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rainybubbles · 2 months

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141 coming back to you after a eight months mission

Plus size reader :) !

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC)

G H O S T

-Eight long months, every fiber of his being yearned for a hot shower, his eyes struggled to stay open.

- Yet, it wasn't his shabby apartment that the taxi drove to.

-Simon, buried beneath the Ghost's mask, still held a glimmer of humanity within him, a breath hidden beneath Ghost's blood, death, and violence.

-But on that evening, what he ardently desired was them: their gentleness, their scent, their warmth.

-Like a wild animal slowly tamed by food, he returned to them whenever possible.

-Under the pouring rain, he advanced, hastily thanking the driver, the heavy bags weighing on his shoulders.

-He stepped into the still slumbering pastry shop, and the bell rang.

-And there they appeared.

- Covered in flour, with a pastry cap and apron, they were surprised to find someone there at five in the morning.

-"Simon," they murmured.

-The sound of his name was so sweet, so soothing.

- But he wanted more.

-He wanted them to whisper his name over and over again, filled with desire, until they could only utter it, clouded with pleasure.

-His bags fell to the ground, and his arms enveloped them in an instinctive movement.

- Their hair smelled of sugar and butter, the flour staining their black sweater. Simon wanted more.

-"Y/n"

-" I missed you," they whispered.

-He couldn't bring himself to respond, to admit this longing, but they could sense it.

-His arms didn't let them go.

-"Scone?" they asked.

-"No. "

-"Muffin?"

- "No."

-" Croissant?"

- "You," he finally said.

A silence stretched between them.

-"I have to finish my batch, I open in an hour. Do you think you can wait?"

-No, he couldn't. But reason prevailed, and he nodded.

-"I'll help you," he murmured.

-"You barely know how to fold a dough."

-"I can follow orders."

-"Sorry, soldier."

-Their laughter echoed, and a sense of relief washed over him.

- He wanted to hear that sound again and again.

- In silence, they worked. Simon followed every move, ignoring the pain, stretching each muscle. He was ready for anything.

-When the last batch was ready and the saleswoman arrived, Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

-Y/n gave their final instructions and left.

-Alone on the street, they walked together.

-Like a starving beast, Simon jumped at every crumb of affection, grabbing their hand, his fingers brushing theirs through gloves.

-"We need to talk, don't we?" they finally admitted.

-"Yes," he replied.

- "About what happened before your deployment…"

-The kiss. A hurried kiss, without thought.

- Lips so soft, erasing the bad news of his deployment and eight long months of silence.

-"I… "

-'Don't say you regret it," he finally said.

-"No, I don't. I mean it. But I don't want it to destroy us."

-"It won't."

-"I know you avoid people, Simon. Attachment."

-"Yes."

-But not them, he thought

- Since the moment his feet led him to that pastry shop. Simon knew he was doomed.

- A stupid cake for Soap's nephew, and he found himself charmed by a baker making incredible scones.

-Simon had become a regular there, a man of habit enjoying the good things, he told himself.

- It was close, he said.

-Close to his shabby apartment, to his gym.

-Just a daily stop for coffee and scones, he reasoned.

- But every morning, his eager eyes searched for their silhouette.

-Their rolls, their belly, their thighs, that smile.

- Every crumb he could get, he took.

-They eventually noticed him.

-A mountain of muscles, hidden by a mask, softened by scones, it wasn't the most discreet.

-They greeted him.

-Always the first customer at dawn.

-In reality, Simon came so early out of military habit but also to avoid the saleswoman.

-Simon desired the baker, not the small, slim saleswoman.

-Slowly, they spoke to him, and everything fell into place.

- They had become his anchor, an anchor in reality.

- A tough mission, and he came to them silently, without needing to place an order, without having to face the crowd, slipping to the back and watching them work.

-No questions, just comfort.

-The smell of sugar, flour, and eggs permeated his clothes in the most exquisite way.

-And now he dreamed of a life where this scent would be constant.

-"I don't want us to drift apart," they said.

-"We won't," he assured them.

-"So, what do we do, Simon?"

-"Kiss me."

-It was a prayer, a barely audible order, a cry for help.

-Slowly his mask fell.

- Their eyes met, hesitant but filled with desire.

-And they kissed him.

- In that dark street, under the pouring rain.

-"Again," he murmured.

-"We have to go back," they said.

- "I don't care about going back," he replied.

- "Simon, you don't want to spend your leave sick."

-"If I stay with you, I do."

-"Idiot."

- "For you."

-Their laughter burst out, and Simon kissed them again to capture it.

-Slowly, they finally arrived at their place.

-Their dog welcomed them, barking happily at Simon. And after eight long months, Simon could finally breathe.

-"I'm home," he murmured.

- "We were waiting for you," they replied.

-Nothing surpassed this feeling, he thought as he kissed them again.

-Simon was a man, and like any man, he had finally found his long-desired home in their arms.

__________

P R I C E

-In an emotionally charged atmosphere, Price let the water flow slowly, carrying away the remnants of blood under his nails.

-After eight long months, he felt like a ship drifting without a course, without a real destination.

-At least that's what he claimed to anyone who would listen, but the ring hanging under his uniform whispered different truths to him.

-Staring at his own reflection, Price read the inscription inside the ring, a name he hadn't uttered in years.

- Like enchanted by a spell whose charm he feared, he hesitated to whisper it again.

-Yet, his heart demanded it.

-He knew it was the longing that drove him.

-Without those eight months, he wouldn't be here, longing desperately to have them back in his arms.

-(It was false; since the divorce was signed, he dreamt of them.)

-Since the day their marriage ended, he had wanted to throw himself at their feet and beg them to come back.

- He desired their warmth, their ridiculous work stories, their cooking, their scent, their fingers, their kisses.

-They were the oasis in the desert of his life, and through negligence, he had let them evaporate.

- It all dated back to before his promotion to captain.

- Back then, he was just a young lieutenant full of ambition, willing to sacrifice anything to obtain that coveted title.

-But the long hours at the office had gradually poisoned his time with them, an absence they had signaled to him, one he had ignored, one he had maintained until everything exploded like a grenade.

