushing hug by now, but holding your hand and leaning his forehead to yours would suffice for now.

“Forgiven?” You allow your eyes to flutter closed at the soft contact, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“Forgiven…”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #asks 🫶

2K notes · View notes

ichorai · 5 months

Text

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books.

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you.

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes.

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire.

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.”

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him?

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates.

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned.

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress.

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother.

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide.

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits.

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes…

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts.

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.”

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities.

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall.

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors.

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur.

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after.

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening.

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district.

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally—with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible.

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines.

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress.

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away.

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter.

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching.

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious.

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone.

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!”

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure.

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike.

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed.

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle.

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner?

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked.

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet.

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no.

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?”

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet.

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute.

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours.

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin.

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly.

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied.

There was something in her eyes that softened.

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision.

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed.

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing.

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting.

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip.

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair.

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression.

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you.

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling.

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe.

She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games.

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were.

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought.

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head.

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay.

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip.

And then he was gone.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

2K notes · View notes

euthymiya · 2 days

Text

the delicate line between friends and lovers ft. alhaitham — in which the akademiya’s scribe and the bimarstan’s head nurse develop some serious feelings for each other in between hook ups. evidently, neither of them are very good at being able to communicate these feelings, though.

contains: 14.0k word count ; female reader ; explicit content—not suitable for minors ; fwb to lovers ; mutual pining ; banter and teasing ; angst with happy ending (this one goes out to all the girls who wonder if their fav would choose them: they would!) ; reader is the (very overworked) head nurse at the bimarstan ; mentions of blood and injuries (alhaitham) ; reader has insecurities ; jealousy ; dry humping—and kaveh being a major cockblock unfortunately ; alcohol drinking—4ggravate (minus alhaitham) appearance! ; clothed sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; no prep ; creampie

the akademiya is well connected in its networks. meaning one thing: gossip travels fast. against his will, alhaitham learns far more about people than he wants to, details upon details that travel even through his soundproof earpieces at times.

today, for example, he learns without meaning to that the akademiya has decreased the previously approved funding for the bimarstan. this piece of information is able to irritate him enough that he almost itches to demand for the title of acting grand sage once more. sumeru, a nation of free healthcare, couldn’t possibly hope to underfund one of the pillars of the citizens and their well-being. not unless someone who’s as incapable and underdeveloped in critical thinking as the last grand sage himself (before alhaitham, of course) was in office.

he walks to the bimarstan, footsteps heavy in the dead quiet of the night as he trudges through the door of the hospital. you’re already there to greet him, eyeing the way the arm under his cloak is tense and curled under the fabric.

“another eremite attack?” you murmur, walking towards an empty room as you gaze at him over your shoulder to follow.

he does so wordlessly, eyeing the tired, overworked, and disarrayed nurses along the hospital as he walks past them.

you’re no different, he studies, watching as you stifle a yawn, taking in the darkened circles under your eyes as he sits on an examination table while you bring out the necessary supplies to clean his wound.

the akademiya—no, sumeru was blooming under his lead. that much he was aware of. you’d said it yourself, too, the first time he came.

oh, it’s you! we’re most grateful for your changes, acting grand sage, you’d smiled at him, they’ve really helped improve things here at the bimarstan.

he wasn’t expecting that. the only reason why he’d stopped at the hospital for care instead of going home was because he’d run out of bandages, nothing more. one look at you had all but changed that, the tilt of your lips as they smile spinning his world on its axis in a completely new direction. you tend to his cuts that night, and even though he’d told himself he wouldn’t, he returns after the next expedition.

and the next. and the next. and then it becomes routine.

for a while, alhaitham told himself he only came to the hospital for his wounds instead of patching himself up after long expeditions in the desert because it was nice to see how the bimarstan ran. it’s important for him to be aware of necessary changes that must be made as acting grand sage—however temporary the job may be, he has every intention of doing it properly. so he studies and assesses the functionality of the hospital and makes decisions accordingly. those things can only happen if he visits frequently.

but then he starts to notice that his feet truly only carry him here on the nights you work. though you work often and late into the night, too. being head nurse requires as much, of course, but he notices all too quickly that he’s begun to memorize your schedule.

slowly but surely, he resigns himself to fate. he comes for you.

“it’s just a light graze,” he mumbles after some time, revealing the small gash on his arm under his cloak. your eyebrows crinkle in concern for a moment before you set off to work, methodically and expertly cleaning away at the dried blood and disinfecting the wound.

he doesn’t talk for a while before he finally says, “you’re short-staffed.”

it’s a question presented as an observation—he has a habit of doing that, of speaking his mind and waiting for an explanation to follow.

you sigh, bandaging his arm as you murmur, “people are quitting. it’s been hectic in here—and the funding cut doesn’t exactly allow for a pay that seems worth the grueling hours.”

you love your job. it’s the first thing alhaitham knows about you. you take it very seriously, scolding anyone, even the acting grand sage, about proper care and healthy habits.

did you stitch these yourself? you’d gasped when you first noticed the scars on his chest, that’s dangerous! do you know the infections you could contract from an improperly tended wound?”

it’s not as amusing now to watch the other nurses listen awkwardly as you scold him. he’s back to being the scribe, no longer tied to the title of sage. the nurses aren’t as alarmed anymore by your lack of formality—although, he’s sure by now, they’re a bit used to it too.

“and i assume you’re not resting properly?” he gives you a knowing look, reaching forward with his free hand and brushing a callused but gentle thumb under your bruised eyebags.

you close your eyes at the fleeting touch, humming before giving him a guilty smile.

“i can’t let things get out of hand here.”

“you should take your own advice,” he snorts, “what was it again? something about proper rest and sleep to ensure a healthy lifestyle?”

“if you’re here to throw my words back in my face, i recall also mentioning getting into less trouble,” you huff, momentarily glaring at his arm before meeting his eyes. “what happened to being more careful?”

“like i said,” he shrugs, hissing slightly when you press on his wound to prove your point, “it’s just a graze.”

you and alhaitham are, no doubt, an unexpected match—if you can call yourselves that, even. it’s a complicated relationship you share, you and the former grand sage turned scribe.

you patch him up late at night one day, and he so chivalrously accompanies you on your walk home after your shift. that’s all it was supposed to be…but, well, things are never as simple as sticking to the original plan.

you invite him in for drinks, he accepts, you clumsily trip on your rug, he catches you swiftly, and somehow, in the mix, both of your lips end up meeting in the most heated kiss you’ve ever shared with someone. clothes are easy enough to shed, and stumbling to your bedroom is hardly complicated, and in a far from ideal turn of events, you sleep with the akademiya’s scribe.

multiple times, in fact.

by now, his visits to the bimarstan to see you are as frequent as your visits to his house to see him. the only difference is that his visits tend to be for medical reasons, and yours are…personal to say the least. it’s, of course, as these arrangements tend to go, one that’s strictly physical.

being physically involved with a patient is scandalous enough, but romantic involvement would be nothing short of unethical. and he’s not a very romantically inclined individual anyway, so not toeing the line of something more is easy enough for the both of you.

still, you’re quite fond of him—he’s funny when he wants to be and a gentleman underneath the blunt responses and straightforward remarks. you like to consider him as a good friend. one who knows your body a bit too well than most friends should, but a good friend nonetheless.

you look at him unimpressed as you finish tending to his wound, scoffing and rolling your eyes as you point out, “you’d call it a graze even if your arm was dangling off the bone.”

that gets a chuckle out of him, his head tilting up as he looks at you. if you weren’t in a hospital with your work attire, this would feel oddly domestic: cleaning tenderly at his wounds as he looks at you softly.

you and alhaitham never toe the line of something more, but you do take steps dangerously close sometimes.

“when do you finish your shift?” he asks, voice a low rumble.

“now,” you grin, giving him a mock glare as you add, “you have me working past the clock.”

“let me walk you home, then.” he’d do it anyway, regardless of whether or not you accept. still, you never turn him away.

“how kind of you,” you say sarcastically—you know better than he does what he means, what he wants, and you can’t exactly say you don’t want it yourself.

“i can be rather giving when i want,” he shrugs.

“oh, yes,” you snort, “quite the giver.” the grin he sends you is nothing short of fond.

the line blurs a little like it’s been drawn in the sand, grains carried away by the wind and leaving the faintest trace of the border you draw. somehow, even though you shouldn’t, you step closer to it, just at the edge.

but it’s never enough to cross it.

“am i?” he muses, “i’m glad you think so.”

“you know, most people would believe you talk too little. but i think you talk too much.”

his cloak falls back in place over his arm as he stands, lips curled in a rare smile—well, rare to anyone other than you, that is. he walks out, and you follow.

it almost feels like you're getting closer and closer to stumbling past the line against your will every day.

——————————

alhaitham knows your home well. well enough that he knows to drop his cloak in the basket you keep for laundry so you can wash away the blood soaked into the fabric for him.

is it normal to do the laundry of your fuck buddy? you’re not even sure. it’s not like you’d ask anyone, anyway.

but it doesn’t matter—not when his lips find yours before you can think about it too much. it’s a slow kiss. he’s good with his mouth in more ways than one—good at kissing, good at pleasing, and he’s even good at talking. he’s a linguist, anyway, so it only makes sense.

“eager,” you murmur in between kisses, nipping at his lips as he shivers. “did you miss me that badly in the desert?”

“of course,” he rasps, gently guiding you to fall back against your bed, his hand cupping the back of your head like you’re fragile as glass, “eremites don’t have as enticing of a touch as you do.”

“maybe if you ask nicely, they’ll be less rough with you,” you wiggle your brows, giggling.

he clicks his teeth, angling your jaw to trail kisses along the slant of it as his hands travel to your hips, gently rubbing the bare skin of your hips under your shirt. you hum appreciatively, closing your eyes and sighing at the soothing feeling of his warm palms seeping heat into your skin. your fingers thread into his hair, tangling into the locks for some sort of means to hold on and ground yourself.

it’s like warm drizzles of syrup, his touch sinking into you as you absorb his sweetness.

“and why would i need that when this is far better?”

every word alhaitham alhaitham says is punctuated with the warmth of his lips pressed into your skin. it’s almost soothing—he feels calming. it doesn’t feel heated, not the passionate kind that kindles something carnal in you.

it feels warm, the soft and gentle kind that makes everything feel a bit lighter. a bit cozier. something more homely in this house of yours.

“mhm,” you hum, your fingers slowly slipping from his hair as they fall to his shoulders, barely holding him in place as your eyes remain shut. it’s soothing, everything about him. enough that you don’t even realize you’re dozing off until he chuckles.

“did i bore you into sleep?” he pecks your cheek.

“no,” you tug your eyelids apart, giving him a sheepish grin, “sorry, you’re just warm.”

“oh yeah?” he grins, amused. he’s climbing off of you, much to your dismay, making a soft whine run past your lips as your hands chase him.

he’s quick to replace the lack of him, though, planting himself beside you as he pulls you into his chest.

cuddling isn’t new for the two of you. usually, it’s a post-coital activity, though—you start to think alhaitham is just as bad at drawing a clear line in the sand as you. he’s gentle as he pulls your covers over you, pressing one more kiss to your head before he sighs and relaxes.

“i’m not tired,” you protest weakly.

“no, you’re not,” he agrees to satisfy you, eyeing your drooping eyes knowingly. “i am, though. it’s been a long trip.”

“right,” you nod, humming. “weak.”

he rolls his eyes, though fondly—you barely make out the action through your half lidded eyes as you glance at him one last look before your eyes force themselves shut. he’s warm, smells like that spicy hint of harra fruit in his cologne, and feels painfully safe when he lets you curl into his strong arm as it wraps around you.

normal people don’t cuddle when they’re just fucking like this—you and alhaitham are anything but normal. it’s a mutual sort of agreement, though. you allow the small domestic tendencies to slip past the line, only to let the shore wash it away from the sand.

it never stays for long, this feeling of intimacy. real intimacy, the kind that’s far more personal than seeing each other nude and feeling each other at your rawest. the kind where you both fall asleep beside each other, tangled, safe, warm, trusted.

but you’re just friends. you think. you can’t afford to be anything more—alhaitham isn’t the sort of man to grant you something like that. you’re sure of that. he’s kind, good natured, even. but there’s not one romantically inclined bone in his body—you’ve seen it yourself.

he’s rejected one too many brave women with her heart on her sleeve. never cruelly, but always definitively.

sleep doesn’t let you think about it all for too long. you resign yourself to a peaceful slumber beside him, breath slowly evening out as he rubs the small of your back.

and, when morning comes and you awaken, you don’t think about it for too long then, either. because he’s gone. because, of course, he wouldn’t stay—not when this is physical and nothing more.

you’re not disappointed, you think. you’re aware of the nature of things. and he’s a gentleman, as always, leaving you a note on your bedside.

i had to file some reports from my expedition. i believe i’ll be needing my cloak back.

you chuckle, shaking your head. it’s an invitation—bring me my cloak, and we’ll finish what we started.

it’s how things are with you and alhaitham. you do his laundry with yours, he walks you home and forces you to rest, and sometimes, you happen to partake in some debauchery in the process. there’s nothing wrong with it.

and even if your toes dance along the edge of the line, they always drag along to draw it sharper in the sand.

——————————

coming to alhaitham’s house seems like second nature these days. he comes to you at night, and you come to him in the afternoon of your day off—luck would have it that yours happens to coincide with his. you knock three times and he opens as soon as your knuckles pull away from the cool surface of his door. it’s like he expects you, maybe even waits for you.

you step in and let the door close behind you, grinning when he steps closer and cages you against the tight corner that is his front entrance.

“i brought over your cloak,” you hold up the cloth, gesturing for him to move so you can put it on him. he looks at you incredulously, like you’re out of your mind.

“why would i put it on now?” he asks in confusion.

you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow, “you always wear one?”

“and why would i dress when we’ll only be undressing in a short moment?” he quirks his own brow like it’s obvious—which, to be fair, alhaitham is not exactly wrong. but it doesn’t make you any less flustered when he says it.

“you’re shameless,” you huff, looking away in embarrassment. he chuckles lowly, leaning down and trailing his nose along your collarbone, breathing in your perfume.

“i think i’m more practical, is all,” he murmurs into your skin. you sigh, goosebumps traveling across your body at the fan of his breath against you.

“if only people knew how unstiff the akademiya’s scribe can truly be,” you grin, finger tracing the sliver of skin showing from his chest window. “did you know i overheard a few patients discuss how bad you are at conversing?”

“i don’t get paid to partake in small talk,” he says, voice a low vibration as he shivers at your touch. “i have things to finish when i’m on the clock apart from socializing.”

“what, you’re that concerned when you have your lovely pay raise? i’m sure you could afford a few minutes,” you tease, making him roll his eyes.

alhaitham certainly won’t admit it, but he finds a good amount of amusement from your quips—the small grin on his usually downturned lips tells you as much.

“if you want me to spend my earnings on you, there are better ways to ask,” he shoots light-heartedly.

“you’d accuse me of such shallow schemes?” you pout. “do you think me to be after your mora?”

his answer is instantaneous, coming in the form of a delicate kiss pressed to your lips as his hands grab your hips. your arms have a habit of their own, always wrapping around his neck before you can even comprehend the action, and just like always, you both end up a tangled pile of limbs that can’t even make it past the doorway, let alone the rest of the house.

you like it this way, perhaps even love it. something about him being unable to wait the time it takes to walk to his room fills you up with a sense of glee.

“being the scribe is a much simpler job than sage,” he mumbles between kisses, “there happens to be much more time for other things.”

“things like taking the head nurse against the door of your home?”

“perhaps,” he smiles with a chuckle.

who would’ve thought alhaitham could smile so painfully charming? just a few weeks ago, you had never seen him smile before at all, willing to bet that he’d never smiled a day after stepping into adulthood with that seriousness he holds so dearly.

“i don’t have much time,” you hum in between kisses, fingers fiddling with the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“we’ll make do, i’m sure,” he says through a breathy groan, already semi-hard as your thigh slots between his legs, rubbing against the forming tent in his pants.

your head tilts up as his head buries into your neck, lips branding searing kisses into your skin. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his, to be stamped with his affections one kiss at a time until no one else could hope to have you. your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he sucks attentively to your sweet spot.

“don’t leave marks,” you scold, “i can’t show up to the bimarstan looking so scandalous.”

you’ve felt his lips against your skin enough times that you can tell them by heart. you don’t have to look to know they’re pouting against your neck—you can feel it against your skin. you giggle, cupping the back of his head as your fingers delicately thread through his hair.

“i’m meant to hold back then?” he grumbles. it’s almost petulant, but he still softens the nipping against your skin, careful to leave no evidence of his existence against you, however disgruntled he might be.

“don’t be so whiny,” you laugh. archons must have it out for you, though, because as soon as you say that, his hardened cock brushes against your crotch, making you whine at the friction. it’s something, but it’s hardly anything at all—the separation from the fabric makes everything not nearly enough.

he seems to know it, too, because he pulls away, eyeing you with a certain gleam in his eyes that looks like a cross between smug and amused.

“i’ll try,” he says smugly. you glare, but you’re cut off by the brush of his cock against that sensitive spot between your thighs once more, his hips grinding against you as you fall slack against the door. you can feel him rub against your clit, sending shockwaves along your spine as your back arches and you breathlessly moan his name.

at first, he only does it to tease you, but after the first few rolls of his hips, it’s evident he can’t bring himself to stop. it’s not enough, not for either of you. the ache settling between your legs can’t be quelled with a few simple rolls of his hips with fabric separating you both from each other. but alhaitham’s sense of control seems to wash away with the tidal waves of pleasure, each thrust of his hips brushing his cock against your heat and leaving him panting into your shoulder.

“m-more,” you plead, grabbing at his cape and fisting the material as you hold onto him tightly, “i need more—please.”

alhaitham, for all his composure and self-preservation, is simple to take apart when his throbbing cock is pressed against your cunt, rubbing against the length and building the pressure he so desperately needs.

he doesn’t even seem to hear you, hot breath fanning against the crook of your neck as he buries his head and groans, hips sloppy and rough as they rut into you. you can feel the outline of his cock clearly even through his pants and yours, hot and undoubtedly hard. the bulge in his pants brushes against your clit through yours—and even if it’s nowhere close to feeling him inside of you, you can feel yourself just about to break.

“sorry,” he gasps, “sorry—c-can’t stop. i-i’m c-close. so close.”

the last part comes out like a plead. it’s like he’s begging you to free him of this torment, like he needs you to make him fall over the edge because he can’t bring himself there. you think that might be the case, so you wrap your fingers around his hair and tug.

he moans—maybe if you were feeling teasing, you’d call it a whine and watch his cheeks flush as he scowls. but there’s no chance for that. not when you’re both so close, so achingly close that you can just make out the twitch of his cock in his pants.

and then the doorknob twists.

a series of muffled curses can be heard through the other side of the door, and you both pause—rigid, tense, stiffly alert as your eyes widen. his head perks up from its place in your neck, staring at the doorknob in equal parts rage and equal parts confusion, like he blames it for cutting you both short of a much-needed, much-wanted orgasm.

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” you hear a voice groan exasperatedly through the door, “again?”

you’re completely lost. who could be trying to enter alhaitham’s house at this hour?

the only hope you have for answers is, of course, alhaitham—one look at the recognition and irritation on his face, and you can piece together that it’s certainly no stranger. alhaitham, if his cold glare could freeze anything where it stands, could potentially risk turning sumeru into the next snezhnaya. his eyes are hardened, and his jaw is clenched as he breathes out a heavy sigh through his nose.

“and you’re kidding me,” he mutters bitterly. “now?”

“hey! i know you’re home! open this door and stop pretending like you can’t hear me,” the voice demands, tapping on the door with more conviction than the last time.

you furrow your eyebrows and look at him expectantly; an explanation demanded through the crinkles of your forehead as you look at him in confusion. he pulls away, jaw still tight as he adjusts himself in his pants, trying his best to hide the still painful erection he sports.

“my roommate,” he says quietly. deadly.

you almost feel bad for the poor soul that must be waiting on the other side of the door, unaware of the pure wrath he must be about to face judging by the look on alhaitham’s face.

you hear the voice again, “ugh! you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? you—”

“calm down,” alhaitham calls, unimpressed and unamused as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. he seems to hold it for a moment like he’s fighting the tension in his body, before he slumps and lets out another sigh. this time, it’s much more defeated as he gives you an apologetic look when his eyes open.

you both adjust your appearances, erasing any trace of debauchery before you step aside and let him approach the door.

the swing of the door opening is a rather aggressive one, and alhaitham stands taller and straighter than you’ve ever seen him, like he’s trying to tower over the figure that enters the house.

you recognize him immediately.

“oh!” you gasp in awe, “you’re that architect! the one who designed the palace of alcazarzaray!”

both men look equally as haunted by your statement. alhaitham’s eye all but twitches as he takes in the breathless admiration in your voice—you’re no doubt praising kaveh’s work. as for the latter…well, he looks like he might just about launch himself into the blade of an eremite willingly the first chance he gets.

“wh-who are you?” kaveh demands, “and what are you doing here?”

“she’s obviously a guest of mine,” alhaitham shoots coolly, tone as condescending as ever. “have you lost all manners? that’s no way to greet a guest.”

“what did you say to me? i want to hear nothing of the sort from you—god knows your temper isn’t one to speak on my manners.”

kaveh turns to you, taking one better look at you, squinting as he thinks for a moment before realization flashes across his features. he seems to recognize you—though most people in sumeru do know you quite well. the nurses at the bimarstan are limited, these days.

“ah! you’re the head nurse from the bimarstan! you looked at my wrist,” he recalls.

you smile, nodding as you gesture at his hand and ask kindly, “is it better now? i do hope it’s not as sore anymore. did you apply heat as i suggested? and i hope you’re taking ample rest in between sketches—architects are very prone to sore wrists as is, you know.”

alhaitham rolls his eyes at your lecture, grumbling, “as if he would follow anyone’s advice. he’s far too stubborn.”

“i’ll have you know that i followed her advice quite closely,” kaveh says pointedly. he turns to you, voice much softer as he smiles and adds, “and my wrist is much better, thank you.”

“of course,” you nod. and then you pause, staring between the two unsurely as you falter and ask, “but…i wasn’t aware you two were friends. alhaitham tells me you’re his roommate—he’s never mentioned you before today, though.”

they both glare at each other through the corners of their eyes. something tells you maybe friends was a bit of an exaggerated term. alhaitham makes no moves to speak, crossing his arms and staring expectantly at kaveh—the blonde scoffs, shaking his head with a scowl.

“friends…is a generous word. we’re roommates,” he nods in confirmation, “i’ve…ran into some trouble for the time being, so i’m staying here for a bit. won’t be much long, however. i need a space less…suffocating.”

“and how well is that plan faring for you?” alhaitham’s words seem to poke at kaveh, riling the blonde up further as you watch the scene before you awkwardly.

“you—” but before kaveh can finish whatever retaliation was on the cusp of his tongue, he pauses. it’s like all at once, the situation hits him before he’s staring between the two of you, instead. “hang on a moment. how do the both of you know each other? i didn’t know alhaitham was acquainted enough with the head nurse for her to pay a visit.”

“well,” you start, trailing off as you cough lightly, tensing as the question throws you off guard. “umm…alhaitham visits the bimarstan sometimes after his trips to the desert. so…”

so what? how would that explain your visit to his home? it’s not as though you become friendly with all your patients and drop them a visit—in fact, alhaitham is the only one you’ve ever done that for. and of course, it’s not just a visit that you’re doing here. but kaveh doesn’t need to know that.

that would be quite the scandal—getting so intimate with a regular patient. and apart from that, you and alhaitham aren’t exactly in an ideal situation. what would you tell kaveh? that you come over just to hook up? it’s not exactly a rare occurrence to have a beneficial relationship with someone like this, but still…admitting it like that is a bit too shameless for your liking.

and then there’s a much more complicated, much less easy-to-tackle problem, too. you’re not even sure if you can confidently say you don’t have feelings for the scribe. that’s not something you were counting on, ever. saying you only partake in intimate activities with no strings attached might just hit you too hard in the gut, even if it’s not exactly a lie. but admitting the words out loud isn’t something you’re prepared to do.

almost like he senses your turmoil, alhaitham steps in, bless his soul. he almost looks a bit conflicted, studying you carefully. you don’t have time to dwell on it, though, before he speaks.

“so she came to check on a wound she patched up,” he finishes for you, quick and easy and confident enough in his words that it makes up for your nerves. he quicks a fleeting glance at you before raising an eyebrow to kaveh. “i left in a hurry and didn’t really let her properly tend to it last time. not that it’s your business, of course. i’m perfectly within my rights to bring guests over to my house.”

“be careful,” kaveh glowers, “anymore attitude, and you’ll risk showing your guests your true colors if you’re not cautious. you wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on the same person who tends to your wounds, do you? that would be fatal.”