-Now, he stood there, on the minefield of his emotional life with a ring they had probably forgotten, longing to hear them say yes once again.

-As he dried himself off, Price settled into his office.

-He told himself it was just simple nostalgia, but the bitter taste of tobacco wasn't enough to distract him, remembering how much they hated that smell. He extinguished his cigar.

-To take his mind off things, he decided to go to the nearest bookstore. A good book would be welcome, he thought.

-"John?"

-That voice, which had haunted him for three years and eight long months of divorce.

-"Y/N."

-It had been so long.

-Too long, he thought, seeing them so different.

- He admired their new haircut, their new clothes. What a lucky man he had been.

-"Yes. Still teaching?"

-"Yes. And you, did you manage to become a captain?"

-"Yes."

-The silence stretched, their eyes avoiding his.

-"But it wasn't worth it," he admitted.

-"Too much work?"

-"Not enough of you"

-"John," they interrupted.

-"I'm not trying to get us back together, far from it. I know it won't happen, but I wanted to be honest with you. I think this divorce has been the biggest failure of my life, and you deserved better than me."

-Hesitantly, they opened their mouth, a mouth he had kissed so many times, one that had shared all their troubles, all their doubts.

-"Thank you, John. But I'm also to blame. I should have told you everything that was going on in my head, everything that wasn't right."

-"You couldn't, when all I listened to were orders."

-"Maybe…"

-"Good person, wrong time, it seems."

-"Nothing prevents us from correcting the timing, right?"

-John raised an eyebrow.

-"It doesn't mean we have to start all over, but… you've been a pillar in my life, John. I missed you. Whether as friends or more, it doesn't matter."

-"Thank you, love," John murmured.

-They approached him, and during this long absence, John could finally feel human warmth again.

-To just be John again, not Captain Price.

-Their hands wrapped around each other.

-They both knew it wouldn't be purely platonic, but like a suspended promise, for now, they would stick to it, hoping that one day the rings would find their respective places again.

-Theirs from their drawer to their finger, and his from his neck to his hand.

-"I missed you."

-"You too. Tell me what I've missed."

-And John could only smile.

-If these eight months of hell, these three years of desert led him back to them, then it was worth it, he decided.

- So when he packed for his next return, the soldiers watched him curiously because for once the captain had a home where he really wanted to be.

_________

S O A P

-Immersed in an ocean of turmoil, Soap returned after eight months of absence, longing to celebrate his return with his family.

-His thoughts, drowned in alcohol and his mother's reprimands, were rocked by the cheery laughter of his nephews and nieces.

-Between the urge to scream and the desire to simply savor their presence, he oscillated.

-When the festivities finally came to an end, he could finally breathe.

-Eight months.

- Alone in his flat, memories flooded in, evoking strategies, bombs, deafening tumult, and lingering smells.

-Everything was an attempt at distraction; the television, the rain, a run, a cup of tea, messages on his mobile.

-He longed for something, even if he didn't know exactly what.

-But it was missing, creeping under his skin little by little, scratching at the door of his mind.

-"Again, really?'

-His eyes fell on his neighbour.

-The same one who had endured his screams at three in the morning, his hurried departures on missions, his heavy suitcases dragged at seven in the morning.

- And now, at four o'clock, they stood before him, a mischievous gleam in their eyes, the result of an incident involving dumbbells in his hands.

-"Sorry.", he apologized.

-"I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

-"On purpose…? "He raised an eyebrow.

-"So that we see each other. You know, like in those cliché romances where the noisy neighbour ends up seducin' the complainin' neighbour."

-Incredulous, he couldn't help but laugh.

-"Ye wouldn't need that."

-A teasing smile stretched across his neighbour's lips.

-"I know. But you seem to need it. Not an adventure, but a distraction."

-They referred to the dumbbells.

-"Aye."

-"I make cookies." they said.

-"At 4 a.m.?"

-"I know how to keep myself busy in silence."

-"…"

-"Interested?" they asked.

-The latent feeling under Soap's skin resurfaced.

-He nodded and followed them. And then he realized.

-The warm atmosphere, the decor, the unstacked dishes, the soft carpets.

-That's what he had missed, a heaven of peace.

-"They won't be the best cookies in the world, but they'll do."

-"Ah'm good at it." he said.

-"Pastry chef?"

-"Military."

-"Hm, that explains a lot. "They gave him a complicit look.

-"Like what?" Soap asked.

-"This horrible haircut."

Laughter erupted in the kitchen.

-"Ma haircut is incredible."

-"For a 6-year-old."

-"Ah look handsome with it."

-"Even without it."they said.

-"Good at flirtin'?"he asked.

-"With the right person, yes."

-Soap smiled.

-"Ye would be bonnie with a mohawk."

-"No thanks. But, well, I understand the muscles and the irregular movements now."

-"Aye, Ah don't choose my hours."

-Too bad, you'd think criminals can't be punctual, huh? "they joked.

-He smiled.

-"Exactly."

-Hands in the dough, Soap couldn't help but let his gaze drift over his neighbour's curves.

-He admitted that sometimes his door slammed a little louder in the hope of catching a glimpse of them, like a good luck charm before a mission.

-Curves he longed to explore, letting the eight long months fade from his memory to be replaced by love for them.

-"Ah should hae made more noise if it means havin' cookies."

-His neighbour smiled.

-"Maybe. I was worried about this silence, you know."

Soap felt touched by their concern.

-"Ah'm sorry."

-"Don't apologize, you didn't decide on that. It's just… maybe I could give you my number? If you ever have plants or stuff like that, I'll take care of them."

-"Okay." he acquiesced.

-He took the paper feverishly, keeping it as a precious treasure, and continued cooking.

-At the end of that day, returning home, Soap could finally close his eyes.

-The creeping feeling had come to an end.

-That longing, that emptiness, it was them, the sound of a life together.

-He brushed the paper, a smile on his lips.

-Getting up, he decided to drop a dumbbell loudly.

- A noise at his door rang out, and he smiled. Nothing was worth his neighbour.

-So slowly he opened the door, and dinner followed to apologize.

-Then another to repay.

-And slowly, they erased from his mind the eight long months that had haunted him.

G A Z

-After eight long months of absence, Gaz finally found a moment of respite in his humble accommodation on the base.

-The deafening noises of the base's incessant activity, the hurried faces, the soldiers' rushed departures, everything seemed to dissolve into a chaos filling his ears.

-Everything seemed to fade away as soon as he could cross the threshold of his room.

-Here, in this haven of tranquility, he could finally silence the external turmoil.

-His pulse slightly quickened as he reached for his phone, his fingers instinctively finding his favorite contact: them.

- He felt this visceral need to reassure them, to feel their presence through the voice that was so dear to him.

-In this suspended moment, he longed to hear nothing but their soothing breath, to lose himself in their tender words.

-His ears buzzed, every beep deafening his eardrums and…

-"Hello?"

-"Y/N," he murmured, relieved and tender.

-The echo of their voice provided him with a welcome comfort, a balm for his weary soul.

-"Kyle. Back among us?"

-"Yes, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you."

-"No, I'm on break. I have a shift tonight."

-A silence stretched.

-"Is everything alright?"

-Kyle hesitated before speaking.

-Is everything alright? The blood, the bruises, the cries, the deaths… Everything seemed to still be on his skin, vivid in his mind.

-"I don't know," he admitted.

-"You didn't break an arm, did you?"

-Kyle smiled at the memory.

-After a rough mission he had rushed to his flat ignoring the pain in his arm and the medics.

-Yet he ended up to E.R days later with a blue arm and broken bone.

-Y/n was one of the nurse who was in charge of him and his cast, they kept contact.

-"No, I don't know how I managed to cope without hearing from you."

-"Charming," they laughed at his attempt at flirting.

-"Maybe."

-"More seriously?"

-"Tired," he admitted.

-"I would tell you to sleep, but I imagine you don't want to."

-"I can't."

-Not when he knew the nightmares awaiting him.

-"…I finish at 1am, if ever. I'm not implying anything, I know your base is super far, but I know that company can help."

-"Hmm, I don't know, will there be food?"

-"My company isn't enough for you, Kyle?" they joked.

-"I fear not."

-"Damn," they exclaimed, laughing.

-Ah, there it was.

-A tender smile stretched across Gaz's lips.

- In this exchange, he found comfort, a precious connection.

-His body relaxed slightly.

-"I missed you," they confessed.

-"You too."

-"You know, I bought those awful biscuits you talked about so much, hoping you'd come eat them at my place."

-"I'll take it as a declaration at this rate."

-"Shut up, I know you'd never buy them because 'no time'."

-"I like speed."

-"Even in bed?"

-A mischievous smile formed on his lips.

-"That's for you to find out."

-"You always say that."

-"I mean it."

-"About?"

-"Us."

-"Kyle…"

-"I know, after eight months of absence, it might just be the longing speaking, but… the only thing I wanted was you. Coming back to you, holding you in my arms, making you laugh one last time. And… staying friends… it's worse."

-"Worse than eight months without me?" -"Yes."

-"You're horrible for doing this."

-"I know."

-"At a distance, over the phone. I can't… I can't guess anything."

-"I guess I'm a coward."

-"Shut up, I… I swear I'm going to hit you and then kiss you."

-"Kiss me?"

-"Of course, do you really think I answer all your calls at any time out of friendship?"

-"Y/N…"

-"Last time there was an eight-hour time difference."

-"You told me…"

-"That there were only two, yes, because… I didn't want you to worry. You're a stubborn idiot always thinking of others, so I wanted to be selfish for once that you are."

-"I am. I want you, Y/n."

-"Then come get me."

-Kyle smiled and hung up.

- In his car, stress, fear, adrenaline surged. But for once, the enemy wasn't to be fought.

-Once in front of the hospital, hours of driving later, he stood at the entrance and saw them come out.

-Their name spoken from their lips, and he embraced them.

-"Never again," they whispered.

-"I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

-"I swear I'll kick Price's ass if he does that again."

-"I'll help you."

-"Promise?"

-"Promise."

-And he kissed them.

-Suddenly the eight long months evaporated on Y/n's couch, his fingers sliding through their hair, and his lips on theirs.

-The silence returned and Kyle could finally breathe.

If you want more : my masterlist

#ghost simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x plus size reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader

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monstersandmaw · 2 months

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Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case.

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

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mononijikayu · 1 month

Text

ghost of you — geto suguru.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder. Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;

WARNING/s: Angst, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Depiction of Curses, Depiction of Dreams and Nightmares, Reminiscing, Language;

masterlist

listen: ghost of you by my chemical romance

note: this is how im dealing with my failings in class. im sick too but i wanted to cry, so i wrote this!!! ramadan mubarak to those celebrating!!! i love you all!!!

HE THINKS THAT HE’S ABOUT TO LOSE HIS MIND. Night after night, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared in the clutches of a restless sleep, his subconscious a battleground where turmoil reigned supreme. Sleep, once a sanctuary from the trials of the waking world, had become a rare and fleeting commodity for him. Each night, he descended into the depths of slumber with a weariness that weighed heavily on his weary soul.

But even in the refuge of sleep, there was no respite from the torment that plagued his restless mind. As he drifted into the realm of dreams, he was met with a relentless onslaught of visions that offered no solace, no reprieve. The awakening, when it inevitably came, was always abrupt, tearing him away from the illusory tranquility of his dreams with a merciless force.

With each night that passed, Suguru's weary eyes would flutter open, revealing puffy lids stained with the remnants of tears shed in the throes of sleep. The contrast between the serenity of his dreams and the harsh reality of his waking world was stark, a cruel reminder of the tumultuous nature of his existence.

His heart, a relentless drumbeat in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the vivid images that lingered in his mind long after the dream had dissipated. The dreams felt real, tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the ephemeral figures that inhabited them. And you, in particular, felt more real than ever before, a spectral presence that haunted his every thought.

In his dreams, you were within his grasp, your presence a beacon of warmth and vitality that seemed to defy the confines of mortality. Your smile, so vibrant and alive, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that pierced through the shadows of his restless mind.