“you two are quite the duo,” you chuckle, shaking your head, “it seems alhaitham has finally met his match verbally. you truly don’t let him have the last say.”

alhaitham almost looks offended, looking at you in disbelief. “i am not outmatched by his—”

“if it’s not too much trouble,” kaveh laughs nervously, cutting alhaitham off with a sharp look, “could you keep this…uh arrangement of ours a secret? i don’t really want this getting around and such.”

“my lips are sealed,” you promise. kaveh perks up, relief sagging into his shoulders at that before he nods, giving you a friendly smile as he waves at you.

“i’ll be off to finish a project, then. nice seeing you.”

as soon as he walks away and you’re certain the door to his room shuts, you let out a soft breath of relief.

“that was close,” you whisper, “he could’ve figured it out.”

“right,” alhaitham says vaguely. he doesn’t say much else, arms still crossed as he stands there and looks at you—something about the way alhaitham stares at you is too uncomfortable for your liking.

not because he looks at you weirdly or even inappropriately, but because it almost feels like he can pick apart every thought in your head just by his gaze alone.

you shuffle on your feet before you give him a tight smile.

“i should go—the patients are never-ending these days,” you chuckle nervously.

“make sure you don’t overwork yourself,” he nods.

you linger for a moment. you’re not sure why. it’s not as though you can expect him to give you a goodbye kiss—that would be preposterous. and far too wishful.

so instead, you give him a small wave before turning towards the door—but he stops you before you can reach for the door handle, pulling you flush against him, your back to his chest.

“will you come back tonight?” he whispers, voice low and husky as he presses his still-hard crotch against you. you shiver as he nips at your skin to get his point across.

“what about kaveh?” you ask softly, biting your lip, unsure. the little voice in your head screams, who cares about kaveh?

“he’ll be dead asleep,” he snorts, “last night was the third all-nighter he pulled. there’s no chance he’ll make it past seven pm today.”

“you’re insatiable,” you tease, shaking your head as you snort. “do you know that?”

“i’ve never had a decline on your end,” he shoots back.

“i have a shift later tonight,” you say apologetically, sighing as you think about the extra hours you’ll have to put in soon, “there aren’t enough people tonight without me.”

“you should really speak to someone about this funding cut,” he frowns, slumping against you, “it’s getting out of hand.”

“no one listens.” your voice is so defeated, so uncharacteristically tired. you’re sure he notices it in a heartbeat—you notice it yourself. “but i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“sure,” is all he says.

hesitantly, you pull away. his hands leave your hips reluctantly, too, like they’re most comfortable when they have you to house them. but neither of you say anything, simply nodding at each other as you look at him over your shoulder and exit through the door.

the footsteps down his steps and away from his home are the heaviest ones you’ve taken all week.

you decide you hate the sand. and that stupid line you both seem to have drawn.

——————————

it takes two failed attempts at fucking alhaitham to realize you’re not strictly only after the physical pleasure he brings.

the first time, you weren’t even disappointed you didn’t get that far. it was only a disappointment that he was gone when you woke, and you realize it’s because the absence of him is why you’re even let down in the first place. the second time, you’re unhappy because you have to keep the nature of your relationship a secret—that’s a more complex problem.

it’s secret because it has to be, because of how lewd it is by nature and how partially unprofessional it is. but you decide you also hate it to be a secret. no one knows that you see alhaitham bare and at his most vulnerable, and you can’t handle that anymore. especially when you watch a nurse flirt so poorly with him right before your eyes.

“oh, it’s you, acting grand sage,” she giggles, “what can i do for you today?”

“i’ve actually returned to my previous position as scribe,” he corrects, entirely unaffected.

“oh, is that so?” she gasps—you know it’s all for show. everyone is aware of his stepping down. “well, i, for one, think it’s a shame. you were so capable as a leader.”

alhaitham doesn’t like leading. for all he claims it’s because it’s too much trouble and far more work than he appreciates, you know that it’s also because the easiest way to never be swayed by power is to stay far away from it. he keeps himself grounded this way. he uses his smarts for only what’s necessary and only enough to quell his thirst for knowledge and never anything more. his principles are admirable.

and should the next grand sage also abuse such power like the last, he’ll step up from his humble position as scribe and fix the problem again—because that’s what he knows to do best. use his genius to solve issues as they arise, not control the situation entirely.

of course, she wouldn’t know that. she doesn’t know anything about him.

you fight back the roll of your eyes with the last shreds of self-preservation you have left.

“the position wasn’t really for me,” he says plainly. “any idea where the head nurse might be? i have some business to discuss with her.”

it shouldn’t satisfy you as much as it does when she deflates at at his dismissal. but does—enough that you saunter up with a grin on your lips as you greet the two.

“why hello. what business does the scribe have with little old me?” you hum. the nurse becomes background noise when your eyes meet his teal ones, staring at the small fleck of amber in his pupils while his piercing gaze rakes over your face as if to study you.

you feel oddly seen under his stare—he’s seen you stripped and bare, at your most vulnerable under him. but somehow, you’ve never thought about it much in the moment like now. right now, he sees you with a clear mind, without the clouding haze of lust to fog his mind. right now, he can see you for every flaw and every imperfection, so up close. he can notice the way your fingers fiddle with themselves to calm your nerves. he can catch every nervous shuffle on your heels as you fight the urge to lean into him from the proximity.

finally, you break out of your trance when the nurse clears her throat and mumbles, “i’ll uh..i’ll be off, then.”

he blinks at the same time as you, shaking his head slightly to bring himself back to the present as he clears his throat.

“can we speak somewhere more private?” he asks quietly. you don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. but you nod nonetheless, leading him to an empty room as he follows.

it’s a long, painstakingly dreadful walk. your mind is filled with too many possible scenarios that it’s a miracle your brain is even functioning properly. it should short circuit. what if he wants to end your arrangement? what if he’s aware of your slowly shifting feelings (if you can even call them that)? what if he’s found someone he’s interested in? what if his roommate has pieced together something, and now he needs to come up with a cover?

the possibilities are endless, and they plague your mind so heavily that your lip is chewed raw by the time you enter the room and shut it behind him as he follows you in.

“you wanted to talk?” you ask hesitantly.

he doesn’t say anything—the only thing he does is press a folded piece of paper in your hands as you stare at him, confused.

“open it,” he insists.

so you do. and reading over it makes you pause as you glance up at him in disbelief. the bimarstan funding—more than doubled.

“what?” you breathe, in absolute awe, “how…how is this possible?”

“i’ve pulled a few strings,” he says plainly, shrugging. as always, he brushes off his actions as though he hasn’t just changed your entire job for the better. “it’s a nice perk of being an ex-sage.”

“you’ve used corruption just to help me?” your words are a playful jab—but there’s still an underlying question that you really do mean to ask. why go to such lengths for me?

“it’s hardly corruption,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. the dust of red over the tips of his ears is the only thing that gives away the slightly flustered part of him, “i had a few favors owed to me, and the conditions here play an important role to everyone in sumeru. it was a simple correction to their terrible decision-making skills.”

“oh, haitham,” you chuckle. this time, the nickname really does make him flush more obviously, his eyes darting away to look off to the side as he clears his throat again.

“well, that’s all,” he says stiffly, “i have to go home and…and make dinner. kaveh is of no help.”

“sure,” you beam, looking at him knowingly. you pause for a moment, contemplating before you cave and add, “and thank you. really.”

“it’s really nothing to look into,” he says awkwardly, “hopefully, now you can work fewer hours.”

“the other nurses will also really appreciate it,” you say softly, “i’ll be sure to let them know—they’ll really have the hots for you this time,” you snort, making an indirect reference to earlier. he shivers, like the thought leaves him unnerved.

“that one nurse of yours hasn’t left me alone since i stepped up as grand sage for that short while,” he grumbles, making you snort at the troubled look on his face. it shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does to see him so disgusted by the affections of someone else, but you’re only human. “doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”

“oh c’mon, she’s sweet,” you tease. now that you know he’s uninterested, it’s fun to mess with him and get under his skin, giggling as you reach over and poke at his arm.

“perhaps,” he shrugs, “but not very good at keeping her emotions in check. i’ve known her since my student days—i don’t think i could last one day with her lack of…composure.”

“what, you’re too above emotions?” you ask amused, “i would disagree. you’re a rather grumpy man, you know.”

“am i?” he fights back a grin, “i hardly noticed.”

“without your morning coffee, yes,” you quip.

he laughs, shaking his head as he stares at you with something that looks oddly close to fondness in his eyes before he murmurs, “i do really need to make dinner. kaveh will truly whine my ear off if i don’t tonight.”

“have fun,” you pinch his cheek. he rolls his eyes, and with that, he nods to you and leaves, swiftly walking away and leaving you to yourself in the empty room with the slip of paper in your hands, a lovesick smile still on your face.

you don’t even know where the line starts or where it ends anymore. all you know is that you’ve undoubtedly crossed it all on your own—and it might be the end of you, truly.

——————————

it takes one nice gesture from alhaitham to make you realize you’ve fallen hopelessly hard for him. before, every small action of intimacy was always just the two of you being friends, amicable and good-natured in between sex.

now, you’re not sure you could spend a single minute next to him without wondering what it would feel like to do those things as a couple.

sometimes, after sex, alhaitham likes to read. because it’s hard for him to sleep, and he doesn’t want to disturb you from your much-needed rest after a long day at the hospital. you don’t realize how reliant you’ve become on the sound of his pages flipping until you lay in bed alone, tossing and turning under your sheets as you try your hardest to sleep.

you can’t. not when all you think about is him. him, him, him. he’s all your mind drifts to nowadays.

but you know alhaitham—better than a lot of people, in fact, seeing as you get to see parts of him that are otherwise… off-limits. being in a relationship is the last thing he wants, especially with you. otherwise, he’d have told you by now. you’re scared of a lot of things, scared to speak your mind, and tend to overthink too much for your own good.

but alhaitham? he’s blunt and to the point. if he’d wanted something more with you, if the line had blurred and blurred for him until it risked being nonexistent like it did for you, he’d have said something. but he hasn’t—and neither can you.

because you know as soon as you do, it’ll be over. the kind gestures, the gentle touches, the heated kisses, the nightly visits, all of it. gone with the wind as it blows the line in the sand away for good—not because he wants to cross it, but because it simply doesn’t need to exist anymore if he never speaks to you again.

alhaitham is not a romantically inclined guy. he’s good-looking enough that not just a handful of girls have tried their hand at confessing to him, and he’s always turned them down instantly. you’ve seen it, heard about it, know it to be true. and apart from that, are you both even that compatible?

sure, you get along great as is, but a relationship is much deeper than that. you’ve always appreciated how honest he was, how straightforward he put things. but relationships come with a lot more vulnerability and emotions than you’ve ever shown him. his bluntness will be too easy to mistake for casual cruelty when you’re in over your head. he’s quiet; he doesn’t appreciate too much interaction—would he even enjoy going on dates? what if you insisted on an evening out, and all he wanted to do was stay in and read? would he want to do all that stuff? everything you want seems like it would be something of a chore for him, something that makes him see you as a chore.

he even said it himself the other day, calling that nurse too emotional for his liking. sure, it was an off-handed comment, but you’re one emotional day away from potentially being too much for him too. you couldn’t handle that. not when you like him so, so much. not when you want him so bad, you couldn’t handle him not wanting you just as badly.

would he even want you that badly? logic tells you no—and logic is at the forefront of his mind at all times. your emotionally charged outlook on life would be a bleeding mess of color in his neutral, logically categorized approach.

you’d be dooming yourself to loving a man who would hardly know what to do with your affections.

so you do the only sound solution to this predicament of yours—you end things before he can do it himself. it’s inevitable, of course. whether it’s in a few weeks or months, eventually, alhaitham will grow bored of your casual fling. and he’ll end things, completely fine and normal while you fall apart at the seams. the best thing you can do for yourself is let things end on your own terms, and early on, too, before the feelings fester into something all too serious.

it’s not as though you love him yet—things are still early on enough to make sense of them.

or is it? some part of your mind asks viciously, are you sure you don’t love him?

you push away the thought as quickly as it pops into your head. rolling your shoulders back, you straighten your posture, taking a deep breath before you knock on his door.

he opens it instantly, smiling that small, ghost of a smile of his. you falter immediately.

“hey,” he hums, swinging his door wider, “come in.”

“no, that’s okay,” you say stiffly, not meeting his eyes, “i…can’t today.”

“oh.” you hate that you can hear the frown in his voice and practically see the confused crinkle of his eyebrows. “did you want to talk about something, then?”

yes, you want to say. there’s a lot i want to talk about.

there’s a lot you should talk about—and if you were keen on discussing this like an adult, you would lay it all out on the table.

instead, you blurt out, “i think we should stop.”

he eyes you carefully, raising a questioning brow as he asks, “stop what?”

“this,” you point between the two of you, “whatever…whatever this is we’re doing.”

and just as you expected, his face is blank, so neutral and so hard to read you want to scream at him. yell at him for making you want him so bad when you can’t even tell if he’s even a fraction as crazy as you. does he want you? he certainly treats you well sometimes, but maybe that’s just because you get his dick wet and stitch up a few wounds here and there for him. does he actually even toss and turn and stay up thinking about you the way you think about him?

the answer is probably no. you don’t even want to find out if you’re right or not. but he’s never made you believe he has, so you don’t entirely think you’re wrong in your assumptions.

“and what are we doing?” he must be playing dumb, you think.

“hooking up,” you hiss, “having sex. fucking. whatever you want to call it, alhaitham. we have to end it. now.”

“and what brought this on?” he crosses his arms.

you want to ask him why he’s being so cruel, so intent on keeping you when you clearly can’t stay, when there are so many women who would throw themselves at him for a chance to get in bed with him if a physical partner is what he’s so hellbent on keeping. but you can’t be that for him any longer, not when your emotions are tired of being a jumbled mess that slowly but surely eat away at your decaying soul.

“we…we’re just…it’s not—we just have to, okay? i don’t appreciate you treating me like i’m easy.”

“wha—when have i ever treated you as such?” he looks at you bewildered, getting defensive.

“that’s not what i meant,” you pinch your nose, groaning as you try to process the words you want to say in your spinning head. everything is too much—the way he’s close, the way your body feels aflame from just standing near him, the way your eyes are involuntarily misting over. “this…this is just an easy arrangement, that’s all. for both of us. but i don’t want to be someone’s quick and easy hook-up for the sake of convenience. i need…i need something more from someone, so we should stop while we can so i can find myself that.”

there’s a minimal twitch of his jaw as he clenches and unclenches it, nodding slowly.

“you want something more, is that it?”

“w-well, yes—but that’s not what i entirely meant, so don’t read into it—”

“so how would ending this get you that, then?” he challenges. you hate that he makes you feel stupid, that he looks at you like you’re not thinking when that’s all you’ve been doing these last few…archons know how long. he’s plagued your mind for so much time you can’t even pinpoint for how long.

“i want something more, but not from you,” you spit, slamming your hands to slap against your thighs in frustration, “that’s obviously why i’m ending it! must you always make everything difficult?”

he doesn’t speak, silently stunned a bit at your outburst. so you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down before you collect your thoughts better.

“i just…i’m sorry, okay? i didn’t mean to yell at you like this is your fault. i…i can’t say i can get into bed with you anymore without wanting us to actually mean something to each other, and i know that’s not what you want—”

“who said that’s not what i want?” he interrupts, looking at you with the first hints of emotions all day. there’s a small etch of frustration building in the twitch of his brows as he continues, “you’ve just decided for me how i feel, and that’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

“you’ve never said anything about how you feel,” you shoot back.

“well, neither have you, but that doesn’t mean—”

“i may not have said it, but you’re telling me you never noticed? i do your laundry for you, for crying out loud, alhaitham! and you’ve never so much as dropped a hint!”

“i see,” he nods slowly, going back to the blank slate that is his face. still so infuriatingly neutral and unbothered by it all that you can’t help but lose it a little.

how can he be so unbothered? how can he be so calm and collected when you feel like you might need to check yourself into the bimarstan yourself from the stress of it all? you’ve spent weeks, months in each other’s beds. familiarized yourselves with every part of each other’s bodies. he knows about that birthmark no one else sees, and you trace that mole on his left pec every night before you sleep. you’ve slowly but surely been dying to cross the threshold of just friends (with a few perks, of course), and here he is, nodding along as you tell him you want him, want more of him.

and he’s got nothing to say. because, for some reason, after months of feeling you, spending nights and days tucked away against you, he doesn’t seem to feel the same, so he doesn’t have much to offer you. how can he be so unbothered by your presence after months with you? is it really that easy not to be affected by you?

some part of you lets go of the hold on your control as you snap, “and this is why we can’t have anything more.”

“why’s that?” he tilts his head, voice an uncharacteristic edge to it, “enlighten me.”

“because…because…because you’re you!”

finally, a flash of hurt crosses his face, making itself home in his eyes and forehead as it crinkles at your words. he studies you, quiet. unnervingly quiet that you almost wonder if you’re just deaf.

“are you trying to say there’s something wrong with me?” he presses, looking so lost that you almost feel guilty.

not as much as you feel like you’re about to cry, though.

“yes,” you say without thinking—and the way hurt settles into his eyes more makes you scramble to reword things so you don’t sound like a total jerk, “i mean no! i mean…i mean you’re just you, and you and i won’t mix.”

“we won’t mix,” he repeats, blinking. “interesting—”

you can’t stop yourself from going on the tangent now that you’ve begun, spilling your every thought one by one as you cut him off, “you’re so quiet, and it’s unnerving, you know? you never speak a single thought on your mind, you’d rather just read than talk about your day. and everything you say is so painfully to the point—would it kill you to soften the blow sometimes? people don’t always need the cold, hard truth, okay? sometimes, saying what someone wants to hear can make all the difference. and…and…i don’t know, okay? i need someone who can work with my emotions without applying logic to everything, and that’s not you so…so we have to end things because it’s not fair to either of us. i want it to actually mean something with someone when i’m with them, and you don’t want someone to taint everything with their fragile feelings, so we need to go our separate ways. okay?”

you’re practically panting when you’re done speaking, and alhaitham is just standing, thinking, processing everything you’ve said in that painfully complex head of his.

finally, he breaks the silence and says, “i didn’t know so many things about me bothered you.”

“they didn’t,” you sigh, “not until recently. i guess…i guess it just hit me how difficult it would be to get along in a proper relationship.”

“you know that because what? you think it?”

“i know it because i’m actually looking at things realistically,” you say exasperatedly, “just because we had sex for a few months doesn’t automatically mean we’re a compatible pair.”

“we haven’t really gotten to know much outside of sex to decide that,” he shakes his head, “i’m not understanding how you can so easily dismiss these feelings by deciding it won’t work—”

“look, alhaitham,” you cut him off, voice so uncharacteristically small, he pauses to look at you in shock, “i’ve been slowly losing it for weeks, okay? the last thing i need is for you to make things difficult for me. you’re a good guy, and i really, really wish things were different, but i just need more than what you can give me without completely changing yourself. neither of us should have to compromise anything about ourselves for things to work.”

“you don’t know if i’d be willing to give you what you need or not,” he says quietly, “maybe i wouldn’t be changing a thing.”

“then what about that girl?” you scoff, “the one you said was too emotional for you to handle? you think i’m just being crazy? you said it yourself, so what else should i believe?”

“her? she’s different—”

“why? because she’s not me? because she doesn’t let you in her bed? you’ll find my emotions just as burdensome as hers one day, and then what? we fall back on sex to keep the spark alive?”

something about him is defeated. shoulders slumped, eyes dim, and arms uncrossing to lay limply at his sides. he takes a deep breath before nodding, looking at you so intensely you almost feel frozen in place.

“okay,” he whispers, “if this is what you want. that’s fine.”

his door closes, and your first tear slips.

——————————

nine days. that’s how long it’s been without alhaitham. your mind tells you this is for the best, but your heart is practically on its knees, begging you to reconsider.

a part of you wonders if you were being unfair like he said, judging him before you could properly give him a chance. the other part of you thinks it’s important not to let attachment cloud your better judgment. alhaitham is a good man; there’s no doubt about it.

but is he a man good for you? that part is a difficult question to answer. protecting your heart seems like the safest option. still, you can’t help but miss him horrifically often. it doesn’t hit you how badly you’ve fallen for him until you don’t see him anymore. no more late nights at your place, no more afternoons at his, and no more routine bimarstan visits.

your life has at least gotten a bit easier, though—more funding means more people to hire, and more people to hire means fewer grueling hours for you. though, when you really think about it, you owe this small win to the exact man who’s been plaguing your thoughts.

you intend to drink your woes away, but it seems even in the tavern, you can’t escape him—well, not exactly him, but his roommate. but kaveh still reminds you of alhaitham, so the cleared head you hoped for is out of the question for the night.

the thing about kaveh, though, is that he’s loud. painfully so, and especially when he’s drunk. you could hear him from the other end of teyvat, you think—it’s hard to ignore him even if you want to.

“he’s been insufferable lately,” kaveh huffs, “worse than usual. that awful temper of his needs to really get a check because i’m not sure how much more i can take.”

you didn’t know kaveh was friends with the general mahamatra—seeing cyno loosened up with a deck of tcg cards was not on your list of expectations for the night, but you can’t help but listen in when he adds, “his last few reports to me from his investigations were not up to his…usual work ethic, either. i’m not sure what’s up with him.”

“maybe he’s overworked,” tighnari suggests—you know him as a fellow amurta scholar, recognizing him from your student days. you hadn’t realized alhaitham was friends with such an interesting assortment of people—well, you don’t know if kaveh fits as a friend, but the other two seem like safe bets.

“i don’t think so,” kaveh grumbles, “he’s hardly been sleeping. it’s not like he takes work home with him, you think he’d be the type? but he’s been drinking all the coffee—i actually work into the night. shouldn’t he at least leave some for me?”

“i wonder what’s up with him,” cyno hums thoughtfully, “he must really be brewing in his emotions.”

you snort at the poor pun, watching as the other two around him wince and groan.

finally, kaveh sighs, rubbing his temple as he mumbles, “i don’t know. i’ve never seen him like this. i think it’s serious.”

that makes guilt pool in your gut, making you feel so full that even one sip of your drink feels like too much. you’ve lost all desire to drink your sorrows away—you couldn’t have possibly dampened someone like alhaitham so deeply, could you? he’s always been unaffected by things more than others, and you’d never imagined him to care that deeply about your relationship. if you could call it that, even.

“what do you suppose has brought this on then?” tighnari’s ears twitch in worry, “he’s…not exactly the most emotionally available.”

well, at least you’re not alone in your beliefs.

“i don’t know,” kaveh says quietly—and even if they claim not to be friends, you don’t think they hate each other a fraction as much as they let on because his voice seems to be twinged with clear worry himself as he adds, “his eyes have been red in the mornings. it can’t be something small.”

that’s all you can stomach to hear before you slam your glass down and swiftly make a beeline for the tavern’s exit. some part of you, weak and bound to alhaitham, is unable to listen any longer about his misery. the misery you caused. the misery you brought yourselves both because insecurities ebbed and flowed into the deepest crevices of your mind and rotted away at the reasonable parts.

of course, you’re different. of course, there’s a chance things will go sour. of course, it won’t be easy. but isn’t that the case for every relationship? love was never meant to be a simple feat—otherwise, it would never be half as scary to take the fall.

but you’ve been careful, too careful. so careful that you forgot to let yourself try and be happy, and so careful that you’ve stomped on someone’s feelings enough that his friends exchange their worries over drinks instead of having a good time with him.

so you decide that enough is enough. if alhaitham isn’t meant to be yours, then celestia themselves will have to take him from you—because you’re not risking losing him a second time.

not again.

——————————

contrary to popular belief, alhaitham has never been difficult to track down if you simply know where to look. he might be good at making himself scarce, but there’s only a handful of places he could be. the light of his home shining through the window tells you that your first guess is not very off.

you knock, silently staring at the tips of your shoes as he slowly opens the door.

“hey,” you murmur as soon as the door swings open. you haven’t even looked up yet, but you’re certain he has the same neutral expression on his face. but kaveh is right about one thing—his eyes are definitely a little red.

“hey,” he says quietly.

it’s awkward for a moment. you don’t know what to say, and he doesn’t have any intentions to fill the silence. some time ago, that worried you. his quietness came across as an inability to keep up healthy communication. but now, you miss it—the quiet flip of his pages as he sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. the way he let out a soft little breath when you lay on his chest, rubbing his palm slowly in circles against the small of your back. the soft, peaceful silence of his presence.

you never appreciated it enough, the comfort of knowing you’re valued without having to say anything at all.

“listen, i—”

“you don’t have to—”

you both stop, pausing when you speak at the same time.