But alongside the fleeting moments of solace came the nightmarish visions that haunted him without fail. The memory of Toji Fushiguro, the man who had wrought untold devastation upon your life, upon his life, lingered like a malevolent specter in the recesses of his mind. It was that man that had robbed him of life. The image of Toji's vicious gaze as he looked upon your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the brutality of fate, haunted Suguru's dreams with an unrelenting intensity.

He called your name over and over.

He watched you turn your back at him.

Each time, his heart seeps with horror.

“Suguru, get out!” You rush from the entrance, getting his attention. His eyes blinked before he could even react. He looks at you, with your disheveled look, exhausted from keeping the entrance safe. “Now!”

Your desperate cry pierced through the chaos, urging him to run, to escape the impending danger. But he was frozen in place, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his racing mind.

He could see the determination etched into your features as you rushed towards the young girl, summoning your own cursed creatures in a futile attempt to protect her. But in the face of the Sorcerer Killer's relentless speed, your efforts seemed futile.

Time slowed to a crawl as Suguru's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the terror and helplessness consuming him. He screamed your name, reaching out to you with a desperation he had never known before. But his movements were sluggish, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

Amanai Riko's screams echoed in the air as you wrapped your arms around her, shielding her from the impending danger. Suguru's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror, knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable.

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, the bullets tearing through the air with deadly precision. Two shots rang out, each one a death knell that reverberated through Suguru's soul.

Blood sprayed into the air, painting a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Your body convulsed as the bullets found their mark, your once-vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. You choked on your own blood, your ghostly visage haunting Suguru's nightmares for years to come.

Even in your final moments, you clung to Riko, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such senseless brutality. But it was a futile gesture, as both your bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless and broken, a stark reminder of the cruel reality of their world.

“Okay, job’s done.” The dark haired man retorts, walking towards Suguru with a nonchalant look on his face. Nothing made him more angry, he thinks. Nothing in him was more devoid of life than in that moment.

He stares at both of you and Riko.

He takes a breath.

He turns to the man.

“Why are you here?” was all he could muster out of him, his dark purple pupils dilated in bitter anguish as you laid there, lifeless, the girl you were so desperate to protect, still wrapped around your cold, blood arms.

“Oh, that.” The man grinned back at him, scratching his head with his armed hand. “That’s simple. Because I killed Gojo Satoru.”

He wasn’t sure what else to do.

His rainbow dragon summoned.

His cursed energy bursted out of him.

His glare was pulsing with hatred.

“I see.” He says ever so bitterly, coldly. “Then die!”

Each dream began with your warmth enveloping him, igniting a fire within his soul that burned with a fervor unmatched by anything in the waking world. Your vibrant presence, etched into the very fabric of his being, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that defied the confines of mortality. Every detail of your existence was etched into his memory with an indelible permanence, a testament to the profound impact you had on his life.

Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

You had a gift, a rare ability to make everyone around you feel like life was worth living, each and every time you graced them with your presence. You breathed life into every room you entered, infusing it with a sense of vitality and purpose that was as intoxicating as it was irresistible. And to Suguru, you were the embodiment of that beauty, a vision of unparalleled grace and elegance that left him breathless with longing.

But beneath the surface of this idyllic tableau of love and adoration lay a deep well of sorrow and longing that threatened to engulf Suguru's fragile heart. Because every dream ended with the same way. His guilt eating up and him. Every dream ended with you losing your life, with him losing you. And him, being too slow, too useless, too careless. The pain in his chest was palpable as he watched you over and over, knowing that you were no longer his to cherish. You haunted him, continually.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because you weren’t here with him.

All he could do was let him be haunted.

All he could do was let himself mourn.

All he could do was see the ghost of you.

HE DIDN’T REALIZE THAT HE HAD CURSED YOU. In the depths of Suguru's heart, a relentless denial gripped him with an iron fist, refusing to accept the crushing reality of your absence. He couldn't comprehend how he managed to carry on, nor could he grasp the reason behind his persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth. Yet, in the recesses of his soul, he harbored an unwavering certainty that you were still with him, your presence lingering like an indelible imprint on his consciousness.

The mere thought of your demise was inconceivable to Suguru, a notion he vehemently rejected with every fiber of his being. Even as he cradled your lifeless form in his arms, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like an insurmountable burden, he couldn't fathom a world without you breathing, without your laughter filling the air.

The memory of that fateful moment, when the sound of clapping mingled with the echo of your blood staining the pavement, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he couldn't escape, a grim reality that overshadowed every waking moment, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

Even when he stood before Satoru, who held the lifeless body of Amanai Riko in his arms, the juxtaposition of death and despair surrounding them like a shroud, Suguru's mind rebelled against the notion of your absence. The image of your mangled face, revealed to Shoko as she trembled with unspoken grief, pierced Suguru's soul like a dagger, a stark reminder of the cruel fate that had torn you away from him.

But amidst the suffocating grip of denial, there lingered a beacon of solace – the memory of the day before, when both of you stood by the sea, basking in the warmth of each other's company. That precious moment played on an endless loop in Suguru's mind, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of his shattered reality, a reminder of the love and joy you brought into his life.

In the tumultuous depths of his soul, Suguru clung to that memory with unwavering resolve, refusing to let go of the hope that one day, somehow, you would return to him, breathing life back into his shattered world.

That serene afternoon spent in your company felt like an eternity, a timeless moment etched into Suguru's memory. He could still recall the sensation of the sun's warmth enveloping his skin as he lay with his head nestled in your lap, the rhythmic motion of your fingers gently combing through his hair like a soothing melody.

The gentle caress of the wind against the backdrop of the sea created a symphony of tranquility, a scene of unparalleled beauty that seemed to exist outside of time itself. In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present, filled with the warmth of your love.

"You know," You teased, your playful grin lighting up your features, "You're lucky I'm not like Satoru. Otherwise, I might just shave your head when you fall asleep like this."

Suguru chuckled, his eyes still closed as he basked in the comfort of your presence. "You wouldn't dare. You love my hair too much."

Your laughter was like a sweet melody, a harmonious blend of joy and affection that resonated in Suguru's soul. "You caught me," You admitted, your fingers continuing their gentle movements through his hair. "I couldn't bear to part with those luscious locks of yours."

“Hm, it's why I maintain it for you.”

“Liar, you maintain it for yourself.” You retorted back at him, teasingly. “Well, other than that, for your boyfriend, Satoru.”

Opening his eyes, Suguru met your gaze, captivated by the love and warmth that radiated from your eyes. "You're one of a kind, my love," he murmured softly, reaching up to intertwined his fingers with yours. His chest rambling with laughter. “Satoru wouldn’t oppose those words, I like to think.”

You grinned back at him. “No, he’d be very flattered.”

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “Too bad you already captured me, my love.”

"And you're stuck with me," You replied with a mischievous grin, gently squeezing his hand. "For better or for worse."

"And for bitter or for worse, too," Suguru vowed solemnly, his voice filled with unwavering determination. “You and me.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, a symphony of happiness that danced around them. "That's a promise, hm?"

"It is!" Suguru affirmed, a smile spreading across his face as he felt a surge of warmth fill his heart. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the echo of your laughter, he knew that he’d fall in love with you, over and over again.

In the aftermath of the tragedy that had torn you away from him, Suguru clung to your lifeless body with a tenacity born of desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of surrendering you to the authorities, not even to Shoko, who trembled with sorrow as she stood before him, her eyes filled with unspoken grief.

Instead, Suguru laid your body down gently on your dorm bed, heedless of the blood stains that marred the once-peaceful sanctuary where you had shared countless intimate moments together. "You belong here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion, "Safe and far from harm."

For days, Suguru remained by your side, tending to your lifeless form with a tenderness that belied the anguish raging within him. "I'll take care of you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of your face as if trying to etch your features into his memory forever.

As Satoru arrived, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with a heavy cloak of grief, Suguru's facade of stoicism cracked under the weight of his anguish. His heart, already battered and bruised, seemed to shatter into a million pieces as he watched Yaga and Shoko carry your lifeless body away, leaving him alone with the echo of his torment.

"How could you let this happen?" Suguru's voice rang out, filled with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. Each word was laced with a pain so profound that it seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing the depths of his despair.

Satoru's response was a whispered apology, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air like a tangible presence, a silent acknowledgment of the mistakes made and the lives lost as a result.

“Suguru,” Satoru began, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes reflecting a myriad of complex emotions. But amidst the sorrow and regret, Suguru could see the unmistakable glimmer of guilt that lingered in his best friend's gaze. It was a guilt that cut deeper than any blade, a burden that Satoru carried with him like a heavy chain around his neck.

The apology hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to stretch and strain under the weight of their shared grief. Suguru's heart ached with the weight of it all, the pain of loss and betrayal mingling together in a tumultuous storm of emotions.

In that moment, as they stood amidst the wreckage of their shattered lives, Suguru realized that forgiveness would not come easy. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too raw. But buried beneath the layers of grief and anger, there remained a glimmer of hope – a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

Satoru's shoulders sagged under the weight of Suguru's accusation, his usual confidence crumbling in the face of his friend's anguish. "I... I don't know, Suguru," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "I thought we had everything under control. I never imagined..."

Suguru's gaze bore into him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow etched into his features. "You never imagined?" he repeated, his voice hollow with pain. "You promised me you'd keep my love safe, Satoru. You promised."

Gojo Satoru's eyes mirrored the grief that threatened to consume Suguru. "I know," he whispered, his voice choked with sorrow. "I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I would give anything to go back and change it, Suguru. Anything."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Suguru's heart ached with a longing for the past, for a time when you were still alive and everything felt right in the world. “Apologies....it wouldn't bring Riko-chan....it wouldn't bring my love back. It wouldn’t bring them back.”

“I know.” His best friend responded back to him, his eyes lowering down to the pavement. “I know.”

He just let Suguru cry.

And he just held him.

But he knew it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

As the days turned into weeks, the weight of grief and loss pressed down on Geto Suguru like an unrelenting force of nature. Surrounded by the very space that bore witness to a lifetime of shared memories between him and you, Suguru found himself drowning in bitterness and despair.

But his anguish only deepened when he discovered the truth – that your death, and the death of Amanai Riko, had been in vain. The realization that your sacrifices had been rendered meaningless, that another Star Plasma Vessel existed and remained to be found, fueled the flames of his anger and resentment.

Your deaths were not just tragedies; they were senseless, cruel acts of fate that left Suguru grappling with the unbearable weight of injustice. The quiet anger that simmered beneath his grief now boiled over, consuming him with a fiery intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path.

He was angry – angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. He was bitter – bitter at the cruel twist of fate that robbed him of a future with you, bitter at the injustice of a world that could take away something so precious with such callous disregard.

In the midst of his despair, Suguru found himself grappling with a profound sense of loss – not just the loss of you, but the loss of the life they could have had together. It was a wound that cut deep, leaving him scarred and broken, forever haunted by the specter of what could have been.

"I can't do this without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced the outline of your bed with trembling fingers.

Amidst the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a memory that flickered like a solitary flame in the blackness of his despair. It was a memory of a night shrouded in chaos and bloodshed, a night when he had unleashed the full force of his cursed power upon a village that dared to defy him.

In the midst of the carnage, as screams echoed through the air and flames licked at the sky, Suguru found himself face to face with a man brandishing a dull blade, his eyes filled with a murderous rage. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares, a reminder of the violence and destruction that had become his reality.

But then, amidst the chaos and despair, he saw you – a specter of the past, with eyes as cold and dead as the winter night itself. In that fleeting moment of recognition, Suguru reached out to you, his hand trembling with a desperation he could not conceal.

"I need you," he whispered into the void, his voice thick with emotion. In that moment, he realized that even in death, you would always be there to defend him, to stand by his side through the darkest of times.

In the depths of his despair, Suguru's mind replayed the events of that fateful night with agonizing clarity. The memory of your sudden appearance, like a specter from the past, haunted him relentlessly, its impact both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

As the man raised his blade, a glint of malice in his eyes, Suguru watched in stunned disbelief as you intervened, your ethereal form moving with an otherworldly grace. Tears streamed down your face, a silent testament to the grief and anguish that engulfed you both.