“go ahead,” you say instantly.

he clears his throat, shaking his head as he swallows. “no,” he mumbles, ever the gentleman, “no, that’s okay. you go first.”

you think your nerves might just explode one by one if you have to wait any longer, so you don’t bother putting up much more of a fight, nodding before fiddling with your fingers as you take a deep breath.

the words spill faster than you can process what you’re saying. a long, jumbled string of thoughts that rattle off your tongue like a dam finally breaking at the leaking crack.

“i was wrong. for all the things i said, i mean. there’s nothing wrong with you, you know? you’re really kind, and you remember the little things, and you always keep your promises, and those are really nice things. and i don’t hate when you’re quiet, by the way. i used to think it bothered me, but i miss it, you know? just having you sit next to me and read and stuff. i guess…i guess i just never bothered trying to think about how to love you the way you needed because i was so busy worrying if you could love me the way i needed and…and i just fucked a lot of things up. i got in my head and made a lot of assumptions that weren’t fair and just…i got cold feet. and i’m sorry. and i love you—really, really love you. all of you. you don’t have to believe me or even say anything at all. i just needed you to know all that because you deserve to.”

he’s silent. you can’t tell whether from being stunned or from disinterest. both are fair, regardless—you think alhaitham could slam the door shut in your face, and you’d deserve it. but he doesn’t. because just as always, he’s your same, kind, gentle alhaitham underneath all of the blunt stoicism.

“i lied,” you whisper, “i do want you to say something. anything.”

“i don’t know what you want me to say,” he stares at his feet, still looking as hurt as the day you left him. “you…you just assumed i wouldn’t be able to love you, is what i’m gathering.”

“i just thought…” you swallow thickly, tongue like sandpaper against your dry mouth, “i just thought we were too different.”

“i thought we got along well,” he shrugs, trying to pretend there isn’t as much hurt on his features as there is, “maybe i misread things.”

“no,” you shake your head desperately, “no, i overthought them, that’s all.”

“why did you leave me?” he asks hoarsely, “why couldn’t we have talked about things?”

you want to say because you were a coward, maybe even a hypocrite. you insisted he’d be too constipated emotionally to communicate properly with you, but all you’ve done was decide things for him and avoid the hard, heart-to-heart talk.

really, it’s because you were never brave enough to try and love alhaitham the way he would have loved you. the way he loves you. you were blind to see it—weren’t even willing to believe that he ever would. not until after you let him go and realized what you had. he’d walked you home, made sure you got proper rest, pulled strings, and used up favors just to make things better for you. and you missed all the signs, all because it was so easy to walk away, to label his blunt nature as causal cruelty, to confuse his quietness as disinterest, to assume his logic was the absence of emotion. you never gave him a chance because you were never brave enough to take the fall.

but alhaitham was always ready to catch you, arms aching to wrap around your form and hold you. not because he wanted you to love him, but because all he’s ever wanted was to love you.

you think that’s the difference between the two of you. you’ve always wanted to be loved, and he’s always wanted to love. you’ve always wanted to take and he’s always wanted to give. you’ve always wanted him to be enough, and he’s always wanted you to know you’re enough and more.

it’s too much to tell him though, so you settle on cupping his cheeks and whispering, “because you scare me. the way you make me feel.”

“how do i make you feel?”

not too long ago, you’d think he was asking just to confirm what he already knows. now, you know he’s asking because he needs to hear the words for his own sake. just to be sure. just to ease the uncertainty in his own head.

“you make me feel a lot of things, haitham,” you murmur, “you make me feel happy. appreciated. very pretty. capable. important. sometimes a little dumb,” you giggle as he frowns, squeezing his cheeks as you add, “but only because you’re so smart. i could list a few other things you make me feel, but…they’re not as proper.”

“i thought…just…d-did i do something?” he asks, voice hesitant. there’s a painful, awful squeeze in your heart at his words. but your heart is the last of your worries right now—it’s the least you can do, putting your feelings aside for his own, seeing as you’ve stomped all over his.

so, in an effort to show him that everything is okay, you smile—you’re sure it’s a pathetic, wobbly little thing, but you don’t have time to care. not when he’s right here, under your fingertips, and one possible moment away from slipping away.

a watery chuckle escapes you as you whisper, “no. you didn’t do anything—it was me. but i’m not running away anymore…if you still want me, that is.”

“you’re all i want,” he says instantly. “the only thing.”

“i know,” you breathe, “and you are all i want too.”

you kiss him. because he deserves to feel you choose him, to feel you close the gap and show him you’re here. your lips press gently against his, molding into them like two pieces of a puzzle—except you don’t think neither of you fit anywhere else but each other. incomplete without each other and unable to fit anywhere else. your thumb traces the soft, warm skin of his cheek, soothingly caressing it as if to let him know i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere.

he stumbles back, and you follow him in, pressing against the door of his home just like those days ago before an unwelcomed interruption. this time, though, you think kaveh could freeze outside all you care—you’re not letting anything interrupt this moment.

“i’ve been losing my mind for weeks too,” he mumbles in between gasps for air as you kiss, “just so you know. it wasn’t you alone.”

“that’s good to know,” you hum, grinning against his mouth.

“and i thought i was giving signs,” he adds, “that’s why i went through the trouble to fix your schedule. so i could spend more time with you—i…i apologize if i wasn’t obvious with my intentions.”

“don’t be,” you say softly, “i’m the one who missed them. you did everything right.”

“did i?” he asks, unsure.

you press your lips firmly against his when you hear the crack in his voice, as if sheer touch alone will express the way you feel. maybe it does, though—because he melts against you, letting out a soft moan as your hands travel to his broad chest, feeling the muscled and toned body he hardly hides under that skin-tight shirt.

“i get scared easily,” you whisper, “will you be patient with me?”

“i’m not good at expressing my emotions,” he whispers back, “will you be patient with me too?”

“we can be patient together,” you hum, pecking his lips a few times as he chuckles softly.

“good plan,” he nods, “sounds like it should work.”

“oh, thank you,” you wink playfully, pulling away to wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his as you look at him cheekily, “i’m a bit of a genius.”

“that you are,” he nods, smiling in amusement. and he means it. you’re every bit smart and capable as he makes you feel—inadequacy was never something alhaitham made you feel; it was always something you brought onto yourself. you’re used to shifting the blame, you realize. it’s so easy to blame everything and everyone but yourself for the intrusive thoughts in your head.

but they melt away tonight, one feathered kiss at a time, pressed to your jaw delicately by warm, familiar lips you’d know blind.

“your friends are worried about you, you know. kaveh—”

“please do not mention kaveh’s name right now,” he groans, “i’ll hear all about your alarming story of my friends at the tavern, but right now, i only want to hear you say one name.”

“yours?” you wiggle your brows.

“glad to know we’re on the same page,” he confirms, humming as your hands trail under his shirt, feeling the ridges of his built muscles.

“i don’t want anymore casual sex,” you murmur, pouting, “it’s driving me mad.”

“okay,” he nods, shivering as your palms glide over his nipples as you pull his shirt up, exposing his chiseled abdomen for you to admire, “will girlfriend suffice?”

“girlfriend would be great,” you nod, beaming.

“just so you’re aware, i am very concerned with the emotions of my girlfriend, however heavy they might be. i do still think, however, that nurse was on a…unique realm of her own, though,” he adds the last part with a pointed look.

“don’t mention other women when you just asked me to be your girlfriend,” you huff, “don’t forget who stitches you up. don’t get on my bad side.”

“my apologies,” he laughs.

and then you’re back to kissing him, fervently and so desperately, you think this might be your last day on earth, making the most of it before you’ve breathed your last breath. alhaitham groans into your mouth, lets your hands wander all over him as you feel the tautness of his physique.

it’s not the first time you’ve felt him, but it is the first time you can take all the time you want, memorizing him because he’s yours to keep locked away in your memory.

“i love you,” you pant against his mouth, wet, hot kisses interrupting your sweet confession.

“i,” he kisses your cheek, “love,” a kiss to your other cheek, “you,” a kiss to your nose, “too.”

this time, he leans down and kisses you right over your pulse point, right where your racing heart rate is beating erratically. you gasp when he bites and sucks at the flesh, making you whimper as your knees buckle.

“how much?” you ask, pleading to know.

“enough to lose sleep,” he murmurs, “because my dreams were plagued with you. i couldn’t escape you in waking hours or in slumber. that’s how much you torment me. take over my body and mind. is that what you needed to hear?”

he’s a linguist—sometimes you forget that. perhaps he’s not so bad at saying what you need to hear, after all.

“maybe,” you hum, kissing his cheek, nibbling affectionately at the soft flesh, “you like me that much? how cute.”

“i’ll like you a lot more if you stop teasing,” he grunts, pressing his hot, searing erection against your thigh as your thumbs toy away at his nipples. you gasp when you feel him prod at you, feeling the heat even through the fabric that separates you.

neither of you are patient enough to do this properly right now—but you have plenty of time for that. plenty of time to take it slow, explore each other, and map your bodies in ways you never dared to before. scared to cross that stupid, useless imaginary line you drew for no reason at all. you decide from here on out there are no more lines—just endless sand, your footprints next to his as you trek the path of lovers.

you rub at his hardened cock through his pants, making him grunt before he grabs your hands and pins them over your head.

“i said love you,” he says intensely, eyeing you with a carnal hunger you’ve never seen in him before, “but i didn’t say i’d be patient tonight.”

with that, his free hand tugs down both of your pants—his just enough to free his aching cock, and yours enough to expose your leaking cunt as he teases your clit with the blunt tip of his length. you whimper, bucking your hips into him, feeling the beads of precum spread along your heat as he shudders.

“put it in,” you whine, clutching his shirt with tight fists.

“you’re…not ready yet,” he insists, teeth grit as he gives his all to hold himself back from taking you just like you plead.

but you’re stubborn—and alhaitham? he’s too weak to you to fight you when you are, doomed to give into any and every whim of yours.

“don’t care,” you shake your head, “don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. i just want you—please, please, please haitham.”

that’s all it takes for him to crack—slowly, so, so carefully, he nudges past your wet folds, inching his throbbing cock into you as you gasp at the stretch. this isn’t the first time he’s split you open—but it’s never something you get used to. the burning stretch still feels as new as the first time. he groans, low and breathless, as your walls clamp down on him as he slowly but surely intrudes into your cunt.

“so tight,” he murmurs, voice filled with wonder—like this is the first time he’s ever felt you so raw. maybe it is. he’s never felt you as his, as yours. “does that feel good? do you feel me? what you do to me? and you thought i didn’t feel the same? like i didn’t purposely let blades slice my skin just for an excuse to come find you? feel your touch, watch you worry? just for a moment of your attention? surely, you can’t be so blind.”

his words make your head spin, making you throw it back as a soft escapes you when the last bit of his length slips in, filling you full and to the brim as he nudges at the most sensitive spots inside of you. he’s so deep; you think your lungs are filled with him, like every breath you take is filled with him, him, him.

“yes,” you say through a shaky voice, “yes—so good, you feel so good. i want you, haitham. all of you.”

“you have all of me,” he kisses the words into your neck, “that’s not enough? you want more?”

“yes,” you plead, “more!”

he chuckles, smooth and low and so pretty, you feel an ache in your clit from the sound alone. “well, alright then. more it is—i could never dream of denying such a sweet wish.”

finally, he rolls his hips, all but pulling out completely before pressing back into you, dragging along every ridge of you, nudging his thick tip against the spongey, sensitive at the back of your walls. you’re slack against his door, held up by him and him alone as your body betrays you, unable to keep balance as he fucks into you the way he does.

it’s been nine days without you. the way his hips snap so desperately into you, you’d think he’s a man thirsty, gone a year without rain in the deepest, more treacherous ruins in the desert. all you can do is cling to him, repeat the same mantra of haitham, haitham, haitham—more, please haitham.

he knows your body well. so, so well, he knows exactly how to toy with your clit, thumb finding the sensitive nub, enough pressure to make you whine with a jolt, but not enough to let you fall over the edge just yet—not until he allows it.

“i love you,” he punctuates with a roll of his hips, “repeat that. so i know you believe it. so i know you believe me.”

“p-please,” you gasp, tugging at his hair, “i…i need to c-cum—”

“say it,” he demands.

“you love me—oh,” you cut yourself off with a sharp breath, his thumb abusing your clit in faster circles.

“again,” he says firmly.

“you love me,” you whimper, “you…you love me. only me.”

“good,” he nods, groaning as you squeeze around him at the praise, “and don’t forget it. not for a second.”

“l-love you too,” you stutter, voice cracking as he rolls his hips unforgivingly, the friction making your mind fog with pure lust. “love you so, so much.”

that makes him inhale sharply, breath catching in his throat. his head falls to your neck, hot breath fanning against your skin as he moans lowly, hips sloppy and ungraceful in their pace but never failing in precision to angle right into your sweet spot. his thumb rolls circles into your clit, fast and desperate to send you over the edge so he can follow.

and you do—you fall off the edge so fast, so hard, your nails dig blunt, raw crescent moons into his skin as you arch your back off the door and cry his name. luckily for alhaitham, his house is built conveniently enough that he has no close neighbors. no one to hear such filthy sounds right against the door for them to witness just by passing by. no one should be at this hour—but even if they were, you hardly could bring yourself to care.

“c-cumming,” you wail, “cumming, haitham.”

“so beautiful,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, voice strained as he chases his own orgasm, “can’t…can’t believe you’re mine. mine.”

it’s like the realization that you’re his is what pushes him past the edge, his cock twitching with hot, thick ropes of cum into your abused cunt and painting the walls white as soon as he repeats the word mine.

mine, mine, mine—he doesn’t stop repeating it even as he fucks himself into you and works himself through his high. you can feel the wet, messy trail of his cum and your slick leaking down your thighs, so filthy, so lewd, so devastatingly raw.

“yours,” you confirm tiredly, kissing his head as he pants into your neck, muffled moans pressed against your skin as you soothe him while he falls apart against you. “all yours. not going anywhere, i promise. i promise.”

finally, he slumps against you, panting as he tries to catch his breath, sweaty and tired but never unsatisfied.

“if you leave me again,” he quietly admits, “i think i’ll go mad.”

“then i won’t,” you say gently, stroking his sweaty locks.

“i love you,” he reminds you once more, “do you believe me?”

“i do,” you nod, smiling like he’s handed you the sun, “and i love you too. do you believe me?”

“i do,” he hums, wrapping himself around you tighter.

there’s a jiggle of the doorknob behind you, followed by an incoherent, slurred string of curses. alhaitham deflates against you, looking up at you tiredly. you throw your head back and laugh, gleeful, and so, so in love.

“i’m tired of him,” he grumbles.

“let him off easy this once,” you brush back his hair, “it’s thanks to him that i came to see you tonight.”

“then i suppose just this once, i won’t leave him out to freeze,” he relents.

you realize for a moment, alhaitham had never drawn the line in the first place. perhaps it was always just you, making rules in your head when all he ever did was want you from the start. he waited so patiently for you, so you cup his cheeks and pull him closer, giving him one more firm kiss as a reward for all you put him through. he pulls away, dazed as he stares at you with unfocused eyes.

“i’ll give you another like that if you run me a warm bath,” you say cheekily.

“do i get to join this bath,” he raises a brow, eyeing you in amusement as his hands rub soothingly into your hips.

you pretend to think for a moment, mockingly tapping your chin in deep thought before you murmur, “okay, fine. but no funny business.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it—”

“hello?” kaveh’s slurred call interrupts, followed by rough knocking.

“he can freeze,” alhaitham says bitterly.

“don’t you dare!” you gasp, fighting back a laugh as he looks at you miserably.

well…….what was supposed to be maybe 4-5k words at best has…..gotten quite out of hand LOL. 14k words later i present to you my official love letter to alhaitham. anyway i suppose this fic stems from sometimes wondering if i would be compatible with the characters i enjoy. but the question is not whether or not you’re compatible, but whether or not you’re willing to put in the work to make compatibility. and alhaitham would certainly do that. anyway!!! i hope you enjoyed. i’m not sure if many peiple will read this, but if you do, reblogs and comments are really appreciated! giving you all a hug and reminding you that your favs would 100% want you <3

#writing tag #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact smut

601 notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 6 days

Text

Broken || Alexia Putellas

summary : you're broken but your girlfriend knows how to hold you together. angst.

a/n : i've literally got no time to write but i've been itching so here just a teeny tiny blurb i came up with before class while listening to the song below.

Based on ‘Stay’ by Gracie Abrams

Alexia walked into your apartment to the sound of your sobs. She almost dropped the groceries she was holding, your dog startled at the sound of a wine bottle that nearly broke as it hit the marble counter a little too hard.

“Amor?” she called, standing in the doorway of your bedroom. You were a mess, curled up in a ball in the middle of the king-sized bed.

“Please make it stop,” you begged, words muffled into the pillow you were hugging, wishing it was your girlfriend. Alexia shuffled into the room with tears brimming in her eyes, her heart shattering as she watched you become a shell of yourself.

The pain was something you learned to deal with yourself. Years and years of self-loathing from bouts of depression and suicide made you numb to love. Your parents were to blame, favoring your sister who was always smarter, better, stronger, and more deserving of their love and attention. Football was your one distraction and injury took that away from you.

The years of hiding behind a ball and suppressing all those feelings came crashing down when your ACL tore. The feelings were overwhelming, thoughts of self-destruction felt like an old friend.

You were better at football than she was. But that was not good enough for them. She had to be first. Not you.

You thought that if you could just be better at something than she was, they’d love you.

Turns out, they resented you for it.

“How dare you be better than her?”

“How dare you take her spot on the team?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

They got one thing right though. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve their harsh words. You didn’t deserve their criticism. You didn’t deserve their wishes that you weren’t a burden.

Burden. That’s what you feel like now. On your girlfriend who had to deal with your breakdowns and tantrums.

She was too good for you. If she saw how broken you were, or how much of a liar you were, she’d leave. Just like they did.

“Amor, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Alexia cooed, curling up beside you with her arms around you.

“Could you hold me without any talking?” you asked, a voice so soft Alexia almost missed your request.

“Of course, I can,” she said, pulling you into her arms.

They were warm. Safe. Strong. Determined to take your pain away.

She spoke after a while, certain you had fallen asleep as your choked sobs simmered down.

“I don't care if you've changed, but you are so much more than football. You are so beautiful, kind, loving, and most importantly, mine. Amor, you are so special to me and I hope we can help you see that.”

“You deserve someone who isn’t such a mess, Alexia,” you mumble; she’s a little startled that you’re awake but keeps her cool to not agitate you.

“Everyone’s a little messy, cariño. That’s what makes us people who learn how to love.”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #fc barca femeni #woso community #woso soccer #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #espwnt #woso blurbs

424 notes · View notes

fe-fictions · 10 months

Note

Could I please request a Seteth fic where he has to choose between saving Flayn or saving Byleth?

(This one was so much fun to re-write!! I miss the dragon family so much ;;; A ;;; I really need to write for them more often!)

In the heat of battle, it was imperative to make difficult decisions in a split second. There is little time for hesitation. So when you are in love with someone who must fight alongside you, the threat of having to choose between them is a threat that is real and always looming in every battle.

Seteth was faced with an equally impossible task; to make that decision should something happen to his lover, Byleth, or his daughter, Flayn.

He had prayed every night on that campaign that such a decision would never have to be made.

But eventually, unfortunately, it did. And it was as though he were watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion.

His wyvern jolted suddenly, trained to listen for the sound of Flayn’s voice. He scanned the field for her, spotting the swathe of green curls flung about wildly as she struggled to fight. A small battalion had snaked their way into the backline, and were going after the suppors.

He all but yanked the beast around, driving himself toward while shouting commands to others that the healers were under attack.

He was about halfway there, when his eyes caught something in the corner of his peripheral.

The glint of a blade he was far too familiar with, and found himself following the blurry action. Your sword had nearly been struck from your hand- you were fighting a losing battle against one of the generals present in the fight. Seteth’s body seized, eyes wide when he realized the dire situation you were in.

There was blood all over you- and he knew that it wasn’t all the enemy’s. He could see the exhaustion in your desperate movements, how you were running on pure adrenaline alone.

You all were; but this…this was getting exceedingly serious.

His wyvern keaned beneath him, reminding him that Flayn still needed help.

That he was still the closest to reach their little troupe of healers. But that you were also in front of his eyes, fighting for your life. Support for the Archbishop was not nearly as close as it should have been.

They were being pushed back by the general’s pawns.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. The world went silent around hi, only the thundering of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His eyes flicked from his place between his lover and his daughter. The Archbishop, and his child.

“Seteth, we need to discuss this sooner or later.”

“I know you speak the truth, but surely we can table it for another day-”

“No. We have to make this decision clear, here and now. I love ou, and I love Flayn. But if a situation should arise between the two of you, I know what decision you would have me make.”

Seteth’s eyes narrowed, pulling his wyvern’s reins and driving the beast into down the frantic path to rescue.

“I would never ask you to choose between the two of us.” He could hear the words over and over in his mind. He could remember the vivid displeasure in your expression.

“But should such a situation arise, you would have me choose Flayn over you, wouldn’t you?”

His knuckles went white, roaring towards the enemy.

“And Seteth…should you ever find yourself in a similar situation…I want you to choose her first, too.”

His axe ripped through the armored plates of the invaders, forcing them out of the backline. He could see bright green eyes, wide with confusion and relief.

“Byleth, you cannot ask me to make such a choice- if you were to be harmed, or worse, because I wasn’t there to- I-I could not live with myself.”

“If I’m honest with myself, dear…I couldn’t, either. But I am not your wife. And I am not your family…Flayn is. You’ve sacrificed so much to protect her and support her.” I would never dare ask you to prioritize my life over hers.”

“Byleth-”

“There will always be another Archbishop, Seteth.”

He remembered the sad smile clearly, as he reached down, grabbing his daughter up from the ground and protecting her from another blade.

He couldn’t look back when he heard the shrieks of panic, the cries that the Archbishop had been struck down. You were hurt.

“But there will never be another Flayn. And I know that if you were in my place…you would gladly have e choose to save her over you in an instant.”

Seteth’s rigid frame kept Flayn in place as she struggled against him.

“No- no, Father, we can’t-!! Go back!! Byleth’s hurt!! We have to go back!!”

You were right. There would always be another Archbishop.

“Please, she needs us!! We have to help her!! Please, Father!!”

But there was only one Byleth.

And he had just condemned you to death.

-------------------------

When the battle finally ended, the campsite was grim. No one was feeling any sort of joy, despite the enemy having been routed.

Their fearless leader, the undefeated warrior, had been bested.

And the Archbishop was in critical condition. Seteth was inconsolable. No words of reassurance, no sympathies were to be spared for him. He turned them all away.

If they had time to worry about the Minister, then they had time to worry about the Archbishop, about the Church, about anything else more deserving of their time than he.

The man who let you all but fall to your death.

The only person who was welcomed into into his audience with a worthwhile conversation was Flayn.

The young woman who stormed into his office, furious with her father.

“How could you?”

He did not look up from his hands, folded tightly atop his desk.

“How could you let Byleth be hurt like that?? How could you prioritize me over the woman who is working to unite the entire continent?!”

Seteth’s grimace deepened. He could not provide her with a worthy answer.

“I…I saw where you were. I saw you freeze- I wanted you to come to me, I knew you were going to save me! But when I saw Byleth-- I realized why you’d hesitated at all. You were trying to help both of us, and then you chose me!!”

“Flayn-”

“But you chose me over Byleth!! A-and we both know that she’s not just the Archbishop to you. We both know very well that she’s you’re in love with her! And you still chose me over her?!”

“It is not so simple.” He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did not realize how much his fingers were trembling, before. “I had to make this decision, because it was mutually agreed upon by both of us.”

“What?” She stared at him in utter disbelief. He nodded, carding a hand through his hair.

“We decided, a long time ago, that if there should ever be a scenario in which your life hung in the balance or one of ours did…we would both prioritize your safety.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words could escape. She stared at him, speechless, struggling to understand what he just said.

“Why…no, no…why?”

“Because you are my daughter.” He looked at her, finally, and what little resolve he could manage to find had met her gaze with a mountain of grief behind it. “And I swore to protect you, above all others. Byleth would do the very same for you, because she knows that my priority has been, and always ill be, the safety of my child.”

“But- but I’m not a child anymore. I’m an adult! I’m a fully capable being that doesn’t need you or Byleth to protect me!! Gods- gods, you had the Archbishop prioritize my life over hers?! I can’t believe that!”

“It’s true. And if I were the one in danger, Byleth would have made the same choice.”

“But- but that’s not- I know how much you care about her. I know that you love her, and that you want to be with her!! For once, can’t you prioritize your own feelings? Can’t you prioritize Byleth??”

“I…do Not know that I am worthy enough to make such a decision. But it matters not- I am a father, first and foremost. I will always put you first. I can only ask that you understand.”

Flayn exhaled sharply, her hands balled into fists. “I understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s right!! You have to prioritize yourself sometime. You have to prioritize Byleth. Especially if you love her. And if she comes out of this alive…you’d better tell her that.”

The word “if” echoed in his ears, reminding him just how serious this situation was. The pale color of your skin, the shallow breaths….the glimpse of your broken form he had seen was not just a hypothetical.

Seteth could actually lose you. That was what terrified him. He did not regret his decision. He could never regret protecting his daughter. But at the cost of not protecting you….it tore his heart into pieces.

A full day would pass before any word of your condition arrived. You had made it through the night, mercifully, and you were no longer in danger of death . They had patched you up successfully, and wrapped the wounds in such a way that they would not be reopened provided you remained in bed long enough to let them heal properly.

It would be six hours after that relieving update was provided that he was informed that you were awake.

Not only that, but you were asking for him, specifically.

He had never moved so quickly in his life. His legs carried him faster than his thoughts could form, all but sprinting to reach your side and ensure that he was with you after far too long apart.

It would give him the opportunity to apologize. To beg your forgiveness, to hope that you understood why he made the decisions that he did.

Eventually, he hoped you would find it in your heart to forgive his transgression against you. But if you did not…he could not find it in his heart to disagree. It would make sense, after all.

The prime minister was at the doors in no time, knocking tentatively on the old wood and hoping the healers would let you in.

Mercedes was the one who opened it to him, her expression cool but her smile at least marginally positive.

“She asked for you as soon as she woke up, Prime Minister.” She said softly, “If you’re of a mind, she would like to see you for at least a little while.”

“O-of course. I would not dare keep her waiting another moment. May I…may I see her alone?”

Mercedes glanced back, considering the state of her patient. “Very well. I can give you a little while, but she’ll need close monitoring over the next few days.”

“I understand. Thank you.” He stepped into the medical bay, taking a deep, shaking breath. It did little to steady his nerves, nor to keep the guilt from bubbling over.

But when he saw you lying there, staring out the windows and bound heavily with bandages…he was not certain if there was anything he could say.

You turned your head when the door was closed, finding Mercedes was gone and the dragon man stood in her place.

He didn’t know what to expect; he deserved to be shouted at, to be reprimanded for abandoning you, to see angry tears fall and a declaration that he had broken your heart, that you never wanted to see him again.

Instead, you smiled.

“Set…Seteth.” You raised your hand, either to beckon for him or to ask him to hold it. Either way, he was striding to the bed and kneeling down at your side within a single breath.

“Byleth-” He could barely choke your name out before the sorrow threatened to spill over.

He took your hand in both of his, squeezing your fragile fingers tightly. He stared at you, the worry and guilt written all over his face. It was impossible to miss, especially as the woman he loved.

“I’ll be okay.” You whispered, your gaze far too warm and loving given the state you were in.

Seteth swallowed thickly, his eyes running over your frame again and again.

“Are you in pain? Are you uncomfortable in any way?” He asked worriedly, searching for something to fix.

You shook your head, wiggling your fingers that he grasped so tight. “No…I’m not in any pain. Mercy…treated the most pressing wounds very well. And…and she gave me some healing tonic that’s quite strong….I feel more numb than anything else.”

“I-is it supposed to be numbing??” He asked, the alarm breaking through the guilt, “I’ll go and fetch her right away, I’m sure sh’es just outside the-”

“It’s supposed to.” You assured him, “It’s that or…the pain and discomfort you asked about.”

“Oh…I see. Very well.” He cleared his throat, steeling himself with a deep breath. “Then…aside from your physical state…how are you feeling?”

“You mean, how mad am I at you?” You corrected him jovially, though he did not seem to appreciate your humor.

“You have every right to be furious at me, Byleth. I let you be harmed. I did not protect you.” He sighed, looking down. It was far too difficult to meet your eyes. “You should be shouting at me, and I imagine you would be if you weren’t in such a sorry state. A position that I condemned you to, that day…I…I know my words hold little meaning in this situation, but I must apologize to you, profusely. I am so, so sorry that you were hurt.”

“Ou shouldn’t be apologizing.” You shook your head, trying to free your hand from his. When he realized you were trying to slip away, he quickly removed his hands, clasping them tightly in his lap. Of course you wouldn’t want to touch him.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then warm fingers brushed his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness he could never deserve.

“You did the right thing.”

“I-”

“You swore to protect your daughter. We both agreed…to put Flayn first. How could I ever be upset with you for protecting your family?”

“I-I do not regret my decision to protect Flayn. I could never regret that. But I cannot help but feel that I have betrayed the woman I love, as well. That I abandoned you in that moment.”

“You didn’t abandon me.” You shook your head again, smiling softly, “You were keeping your daughter safe. And I will never hold that against you. I know you would not if I did the same.”

“I wouldn’t, no. But I’m also not the Archbishop of Fodlan. Your position holds great influence, and to see you wounded when I could have prevented it…the blow that the whole army took when you fell was severe.”

“It wasn’t their decision to make. We made it. It was ours, and ours alone. It may be callous to say this as the Archbishop, but…frankly, I don’t care what they think when it comes to those I love.”

“I cannot believe you still have the strength to say such things,” He laughed, though it was clipped and bitter, “I am not deserving of your love. You should want nothing to do with me after I risked your life.” It would be safer for you to cast me out.”

“But I won’t, because I love you. I will always love you. You and Flayn are like family to me. I’d do anything for both either of you. Even if it means sacrificing my life to protect you.”

Seteth did not register the tears down his cheek until you wiped at them, still cradling his face with your frail little hand.

He bowed his head, covering your hand with his.

"I do not deserve you. Nothing I have done in my life could ever make me worthy of you.” His voice trembled, turning his face to kiss your palm. “You are not like family to us, Byleth- you are our family. You are our world…And it is desperately important to me that you know that.”

“I do.” You whispered, all but beaming even in spite of your exhaustion. “I know, and I feel the very same way. So don’t ask forgiveness, Seteth- there’s nothing to forgive.”

He did not wholly agree with you on that point, though. He was quite certain that you were more than deserving of affection and attention from your family, and he didn’t consider himself worthy enough to be that to you, yet.

So instead he decided to shift his plans up, from waiting until the war was over, waiting until the continent was secure and rebuilt, to make you a fully fledged member of his family.

Instead he took Flayn’s advice; as soon as you were healed and back on your feet, he whisked you up to the north tower, and proposed to you on the spot.

A proposal you readily accepted (and naturally earned the cheers of your soon-to-be stepdaughter, who had snuck after her father when she saw the ring in his hand earlier that evening).

While it was an absolutely joyous moment, you did have to agree to Flayn’s demand that from now on, you and your husband must put yourselves first; protect one another above anyone else.

Otherwise, how else would she get a little sibling?

#seteth #byleth #fe 16 #fe three houses #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #seteleth #seteth x byleth #hurt and comfort #critical injury #critical injury angst #we love a protective seteth #it would be such a hard choice to make #but hey at least you get a proposal out of it LMAO

44 notes · View notes

jordanstrophe · 11 months

Text

CW: Forced medical whump, held down, hurt/comfort

Whumpee snapped awake to a hand on their forehead pinning them down. They heard someone mutter in the background “Okay... 3..2..1..” before searing pain broke through their body.

They cried and grabbed the wrist holding their head down, their mouth running without them, begging “Stop- please stop, STOP IT-”

Someone shushed them softly, but it didn’t stop. Whumpee gripped two of their fingers and tried to pry them off, -which did succeed in getting them to let go of their forehead, as they instead switched to holding whumpee’s hand and letting them squeeze.

“You’re okay, breathe, in and out. We almost got it.” Caretaker’s voice sounded clear, but far away.

~Got what?~ Whumpee thought to themselves, unable to speak the words. They felt something get ripped from their body as they let out one last desperate scream. The pain quickly faded along with their consciousness as a single tear escaped down the side of their face. A hand quickly wiped it away and touched their cheek.

The last thing they heard was “We’re not losing you today.”

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump prompt #medical whump #medical prompt #forced medical treatment #whump angst #whump recovery #wounded whumpee #hurt comfort #whump scenario #whump writing #whump drabble #caretaker drabble #tw medical #injury whump #injury prompt #critical whumpee

332 notes · View notes

miley1442111 · 1 month

Text

the problem with arguing

a/n: Hi, this is my first story, any constructive criticism is welcomed. This had not been properly edited nor read through because icba lmao :) also I wrote it for a fem!reader but I don't think there's much mention other than Jack calling reader 'mom' so... yeah :)

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader, platonic BAUteam x reader, motherly(If that's a word?)reader x teen!jack hotchner

summary: aaron and you are in a fight, but what happens when a meeting with a witness goes south?

warnings: criminal minds levels of violence, angst, fluff, couple fighting, reader in distress, reader getting injured, mentions of knives, mentions of being stabbed, mentions of being tied up, mentions of hospitals, mentions of killing, mentions of general injury, mentions of guns/shooting, minimal use of y/n.

1.6k + words.

“We’re here, we’ll update you if anything comes of it,” Morgan promises Hotch over the phone as we walk to the front porch of one of our witnesses. Something about his story is messed up and we were the unlucky ones who had to go talk to him. It’s a pretty house I guess, a little expensive for what a 26 year old man could afford, and what he would want to buy. It’s all fifties style, the entire estate is. Big-enough bungalows with pastel walls and inviting doors with a small porch, just enough for the entry-way and a chair. I knock on the door, exhausted from the past 72 hours. Aaron and I got in a fight before we got to Ohio, it was unnecessary, but we fought all the same. He was mad at me for giving Jack advice that led to a fight between them. I just wanted to kiss and make up 3 days ago but he won’t budge. Maybe it’s because he knows I’m right and doesn’t want to confront it or maybe it’s because I took it too far and overstepped. Jack calls me ‘mom’, I live with him, and Jack came to me for support, he wanted guidance and I gave him it. He was mad at his dad because he missed meeting his girlfriend. His girlfriend, Ava, was a lovely girl, I had been the one there when Jack brought her over for dinner, I was the one trying to suss out if they actually liked each other, and I was the one Jack sat down with for 2 hours after and told everything about her to. All because Aaron was too busy with paperwork in his study. Jack was hurt, which is difficult to do because he’s such an understanding 16 year-old boy. It was also hard because I saw both sides. I’ll be the first to admit that what Aaron did was wrong, but our job is hard and demanding, especially his since he’s the leader of our team… But Jack just wanted 2 hours of his time, not even, just a dinner. A dinner to meet his girlfriend, and Aaron still couldn’t make it.

I knock again as I huff.

“Everything alright?” Morgan asks, the regular playful glint in his eye.

“Tired, mad, over this job. You?” I sigh.

“Sounds about right,” He chuckles. “How’s Jack doing?”

A smile spreads across my face. “He has a girlfriend,” Morgan’s face lights up in a smile.

“My man,” He smirks and I chuckle. “You two met her yet?”

My face drops again. “I have, Aaron… couldn’t make it to the dinner though. She’s lovely, perfect for Jack. It's so funny, it’s just opposites attract. Jack is so sporty and outspoken and she’s one of the quieter, more into her studies kind of person.”

The door swings open and we’re met with David, our witness.

“You two know what time it is?” He yawns.

“Oh trust us, we know,” Morgan sighs. “Can we ask you a few more questions?”

“It’s 10pm at night? Can’t this wait ‘till the morning?”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” I reassure.

He looks between us for a moment, then sighs. “Quickly.”

We walk inside and are immediately hit with an awful smell. I know that smell. That’s when I see it, a body.

And that’s when it all goes black.

I wake up in a new room, tied to a chair. I don’t see Derrick anywhere. I don’t see David anywhere. I’m all alone in this grey room. I don’t see a door but I notice a camera, and a screen in front of me. I see Penelope on the screen, then a sign above it with “Don’t make noise” scribbled. I look to my left and see a plastic window, I see Morgan through it, tied up too. He sees me.

“Y/n? Y/n?! Where are you?” Penelope squeals. I shake my head and she picks up her phone and tries calling mine, it rings and I feel something go into my side. I scream out in pain as I see the blood start trickling out of me. Penelope drops her phone, then picks it up, dialling someone else’s number.

I get switched to a joint call with Penelope, and the rest of the team, excluding Aaron.

“Y/n?” Spencer asks and I nod, sobbing in pain. Spencer runs off-screen, leaving Jj and Emily to stare in horror at me.

Spencer comes back with Aaron and we make eye-contact through the screen, and he starts breaking. He’s shouting orders at the policemen in the precinct, he’s shouting orders at the team, and he’s trying not to cry. I know that. I also know I’m the only one who knows that. He hides it pretty well but not from me, not after all of our years together. His eyes squint, his eyebrows furrow more than usual, he starts biting at the skin around his nails.

“We’re coming to find you. We will find you,” he promises me. I nod slowly as the pain in my side becomes unbearable as the knife is pulled out.

“Is Morgan with you?” Emily asks and I nod as I bite my lip until it bleeds to stop myself from making too much noise.

“Is he in the room with you?” Spencer asks.

I shake my head no. After what feels like an eternity of yes or no questions, they think they’ve located us.I hear banging on the door and then it opens. Spencer is standing there with an entire Swat team behind him. I shake my head to tell them to not make noise but they talk anyway and another knife is put into my leg, I don’t have the strength to stay quiet this time and another finds its way into my arm. I pass out.

I wake up in a hospital bed, an IV in my arm, Aaron on one side and Jack on the other. Aaron’s asleep in a chair on my left, I grimace, knowing his back will hurt.

“Mom?!” Jack exclaims as he sees me open my eyes. “Mom!” His eyes fill with tears as he gets up and wraps his arms around me on the bed.

“Jack,” I sigh in relief.

“You’re okay! You’re awake!” He smiles brightly, happy that I’m alive.

Aaron wakes up from the commotion and rushes to my side. “Honey?” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay.”

I smile at both of them.

“I’ll go get the doctor,” Jack smiles and he rushes off to find a doctor.

“Honey I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-” He starts but I cut him off.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he sighs, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t go all soft now Aaron,” I joke.

“You make me soft,” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

Jack comes back in with a doctor. She tells me that I lost a lot of blood and that I will be out of the field for a few months, with 2 weeks of mandatory bedrest, then 4 weeks of physical therapy.

The next day, the team come in to visit.

“Hey,” Spencer smiles, walking in first. I’ve always been close to Spencer, he’s always felt like a little brother to me.

“Hey,” I smile and wince when I hug him, but I know it’s worth it. The rest of the team filter in, smiles on their faces.“So what happened after I went out?”

“Well, they got me, no injuries apart from a concussion,” Morgan says.

“We got the guy-” Emily starts.

“Aaron got the guy,” Spencer interrupts. “He saw him and just shot him-”

“And then he beat the crap out of him,” Jj says. “It was pretty intense.”

I nod along as they tell me the story, and then we just talk about whatever until Aaron comes in and says visiting hours are over. Spencer leaves me a few more books to read and Jj brings Jack to Ava’s house for the night. Aaron walks in with my dinner on a tray.

“Hungry?�� He smiles.

“You shot someone for me?” I ask as he places my tray down.

“Yes.”

I roll my eyes and smile at him. “Is he alive?”

“No.”

My face drops. “Oh.”

“It was the combined bleeding and head trauma that killed him.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I did.”

I look at my food. “I understand you wanted to protect me-”

“I did that because he doesn’t get to live after doing this to you. Honey, you and Jack are the most important people in my life and I would do anything if it meant that you were safe and sound. Do you want to know how it felt to have what could’ve been my last words to you be ‘stop bothering me’? I was an asshole to you over the Jack situation because I knew you were right. I knew it wasn’t fair to not go to dinner when I was in the house. I knew it was important and it just felt too real. It felt like he was growing up and I just couldn’t take it because I missed so much of his childhood! So I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry that I said everything I said and did what I did, but I am not sorry about hurting that fucking monster,” He takes a deep breath. “Now eat up, it’ll go cold.”

“I love you Aaron, it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault, being a parents is hard.”

His eyes fill with tears and he looks at me like an injured puppy.

“Come here,” I smile and move over, allowing room for him to sit with me. He climbs into bed beside me and wraps his arms around me, being careful of my wounds.

“I love you,” he whispers as I slowly eat my food.

“I love you too.”

457 notes · View notes

kakushino · 9 months

Text

Burden... or asset?

Uzui Tengen x Fem! Reader

Tengen recieves a crow telling him some bad news.

Tags: angst, self-worth issues, fluff, orgy, aftercare, sub reader, sub Makio, soft dom Hinatsuru, mean-ish dom Suma Word count: 14,2k

Masterlist | Part 1

A crow came flying just as you were leaving the estate for your date. The grimace on Tengen's face signified bad news arrived, a slip of paper in his hands.

"What is it?"

"My… best buddy is in the Butterfly Mansion. Run-in with an Upper Moon."

Since you came back, he'd told you all about his current occupation and standing in the corps. It was fascinating. You’d been removed from the so-called ‘world news’ due to your Mission, so it all came as a surprise. It was also curious how you’d never run into a demon before.

“We can cancel our date. You must be worried…” you offered, taking his hand in yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Tengen still looked torn. “If you want, I can go with you?”

And so, your time together was cut short - he took you in his arms and rushed off with an urgency you hadn’t seen since you came home.

The room in Butterfly mansion was decorated with origami cranes; there was a vase with fresh flowers at the bedside. The man, who you came to see, laid on the sick bed and had hair like dancing flames, though partially hidden by bandages. The whole room might have smelled like disinfectant but the overall feel of it was homey, cozy, lived-in; a very colorful display - flashy and flamboyant.

“Well, well, well - look at you. The white of the bandages does bring out your eyes. Maybe you should wear them more often,” Tengen said in a teasing tone, voice a little thick despite his bravado.

His best buddy smiled broadly. “That’s why I wore the white haori, Tengen. It has always flattered us Rengoku men, hasn’t it?” The volume of his speech could barely count as an inside voice; it reminded you a little of your half-deaf grandma, back when she was alive. Perhaps he’d sustained an injury of sorts…

You would be the last person to judge him for that.

Tengen sat heavily on the chair next to his bed as if he carried a crushing burden on his back, while you lingered a few feet behind him, feeling like you shouldn’t be here.

“I’m glad you’re alive. I came as soon as I heard… Though you left for that Train over a week ago. What delayed the news?”

“Shinobu told only my father and brother at first, said I needed the quiet and space - even though I was unconscious! Though apparently, that was pretty bad!” he smiled brightly, as if he weren't in critical condition just a few days prior. The bandage over his eye, half his head and torso down to his abdomen sounded more than pretty bad to you. “Senjuro came to visit me while I was out of it… Though I wish he didn’t have to see me in such a pitiful state.”

Tengen huffed in amusement, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “You are certainly a sore sight for my flamboyant eyes, Kyojuro.” The movement revealed your form to the injured man.

He glanced towards you. “And who is this beautiful lady with you?”

Tengen smiled brightly. "Right - Kyojuro, this is Uzui [Name], my first wife. [Name], this is Rengoku Kyojuro, the flame Hashira."

"Ex," Kyojuro interrupted. "I guess I was hurt pretty badly! Shinobu told me I'm no longer in any fighting condition."

You blurted out the first thing that came to mind, for it was a question you, yourself, were struggling with. "What will you do now? If you don't mind me asking…" What will I do? How can I channel my energy?

“[Name],” Tengen turned to you, eyes narrowed. He seemed displeased with your question, as if he weren’t wondering the same thing in his mind.

Kyojuro smiled brightly, completely at ease despite your intrusive question. "Why, I’ll do as all retired Hashira do - train new slayers. Perhaps I shall find an inheritor of Flame Breathing as well!" The optimism this man had was unreal.

The conversation faded into a background noise. Train new slayers, he said. You didn’t want to train new shinobi. You’d thought about getting into wifely hobbies, but that only filled your idle hands; not your mind nor stamina nor skills were being put to use, and it was frustrating to say the least. You itched for some action, despite what had happened during your last so-called action.

“-be discharged in about two weeks. Shinobu is assigning a nurse for me until I’m all healed up! And Senjuro will keep me company as well!” The loud and enthusiastic voice of the retired Hashira broke through your thoughts at last.

Tengen glanced at you for a moment, before he faced Kyojuro. “[Name] could help out too. I’ll be going on a mission soon.”

You shot him a sharp look. This was news to you. And rude to offer your company without consulting you first.

“My other wives haven’t sent any messages the past week. Something must have happened, and I need to find out what,” he said in a hush, all traces of good mood gone from his face.

Your heart clenched. He was willing to go for the others when he lost contact. He didn’t just simply assume they were lost. You weren’t sure how you wanted to think about this, how to feel about this. You buried your emotions before they had the chance to surface.

“I see. That is important indeed. Wouldn’t it be better if you took [Name] along though?” Kyojuro looked at you, tilting his head slightly. “You both could work together to collect your wives! Like a date! But a bit more dangerous.”

You pressed your lips together tightly. That was a good question. Why did he not want to take you with him? You’d gained back the lost weight and filled out to your previous body shape. You’d kept up a light work-out regime to get back where you were before the last grueling months at the Mission. Did he not trust your skills anymore? You clenched your fists.

Tengen shook his head, the beads on his headband clinking together. “It would be better for her to stay. My wives were investigating an Upper Moon sighting in an entertainment district. Losing contact is more than bad news.”

Why was he talking as if you weren’t there? You weren't just a breeze, nor were you a doll to be set aside when inconvenient nor were you a painting, to be displayed and kept at home. You were a warrior - a warrior who had the same amount of experience as him. How dare he?

“I’m here, you know? You could have just turned to me and asked. If it’s a red district then my aid would be more valuable - especially to find out about Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio’s whereabouts,” you finally spoke up, your voice flat. “If you remember, my skills lie in espionage, Tengen.”

There was a slight flush on his ears at your scolding. “You’ve never fought demons before, and that’s why you’ll stay and help out Kyojuro. I’ve got things handled.”

"I'm not made of glass. If those three can help you, why can't I?"

"Of course I know you're not made of glass. May I remind you glass wouldn't be able to take my co-"

"Stop," you interrupted Tengen, your face feeling hot. Kyojuro had been watching the two of you escalate the argument, lone eye going back and forth as if he were watching children play with a temari ball. "First of all, this is no time to joke around. Your wives are in danger, our wives-" You were still a little mad he'd gone through a mutually binding sort of marriage, making you the wife of Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio as well. "Second, you know me, you know my skills. You know I can help and that I'm willing to help, despite what happened when I came back-"

"That's a low blow and you know it. I thought you were dead. You forgave me alrea-"

"Shut up while I'm talking, Tengen!" Your chest heaved with your rapid breathing, anger nearly taking over.

Your husband was in no better condition; he used his size to loom over you, trying to intimidate you into submission. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body, somewhat more intense than usual. His eyes were slightly lidded but his expression impassive; it was hard to tell if he was aroused, as he used to when you were having an argument in your teenage years, or truly angry.

“You can’t just put me on a shelf like a pretty housewife. You need my help. Admit it-”

“You’re staying and that’s final!” Tengen suddenly shouted, making you flinch. You took a quick step back from him, adrenaline coursing through your veins. His eyes were wild, jaw clenched, muscles tensed. “You’d be nothing but a burden.”

You froze, breath stuttering in your chest.

He sidestepped you and left the room.

Nothing but a burden.

You’d been nothing but a burden since you reappeared in his life, haven’t you? You crushed his heart, destroyed his home, and you had yet to prove you were worth the complications arising from your presence.

So despite his continuous reassurances, this was how he truly felt…

“[Name]?”

You looked at Kyojuro, his worried expression saying it all. “I’m alright, I just-” your voice broke and you wiped your tears quickly. You hadn’t even noticed when they started falling. “I’m sorry you had to witness this.”

He waved you off with a dim smile. “You’re absolutely fine. It’s my first time seeing my best buddy like this, but all I can say is that it’s not your fault. It was me who stoked the flames when I should have left the matter be, and for that I deeply apologize. If I could, I’d bow to you.” Kyojuro laughed awkwardly before wincing and putting a hand on his abdomen.

All thoughts of Tengen flew out of your head as you stepped closer. “Hey, hey, easy… I think you shouldn’t laugh until that wound is all healed up.” Your belly scar throbbed at the thought of what the former pillar is going through. “Do you need me to call a nurse? Do you need any painkillers?” you fussed over him, sympathizing deeply with his pain.

A drop of sweat ran down the side of his face as he grimaced. “I think I’m fine. I just need to Breathe a little… Would you keep me company in the meantime?” He gestured to the chair right by his bed.

You hesitantly sat down. "Alright, Rengoku-san."

His smile made you feel at ease. "Excellent. Let me tell you about that one time Tengen and I…."

Tengen left.

He left you there with Kyojuro and went on the mission in the same breath. It hurt more than perhaps his words.

Nothing but a burden.

“Good afternoon, Rengoku-san,” you greeted the man with a smile.

“Good afternoon, Uzui-chan!” he beamed at you. “The Gods have given us the best kind of weather to walk home in, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your mind flashed to the wagon you would be transporting him in. A walk, right… You were given instructions by Shinobu to sedate him if need be. “That is true, and please, call me [Name].”