In that fleeting moment, as your cold hand met his trembling one, Suguru was overcome by a torrent of emotions – grief, longing, and a profound sense of loss. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there was also a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, your presence would guide him through the darkness, offering solace and strength in the face of unimaginable hardship.

You couldn’t speak, your voice silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Yet in that moment, words were unnecessary. Your mere presence was enough to soothe Suguru's tormented soul, offering him a lifeline amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Because you were here, tangible and real, your touch and gaze a balm to his wounded spirit. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not the burning village, nor the screams of the innocent, nor the sorrow that engulfed them both. Only you, alive and with him, mattered.

"Welcome home, my love," Suguru whispered to you, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair out of your face. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, Suguru found solace in the simple act of being with you, his anchor in a sea of chaos and despair.

He regretted nothing.

Not this moment.

No, not even you.

Never you.

HE HAD NO REGRETS, NOT EVEN BY THE END.You watched from the shadows, your ethereal presence a silent observer in the midst of the unfolding drama. Suguru had never wanted you near the battle. He had kept you out of it. But he supposed, as you dwelled through the walls, familiar to the cursed echoes of your mind—you were just returning home.The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold and orange, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes, cold and ghostly, flickered with an otherworldly intensity as you surveyed the scene before you. Two figures stood facing each other amidst the quiet stillness of the night – one bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the other shrouded in the darkness of the shadows. Geto Suguru leaned against the familiar wall, his form hunched over in pain as he clutched his armless shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers in a steady stream. Despite the agony etched into his features, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding even in the face of death.

You blinked, your expression inscrutable as you watched Suguru's suffering unfold before you. There was a sense of detachment in your gaze, as if you were merely a spectator to the tragic spectacle playing out before you. The sun began to lower, its golden rays piercing through the darkness with a gentle warmth that belied the chaos of the moment. The world seemed to slowly descend to the slumber, the birds flying past as they chased against the shadows eating away into darkness.

And yet, amidst the beauty of that blue hour, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the air. This was not how he was expecting to go, but he supposed he had no other way but to live through it, with what he had left. The silent standoff between the two figures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the turmoil and conflict that raged within their hearts.

You stood silently, your presence a silent sentinel amidst the chaos, your eyes never wavering from the scene unfolding before you. As Suguru and the other figure faced each other in a silent battle of wills, you remained a silent witness to the unfolding drama, your ghostly eyes reflecting the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"You're late, Satoru," Suguru let out a voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.

Satoru Gojo stood before them, a towering figure even in the midst of turmoil, his usual blindfold gone to reveal the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, unobscured by the fabric that usually concealed them, bore into Suguru and the ethereal figure standing beside him, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.

As Suguru and Satoru faced each other, a silent exchange passed between them, Satoru's expression remained stoic yet filled with an unspoken sorrow. It had been so long since he had last seen the figure beside Suguru, and this was not the reunion he had envisioned. But there was no surprise in his gaze, no hint of shock at the sight before him. He had long ago come to accept the unexpected twists and turns of fate, the unpredictable nature of love and loss.

Every essence of love, Satoru knew, carried with it a burden of its own – a weight that could either uplift or crush the soul. His love for Suguru, his steadfast friendship that had endured for nearly a decade, had been his anchor in the storm, the guiding light that had sustained him through even the darkest of times. And he was certain that Suguru's love for the figure beside him, ever-present yet so tragically unfulfilled, had likewise kept him tethered to this world, even as death loomed ever closer.

As Satoru turned his head to look at the figure beside Suguru, a wave of bittersweet memories washed over him. It had been too long since he had last seen you, too long since they had last stood together as allies in the fight against darkness. And now, as he gazed upon your lifeless form, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret – regret for all the lost time, all the missed opportunities, and all the words left unspoken. You were chained to this life, out of love. And you probably knew that too well.

Amidst the sorrow and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all. Yet he wouldn’t want it to continue. This was already a nightmare. These moments were already haunting ghosts. And as Satoru stood before them, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet determination, he knew that he would do whatever it took to set them free from the chains of their past, to grant them the peace and solace they so rightfully deserved.

"To think you'd be the one here at my end," Suguru replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him. Yet he smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and understanding that seemed to contradict the gravity of the situation.

Suguru Geto, his expression stoic and unreadable, met Satoru's gaze with a steely resolve. There was a time when closeness existed between them, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering trust. But now, that bond lay fractured and strained, buried beneath the weight of their conflicting ideologies and diverging paths.

"Is my family safe?" Suguru demanded, his tone tinged with a shallow breath of concern. He glanced at the figure standing beside him, your dead, cold eyes betraying a silent worry that mirrored his own. Nanako and Mimiko, the twins who had become like family to them, were undoubtedly on both your minds. Suguru knew that your concern for their safety mirrored his own, even if you couldn't voice it aloud.

Satoru nodded solemnly. "Every last one of them managed to escape," he confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. "The ones in Kyoto were under your orders, too, right?"

Suguru's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Unlike you, I'm a kind man."

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, suffocating and palpable. Suguru broke the silence once more, his voice steady and unwavering. "You sent those two assuming that I'd defeat them, didn't you?" he questioned, his tone accusing yet tinged with resignation.

Suguru's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing in response. "To set Okkotsu off," he whispered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Satoru's eyes remained steadfast, reflecting the resolve of a man driven by his convictions.

"I trusted you," Satoru interjected, his voice tinged with a note of disappointment. "Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn't kill off young sorcerers without a reason."

"Trust, huh?" Suguru mused, his smile tinged with wistfulness. He glanced at the figure beside him, your cold, dead eyes mirroring his own emotions. "I didn't think I still had any of that left… after everything I’ve been through."

With a resigned sigh, Suguru retrieved a small object from the folds of his clothes and extended it towards Satoru. "Return this for me, will you?" he requested, his voice tinged with finality.

Satoru accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a sense of inevitability. "Was the elementary school your doing, too?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.