Kyojuro was already slowly shuffling out of the covers. “Then you may call me by my given name as well! I’m so excited to get home.” His wide smile was infectious, the black eye-patch doing nothing to diminish his bright expression.

Warmth spread through your chest as you helped him to his feet. Kyojuro was such a positive soul; despite your dark thoughts, you never felt lesser with him. You would love to become his close friend, if he’d let you.

“Alright, let’s get you to the cart. Aoi and the girls already packed up all the origami and dried flowers you wanted with you.” You supported him as you walked through the halls of the Butterfly mansion.

“Thanks, for everything. Your presence during my days of recovery cured me of my boredom,” he said quietly, surprising you that he even knew how to talk in such low tones. Perhaps he realized shouting nearby sick rooms of other patients was not polite.

“It was no problem. I enjoyed my time with you.” You two walked out of the mansion. He leaned against a wooden pillar as you knelt at his feet to put on his sandals.

“I apologize you have to serve me like this.” Kyojuro seemed embarrassed.

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s quite alright. Soon enough, you’ll be able to do it yourself!” You tried to be as positive as he was, making him smile slightly. “Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you looked at him shyly, face feeling hot.

Kyojuro just beamed at you. “Good thing you’re the kind of friend who helps instead, hm?”

Relief flooded your lungs, allowing you to take a deep breath. “Of course! Now let’s get you home!”

Pushing the cart loaded with a recovering Hashira and thousands of colorful stuff he wanted with him was quite the work-out you haven’t anticipated. The kakushi responsible for such had been called away on an urgent clean-up of a battle scene, and Shinobu personally asked you to do it, so you couldn’t refuse. At least he kept up a pleasant conversation on the way to the Rengoku estate.

A mini-version of Kyojuro was sweeping by the gate when you arrived. You tilted your head, studying him.

“Little brother!”

The boy looked up and smiled brightly, quickly running over, letting go of the broom. “Big brother!” He clutched at the side of the wagon, glancing over the bandages Kyojuro still wore around his torso. “Father wouldn’t let me go see you since you woke up.”

Kyojuro’s smile was like the Sun, if you looked for too long, your eyes would tear up. You had to turn away from the intimate scene, one you weren’t worthy to witness. Why were you even there?

"Senjuro, this is [Name], Tengen's wife. [Name], meet my younger brother, Senjuro," Kyojuro drew your attention back, as if sensing you felt left out.

Senjuro bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Kyojuro’s younger brother. Thank you for bringing him home.”

"Why don't you come in for a while? You need rest after such a long journey," Kyojuro offered, already trying to get out of the wagon unassisted, prompting you to move forward to help.

You smiled. “Okay, but only for a little.”

The day wore on, pleasant conversation lulling time into a background blur as you got to know both young men more. Tea was served, then dinner. Your belly hurt from laughter, and your cheeks might as well have been stuck in a permanent grin.

Golden light washed over all three of you as you sat by the engawa, the two little Suns with you glowing in the true setting star.

"Might as well stay the night. The road to Uzui home is long."

Senjuro brightened at the suggestion. “Yes, stay with us! I’ll go prepare a room for you, big sis!” He ran off too quickly for you to react to the bomb he dropped on you. Big sis was a name you’d never heard in your life, yet it made blood rush to your face as Kyojuro laughed, clutching at his stomach immediately after as pain flared from his wound.

Analyze the situation, as you were taught to do while being a shinobi - a kunoichi. Yet you could not take a step back from the emotional turmoil in the stuffy room you were given, and so the full moon saw you sitting on the engawa of the Rengoku estate, nothing and everything flitting through your mind’s eye.

You were alone.

The night felt cold, as if you could never see the Sun again.

Light breeze fluffed your hair, calming the whirlwind within for scarcely a second.

A door slid open. The light clack of a cane told you who exactly it was.

“You’re supposed to be resting, Kyojuro-san,” you murmured, not looking at him.

“I’m not that old to be resting all the time, [Name]-san.” You could nearly hear the grin in his voice. A heavy grunt accompanied his warmth appearing at your side.

“Well, you are still healing. And you might pull a muscle or something.” A smile appeared on your face, the banter distracting you a little.

“Oh, you just know how to kick a man while he’s down.” Kyojuro chuckled, the deep sound reverberating in your bones. “I don’t deserve your teasing, you know?”

“...that is true.” Your smile dimmed a little. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so familiar with him. He was your husband’s best friend, though Kyojuro made you feel so comfortable, so warm - something you didn’t deserve to be, especially when Tengen was out there, in danger, alone.

He was on a hunt for an Upper Moon demon. And you were there sitting on the engawa, doing nothing - when you could have been there, helping.

Nothing but a burden.

“I don’t want to be a burden, Kyojuro-san. I want to be an asset,” you confessed, staring into the darkness, so alike to the one you held inside your heart. You wanted to be cleansed, to be free at last.

And he knew just how to help you. “You know, the next Final Selection is in a week.” Kyojuro grinned. “It would usually be impossible for a normal participant to get ready in a week… You were a shinobi though, weren’t you? Do you know how to wield a blade?”

You nodded eagerly, your hair falling into your face.

“Sit with me then, I will teach you all there is to know about Total Concentration Breathing, [Name].”

“When did you intend to tell us you had a wife before us?” Suma asked, as gently as she could, after exchanging so many glances with the other two as they walked to the Butterfly estate.

The question shouldn’t have caught him off guard; he was actually surprised they didn’t press when [Name] had arrived back into his life, but now wasn’t the time to press this issue. He was dying from demon’s poison not an hour ago, he was exhausted, and Obanai’s late arrival did nothing to alleviate his bad mood.

“I was going to tell you…” Tengen sighed. “I was going to tell you once it stopped hurting.” His heart clenched at the thought of her gone, disappeared, dea- “I didn’t know she’d come back.” He faced the sky, the sun too bright against his lone eye - he now matched with his best buddy, he thought wryly - trying to swallow back his tears.

He didn’t deserve to cry about this, about her. He’d doomed her before he confirmed it himself. In a way, he had tried to redeem himself by how he treated his new wives, but he now saw the error of his ways. No amount of- whatever he was doing right now could have erased his guilt now that he knew she was alive all along. And that hurt more than anything.

The thought that he failed her destroyed him on the inside. Each day he saw her after she came back was agony. When she showed him her scars, he wanted to die, to rip his heart out of his chest and offer it, still beating, as compensation for the horrors she had to live through. And yet… it would not be enough, it would never be enough.

“Tengen-sama…” came Hina’s soothing voice. “We understand it must have been painful, but now that she is here, we need to know more.”

There was a lump in his throat, making it hard to swallow past the emotions and memories resurfacing. Tears pooled in both his eyes, making him wince when the salty liquid touched the wound on his left one. All that ran through his mind when the pain registered was that it was just a fraction of what she felt while she was away on that Gods forsaken Mission.

“We’d met when we were thirteen… still kids but you know how it is in the shinobi world,” he started hoarsely. “It wasn’t long before we started to fall… I saved up all my money and bought the mansion we live in to this day.”

There is one room you can’t enter, under any circumstances, okay?

It was her room, all three realized at the same time, sharing looks.

“It was foolish of us to marry, but I would have done it again. The short time we were truly together was worth it… She was actually engaged when we did it. Forbidden love at its finest.” Tengen’s eye glazed over as he stared ahead, lost in what used to be. He had been happy, both of them had been so happy despite the circumstances. They talked about starting a family, about quitting the life of a shinobi, about running away and never looking back. That kind of thinking bit both of them in the ass very quickly. “Her family was more… displeased than mine. She’d been sent on a suicide mission, though at the time, I had no clue it was that. By the time I found out, she was gone, and I was alone.”

And yet, she’d done the impossible - she came back whole, in one piece, at least physically. [Name] had no reaction to the silk yukata he gave her though, and that bothered him deeply. The bolts of turtle shell patterned fabric had been his wedding gift to her, it had been their hope, their promise, to swathe their first child in it. After her disappearance, it laid abandoned in her room. He couldn’t bear to enter it for years upon years, grieving yet in denial. He wasn't able to fully accept her death, to even think about her at all without weeping like a child.

Perhaps it was fate then, that after young Kamado’s trial, he’d commissioned a seamstress to make a yukata out of the would-be child's fabric on a whim. He wanted to hang it up, decorate the bedroom with it - a reminder and a remembrance, a threat and a promise, to never let any of his wives slip through his fingers like water.

Tengen was blessed though, with your life, he was blessed and he-

Nothing but a burden.

He would never call himself an asshole - would have never called himself one - until you, until that, until he called you a burden.

Gods, he deserved death for that. He never should have uttered those words. How hard he tried to reassure you, to ease you back into being home, to let you slide into comfort and abandon the high-alertness that came with any mission; night terrors woke the both of you in the silence of many dark nights - memories, would-bes, and thoughts plaguing the conscious and unconscious hours of your days.

Tengen had called you nothing but a burden, the words weighing him down now, making him stop and stare into nothingness, a chasm opening in his chest at the realization that no amount of comfort could have prepared you for this, he'd hurt you, broke your trust yet again, using your insecurities against you.

He had no excuse - sans one. He was scared, driven mad by the thought of losing you again and this time - under his watch. He was worried he couldn't protect you as he had sworn all those years ago.

And now he was the one who hurt you - the only person, who he couldn't protect you from, was himself.

Tengen was the God of Fuck ups, not Festivals.

As shinobi, loyalty was situational; whoever paid the most got it, and whoever couldn’t pay got dealt with.

As a slayer, your one and only loyalty was to humans. No demon should be allowed to live - minus Nezuko - and you planned to make good on those words.

You walked out of the wisteria forest on the seventh day, exhausted, but victorious. You’d been worried about it, since Tengen made even the lowest of demons out to be strong enough to rip you to shreds. That proved to be true - for most humans. You saw a few fresh blood puddles of where the other participants used to be throughout the week. All you could do was offer a quick and silent prayer and move on. The demons you yourself encountered were no match for your skill, though the borrowed half-nichirin half-iron wakizashi wasn’t your usual choice of weapon as a fighter, as a shinobi.

It was time to put such thoughts and memories behind you, move onto better and bigger things.

This time around, ten people managed to pass the Final Selection, including you, though you were by far the oldest. That was fine. Even if you spent only a year, a month, a week before you perished in the line of duty, even if you helped only one person, it was worth it. Suffering was worth it.

It was atonement for a lifetime of dirty deeds under the mantle of the title Shinobi. The whole weight of it was on your back, nearly breaking your spine. But you would endure. That's what's owed to humanity after you tainted it with your deeds in the dark.

Another side of you whispered, you’re still as black as you were before, you can’t find salvation, you are selfish to the core.

And the side was right.

Because your motivation didn’t lie entirely in saving humans, it laid in proving your husband wrong, in showing him you were an asset, never a burden.

You wanted to stand by his side and take on missions together - like how it was always meant to be. Tengen and you, against the world.

“Welcome home, dear student.” Kyojuro’s greeting warmed you to the marrow of your bones.

“I’m home, master.” You grinned at him, and limped over to give him a hug, neither of you minding the dirt and stink of the road.

“Congratulations on becoming a slayer. I’m proud of you.”

By the time your husband and wives were on their way back from Butterfly mansion, you had already stopped limping. You didn't stop training your Breathing in the meantime, trying to achieve using it non-stop as you waited for the arrival of your Nichirin sword.

The house was clean, snacks were prepared, and you found yourself sitting on the porch. Your stomach was full of butterflies, excited as you were to see Tengen again, though you were also a little nervous - you hoped Suma, Makio and Hinatsuru would grow to like you and for that, you needed to give a good impression.

You wore the silk yukata with a turtle shell pattern, an earthy green obi tying it together. You hoped you were flashy enough for everyone, though Tengen gave you the yukata so it must be flashy enough… Maybe you should have changed into something more colorful.

Tengen’s laughter echoed down the road.

Fuck. It’s too late to change. Is my hair messy? Gods, I should have checked-

The gate opened and you shot to your feet, straightening out your yukata in a panic.

Wine red eyes- no, wine red eye stared back at you, an eyepatch covering the other one. Your breath was nearly knocked out of you as you took in your husband. You knew he’d lost his eye and his left hand but reading about it in a letter and seeing it in person were two entirely different things.

You couldn’t stop your legs as you nearly ran to him, jumping into his arms, clutching onto him tightly as tears fell and stained his yukata. You had thought about what you wanted to tell him once he came home, but now that he was here - your mind became blank. You couldn’t think of anything to say, not when he was there, his scent and warmth filling you up in a way air and food couldn’t.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes seemed like hours.

At last, you said, “Welcome home,” in a choked whisper as you calmed yourself a little.

“I’m home.” His voice was near silent; if you hadn’t been so close to him, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

What a way to greet him after such a mission- Oh! You completely forgot about the wives!

You slowly pulled back, face feeling hot with shame when you took a step back, quickly wiping away your tears.

You bowed a little. “It’s nice to meet you again. I’m Uzui [Name]... your wife.” Your face was flushed and your hands trembled. “I hope we can get along.”

Suma was the first one to break; she nearly pounced on you, hugging you and swinging you around in a circle. You marveled at her strength as you held on for your life, laughing in delight.

A deft hand flew over your head and hit Suma, who nearly immediately dropped you - the momentum making you stumble back into a warm pair of arms and a very soft chest. It was Hinatsuru who caught you. “Are you alright?”

You regained your bearing, pulling away. “Yes, thank you. Are they-”

Makio was yelling at Suma, who was clinging to Tengen with crocodile tears streaming down her face.

“Uhm, is this the Uzui residence?”

Like moths to a flame, all of you looked to the still-open gate, where a kakushi stood. They had a - your heart skipped a beat - covered katana on their back.

You walked forward, smiling. “Yes, it is, kakushi-san.” You felt light, happy. Your Nichirin sword was finally here.

They bowed to you. “Uzui [Name], I presume?” They took the case off their back and presented it to you.

Your hands shook a little when you slid the cloth off of the sword. The scabbard was black, the grip a burnt orange, the guard in the shape of a flame, reminiscent of the one Kyojuro used to have. Your smile widened, cheeks near burning from the stretch; he must have told his artisan to make it for you.

It seemed the world held its breath for you as you drew the blade.

An ordinary steel greeted you before color bled into it, as if it were your blood fueling it.

A dark gold reflected the rays of the sun before it hid behind a cloud.

Your wives spewed congratulations after congratulations as you stared at your sword with joy. You felt as if you could soar. You laughed in delight as you sheathed the blade, hugging the kakushi, who blushed deeply underneath their mask, and then each of your wives. Happiness flowed in your veins, as golden as the sun, the flames, and the katana.

You Breathed fire. You were beautiful. You were powerful. You felt on top of the world, a goddess sent down to smite the evils of this world.

All this thanks to a single dark gold blade, your very own Nichirin sword.

Tengen could only stare at the scene in front of him, dazed.

He’d left you at home in hopes of saving you, of protecting you from danger he faced every day he went to hunt demons. The katana in your hand indicated he failed, and oh how miserably did he fail.

Did you do this to punish him? Is this your revenge? Retribution for the atrocity of taking more wives?

Nothing but a burden.

Did you truly believe his words - the ones he so stupidly uttered in a moment of madness in that sick room? He didn’t mean them, he never meant them. He knew you were more than useful, you were an asset in every way and form imaginable. Tengen was just scared, so fucking scared of losing you - especially losing you under his watch when he’d just gotten you back.

Fuck.

Did you… consider him unworthy of protecting you? Is that why you sought to become a slayer? To get your own blade and stand apart from him?

Was it a declaration of war on him?

Thousand men may die if so. He never, never meant for this to happen.

And Tengen would find no peace until he got to the bottom of this.

Raindrops fell one by one, creating a harmony of nature. A contrast to the whirlwind of emotions in his heart.

The light drizzle of the afternoon evolved into a lightning storm by the time the sun hid behind the mountains. You were glad there was no tree close enough to attract the lightning or to fall on the Uzui house, or you were sure there would be a big problem on your hands.

The tea room you sat in had been unused for months, clearly, as you had to wipe off some dust off the low table before you could use it. The pillows were clean, which was a blessing. It wouldn’t be able to dry out in this weather.

Though the furniture was traditional, the decorations were not. A few western pieces hung on the walls and there was a small statue in the corner of a naked angel reaching out to the heavens. One painting in particular caught your eye. It was a woman sprawled on her belly over a chaise, book in hand and kicking her feet in the air, clearly enjoying herself. If you squinted, the woman resembled you, a little.

But that wasn’t right.

If you were a painting, you’d be damaged, torn open, paint cracked, and your price would be pain - a price no one wanted to pay.

The door slid open.

All three wives stood there, and Hinatsuru spoke first. “May we come in?” She gave you a small smile, reassuring. You nodded.

Suma squealed and skipped over to the low table, quickly sitting down on one of the cushions; Makio carefully balanced a tray with teapot and four cups, Hinatsuru closing the door after her.

“I heard Tengen left to sleep over at Kyojuro-san’s. Is that right?” you asked, watching them all sit with you as Makio poured you a cup. The fragrance was slightly bitter, but you could easily identify it as mugicha, a barley tea meant to calm the mind.

You could guess why they came to you.

“That’s right. We’ve got a Girls’ Night today!” Suma grinned, nearly bouncing in her seat.

Makio gave her shoulder a light slap, “Shut up, let Hina speak, you idiot.”

“Hina~ Did you see? Did you see Makio slap me?” crocodile tears filled her eyes.

Hinatsuru shot them both a look, making both of them quiet down. She turned to you. “[Name], we’ve talked to Tengen-sama earlier,” she started. Your hand clenched around your cup of tea as your chest grew tighter. “We all know the feeling of looking in the mirror and not being happy with the body we see there. We just want to show you that you aren’t alone, and that in this household, there is no judgment. This household includes you as well.”

You stared at her in silence, in disbelief. You never thought they would be so bold as to approach you about this scarcely few hours after getting home, but on the other hand, it made sense. Tengen’s type wasn’t a shy maiden, even if it held a sort of appeal of its own.

A rustle of clothes caught your attention. Suma turned her back to you and loosened her obi. The short yukata fell to her hips, baring her back to you; there was nothing- until she used her hands to lift her hair. You drew a sharp breath.

An ugly jagged scar stretched from the top of her back up til it disappeared in her hairline.

“This is a pretty embarrassing story actually. Nothing grand at all,” she told you. “I was about sixteen and a spider startled me while training. I fell from a tree - a branch whacked me there, and since then, I have this ugly thing.” She let her hair fall down and sat properly again, a half-smile on her face; it didn’t look right to see her expression so grim and sad. There was a strange instinct to try to cheer her up, yet you remained silent, a lump forming in your throat.

Makio was next, untying her own belt as she knelt, letting her dress pool at her knees. Raised scar imitating torn flesh extended from her bellybutton to her hip, only partially hidden by her fundoshi. You wanted to avert your eyes but couldn’t. “This is only two years old. I was diving in the river with the girls when a current threw me on a bunch of rocks. Long story short, they were pretty sharp.”

She was so nonchalant about such a huge blemish on her smooth skin - it made you feel something, something sharp and unwieldy was lodged in your chest, throat, heart. Your hands trembled as you knocked back the tea and set the cup down quickly, lest you let it slip from your fingers.

You were being pulled apart at the seams, exposed despite wearing the most concealing yukata of you four.

Lastly, Hinatsuru stripped off her own yukata. A scar, unlike the others’, placed very deliberately over her areola. You choked on air, near hysterics.

Warm hands and warmer eyes reached out to you, grounding you as you keened. Because you knew the origin. You were there. You were there on the Mission.

You heaved a dry sob. There was only one thing you wanted to do.

You raised your fingers to your lips, kissing them, and then- the fingertips traced the ragged flesh softly, tracing it with a feather-light touch.

Perhaps you were overstepping, but you wanted to, needed to apologize, to show her intimately how beautiful you found her despite what had happened.

“You are stunning,” you whispered breathlessly, making her own breath hitch. You blinked back tears. “All of you are stunning.”

Suma shuffled closer. “And so are you, [Name].”

Your hand fell away. Perhaps it was foolishness, or bravery, that made you pull your curtain apart, baring your own skin to them.

There were no gasps, no horrified whispers.

Just four women, nearly naked as the day you were all born, sharing their humiliation.

…was it humiliation? Or was it strength to survive despite all the hardships?

"Our point is, each of us have some scars we are ashamed of. Do you think lesser of us for having them?"

You didn't even have to think about the answer. "No."

They smiled. And you realized that you would find only acceptance here, in their soft and tender arms.

Hinatsuru took your non-dominant hand in hers. "Some scars are silly, some scars come from gruesome experiences - but they make us who we are. They are part of us."

Suma took your other hand in hers, squeezing it briefly and lifting it to her lips. Oh so gently, she bestowed kisses on each fingertip, lingering on the scar from the knife tip that caused your abdominal scar.

In that moment, you did not see women - your wives - you saw deities, blessing you with their attention and love. They were willing to carry all your trauma together, to share the burden despite knowing you only for a short time. You had no words, except-

"I'm yours," you whispered, warmth filling your chest cavity, your body feeding on the intimacy, the closeness, the feeling of belonging. "And you're mine."

"You're ours, and we are yours."

If you were a painting, you’d be held together only by the frame - at least, that was how it used to be. Now, with three new wives to support you, you were slowly being put back together, healing at last.

"So… we match now, don't we?" Kyojuro said with a bright smile on his face.

It was the day after Tengen came home, but he couldn’t wait. Despite what he told his wives, he spent the night in an inn, marinating in the wrath he felt, in the hurt and the frustration.

Madness stewed in his stomach, threatening to be regurgitated at any moment. Tengen pushed down his feelings for the moment when he heard steps approaching. “Yes, we do match. Including the retirement and all the free time that comes with it.”

"I see. Well, you have your hands- hand full of your wives. I'm positive you will figure something out!"

A demure voice called out, "Excuse me." A red-haired woman came closer, kneeling behind the men sitting on the engawa and setting down her tray. There was tea for each of the men and a huge plate of steamed bread buns. "I thought you might be a little hungry so I…" she trailed off. Quickly getting up, she all but ran away from them.

"Thank you, dear!" Kyojuro shouted at her retreating back, laughing a little. "That was my nurse, Amiya. She's a little shy but really nice to talk to. She’s actually-"

Tengen wasn't in the mood to talk about his friend's nurse. He was here for business after all. “When did you intend to tell me you made my wife a demon slayer?”

Kyojuro paused, nearly mid-bite into a bun. Deciding to finish taking the bite before speaking, he quickly chewed and swallowed. "Delicious! Hmm, well, I didn't make her a slayer. She became one herself." He took another bite, finishing his first bun happily. "Delicious!"

“Cut that out, Kyojuro. She wouldn’t have become one if someone didn’t teach her Breathing. I know it was you, don’t deny it,” Tengen said between clenched teeth, rage very poorly hidden. Behind all the rage was worry, and fear, for her - yet all he could do was spew poison at his best friend.

“Maybe if you’d listened to her back then, you could have prevented me making her a slayer, in your words,” Kyojuro blew at his tea to cool it down a little. “Besides, [Name] is her own person and she can do as she likes. She wanted to be a slayer, she came to me for help, and I would be a bad best friend if I let your wife go into the Final Selection unprepared.”

Tengen hissed like an angry cat, “She could have gone to me.”

His friend leveled him with a flat look, so unlike his usual sunny disposition. “The last time she saw you before you left, you called her a burden. Imagine how that must have felt. If I were her, I’d be already divorcing you. Really, she deserves better.”

Better. Better. Better.

The word echoed in his mind. She did deserve better; she deserved someone who would support her no matter what, who wouldn’t go behind her back and marry three other women-

His brain circled around those thoughts almost constantly since she came back from that gods-forsaken Mission. What did she see in him that made her stay? Why did she decide to try - to accept their other wives in the polycule?

More importantly, Tengen knew she was antsy, that she needed an outlet long before he left for the red district. Getting back in the field - into the fighting, and the blood, and the hurt - was one thing he also knew he could not support. He’d just gotten her back, and he was supposed to be fine with losing her again?

No.

The answer was no.

He would have never approved of her joining the corps. He was a bad husband. [Name] deserved someone like-

Kyojuro sipped on his tea, looking over the peaceful garden.

-someone like Kyojuro.

“How often has she come to you while I was gone?” Tengen blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your first mission as a demon slayer was very uneventful, the demon being weak and easily tracked down, even despite your inexperience. However, there was a Kakushi that had gotten hurt - completely unrelated to the demon, they stepped into a small hole in the ground and rolled their ankle - so you were carrying them to the Butterfly mansion, which was the closest, or so the Kakushi told you. And they were right.

Once you’d laid the Kakushi down on one of the sickbeds further inside the mansion, where they kept the less severe cases, you didn’t want to walk back through the intensive care wing - especially since it was past midnight. You took a detour through the gardens, where you saw a red-headed young man sit on the engawa.

You looked him over, the bandages standing out against his sun-kissed skin. You knew immediately who it was. “Thank you for being there for my husband, young Kamado,” you said, breaking the silence of the night as you approached him. Kyojuro had told you Kamado Tanjiro had a very good nose; he’d probably been able to smell you long before you came close to him. “It must not have been easy - fighting an Upper Moon.”

Tanjiro looked at you, tilting his head. “Husband? Uzui Tengen has… four wives?” To his credit, he didn’t look as surprised to hear the Sound pillar had one more wife hidden away though perhaps his expression was closer to disappointment.

“It should have been me,” you confessed. “In the entertainment district - it’s what I’ve been trained for, what I was born for, made for.” The bitterness in your voice seeped through.

He gave you a tired smile, “Uzui-san, it couldn’t be helped.”

“I would have helped… He didn’t want me to.” You didn’t know why you wanted to pour your heart out to the boy. There was something about him, something that reminded you of Kyojuro, of safety and home. “I would have been just a burden.”

Tanjiro’s eyes softened, his expression sad, sympathetic to your plight. Yet he could say nothing, he only offered you an ear to listen, to take off your burden at his feet and go on with your life. He reached for your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I spent the time trying to become an asset instead.” Sleepless nights of the week pre-Final Selection came to your mind. You did your best to stop being a burden, and you achieved that; you had your dark gold sword, your Kasugai crow, and your duty.

“I think…” he started uncertain, “You’re a warrior - were one even before you became a slayer, weren’t you? So you have never been a burden, nor a liability. Whoever made you think this way is wrong, Uzui-san.”

His words brought a slight smile to your face. “You’re too kind, young Kamado.”

Despite the reassurance, dark thoughts swirled in your mind. Still, Tengen’s opinion was branded into your mind, into your heart, your body set on fire and burning you alive with the same ache that had pulsed through your veins in the rhythm of your heartbeat when you came back.

Tengen’s opinion hurt you as deeply as his betrayal had.

And it was hard to let go of it.

You were helping Makio with the dishes after dinner when Tengen finally came out with what’s been bothering him.

“Why did you decide to become a demon slayer?” his tone was a barely-restrained typhoon of emotions.

You looked Makio in the eyes, and she understood immediately, drying off her hands on a rag and leaving the kitchen swiftly.

You both knew it was going to be a nasty fight.

“Don’t be mad, okay?” You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his jaw gently, since that was all you could reach. Tengen had an unreadable expression on his face for a second before he practically dove in for a deep deep kiss, the force of his urgency making you lose your balance and you lost your balance, his body caging you against the counter.

As swift as a summer rain, the passion turned into anger. He tore himself away from you.

“Why the fuck are you doing this? Are you still hung up on the whole-!” Tengen gestured vaguely in a sharp movement.

You blinked a few times, refocusing on him.

But he didn’t let you answer. “Is this your revenge?” he growled, standing so close he cast shadow over you.

You huffed. “This is no revenge, Tengen. I just-”

“You just what? Your husband left on a life-threatening mission and you go dilly-dallying with his fucking best friend?”

“What? Are you being serious right now?” you could only gape at him, shock freezing you in place. “What the hell are you implying?”

Tengen grit his teeth. “What do you think? A lonely wife, soon to be a widow, in need of a husband. Oh look! There is one right here!”

You chuckled without humor, yet you found the situation wholly hilarious nonetheless. “Tengen, he has a girlfriend.”

“He what?”

“I thought you are his best buddy. Kyojuro’s nurse, Amiya? She’s his girlfriend. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Like a bucket of ice cold water over a fire, his anger was put out and he remembered.

That was my nurse, Amiya. She's a little shy but really nice to talk to. She’s actually-

You took a deep breath before giggling again, a little deranged.

Tengen took a step back. “I didn’t- I didn’t know.”

A mad laughter echoed in the room, and it surprised you to hear it was yours. “Really? You come back from a mission and you find your lonely wife, a would-be widow, found out about the joy of having a friend after years and years - and you what? Accuse her of cheating the first thing? Wow, you’re so fucking smart, aren’t you?”

“[Name], I-”

“No.” You Breathed, pushing him back and surprising him with your strength. “I never did that to you. Get yourself in the mirror and fucking look. Gods know there are many in our home.”

“Alright, I’m- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of that,” Tengen took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I really am…”

“Yes, you better apologize. And you better apologize for one other thing, Lord Tengen,” you seethed. All the anger, the hurt and the pain bubbled together in a nasty concoction of negativity, a poison you intended to make him eat every drop of.

Because he made you eat his.

“I- Precious, calm down-” He backed away a little seeing your darkening expression, “Okay, honey, don’t be calm.”

“That’s right. You don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m my own person, with ambitions and feelings - feelings, might I add, that you hurt with your loathsome comment-”

Nothing but a burden.

“- but really, I should thank you. I actually found something I can put my energy to now that I’m no longer a kunoichi,” your voice softened as you looked away. You didn’t want to let all be unforgiven, you just wanted to fix it, to embrace Tengen and be embraced by him - flaws, scars, and all.

The kitchen suddenly felt cold, you felt cold - as if you could never warm up enough. You were frozen to the marrow of your bones, and the chasm between the two of you seemed so dark and wide. You were an island in the middle of a sea.

But then he stepped closer.

“Can I touch you?” his voice shook slightly.

Your eyes met.

You nodded. He reached out with both arms, his hand taking yours and pulling you closer, into a tight hug, his stump crushing you to his chest. “I’m sorry, precious... I kept thinking I could lose you, that I would lose you again so soon after I got you back. I didn’t want that, I wanted to keep you safe.” His breath hitched as he laid his cheek on the top of your head, breathing in your scent.

“That doesn’t excuse your words.”

Tengen’s heart ached, your voice so small and wounded. “It doesn’t, and I swear I will do my best to make it up to you - for the rest of my life, every day. I swear on my existence that I will cherish you every day, from sunrise to sunset and from sunset to sunrise. You are my one and only, my precious.”

The reverent promises warmed your cold bones, bringing life back to where there was none.

You’d long decided to stand by Tengen no matter what. You would forgive him.

After a punishment.

The master bedroom was a work of art - especially for a polycule. Nearly all of it was a raised platform covered by one gigantic futon that could host ten or more people, with about a meter and a half from the walls on three sides as a walk-around. Perfect for what you had in mind.

“Ladies, take it easy-” he choked out. It was too much at once - Hinatsuru cupping his jaw and leaving hickeys, you giving attention to his nipples, sucking and biting them, and Makio at his cock, lapping at his flushed tip. Where was-?

He tried to reach out to push his wives away but felt a tug instead, his arms immobile behind his back.

“Sum-aaahn~ Fuck!” Makio sucked him into her warm mouth, distracting him from Suma, who was skillfully weaving ropes around his arms; she was, after all, the best at shibari out of all his wives. Their plan slowly sank into his mind. It was hot, and he didn’t want it to stop.

Your nails trailed over his abdomen, Makio cupped his balls as she took more and more of him down her throat, and Hinatsuru practically devoured him with a deep kiss, taking his breath away. His mind went blank.

“Done!”

At the signal, all of his wives took a step back, leaving him panting and aching for more. His face was flushed and his eyes a little hazy. “Wha-?”

Makio grinned, wiping a little bit of drool from her face. “Did you really think this night is about you?” she tutted.

“Exactly, Tengen-sama. You’ve had our wife all to yourself for weeks. It’s our turn,” added Hinatsuru, turning to you. “As long as the First wife approves.”

You smiled shyly, face hot, yet turned on. It was all a show, just for Tengen. Hinatsuru had already asked you in private if you’d consider a night like that, since the three felt the need to punish him for his transgressions as well. If he already wasn’t regretting crossing his women, he would be after tonight.

“What are we waiting for?” Suma skipped over to you, grabbing you by the yukata and kissing you deeply. You squeaked in surprise at her forwardnes but kissed her back. She tasted sweet, like mochi - you now knew for certain she ate it despite being told not to.

The mochi was quickly forgotten when you felt your obi loosen. Suma’s hands went into your hair as she kept you occupied. Deft fingers pushed your yukata off your shoulders, another pair of hands going up to cup and play with your breasts.

“Girls, come on… I’m here, why don’t you use me for your pleasures?” Tengen’s voice was faint to you, as was Makio’s response, your head underwater despite breathing fine.

The hands at your breasts disappeared, leaving you cold, your nipples hard from arousal and the change in temperature both. Suma pushed you backwards, until your calves met the raised platform bed. She finally pulled back, someone - Hinatsuru - gently making you sit, then lay on the mattress.

“You look so cute when you’re all flustered… Your eyes are so lost,” she leaned over you and kissed your lips softly. You chased after her for more, but she only giggled. “It makes me want to ruin you~” She smirked. “In a good way, of course.”

Tengen could only stare in mute shock at what was unfolding in front of him. All his wives turned on him, tied him up, and ignored him, seeking pleasure from each other instead of using him as their play toy. The truth of the situation slowly sank into his mind as he watched Makio replace Hinatsuru in teasing you, and Suma help Hinatsuru into a strap-on harness - a strap-on that was an exact copy of his own cock! They could just use him!

“Girls… I’m right here~ My hands are a bit tied though…” Tengen nearly whined, trying to make eye contact with any of them, only for all four women to be focusing on each other instead of him.

“Sweetie, would you mind…?”

You looked up to see Hinatsuru with a big strap-on, waving it in your face. You opened your mouth and started to give it sloppy kisses, getting it all wet with your saliva, as you looked up into her eyes. She was smiling down at you, petting your hair gently.

There was a brief conversation behind you but you could only focus on her as she guided you down the cock, making you gag slightly. Hinatsuru pulled back and let you go at your own pace, telling you how good you were for her and how lovely you look taking the strap down your throat.

“Mhm, I think it’s wet enough, isn’t it?” She cupped your jaw and slowly slid you off of it, a string of saliva connecting your lips and the tip of it before it snapped. “Makio, come here.”

Gentle hands hugged you from the back, open-mouthed kisses worshiping your shoulders as Suma moved you back a bit to make place for your other wife.

“Mommy is going to make you feel good,” Hinatsuru cooed at Makio, turning her around and pushing her to her hands and knees. “Present for me, babygirl.”

Makio arched her back, balancing on her forearm to spread her already-soaked pussy, the sight making Hinatsuru blush in delight. She took the strap by the base and teased her wife by going up and down between her pussy lips. Makio whimpered and tried to push herself back on it, very nearly succeeding, when Hinatsuru spanked her ass lightly.

“Be good for me, okay?” Nevertheless, she pushed the strap inside agonizingly slowly, Makio moaning at the feeling. She used both hands to support herself now that the cock was in. “You can only cum if you make [Name] cum, babygirl. Sound fair?”

Makio smirked, though it lacked the usual sass, each slow thrust taking more of her brattiness away. “Yes, mommy~”

Suma pushed you down to lay in front of Makio, spreading your legs with soothing strokes on your thighs. “Let her make you feel good~” She positioned you to half-lay on her lap, one of her hands coming up to caress your breasts and play with your nipples gently.

Hinatsuru thrust in roughly exactly once, and it was to push Makio’s head in between your thighs, forcing her to start pleasuring you. She licked at your clit with just the tip of her tongue, drawing circles and infinity symbols; the long-forgotten feeling of someone going down on you ignited a blaze inside your belly, making you gasp and clutch onto the bedding.

Suma took hold of your wrist and placed your hand on Makio’s head, whispering lowly, “She likes it when you pull her hair~” Hearing that, you tugged at her hair a little, her moans only adding to your pleasure, the vibrations feeling heavenly.

“F-fuck-” you breathed out shakily, wanting to pull away yet push her head closer to you, already overwhelmed.

Makio dove in, sucking at your puffy clit gently, laving it with the attention it deserved. She made her way down, grazing the tip along your slit as she continued to make little sounds from Hinatsuru fucking her. Flattening her tongue, she hungrily ate you, a woman on a mission.

Hinatsuru looked up from the lewd display in front of her to look at her husband. Tengen was mesmerized, staring at all of them, before he caught her gaze. She caressed Makio’s asscheeks before delivering a sharp smack, earning her a loud moan from Makio, and subsequently another from you. His face flushed a deep red, lips pressed together in frustration. All the while, Hinatsuru kept eye contact with him, a smug smile stretching her perfect lips.

You tensed, crying out and thrashing in Suma’s embrace, hand harshly gripping at Makio’s hair as you rode wave after wave of pleasure.

“Shhh, you look so lovely when you cum, don’t you, princess?” Suma whispered in your ear, hot air caressing your sensitive spot as you shivered. “Did you see how good Makio ate you out? Isn’t she pretty when her mouth is occupied and not sprouting nonsense?”

You could scarcely choke out a word, quickly tipping into overstimulation. Hinatsuru, bless her, noticed and roughly pulled Makio back on her strap, pulling her face out of your pussy as she whined and moaned.

Suma rubbed your thighs in comfort; you just tried to catch your breath, coming down to Earth from the Heavens you were in.

“Are you with me? Ready for your lesson, princess?”

“L-lesson?” you tried to get your bearing, while Suma turned you around gently, shuffling back a little, her cunt nearly in your face.

“Why, of course~” She grinned. “You need to learn how to eat out a pussy. Did you pay attention to Makio? If not, that’s fine. Come, I’ll be your teacher today~”

You looked at her with half-lidded eyes, saliva pooling in your mouth as you processed what she wanted you to do. You wanted to try, wanted to taste her, wanted to find out how to please her and how to perform your wifely duties to her. The curiosity of the entire act burned inside of you.

You laid on your belly, your lips just inches from the well of ambrosia awaiting you. You give a first tentative lick, the tip of your tongue swirling around Suma’s clit, making her sigh out in pleasure.

“That’s good, princess.” Whispered praises left her lips, instructing you how exactly she liked it, where to lick, where to suck, when to slow down and speed up. Gentle fingers threaded through your hair, reassuring you and grounding you.

You alternated between her sweetness and her puffy nub as she guided you through your first oral, the taste so addicting to you and the praises intoxicating. Her moans only made you wetter, made you anticipate what’s coming next in the night as you enjoyed Suma’s depths for all she gave. Her thighs quivered around your head, the sounds of ecstasy resonating in your ears when her legs didn’t squeeze you involuntarily.

Your face was flushed, you could hardly breathe; you ate and ate until she was screaming and creaming around your tongue, hot pussy juices flooding your mouth.

“You did so well for me, haaah- princess,” Suma caressed you, easing you off of her with a shaky hand. “How was it?”

You licked your lips and looked up at her shyly. “I liked it very much.” The admission earned you a smile and a deep kiss, before Makio patted both your shoulders. Her thighs shook a little as she winked and then tilted her head in the direction of your husband.

You all shared a secret grin, turning to him at once.

"Heh, I knew you would want my cock eventually," Tengen smirked. You gave him an unimpressed stare.

Makio circled him and bent forward to hug him from the back, whispering in his ear seductively. "Worry not, pretty boy. Once we've used you as we want, you're being put back on the shelf. You see," she grinned evilly, "we don't need you to get our pleasure." Her arms tightened around him, a silent warning to not move.

Hinatsuru laid in front of Tengen, her legs spread on each side of his thighs as if she were offering herself to him. She patted your thigh to draw your attention. "Sweetie, paint me with his cum. I want it all over me~"

The nickname made your cheeks heat up. You nodded enthusiastically and shuffled closer to Tengen.

His lone eye was lidded, face flushed and lips parted as he looked on in anticipation of what was coming. His cock twitched right before your palm met his flesh, the spongy tip an angry red and weeping precum. You held it steady and opened your mouth, letting your saliva drip down on it, using it as lubricant along with his precum to stroke him. Tengen let out a breathy “Fuuuhk-” when you started a steady pace, putting both of your hands to use. You swept your thumb over the mushroom head with each pass, paying attention to what he liked. It was your goal to make him finish, after all.

“Come on, be our good boy and cum quick~ We need your cum~” Makio whispered into his ear in a sultry voice. Tengen whimpered.

Your hands were firm around his cock, unrelenting as you worked him towards his release; the weight of him in your hands was familiar yet new at the same time. His balls hung heavy and you cupped them with one of your hands, fingers deftly massaging him for the sweet treat inside.

Tengen cursed like a sailor, first spurt of semen shooting out with enough force to land near Hinatsuru’s neck. You didn’t stop, trying to squeeze the most you could out of him as he painted a masterpiece on his wife.

"Good job. Now you sit here nice and pretty for us. Such a good decoration to our pleasure, hmm?"

You, Makio and Suma all descended upon Hinatsuru with the hunger of starving hyenas. Licking at her cum-stained skin, you cleaned every beautiful inch of her as she closed her eyes, enjoying every second of it.

Tengen could only stare again, humiliated for the n-th time that evening. Yet again he was forced to sit and watch his wives go at it, barely giving him a taste of the pleasures they gifted each other so lovingly, using him as a source of cum to continue the hedonistic display in front of him. He felt shamed, and unbelievably turned on.

Makio’s head bumped into yours by accident, prompting you both to look up. Your eyes met, an animalistic impulse taking over as you locked your lips together, Tengen’s cum shining like lip gloss on both of your lips. So engrossed in each other, you forgot all about the audience you had, everything a blur as your tongues danced.

“Time to fuck that attitude out of you, brat.”

Makio’s head was yanked from you, a string of saliva stretching and snapping between the two of you as Suma tugged her back by her hair. Makio was forced to support herself with her hands on Tengen’s thighs, making him blush deeply at the sight. A sharp smack echoed in the room.

Warm hands coiling around your torso distracted you from your stolen lover. Palms with small calluses ran over your breasts, the rough parts catching on your nipples as you were pulled away and down to lay your head on a pillow. Hinatsuru laid beside you, foreheads touching, air shared between you.

“Do you want to learn how to make me feel good?” she whispered, eyes searching yours for any hesitancy.

You had none though. “Yes, please… Mommy.” Your face felt hot at the nickname you called her, but Hinatsuru only smiled gently, cupping your face.

“Of course, sweetie.” Her fingertips trailed down your throat, your chest, belly, making you shiver and goosebumps spread over your skin at her feather-light touch. At last, her hand stroked your thigh, raising it a little to allow her access to your most intimate place, two fingers delving between your pussy lips. You drew a shaky breath.

“Close your eyes,” Hinatsuru whispered to your ear. “Feel my fingers, focus on how I do it…” You gasped as her thumb circled your puffy clit oh so gently. “Copy what I do to you, hmm? Can you do that for me, sweetie?” Her motions slowed down, waiting for you to start doing as she ordered.

Your hand hesitantly trailed down her side to the apex of her thighs, dipping down to her entrance to wet your fingers before you began copying her. Her shaky moan signaled you were doing it somewhat right.

“Feel me?”

You hummed breathlessly, leaning against her neck, panting slightly. You weren’t ready for the pleasure her digits brought but you tried to focus on copying her movements. Each flick, circle and thrust was met blow-for-blow on her own pussy. You bit your lip as you felt her huffing into your hair.

“You’re doing so well, sweetie. Just relax and enjoy it, hmm?”

You could hardly relax when she brought you pleasure so expertly - each circle on your clit winding the knot inside tighter and tighter, making you see stars even before your release.

“Let go for me, babygirl.”

You cried out, losing control over your fingers as you shattered on Hinatsuru’s. Tears gathered at your lash line while she shushed you, still stimulating you gently, prolonging the waves of pleasure as they crashed upon you.

“So adorable. You sound so cute when you cum, sweetie.” She took hold of your hand and ground down on you. “Now, be a good girl and let mommy use you- ah!”

Hinatsuru didn’t bother to muffle her moans, chasing her own la petite mort. You watched in awe when she came, her pussy walls squeezing your fingers, more slick coming out of her. Her whole body trembled and she no longer had to control you as you made sure to gently bring her down to Earth, steering clear of her clit to not overstimulate her.

A lewd sound accompanied you taking your fingers away from her. You looked at them, all sopping wet with her essence; before you could stop yourself, you were licking it all up. Hinatsuru giggled a little and cuddled close to you once you were done, giving you a sweet kiss on your lips.

Makio’s face was right in Tengen’s, each snap of Suma’s hips driving her closer to her orgasm, her breasts swaying back and forth, her nails digging into his thighs painfully. He could not look away; he ached with need, his weeping cock begging for attention, tears nearly filling his eyes from the frustration. Just behind Makio and Suma were Hina and you, coming down from your respective highs, cuddling and not paying attention to him at all.

Why? He was right there! Why didn't you or Hina or any of them give him any relief? He truly felt he didn’t deserve this…

Makio went taunt suddenly, her eyes rolling back and her arms losing their strength, nearly falling into his lap. Suma laughed breathlessly at that and slowly pulled the strap out of Makio’s pussy, the fake dick bouncing a little. With a few tugs on the harness, she was free of it, a few indents showing on her thighs from how tightly she tied the straps.

Extra appendage discarded, it was time to untie Tengen, who’d fallen uncharacteristically silent.

Makio was crawling to the cuddling duo, completely spent, when the last knots fell loose.

Tengen Breathed.

Suma was on her back before she knew what was going on, her legs spread wide open. “Eh?” was all she could say when her husband’s large form caged her in, the tip of his rock hard cock already at her entrance. Her yelp alerted the other wives that something was wrong, but Tengen was beyond the point of caring. He thrust inside with one smooth move, groaning loudly like a cheap whore, immediately setting a punishing pace on his Second wife.

All other sounds fell away other than the lewd wet smacks of skin-on-skin. Suma’s face became flushed very quickly, clawing at his shoulders while he rendered her guts to pieces with his harshness. A beautiful mix of pleasure and pain.

He brought his hand down to her clit, circling it the exact way she loved. Tears filled her eyes as her release approached rapidly. Tengen had still not said a thing. He was just staring at her, groaning softly, sweat making his hair stick to his neck and face, which was set in a beautifully pussy-drunk expression.

She was lost, her back arching as she clung to him. The fluttering of her pussy made him let out sounds reminiscent of a dying man and still deep inside her, painting her walls white. Tengen pulled out slowly, still hard, throbbing and far from done. He did nothing to stop his cum from leaking out, turning to the rest of his wives.

Makio was already dozing off, despite the commotion, so that eased his burden so to speak. Tengen shuffled closer in a few quick motions, grabbing Hinatsuru’s ankle and yanking her to him, her noise of surprise drowned by his feral growl.

She laid on her stomach, so Tengen just straddled her thighs and spread her asscheeks open, pushing inside her wet pussy roughly. Hinatsuru angled her hips to take him in deeper, fucking herself back on him and moaning at the feeling of his cock rubbing against all the right spots. "T-Tengen, slow down!"

You could only stare wide-eyed as your husband railed Hinatsuru like a beast, his stump resting on the small of her back, arching her up even more, and his hand clutching the back of her neck. You glanced at Makio on your side, long since passed out, and then Suma, who was dozing with cum oozing out of her.

You weren’t scared of Tengen, per se, but this was new. You had never seen him go crazy like this. It made you gush with wetness at the display, your fingers reaching down to play with yourself.

His furious pace with Hinatsuru slowed down, though not any less powerful. He leaned over her, his whole body covering hers as he put his weight on his forearms, grinding into her with each roll of his hips, her eyes crossing a little, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure. Tengen started to whisper in her ear; you could not hear what he said, but Hinatsuru’s eyes met yours, conveying a silent message you could not understand. Was it pity or something else entirely?

Smack.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Tengen spanked her, grinning widely, staring down at her. “Say my name,” he commanded her in a gravelly voice.

Hinatsuru desperately clutched the bedding - trying to remain in place or fuck herself back on him, you didn’t know - as she stuttered out a weak “T-Ten-gen-!”

“Louder!”

“T-Tengen!”

A quick rhythm of pap pap pap echoed in the room, you couldn’t look away, you could scarcely breathe. And then, Hinatsuru could scarcely breathe, when he wound his left arm around her neck, using the thick muscles to keep her in place while he had his fun.

Her face was red, mouth falling open in an ‘o’.

“Oh fuck- I’m cumming-” he choked out hugging Hinatsuru close, burying his face in her neck and groaning as if he were dying, letting up the pressure on her neck. She just whimpered meekly, grinding back against him, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his in an intimate touch.

You suddenly felt like a voyeur. You wiped your wetness on your thigh, quickly pulling a loose blanket over yourself, embarrassed.

There was a loud squelch and another whimper from Hinatsuru.

You chanced a look, your eyes widening.

It was clear Tengen’s mania did not pass yet, his cock still hard and twitching. “What, did you think I’d forget my dearest wife?” He loomed over you, his huge body casting a shadow, like a predator about to devour his prey. “Whether you're ready or not, here I come, precious…”

You felt like the temperature of the room rose a few degrees, watching him come closer to you, length bouncing, covered in slick and cum. You thought he must be pretty overstimulated, it should be easy to last…

How wrong you were.