Suguru met his gaze, his expression inscrutable. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding and regret, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. Satoru took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Suguru's gaze head-on.

"Do you have any last words?" he inquired, his voice soft yet tinged with melancholy.

Suguru's lips twitched into a bitter smile, his gaze unfaltering. "No matter what anyone says," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "I hate those monkeys. But I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world. Not after…"

He turned towards you, his expression filled with an unspoken longing and regret. You looked back at him, confusion etched into your features. But he smiled at you, urging you closer with a silent gesture.

"I hope you can forgive me," Suguru whispered to you, his hand reaching out to touch your face gently. A tear fell from your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss they had both endured. "And I hope you will meet me soon. The real you. Wherever this death leads me. I hope you can love me again. Like you used to.”

"You need to do it, Suguru," Satoru urged, his voice filled with a sense of sorrow. One that Suguru cannot comprehend. One that was buried for ten years. “Now.”

Suguru wiped the lone tear away, his expression solemn yet resolute. "I know."

"Suguru," Gojo Satoru called out, his voice echoing with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken promise of redemption. "We'll meet again someday, right?"

His words were a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding that he never thought he'd utter. Each syllable hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

Suguru looked at him with surprise, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. And then, as if released from the shackles of his own sorrow, a laugh bellowed from him, echoing through the desolate landscape like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He smiled at Satoru, a genuine smile that reached his eyes despite the pain and regret that lingered there.

"At least curse me a little bit, in the end," Suguru teased lowly, his voice tinged with a sense of camaraderie that belied the gravity of the moment. It was a moment of levity amidst the heaviness of their shared grief, a fleeting glimpse of the bond that had once united them in friendship and camaraderie.

And then, as if on cue, your voice pierced through the silence, your words whispered softly yet audibly into the night air. "Go...od...bye," you murmured, your lips forming the words with a sense of finality that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was not strangled. But rather, warm. As warm as it used to be when you were alive.

They both looked at you, their hearts heavy with sorrow and regret, yet filled with a quiet understanding and acceptance. Your smile, though fleeting, filled the space between them with warmth and reassurance, a silent reminder that even in death, love endures.

As your body started to fade into the ether, a silent farewell etched into the depths of your soul, Suguru reached out to them one last time. His hand extended toward Satoru, a gesture of farewell and gratitude for their shared moments of joy and sorrow. And in that fleeting moment, surrounded by the echoes of their shared past and the promise of a brighter future, they reached back, their hands intertwined in a silent vow of eternal remembrance and love.

Satoru watched as your body disappeared, wisps of what had been blowing into the wind like cherry blossoms in the summer breeze. His gaze shifted to Suguru, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a smile of contentment, of freedom finally achieved. Because he knew, deep down, that he would meet you soon. And in that moment, he felt no regrets, no sorrow, only the quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“I’ll do it once,” Satoru whispered to Suguru, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Suguru's smile widened, a sense of peace washing over him as he closed his eyes. He resigned himself to his fate. “Between you and me, Satoru,” he whispered back, his voice filled with a sense of finality. “There was never any need for thanks or apologies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for ten years. All I want is to smile genuinely again.”

And with those words hanging in the air like a silent promise, Suguru took one final breath, his spirit soaring free from the shackles of his earthly existence. He didn’t need to use his powers, Satoru thinks. He was already gone. Far too gone. And as he faded into the unknown, a sense of tranquility settled over the desolate landscape, one that had ever been so familiar. So full of memories of the four of you in your blue summer. It was now his turn, he supposed. To live with the ghosts of you and Suguru, for as long as he lives.

As Geto Suguru's spirit faded into the unknown, Gojo Satoru stood in the quiet stillness of the brisk sunset turning deeply into the darkened night. He stood before his best friend’s body, letting a sense of peace settle over him like a comforting embrace. He watched as Suguru's essence dissipated into the ether, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he whispered a silent farewell to his dear friend.

In the moments that followed, Gojo Satoru felt a profound sense of closure wash over him, a weight lifted from his weary soul. For so long, he had carried the burden of their shared past, the guilt and regret weighing heavily on his heart. But now, as Suguru's spirit ascended to a higher plane, he knew that their journey together had come to an end. And now Suguru's journey began. You both were together now, that’s what he hoped for. Suguru was smiling beside you. That you both were waiting for him and Shoko. That’s what he wants to believe.

As the last traces of Suguru's presence faded from the air, Satoru closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the quiet tranquility of the night. In that moment, he felt a sense of gratitude for the time they had shared, for the laughter and tears, the joy and sorrow that had defined their friendship.

The tears fell from blue eyes easily.

He choked on his sobs, his head down.

It was never going to be easy for him.

He had to move forward, all he could do.

He had to live, for you and Suguru.

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chiinferno · 1 year

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Anwar Zain

A mixed-breed Half Elf attending the Ilumvalos Institution. Due to being 25% Orc, 25% Goblin and 50% Elf, he tends to get bullied by the other "pure" Elves, causing him to wish he could have just been born as an ordinary Elf... He's become pretty close friends with Lindra Borgrost and Estelle Aelia.

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sweetenerobert · 8 days

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begin again

1.3k | joel miller x plus size gender neutral reader

summary: you haven’t gone out on a date ever since you broke up with your toxic ex boyfriend — a year ago, a new opportunity rises when you meet joel miller.

warnings: toxic relationship (guiltrip, body shaming, gaslighting), self-conscious reader, awkward!joel, mention of an age gap (it's your choice, but reader is of age) teeth rotting fluff, first date in a cafe

a/n: doing this for @beskarandblasters for their Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge ;), i’m happy to participate!, if you would like to participate, read this post

a/n 2: as a plus size author myself, i wanted to try something different (keep out for more plus size reader in the mere future, but i still write male reader with no descriptions to let your imaginations go wild <333.

I loved how CUUUUUTE this idea is, i might write a longer version of this ;p also reminder, i went overboard with the word count :0

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“You’re seriously gonna wear that?” Trevor said.

Glancing down at your stomach and then back at your boyfriend, you were confused about what Trevor meant. “What do you mean?” Shrugging your shoulders.

“That,” Trevor pointed at you, and you were still baffled at what he was pointing at. “Your hoodie.”

Your eyes trailing back down to your comfort hoodie. You’ve had it ever since the start of your senior year of high school into now being a twenty-one-year-old college student. It had some tiny holes, but you didn't care; you loved the material, the color, and how it made you feel comfortable.

“Well, yeah.” You shrugged.

Trevor sat up from lying on his bed and walked towards you, a look of disgust on his face. But you couldn’t tell what that look on his face was. He was always good at hiding it.

“Babe, you know I love that hoodie,” Trevor started blatantly lying to your face. “But I want you to make a good impression on my friends, so do you think you could wear something different?”

That indescribable feeling in your stomach rose to your throat, feeling as if someone were choking you. The stale taste of bile stayed in your throat as your stomach felt like it was doing summersaults. You disregarded it to be nerves about meeting Trevor’s friends.

In the back of your brain, you knew that meeting them would’ve been a piece of cake if the front of your brain made you constantly nervous. Trevor knew they liked you, but he made you think they didn't. To make you feel small.

“But I have nothing else to wear that makes me comfortable.”

Trevor holds both his pointer fingers to signal you to wait with a smirk on his face, walking towards his closet quickly. Pulling out a trendy denim jacket he owned, you liked it, but it wasn't your style — or size.

“This,” Trevor smiled.

“But, it doesn't fit. I can barely get one button to close, and it's going to be cold tonight,” You complained.

Trevor groaned where chills ran down your spine; it made you not want to say another word. “C’mon baby, we don't want to be late, just put on the fucking jacket so we can hurry up.”

The attitude sent your way wasn't new, but you always felt like it was your fault, and this felt like your fault. He was trying to make you feel good; who’s to say he’s wrong?

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay; I didn't mean to get loud.”

That same meaningless apology you’ve heard before that always managed to calm you down. You zip down your hoodie, throwing it on Trevor’s bed, landing on the end of the bed frame, the hood between the mattress and the wooden frame. Taking the jacket and slipping your arms into it made you feel uncomfortable with how tight the denim felt against your back. You felt your shirt picked up — exposing your skin and making goosebumps occupy that area.

Looking at the mirror, you hated what you saw, but the smile on Trevor’s made you feel slightly better.

“I hate this,” You frowned.

“You look great,” Trever emphasized, draping his arm around your neck enthusiastically, which made you feel better. Right?

“Well, you finally look like you actually like my friends.”

“But, I’ve always liked your—”

“Okay, let's get going, baby.” Trevor kissed your cheek and left you alone in his room. The mirror catches your vulnerability in ways you couldn't see, and it makes you feel uneasy; it was bothering you that you couldn't figure out that word.

Disgust.

Disgust was the word that Trevor made you feel.

Judging you, making you feel like you're losing your mind, making you feel like you weren't enough. Disgust.

You were quickly slapping your face to erase any trace of Trevor. You stood outside the coffee shop where you agreed to meet up with the guy you matched up with on Bumble, Joel Miller.

It had been six months before you had gone back on dating apps, grieving the loss of your relationship in the past. Joel was one of the first few people you matched with. He was older, but he could hold down a conversation, making you feel like you could talk to him for hours. He was okay with meeting up with you, but he wanted to ensure you were comfortable with the timing; he was okay with waiting.

It had been five months until you agreed to see him; nervous to the brim, you didn't know what to wear; spending countless minutes in your underwear, you quickly put together an outfit and grabbed a hoodie.

When you first walked in and Joel noticed you, his smile beamed at you, making butterflies appear in your stomach. He had wired headphones in his ear as he stood up quickly, shoving them in his jacket. Wrapping his arms around you in a hug, he made you feel protected in his arms; he smelt of old spice and mint, and in your mind, it was adorable that you chuckled in your head.

As Joel backed up from the hug, he smiled at you again. “Hi.”

“Hi,” You smiled back. “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Uh, no. Not really, just listenin’ to the playlist you made me.”

“Oh god,” you buried your head in your hand. “You still listen to that?”

“Of course, it's the thing that helps me get out of bed.”

You chuckle and can't help but smile from ear to ear as Joel smiles at you lovingly. “Well, if you ever get bored with that one, I would gladly make you another one.”

Joel chuckles through his smile; he quickly rubs the back of his neck, looking back towards his seat. “Uh, do you wanna sit down?”

“I would love that.”

Joel directs you to your seat; you cannot help but feel heat rise to your face; as you sit in your chair, Joel sits in front of you. As you wiped your hands on your hoodie, you looked up at Joel; you noticed him resting his head on his fist, looking at you. That feeling of Joel critiquing little things about you rose back to when Trevor would do it.

“Trevor isn’t here; you're fine,” You thought.

“Is there something on my face?” Your quick to cover your mouth with your hand.

Joel shakes his head and smiles at you. “Just admirin’ you, you're s’ perfect.”

The heat in your face was reaching a dangerous level, where you could feel your face explode. “Stop, you're pulling my tail.”

“I’m serious, your amazin’.”

You can't help but look down at the table in despair as you rarely received compliments from Trevor; it's hard to believe what Joel was saying to be the truth. “M’sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No!” You shake your head. Taking a deep breath, you place your hands on the table. “It's just I’ve never received compliments, and it's only when my ex would make me forget how much of an ass he is.”

That padding of Joel’s palm rested against your knuckles; you look at your hands together, and you look at Joel’s welcoming smile. “I promise, whenever I compliment you, it's comin’ from the depths of my soul, sweetheart.”

The warmth of Joel’s hand made you feel comfortable, a feeling you craved with— nobody. You felt good in this moment. “Now, how about I get you a cup of coffee? I promise it's the best.”

You chuckle. “Come on, I had to meet you here; let me buy it.”

As Joel gets up, he slides his hands down in an ‘X’ motion. “Nope, as the gentleman my momma raised me, it’ll be my pleasure.”

“Okay, but the next time we go out on a date, I’m buying.”

“I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” Joel walks away, and you can't help but smile at him as he walks away.

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