Like an animal let out of his cage, he pounced. The last two creampies only took the edge off; your fellow wives were dozing off quietly while you were about to get ravaged.

Tengen practically tore the blanket from your body, leaning closer and blocking your escape, his forearms framing your head. “Why are you hiding from me, precious? Are you scared?”

You trembled from a mix of arousal and anticipation.

His wine red eye searched both of yours intently, waiting for your response. When you said nothing, he whispered, “Remember our safe word?”

Jade, or three taps on any part of his body with your fingers.

You nodded.

“You can still use it at any time,” he murmured. “Say it, or use our non-verbal signal, and I’m going to stop. Do you understand?”

You nodded again, making him sigh in relief.

Then, Tengen grinned, dropping all the worries he had; happy you were both on the same page. Now he was free to do as he pleased - as long as you didn’t stop him. “Then… Say you’re mine…” he leaned in even more, hovering just centimeters above your lips, your breaths mingling. “...pet.”

You exhaled harshly, the nickname doing things to you, his closeness, his voice, his scent… All of it an intoxicating mix of pure Tengen. “I’m… yours.”

“Hm? I didn’t hear you. Say it louder,” he whispered breathily, eye half-lidded. “Come on, be a good girl. You know you want to be~”

Your face felt hot at the intensity of his attention. “I’m yours.”

“Exactly, precious - mine to touch…” His right hand caressed your cheek, tilting your face up. “Mine to kiss…” he breathed out, diving in for a deep and sensual kiss that stole your breath away. “Mine to do whatever I please…” His hand traced down your neck gently as he kissed you again. “You’ve been naughty…”

His lips left your own; instead trailing open-mouthed and hot kisses on your throat.

“Teasing me all evening…”

Your pussy clenched around nothing, his cock bumping on your clit as he tried to position himself hands-free.

"Minxes-"

His tip caught at your entrance and he slid in with a low groan, your heat and wetness driving him near-mad already.

"You were so gorgeous, all of you."

In, and out, in and out - each time quicker and quicker, yet the way he took you could hardly be called graceful. It was an animalistic and desperate pace, all about pleasure and none about being pretty.

He leaned back a little, holding his weight on his hand. "Hold onto me," he panted out. "C'mon raise those hips f'me, precious."

You tightened your thighs on his hips, gripping as much as you could with his disharmonic thrusts, and arched your back off of the bed. His cock hit a very sensitive spot inside making you groan at the sensation and nearly slip down as you lost strength; Tengen used his left forearm to stabilize you as he fully raised himself upright on his knees, his right hand helping his thrusts.

He groaned, “You’re fucking perfect - and all mine, only mine.”

You could only mewl in response, your orgasm quickly approaching.

As did his.

“Fuck- fuckfuck, I’m coming, I’m coming-comingcomingcomin-!” he chanted over and over, falling over and putting nearly his whole weight on you as his hips stuttered. He leaned on his left forearm above your head to ease off of you a little, still slamming away into you, rhythmless and sloppy.

Heat filled you, setting you off like fireworks. Your pussy milked him for all he was worth, each spasm accompanied by a whimper from you.

“I can’t stop my hips- It feels so good, ngh-!” His semen spilled out of you with each slap of skin against skin, his pubic bone bumping against your clit and creating a burning ache there. Tears filled your eyes when finally he groaned out, "Fuuuhck-" You felt his hot cum spill inside you again, making you wonder where your husband acquired such libido and stamina while you were away.

Tengen slowed down at last, his body trembling above yours as he hid his face in your neck, panting. Your arms were boneless and refused to keep any semblance of coordination; nevertheless you hugged him loosely, one hand tangling in his sweaty locks. You untied his eye-patch and dropped it at your side, fingers returning to his scalp.

Each breath became longer and longer, his rutting finally coming to a stop.

He huffed and kissed your neck gently. "Gonna pull out now-" he grunted when your pussy spasmed around him, clearly overstimulated. He finally pulled out fully, for the first time since sinking into your heat, and nearly got hard at the sight again.

His cum was smeared all over your thighs and more still was leaking out of your puffy pussy. He could not resist - his hand gathering some of the pearly white, reaching up and smearing it all over your tits.

"Hey!" you protested half-heartedly.

Tengen laughed, still a little breathless. “Not sorry.” He gave you a short but insanely soft kiss, before standing up and walking to the door. “Stay where you are.” His form disappeared.

You relaxed, the gentle breathing of your wives soothing you. That was… something. You had never been with a woman before, nor had you had an orgy, or really been with anyone other than Tengen, but this felt good, this felt nice. Overwhelming, but neverending pleasure. Giving and taking freely. No pressure. Just ecstasy.

Tengen came back, carrying a small bucket of water and a few rags, each a different color. He gave you a wink and knelt next to Suma first, wetting one of the rags and cleaning her up, his gentle motions a clear worship to his wife. Once clean, he scooped her up and carried her over to the other side of the room-futon. Suma had not stirred once.

You rolled onto your side to watch him work as he moved onto Makio. Hers was swift, yet Tengen kept pausing every time she mumbled something in her sleep. Finished, he carried her to Suma, who immediately cuddled Makio to her chest. He threw a blanket over both of them as they snuggled for warmth.

Watching him care for them told you how deeply he loved each one, how devoted he was. Oddly enough, you didn’t feel jealous. Perhaps it’s the remnants of shinobi culture lurking in your brain, though the thought didn’t comfort you at all.

Hinatsuru groaned when he cleaned up his spend from her thighs, the water clearly going cold with time. Tengen shushed her softly, speeding up so he could get her to be with the others quicker.

With the girls, Hinatsuru rolled over, pressing herself up against Makio, seeking warmth.

At last, it was your turn.

“You’re shakin'…” You didn’t even notice until he pointed it out. He quickly grabbed the last wet rag and wiped you down gently. The water was lukewarm. “I’m right here, precious.”

His own body seemed clean enough, so he’d already done that for himself in the bathroom probably. You reached out and placed one of your hands on his thigh, right over the marks Makio left on him, hoping to provide him with a little of the comfort he brought you. Tengen smiled at that gesture.

“You did a good job, makin’ me feel good.”

You hummed. “And you did a good job making me feel fantastic,” you whispered as he finally wiped the drying cum off of your chest.

His hand slowed a little. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“No, you were just right.”

He leaned down to give you a tender kiss, the forearm of his left arm caressing your cheek oh so gently, it made you tear up a little. This man, your husband, worshiped you like a goddess. Your love for him swelled in your chest, your heart pumping heavily as if it wanted to beat out of your body. You felt loved - loved, cherished, appreciated. It was a heady feeling, a drug which made you crave even more of his soft attention and veneration.

You could only hope he understood the power he had over you.

Tengen set the rag on the rim of the bucket and put it beside the futon. You got to your knees to join the others when your husband snatched you up, making you yelp a little. He was grinning. “Can’t have you walking after your first night in our flashy group, can I?”

You giggled quietly when he laid you down, himself between you and Hinatsuru, who felt a greater warmth from his side than from Makio’s and rolled over to him. You reached out and threw a blanket over all three of you.

Despite your tiredness, you allowed Tengen to pull you even closer against him, bestowing another adoring kiss to the crown of your head. One of your arms stretched over him, tracing idle patterns on his chest - characters, words, should he pay enough attention to notice them.

I adore you.

I never want to leave your side.

I want to make you happy.

You make me happy.

I'm yours.

You're mine.

We are husband and wives, a family unit, never to be separated.

You closed your eyes and drifted off.

#uzui tengen x reader #tengen uzui x reader #uzui tengen #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #tengen #kimetsu no yaiba #smut #demon slayer #desi the blue eyed bitch #desi the blue eyed kakushi #tengen smut #angst #kny fic #kny smut #demon slayer fic #demon slayer smut #x reader #kakushino

2K notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 2 months

Text

the view between villages | alexia putellas x reader

based off of the tiktok edit…. tears have been shed in the making of this

warnings: horrificically brain numbing angst

All Alexia can focus on his the sound of the indicator of the van that she’s in. Her whole body stretched out against the backseat of the van. Alexia wishes that she was able to take up one seat, that she didn’t need to be completely straightened out against the leather seats.

Mapi’s sitting in the back behind her, chattering off, but Alexia’s brain syncs her out.

Her knee feels fine, sure it can’t bend and it’s swelled up so fat that her skin is stretched tight across her knee but she’s not in pain.

All she’d been doing was shooting, and then she was on the ground and it wasn’t even that bad, until she was pulled up and took her first step and everything just felt wrong. Her knee buckled out underneath her, and before Alexia even felt true pain, she knew exactly what was happening.

Alexia’s not a religious person, she couldn’t even tell you how to pray, but from the moment her knee buckled out underneath her to now, she’s been praying, every single thought running through her mind is a pray that she’s not actually going through this.

Alexia and unstoppable are two words that have become synonymous in her mind, Alexia is the best, she is untouchable. She knows it, it’s all that she thinks about, when she wakes up, when she goes to sleep. Alexia is supposed to be a fucking god, she is supposed to be indestructible. Yet, sitting in the back of this van, she feels like she’s completely dissociated herself with the person that she’s supposed to be.

Alexia is sitting eyes wide open with one thing stuck in her mind, is this the end of her?

Alexia doesn’t need scans to know exactly what’s wrong, she felt the crunch, she heard the pop, she’s heard and seen what an acl injury looks like.

Mapi’s been trying to tell her that they don’t know yet, that she scans are needed to confirm it, but Alexia knows, she just knows that this is the end of her year, the end of her Euros, the end of everything she’s been working towards for the last three years, maybe the end of everything she’s worked her whole life for.

There is the critical part of her which is telling Alexia this is her fault, if she had of just trained a little bit harder, if she had of gotten in the extra hours in the gym earlier in the morning or taken more time with her shot none of this would be happening, if she wasn’t so sloppy she would be fine.

The whirring of an MRI machine is a noise that Alexia’s brain will never forget, it’s one that she’d never thought she’d have to hear, a sound that no athlete wants to experience.

Within the hour, Alexia is handed a diagnosis and prognosis, as well as a ticket back to Barcelona. Her Euros and year are over.

She doesn’t cry, even though Mapi’s voice is in her ear telling her that it’s fine if she does and okay if she wants to.

Alexia doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want this to be happening to her, how could this be happening to her?

She gets taken back to the hotel within the same van, her body extended across the three seats, crutches sitting on the floor below her and her knee tightly hugged by a compression sleeve.

Alexia doesn’t feel like herself, she doesn’t know who she is right now but it’s not her. Alexia is supposed to be strong, she is the greatest, the indomitable force of Barca and Spain.

She’s surrounded by her teammates once she manages to crutch her way into the dining room, it’s silent, Alexia is grateful for it, she’s not grateful for all the sad looks and hugs that she receives.

Alexia’s phone has stayed in the same spot for the last few hours, tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. She doesn’t want to look at it, the hundreds of messages, articles and calls from the people that she wishes would just disappear.

She doesn’t need anybody, she doesn’t need any stupid consolations telling her that she’ll come out better, that it’s just a bump in the road, that she’s got people to support her.

She doesn’t care, she couldn’t give less of a fuck because at the end of the day a simple text message isn’t going to change anything. It won’t change the fact that she’s completely ruptured the most important part of her body, after doing something that she does hundreds of time a day.

Alexia knows though that the next week is going to be a fucked up whirlwind and she needs to get her business in order and that includes calling her mother and sister.

She finds herself a table by herself in the dining room, tucked away in the corner, ordering Mapi to just give her some peace.

It’s the first words she’s spoken, Mapi had answered all the questions at the hospital, something Alexia was so grateful for, because she still didn’t know how to put exactly what she was feeling into words.

The phone rings twice before Eli picks up.

“Mami, I need you to come pick me up from the airport tomorrow.”

Alexia waits a few seconds, she’s unsure about whether or not Eli will have heard the news, technically her injury hasn’t been formally announced but most of the football world would know already.

“Okay, Ale, is everything okay?”

Alexia is grateful that her mother doesn’t ask much more, she doesn’t think she’d be able to handle it.

“I just need you to come get me tomorrow, my flight should land at around 1, if that works.”

Alexia’s relationship with her mother is one of love and support, her mother is always there for her, she’s the person that will pick Alexia up no matter how low she is, no matter how much she’s begun to hate herself and treat her like she’s the most amazing thing in existence.

“Me and Alba will be there, if you need anything call me.”

Alexia nods, it’s the first time today that she feels like she’s holding back tears. She doesn’t want to burden her family, it’s the last thing she wants to do, but everyone she knows she is leaving behind to return.

Mapi brings her dinner, she doesn’t touch it.

She can’t stomach her feelings, she knows she won’t be able to stomach food.

Once Mapi’s done with her own food, Alexia gets her to help her up to their room. She feels so numb, like she could stab herself in the heart twenty times and it would feel better almost, better than the all consuming pain that she’s experiencing all across her body. At least being stabbed would be some form of relief, like she’d actually be feeling the pain of what she’s going through, instead she’s forced to look down at her knee which feels normal, and detest it for being so much worse than it feels.

Alexia doesn’t sleep.

She lays awake in the hotel bed all night, her knee elevated with as many pillows as Mapi was willing to sacrifice from her own bed and an ice pack that isn’t really cold anymore pressed to her skin. Alexia’s brain just can’t turn off, she finds it hard enough to sleep when she’s thinking about football, but right now football isn’t the sole thought that is running laps around her brain, instead it’s what's next for her.

Alexia’s always been interested in coaching, maybe that’s her destiny.

She just can’t imagine herself coming back from this. Alexia prides herself on always being her best, so even if she does somewhat recover, if it’s not at the level that she expects for herself then she doesn’t want it, she’d rather sit on the sidelines for the rest of her life than be another sob story on the pitch, a player that’s discredited due to an injury.

Alexia has clawed tooth and nail for her status, for her respect on the pitch and she won’t sacrifice that. She’s considering all of her options, retirement, coaching, anything that doesn’t involve her on a pitch with a ball.

The flight home is horrific, Mapi refuses to leave Alexia’s side, making the decision to miss their game for the day to make sure that her friend makes it back to Barcelona in one piece.

Alexia loves Mapi, she’s one of her oldest friends, but the woman manages to make Alexia want to pull her hair out before they’ve even boarded their flight.

She doesn’t mean to snap at her, she really doesn’t, but Alexia was getting sick of the persistent doting and questions that Mapi was asking her non-stop, even after Alexia would blank her, not trusting her voice or her mind to answer the insistent questions that María sends her way. It’s when they are sitting at the gate of their plane, they’ve been waiting for nearly an hour because Mapi had insisted they get there early to allow for Alexia to crutch her way through Heathrow, even though she was provided with a ride to the gate from the airport staff and one of their transport carts.

Leaving Mapi extremely bored, she’d gotten snacks, went to the bathroom twice and checked Alexia’s luggage three times. She was at her wits end, and that apparently translated to trying to ask Alexia as many questions as humanly possible.

It’s when Mapi starts asking her about who’s going to help her with her recovery and where she’s going to live that Alexia just cracks.

“Mapi I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to answer questions and I really don’t want your company. I’ve done my acl, I’m aware of it, I don’t need to be reminded every goddamn second, I have crutches and a useless knee that is enough of a fucking reminder.”

Mapi recoils immediately, if Alexia wasn’t so blinded by her anger and intense mourning for her life then she would apologise, but she doesn’t feel any kind of remorse or guilt, she’s to absorbed with the feeling in her gut that that’s obliterating everything in Alexia’s brain.

It keeps Mapi silent, the woman resorting to only talking when it’s completely necessary.

She stays silent on the flight, choosing to recline in her first class seat besides Alexia after she’s gently gotten Ale situated in her seat with her chair fully reclined to take the pressure off of her knee.

The rest of the flight, she leaves Alexia to continue to run the laps in her brain. It’s a mental workout, nowhere near as the real work out that she could have gotten today on the pitch had she not of screwed up so royally yesterday.

The flight isn’t so great, Alexia’s leg is cramping, her headphones are flat and for the life of her she can’t sleep.

So she sits, pondering and thinking about the next few days.

When the plane lands, she’s never been more terrified to be home in her entire life.

Alexia, through and through is a Spanish girl.

She’s lived in Barcelona her whole life, she spends her holidays in Ibiza.

Spain is where she feels the happiest, she’s a homebody in the sense that unless it’s completely unavoidable due to work, she likes to be around her club and her friends and being in Barcelona is where that is most achievable.

She loves Barcelona, loves the city, loves the beaches, loves the quiet life but also party life that Barcelona gives.

Yet she finds herself completely detesting the idea of returning home, mainly because of what she knows is going to ensue when she has to step off the airplane and face her new normal.

Mapi helps her through the airport, she’s flying straight back to England, but she walks her way out of customs anyways, even with Alexia’s insistence that she doesn’t have to.

She grabs her bags for her, wheeling them through the airport, until she spots Alba and Eli sitting near the entrance of the airport.

As soon as the two of them spot Alexia they are up on their feet, rushing forwards.

Mapi notices the look of terror on Alexia’s face as the two people closest to her approach, it’s something that Mapi’s never seen before.

Alexia and her family are so close, so close that sometimes Mapi is envious of the relationship she holds with her mother and sister. Yet Alexia looks at them like they are the last people that she wants to be seeing and it worries Mapi.

Mapi’s been worried enough the last twenty four hours. She knows Alexia didn’t sleep, she hasn’t eaten and she hasn’t been talking to anybody, she’s swallowing up all the pain and anguish that she’s going through and shoving it down. It’s what Alexia does best, it’s how she’s handled the fame and stature so well, she compartmentalises better than anybody Mapi knows. It’s why she worries about Alexia more than anybody else, she knows the depths that Alexia will go to try and hide her pain and eventually, it becomes too much for her.

Mapi is always the one to pick up the pieces, the person who is inevitably there when Alexia finally breaks down. She goes through it with her and once it’s over, they both act like nothing has happened, even though Mapi knows it is so much more than that.

Alba makes it to Alexia first, completely disregarding the crutches and Alexia’s injury, instead opting to bring her into a crushing hug, Alexia doesn’t allow herself to relax into the hug like she normally would, instead the tenses up, praying for Alba to let go of her, to just leave Alexia be, to stop reminding her that instead of being hugged after being away from home so long like they would have in a couple of weeks, she’s being hugged because she’s failed, because she’s been unable to complete the one thing she was destined to do.

Alba hangs on for a lot longer than Alexia feels necessary, her younger sister holding onto her like she’s going to somehow run away if she lets go. Once done hugging Alexia, she moves onto Mapi, embracing her and allowing room for Eli to look at her daughter.

She doesn’t hug Alexia, she doesn’t say anything, she just looks her up and down as if to say ‘You’ve fucked up’ as if Alexia isn’t already aware.

Eli moves onto Mapi, deciding that whatever she needs to say or tell her daughter, it doesn’t need to be said now, it can wait till they’re in private.

“Maria, thank you, you’ll join us for lunch?”

Mapi shakes her head, she wishes she could take the invite, but her flight back to London leaves in just over an hour and she really doesn’t have the time considering she has to go back through security.

“No, unfortunately I am needed back in England, but I'll take a rain check? Take care of her for me, keep me updated Ale, i expect regular phone calls.”

Alexia rolls her eyes at Mapi, it makes her smile, it’s the first fragment of emotion she’s seen across her friends face in the last 24 hours and she’ll take anything she can get. She gives Alexia a short hug, not wanting to make her uncomfortable before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and saluting her family before walking back in the direction she’s come from.

Alexia feels a part of her leave with Mapi, the part of her team that Mapi had been keeping with her, and now she was gone.

Alba fussed over her the whole way to the car, Eli stays silent.

Alba is the one who takes all of her luggage, gets her stretched out against the backseat of her Cupra and checks time and time again that she’s clipped in properly.

Alexia zones it out in favour of going back to the place in her mind where she’s been hovering for the past while, the part of her brain designated to thinking about all of her possibilities right now. Retirement, coaching, rehab.

Those are the three options that just won’t leave her head, in order of preference.

She does this the whole ride back to her house, it keeps her grounded, keeps her from focusing on all of the outside noise that she’s so desperate to drown out.

The announcement of her injury came out this morning, she hasn’t checked her phone, she doesn’t want to, she knows what she’ll be met with and it’s not something she wants to have to deal with. Instead of feeling supported, it feels more like a chore, like she has to thank all of these people who are wishing her the best even though they’re probably all grateful that she’s been sidelined. Alexia isn’t a threat if she’s injured on the sidelines, she’s not helping her team to try and win a European championship from a hospital bed.

When they arrive at her house, Eli orders Alba to go out and buy some food and collect any essentials from her own home so that she can partially move into Alexia’s house for the time being. Alba doesn’t hesitate to obey her Mamí, Alexia knows that there is a reason beside Alexia’s lack of food and Alba’s lack of belonging at her house, she’s trying to get Alba away, it terrifies Alexia a little bit knowing that she’s now going to be forced to talk to her mother, one on one.

Eli helps Alexia out of the car, Alexia’s house, is thankfully, one story. It’s an annoyance in the fact that if it were two stories Alexia would have a much larger backyard, big enough that Alexia could run proper drills instead of having to go down to the local oval to get a proper workout in.

It’s convenient in that Alexia can practically be self-sufficient during her recovery and won’t have to worry about finding someone to help her up and down a staircase every time she wants to eat or leave.

Eli gets Alexia seated on her couch, her leg extended across the surface before going back to the car and retrieving her suitcases, leaving Alexia to continue thinking about her current situation.

When she returns, she drags one of Alexia’s foot stools until she’s sat down directly in front of her daughter. Alexia refuses to look her in the eyes, she just can’t, it hurts too much knowing that instead of her being in any other position, she’s here.

“Alexia, look at me.”

Alexia doesn’t, she can’t, it physically hurts her to picture her mothers face. Her mother has been there for her in every single crucial part of her life, all of her wins and triumph and best moments.

“Alexia I did not teach you to ignore me or not look somebody in the eye when they are talking to you.”

Alexia is desperate not to cry, she’s been holding out, for the purpose of conserving peace and mind, it’s just for the best. It’s a struggle dragging her eyes up from the floor to her mother, it’s a struggle not to break down then and there.

She manages it though, she has to do it, she’s Alexia Putellas, she’s an animal on the field, nothing is supposed to scare her.

So why is it that she suddenly feels terrified to admit how she’s truly feeling, to admit that she feels more helpless than she has in her entire life.

Eli’s face softens a little bit when Alexia’s eyes meet her, she recognises the pain in her daughter's eyes, it’s the same pain that was on her face the day that her father died, it’s a level of grief and sadness that Eli hates to see on anybody’s face, especially her daughters. Alexia’s world turned upside down when her father died, Eli swears from that day onwards her daughter changed, there was no longer room for leeway or jokes in Alexia’s life. She knuckled down, harder than anybody, it was how she’d become the football player she was, she’d worked every single day to get to where she was and to see her now completely and utterly shattered, it’s almost enough to kill Eli.

“Ale, you can do this, your papí would want you to do this.”

For once in her life, Alexia doesn’t care. Eli can see the complete disregard in her daughter's eyes, she knows that right now all Alexia wants is to give up and as bad as it is she knows that her father may be one of the only things that will convince her daughter to use her brain and really take a minute to think about what’s next for her.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alexia is stubborn, she knows what she can and can’t do, she doesn’t need her Mamí to tell her.

“Too bad, we’re talking about it. Alexia, you my daughter, are the best in the world, you have something to fight for, something to return for, you will prove them all wrong, you must.”

Alexia’s household was one that had a never quit rule. It was drilled into her by her father, quitting was the most shameful thing any person could do, it was worse than losing or any other kind of shame, quitting was embarrassing.

Yet Alexia can’t find herself wanting anything more, she wants to quit, she wants this all to be over. Alexia’s brain, since before she can remember, has always been football. She wakes up thinking about football, she thinks about football in the shower, when she’s brushing her teeth, when she’s eating, when she’s training, when she sleeps. All Alexia thinks about is football, she’s obsessed, it’s insanity. Yet Alexia has always loved it, she’s prided herself on being the most consistent, the hardest worker, the person who never stopped. All she wants is for the constant football buzz to finally silence itself, she wants her brain to be quiet, it’s all she wants and yet somehow her thoughts are louder than ever.

“Mamí, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alexia looks down at her knee, and then back up at her mother, her stupid fucking knee which has wrecked everything.

Alexia knows Spain is playing right now, and she wants to support her teammates more than anything, but she just can’t, she can’t put her team on and act like it’s nothing when really it means everything to her, it literally means everything, every part of her body, soul, heart and brain was so ready for that game and yet now she’s sitting on her couch with a fucked knee.

“Alexia, I need you to promise me, for your father, that you are not going to give up, that you are going to take this recovery as a bump, not a wall and push through.”

It’s so incredibly unfair using the memory of Alexia's father against her, because her mother knows that was her inspiration for everything, when he died something flipped in Alexia that made her who she has become, right now she doesn’t care though, nothing matters to her.

“Mamí, I’m tired.”

Alexia is tired beyond her sleep deprivation, everything else in her life has had her exhausted for years and right now, for the first time it’s all hitting her at full force and it’s more taxing than she could even begin to comprehend.

“Alexia, promise me.”

Alexia shakes her head, her eyes darting away from her mothers face so she doesn’t have to see the disappointment on her face.

“I can’t Mamí.”

Alexia tugs at the blanket on top of her, tugging it over her good and bad leg.

“Then you aren’t the daughter I raised because my daughter would at least try.”

Alexia expects her mothers words to hurt her, but they don’t, she’s already been telling herself the same thing, that she’s no longer the person everybody thought she was, she’s an imposter of who she used to be and there is absolutely no coming back from that.

Eli stands up, leaving Alexia on the couch in contemplation.

Alexia would love to say that her mothers words resonate with her, but they don’t. All Alexia can think about is herself, about her own problems, about her own life, she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about it, not even her mother.

Alexia stays like that, on her couch, for hours.

Her mother makes her lunch, she doesn’t eat.

Alba returns and tries to talk to her, she ignores.

Her mother cooks her dinner, she doesn’t eat.

She just sits on the couch, thinking, the same thoughts over and over again.

Eventually, Alba forces her to go to bed, her younger sister struggles with Alexia’s weight but is determined to get her into bed, and she does after a bit of push and shove.

Alexia ends up in a similar position to the night beforehand, her bad knee laid on top of as many pillows as possible, ice pressed to it.

Alexia hates it, she hates it so much that she tries in vain to tear the pillows out from under her knee, but she just can’t, she’s too weak.

She collapses back into her pillows, the pillows that smell like Alexia’s perfume and a mix of grass and her body wash.

Alexia’s whole house has some resemblance of football in every single corner, whether it’s the case of trophies she’s won in the entrance, her cleats which are spread out everywhere, different pieces of memorabilia she’s got, kit bags, balls, barcelona kit, Alexia’s house is a shrine for football and right now there is nothing she wants more than to tear it all to pieces, she wants it all to be gone.

In one place, Alexia has started and ended it all.

Everything is over for her, every single dream, every single thing she yearned for at 16, it’s all gone. Alexia can’t believe in a god, no god would do this to her, no god would be so cruel as to condemn her to such a hell.

Alexia’s life is a rinse, lather and repeat for the days leading up to her surgery.

Her Mamí doesn’t talk to her, she force feeds her, makes sure she’s always got an ice pack pressed to her knee and that she’s sleeping. Alexia swears at some stage she begins to slip sleeping pills into her water because sleep that Alexia was running away from suddenly hits her at full force and she’s spending most of her days asleep on her couch.

When her surgery date comes around, she doesn’t feel anything, Mapi calls her, she doesn’t speak, Mapi does enough speaking.

Spain are looking like they’ll get knocked out in the early rounds, something that could have been avoided had Alexia been there, been with her team, instead of a hospital bed awaiting a surgery that would alter things far beyond just her knee.

Alexia wakes up groggy, her mother sitting at her bedside and her sister pacing back and forth at her bedside.

Alexia looks down at her knee and it’s bandaged up so tight and covered so heavily that she knows that this is going to be bad. She doesn’t get a break from her thoughts, they hit her full force, her brain works her out, keeps her going.

Alexia is home by the end of the day, hopped up on pain pills that make her feel even less, which she didn’t think was achievable. She sleeps for three days straight, it doesn’t help the never ending exhaustion she feels.

On day three, she’s forced out of bed to see a physio, the man is abrasive, rude and old. She doesn’t want to participate and all he wants is the pay check, they don’t get along.

He gives her a series of exercises that Alexia won’t do, he gives her pain pills that Alexia won’t take and gives Alexia a number for a psychologist that she will never see.

Alexia is back on her couch within an hour, Alba fussing over endlessly, even though Alexia has expressed her desire for independence multiple times.

By the end of week 2, she’s about ready to take a blade to her throat and quit.

She won’t do the exercises, as much as Alba tries to force her too, this creates some waves between her physio and herself. Alexia’s muscles are gone, she’s not bothered to regain them because why should she be? What does she need a muscle for if she doesn’t plan to use it again?

Alba is at her wits ends, so is Mapi.

María manages to squeeze a visit in during a spare day and what she sees when she arrives at Alexia’s is alarming, it terrifies her.

Alexia doesn’t talk, she doesn’t eat, she doesn’t move.

She thinks, all she does is sit and think.

She thinks about the anger, the people and things she’s lost, the people surrounding her, the air in her lungs, the rush of her blood.

Alexia thinks about everything and also nothing.

She likes it that way, she likes her brain all cloudy and foggy with disclosure. It’s her safety blanket.

At the two week point, Alexia forces her mother and sister out of her house, for her own safety and theirs.

The next day, she gets a knock on the door.

She ignores it, assuming it’ll be Alba trying to feed her or entertain her.

The knocking doesn’t stop, it goes on and on until Alexia’s brain is vibrating with the constant noise and she has no choice but to awkwardly crutch her way to her front door and open it.

Alba isn’t standing there, but another woman is.

“Hola, you’re Alexia Putellas?”

Alexia doesn’t know what to say, she’s been through plenty of media training, what to do if the paparazzi show up at her door, but you don’t look like a paparazzi.

“Yes, what can I do for you?’

You smile so brightly that Alexia isn’t quite sure how one person can look so happy in the current world you’re living in.

“Doctor Matthews sent me, I’m here for your physio.”

Alexia is about to argue, but you push your way past her door and into the threshold of her house.

“Doctor Matthews and I have an appointment tomorrow, not today, and it’s supposed to be in his office.”

Alexia was planning on cancelling it, or postponing it, like she does with most things these days.

“He’s made a change in your treatment plan, due to your refusal to do your exercises at home, Barcelona has advised that they would prefer you take part in a more home-based recovery.”

Alexia follows you back into her own kitchen, slightly shocked at your comfortability with letting yourself in.

“I’m good.”

You roll your eyes at Alexia, looking her up and down before setting down your bag on her counter.

“You haven’t been doing your exercises, I’m here to make sure you do, you can make this as hard as you like but I’m not leaving until you do.”

Alexia doesn’t like your assertiveness, doesn’t like that you are somehow able to make her feel more attentive then she has in three weeks.

Alexia can’t remember a single exercise she’s been given, she simply hasn’t cared to look at them.

“I don’t have any exercises.”

You roll your eyes once again and it makes Alexia feel more genuinely human then she has in a while.

“You do now, we can get started on the couch if you’d like?”

Alexia nods, she doesn’t know what else to do but nodding seems like a good idea.

“If you can just get yourself sat down and then we can get started.”

You nod towards Alexia’s couch, and she follows your direction, crutching over towards her couch and sitting down before swinging her good leg onto the cushions and then her bad one.

It’s probably the most activity Alexia has done in days, she feels inexplicably uncomfortable with you being so controlling over her, yet you don’t care.

“So Ms Putellas, assuming that you’ve done none of your exercises, I’d like to test your ability to straighten out your knee and bend it, does that sound okay to you?”

The smile, it’s like your lips are being stretched into a line that is inhumane.

“Alexia or Ale please, and I did the exercises with Doctor Matthews.”

Alexia wants to tell the physio who’s name she’s yet to learn that she’s been wearing her brace, she’s been staying off her knee, she’s been behaving. Yet she finds herself not saying anything, why should you care, why would you care? Alexia is just a bothersome patient that you are being forced to see, just another broken person.

“So once every couple of days? You do know that a successful acl recovery requires you to exercise more than once every few days. I assume somebody like yourself wants as quick and steady of a recovery as possible.”

Alexia doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t know what she wants, if she’s being honest, she’s trying to prolong this recovery in an attempt to keep herself away from the pitch for as long as possible, she doesn’t want to be anywhere near a ball or anything resembling her sport that she once held so much love for but now she only holds resentment for.

Alexia flinches when your hands come into contact with her brace, slowly unstrapping the different pieces of velcro.

“Alexia, do you have any plans to play football again?”

Your question may sound rhetorical, but it’s a genuine one.

It’s a question that Alexia has been avoiding for weeks, the brain fog has been enough of a distraction.

“What does that matter?”

You manage to slip the brace off of Alexia’s knee, then the compression sleeve, revealing a swollen knee.

Her stitches had been removed a couple of days ago, leaving an ugly looking scar that Alexia couldn’t bear to look at.

It was just another reminder of her failure, the biggest reminder.

“I want to get you back onto the pitch, but Alexia, you don’t really seem like you want it.”

You don’t mention that you’ve been asked to visit Alexia at the request of her family and friends as well as Barcelona, this is what you’re good at, this is your specialty.

“You have no idea what I want.”

Alexia flinches when your finger flattens out across her scar, her knee jerking at the feeling of the most vulnerable part of her body being touched.

Alexia herself hasn’t dared to touch it, it’s the source of all of her hatred, the last thing she wants to do is touch it, because somehow that makes it all more real.

“Your scar has healed nicely, the surgical site is looking really good.”

You continue to prod around Alexia’s scar, before moving onto the rest of her knee, poking at different parts of the swelling.

“Alexia, do you want to get back on the pitch or do you want to spend the rest of your life on the sidelines?”

It’s another one of those questions that Alexia has purposely been avoiding, because what sort of question is that.

“Best footballer in the world, condemned to a life on the sidelines, that’s a pretty good front page headline, just saying.”

Alexia doesn;t know who or what gave you the nerve to behave so rudely, she just knows that you are getting on her nerves.

“I’m going to bend your leg now Alexia, tell me if you feel any discomfort.”

Before Alexia can protest, your hand is resting underneath her knee and gently lifting it from a 180 degree angle upwards.

“Stop-stop I’m not ready for this.”

You don’t stop, even with Alexia reluctance, gently pushing her stiff knee upwards, finding zero resistance.

“Seems like you're pretty ready to me.”

You smile as you get Alexia’s knee fully bent, her foot flexing to support the weight and steady the movement.

Alexia doesn’t like anything about it, she doesn’t like the fact that you brazenly have taken charge of Alexia like she’s a child.

“Feels good, yeah?”

Alexia doesn’t nod, she doesn’t think it feels good, it feels like bending her knee has just become twenty times harder and there is nothing good about that.

“I’ll take the silence as a yes, have you started walking yet, without your crutches?”

Alexia shakes her head, walking is not something that has been on her mind the last few days.

“Well, let’s try and get you walking then.”

You stand up, extending Alexia’s crutches to her and waiting patiently for her to stand up.

Alexia doesn’t, she’s sick of being bossed around like she’s got absolutely no say in her recovery.

“No.”

You cock your head at her, silently questioning her.

“You want to return to a football pitch in the next 9 months then you are going to get up Alexia.”

Alexia shakes her head.

“I’m not walking today, it’s not happening, I’m not ready, I can’t.”

You take a step back, one of your eyebrows lifting up your forehead.

“As much as I love the can do attitude, if you don’t walk today then you’ll walk tomorrow, I’m not here to make suggestions Alexia, I’m here to rehabilitate you, whether you feel like you’re ready for it or not.”

Alexia shakes her head, again, she wants this person out of her house, effective immediately.

“I don’t have to do what you tell me, get out of my house.”

You laugh at her, you have the fucking audacity to laugh at Alexia.

“Technically no, but your life will be a lot harder if you don’t listen to me and your Mamí gave me her explicit permission to be in here as much as I like, as well as Barcelona. We’ll be doing daily rehab, because you can’t be trusted to do it on your own, so you can walk today, you can walk tomorrow, you can refuse to, but we’re going to do it at some stage and you’re only making your life tougher with everyday you delay yourself.”

You manage to leave Alexia speechless, your arms crossed over your chest, head cocked and eyebrow raised.

“You don’t have to walk, but just get up please, at least move around on your crutches a little bit.”

Alexia meets you halfway with that offer, allowing you to help her stand up and hobble out from her couch and into her kitchen.

Alexia is once again shocked when you walk directly into her kitchen and begin to look through her fridge and pantry.

“You’ve got no food.”

Alexia knows that, the last thing on her mind the last couple of days has been food, most of her meals have come from take out meals that Alba has brought around on her random drop in visits.

“Aren’t you my physio, not a nutritionist?”

You pivot, turning around and eyeing Alexia up and down.

“I’d like to say my services extend beyond traditional physiotherapy, I work in an unconventional space, which calls for unconventional methods.”

The complete confidence you portray makes Alexia wary, and a little bit intimidated.

“Can you take your unconventional methods elsewhere?”

You snort at Alexia, but don’t object.

“I can, I’ll be back in the morning, be ready for more of a workout, I’d get your beauty sleep. I’ll give you my phone number, if you need anything, at any time of day, whatever it is, I’m here if you need me.”

You smile at Alexia, writing your phone number down in her phone which she passes to you, before collecting your things and making your way to Alexia’s door, waltzing your way out like you’d never been.

That night, when Alexia’s laying in bed you’ve managed to insert yourself into her constant brain chatter, you feel like a figment of her imagination more than anything, you insert yourself into her thoughts in a way nobody else has been able to do since her injury and it honestly confuses her more than she thinks possible.

Alexia struggles to sleep, as she does every night, tonight it's for a slightly different reason. She just can’t figure out how or why you’ve suddenly made your way into her life and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Alexia isn’t happy when at 9am the following morning there is a non stop knocking at her door, lately, the Catalan has been spending as much time in bed as possible. There is nothing to wake her up, Alba’s taken Nala with her so that her dog can get proper care, Alexia has nothing to wake up for besides her bladder and water if she’s very desperate.

Recently, she’s been sleeping till 12 if possible, getting up between 12-3/4 and then going back to her bed to toss and turn until she finally falls asleep.

It’s tiring, doing nothing, acting like everythings normal when in reality it’s all been turned upside down for her. Alexia hasn’t cried, she can’t, she knows that as soon as she shows any real evidence of how she truly feels it’ll all crack, it’ll all turn into one big mess that she won’t be able to wade her way out of.

Alexia almost trips on four different obstacles on her floor as she crutches her way to the door in a half asleep state, struggling to keep her eyes open as she makes it to her front door.

You’re standing behind her door, multiple bags in hand and the same smile from yesterday on your face.

“Alexia! Bon dia.”

Alexia’s not awake enough to really even take in your presence, let alone reply to the amount of happiness behind your voice.

For the second time in less than 24 hours, you push your way past Alexia and into the threshold of her house, lugging the multiple bags through the hallway until you unceremoniously dump them on her kitchen table.

Alexia crutches her way into her kitchen, still confused by your sudden presence and energy.

“I’ve got food for you, I can make breakfast or we can go for a walk to a cafe and get you out of the house.”

Alexia hasn’t left her house since it happened for anything besides physio appointments, she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to face a real world, a world where she’s supposed to be a football player and instead she’s a invalid.

“I can make my own breakfast.”

You open Alexia’s fridge, beginning to unpack the exorbitant amount of food that she’s bought.

“Your focus today is to walk, I’ll focus on breakfast.”

Alexia frowns, a big frown, the last thing on her agenda for today had been to walk, the first thing had been to get a little bit more sleep but that’s already been taken from her.

“I’m not walking today.”

Alexia doesn’t want to have to relearn how to walk, the only time she thinks it’ll ever be acceptable for her to struggle to walk is when she’s 90 and her bones are old and unusable.

“Are you not? I’m fairly sure you are, according to my planner for today.”

Alexia settles herself on one of her island stools, sick of standing and bearing weight.

“You can’t make me walk.”

You shrug at her.

“Technically no, but I beg to differ. Any allergies?”

Alexia shakes her head no, to both questions, you nod your head at her.

“You can’t keep yourself in crutches forever, I imagine you want to get out, go to a pitch and kick a ball or something. Being in your house without any entertainment can’t be much fun.”

Alexia begs to differ, being in her house is the only place she feels safe right now, leaving terrifies her, it makes her feel more vulnerable then she’s comfortable with.

She watches as you pull out some of the groceries you’d tucked away in Alexia’s fridge, placing them out on her countertop before moving into her shelves and finding the tools and pans you needed.

“You haven’t even told me your name and you are in my kitchen making me breakfast.”

You turned and looked up at Alexia, the same smile spread across your face.

“Doctor y/n, y/l/n.”

Alexia nods, she feels a little bit more at peace now that she knows something about you, in comparison to absolutely nothing.

“What are your interests? If we’re going to be seeing each other so frequently then I’d like to know the person I’m with.”

You start to mix together the food, keeping eye contact with Alexia as you do so.

“My job is my life.”

Alexia doesn’t like that answer.

To be fair, anybody who had asked Alexia that same question would have received the same answer in the last fifteen years.

Football is Alexia’s life, or was.

She doesn’t think it is anymore, or she doesn’t really know, it’s one of the big questions constantly circulating in her brain.

“You must have things you do beyond this.”

You shrug at Alexia, this isn’t supposed to be about you, it’s supposed to be about her.

“I enjoy my job, I enjoy rehabilitating people, it’s what I’m good at, if there was a ballon d’or for what I do then I would win it, nobody does my job like I do.”

Alexia believes you, she believes every word that leaves your mouth. The confidence you breathe isn’t over crowding, it’s refreshing, she finds herself feeling more level headed around you then she has in weeks.

“But, you have something else.”

Alexia knows that whilst her life used to be football, and she would define it as so, she still had other things, a party here and there, her family, her dog, food. She has other things that added to her success in her sport.

“I used to dance, the ballet and whatnot, until I tore both of my achilles. That’s why I do what I do. I understand what it’s like to want to spend every single day after an injury thinking about your existence, thinking about what the point is in living if you aren’t defined as your sport anymore. My job is my purpose.”

Alexia doesn’t know what her purpose is anymore, it used to be football, her father, the history behind it all. She doesn’t know if that’s her purpose anymore, she doesn’t think it is. She wants a purpose, she wants to be as sure as you and decide that she’s going to devote herself to helping other people like you do, but she can’t, she doesn’t even see herself leaving her house in the next month, let alone trying to help other people.

The omelette you make Alexia is so delicious that Alexia doesn’t even really notice she’s eating until all of the food is sitting in the bottom of her stomach and she suddenly feels sick.

That's the reason Alexia hasn’t been able to eat, the sickness, the gut rotting feeling that eats at her after any food touches her lips.

There’s no explanation for it, Alexia just hates the idea of nourishing herself, nourishing a body that she’s grown to hate so heavily.

Once Alexia is done eating, you walk around to her, smiling in a way that makes Alexia slightly worried.

“We’re going to walk.”

Alexia shakes her head, although you don’t waiver.

“Up, get up, on your crutches, in the hallway.”

Alexia only obeys for the purpose of keeping the peace that she’s desperate to have a balance of in her home.

She makes it to the middle of the hallway when you tell her to stop, walking up to her and swiftly pulling her crutches out of her hands and walking to the opposite end of the hallway.

“Walk to me.”

Alexia realises your plan, she’s not in reach of leaning on either of the walls beside her without taking a step, she’s stuck, she takes a step or she stays stood.

“Give me my crutches.”

You put them back down against her island, standing with your arms crossed over your chest at the end of her hall.

“Walk to me and you get them back.”

Alexia looks down at her feet, her good one is doing all of the work to support her weight, her bad leg is hardly bearing any weight whatsoever.

Alexia honestly doesn’t know if she could put her foot down, if she could share some of the weight, there is a mental block in her head telling her that something terrible is going to happen if she does, that she’s going to retear her acl or break her knee.

The scariest thought in her mind though, is the thought that everything will be fine, that Alexia is going to be able to walk, that nothing is going to be wrong and she’s going to take a step and it’ll be okay.

The thought terrifies her, because if nothings wrong, then that means that her recovery is going as it should, that she’s on track, that she’s expected to walk and fucking try instead of just slowly fading away into nothing.

“I need my crutches.”

You shake your head, your eyes squinting as you look her up and down.

“Alexia, try and walk for me.”

Alexia looks down at her bare feet, her feet which are holding her body up, without the help of her crutches.

It’s more that she doesn’t want to walk in comparison to feeling like she actually can’t walk.

It’s then that she takes a step.

Alexia’s never been held back by the things that are hard, the things she doesn’t want to do, because that’s what’s always made her so great.

She supposes that if you’re as determined as you say, then she’s going to walk, whether she wants to or not.

The first thing she realises is that it doesn’t hurt, it’s uncomfortable, sore and weird, but it doesn’t hurt in the way that she feels like it should.

One foot in front of the other.

That’s all it is, a foot in front of the other.

Yet, as soon as she does it, something washes all over her.

Her team, her memories, her love for everything that she does.

Football is the only thing on Alexia’s mind, except it’s not about how Alexia can be better, it’s not about what Alexia can do next time she’s on the pitch, it’s not about Alexia’s need to train harder or put in more work. It’s about the love, the atmosphere, the people that she knows and loves and surrounds herself with. The things she’s lost, the people she knows, the people that have surrounded her through it all.

Alexia looks up at you, your grin somehow grown even larger as Alexia slowly, but surely steps her way closer to you with every small bit of meterage that she makes up.

When she makes it to the end of the hallway, you’re there to steady ehr, both on her feet and her mind. Alexia doesn’t reach for her crutches, she steadies herself briefly before making her way back to her couch and taking a seat.

She can’t deal with the praise that she can hear you throwing at her, not with the blood that’s rushing through her ears and the buzzing in her head as the thought of football, or her football memories bounces around in her brain.

Is she ready to let that all go? Disappear from her sport completely and just give up the people and memories that she’s grown to love so deeply? She doesn’t know.

Alexia feels like a broken record, it all goes straight to her head and she can’t get it out.

Alexia supposes she must send herself into some kind of panic attack, because before she can even try to compartmentalise or explain any of her thoughts to herself, she’s fucking crying.

It’s the one thing she’s been avoiding with all of her might, and yet she’s bawling, tears that she detests dripping straight down her face.

If Alexia hates crying, then crying in front of people quite literally makes her want to slit her throat.

Yet here she is, crying on her couch and struggling to take control of herself whilst you take a seat beside her, a hand on her shoulder rubbing circles into her skin through her cotton sleep shirt.

“Alexia, deep breaths.”

Alexia doesn’t want to breathe, or she doesn’t feel like she can, everything is so much harder to do when she’s so in her head, it makes it all so much more difficult.

“Breaths, come on Alexia, focus on your breathing, you can do it.”

Alexia’s never reacted well to being comforted during a breakdown, as a kid she would quite literally lock herself in a wardrobe or some small confined space until she calmed down, Alba would try and hug her, her mother would try and bathe her in random compliments and her father would just be there, she hated it though. She hated pity, she hated attention that wasn’t focused on achievement or greatness,

Yet you somehow don’t make her feel like that, your hand is comfortable and your words are breezy, there are no guarantees that everything is going to be okay, or attempts to rationalise whatever it is that Alexia is feeling, there is just comfort.

Alexia gets herself under control, in a matter of a couple of minutes, but the damage is already done, she’s well aware.

As soon as her breathing evens out and her tears stop falling you remove yourself from her, squatting down directly in front of her, looking at her on eye to eye level.

“21 steps.”

Alexia nods, 21 steps, 21 fucking steps.

“That’s a lot of steps for a woman who tried to tell me she couldn’t walk.”

Alexia tries her hardest to glare at you, but it doesn’t work, not with her red and swollen eyes.

“Never again.”

You snicker, the smile returning to your face.

“3 weeks and 21 steps, you don’t want to know what I can do in a matter of months, I’ll get you back on that field Alexia, better than ever.”

Alexia nods, taking a deep breath through her nose.

“What if I don’t want it?”

It’s the first time she’s admitted that allowed and it’s hard, it’s hard to even utter the words that break up her relationship with her sport.

“Then you are stupid, we can get you back to where you were, I know that sounds ridiculous, but I will get you there, if you want it, if you try hard and trust me.”

Alexia nods, because she feels like she has to more than anything.

“If I do it, I want one thing in return.”

Your eyebrow raises up.

“What do you want?”

Alexia’s never felt more comfortable with a person in her life, it’s a trait she wants in her physio, but also one she’s searching for in another walk of her life. She realised that the minute your hand fell on her body when she was stressing, that somehow you just understood her. Whether it was the injury, the sporting commitment or the work ethic, there were overlaps that Alexia couldn’t be overlooked.

“Let me take you on a date.”

You falter for a second, something Alexia is yet to have seen in the 24 hours she’s met you.

“I don’t date clients.”

Alexia is persistent, something she prides herself on.

“Make an exception for me, if you can make me as good as I was then you’ll let me take you on a date as a form of repayment.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m already getting paid plenty by your club and family.”

Alexia frowns.

“Please.”

Alexia doesn’t like to beg, she saves begging for the people below her.

“Fine, if you listen to me for a whole 9 months then I’ll let you take me on a date, if you don’t hate me by the time we get there.”

Alexia smiles.

“I’m already planning it out in my head.”

542 notes · View notes