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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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Meet the Family 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Today is my friday bc I booked time off to go see my grammy!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You don’t dare enter the suite again until you hear snoring. You’re cautious as you move around in the low rhythm of Lloyd’s slumber. It begins to dawn on you slowly what you’ve agreed to. You’re used to controlled doses of him. You go to work, do his bidding, then clock out. There might be a few late nights but this is too much.

One million dollars. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. With that money you can but your way free of this man once and for all. Hell, you might go back to school so you can be an insufferable boss one day. That might actually make your mother proud.

You shut yourself in the bathroom and try to wake yourself with a shower. It’s nice but your fatigue is even more obvious as you emerge. Your coffee sits cold and forgotten next to scraps of bacon and an empty cup.

You go back down to the dining hall and sit to enjoy your coffee without the threat of another awkward moment. You rub your forehead as you lean your elbow on the table and sip. Not bad for hotel brand.

You return to the room and knock before you let yourself in. You hear stirring in the bed as you do but nothing as lewd as last time. Lloyd groans and whimpers.

“My head,” he moans.

“It’s almost ten,” you say. “What time is this brunch at?”

He whines again and drags a pillow over his head. You open your carry-on and pull out your travel tube of pain killers. You cross to him and grab his hand, shoving the capsules into his palm.

“Get up,” you say, “what time?”

He clasps onto your fist and rips the pillow off. He tugs on you as he sits up. His eyes are blood shot and his forehead creased with agony. You want to laugh in his face. Serves him right.

“Twelve,” he pouts.

You wrench your hand free and go to the mini fridge. You grab him a bottle of water and toss it onto his lap. He catches it with a flinch.

“Woah, watch the gems,” he warns.

“I gotta go get my luggage. Find something appropriate,” you look down at the grey sweatshirt and leggings meant for the flight home. “Get yourself together.”

You turn and grab your jacket. You’re really not looking forward to this. You agreed to it, though, and you won’t be Lloyd. You’re not going to gripe about a decision you made. One million, one million, one million...

You go out to your car and grab your bag. You haul it back up and after another cautious tap on the door, you push your way into the room. The bathroom door is open as the shower thrums and Lloyd’s groans underline the hum. You shut it and prop your bag up on the chair.

You pick out the cashmere cream blouse with the twisted neckline and a pair of soft beige wool trousers. Presentable but not high effort. These people are not going to stress, not any more than he already has.

You change and search your toiletry bag. You use the wall mirror to get ready as you hear the shower crank off. Lloyd’s clumsy steps slap the tile and he crashes into the door from the inside. You make no effort to check on his as you blend in your blush.

“Urghhhhh,” he appears like a yeti from a snow drift, staggering with his head nearly beneath his shoulders. “I feel like a sorority girl after rush week.”

“That’s gross,” you reprimand as you put the blush stick away. “I think maybe this is a good lesson. Take it easy on the mimosas at brunch, huh?”

“Hair of the dog,” he insists as he clutches the top of the towel and stumbles to the bed. “You wanna get out my Gucci suit. You can iron the jacket--”

“Excuse me?” You turn.

“Please, my beloved,” he whines.

“N. O.” You say.

“I’m paying you--”

“That wasn’t what we discussed.”

“Wives iron suits,” he retorts.

“In 1952.” You bounce back. “Lloyd. This is business. We sell this thing to your family so you can get your money, and I can get mine, and that’s that. This is a shell. Okay?”

“Hmph,” he grunts. He sucks his teeth as he thinks and you turn back to the mirror. You see his reflection. You don’t like that twinkle in his eyes. “Well, if we really want to sell this thing, we gotta make it seem natural.” He stands up and wobbles as he braces his forehead. He takes a breath and lumbers towards you, “you gotta act like you’re into me.”

He brings his hand down and squeezes your ass. It’s more painful than you expect. You’re reminded of that unceremonious pinch issued by another of his bloodline.

You spin to face him and slap his hand down, “ow. Don’t do that.”

“Like I said, you’re not going to be engaged to guy you can’t stand. Okay? So you gotta get into it,” he reaches around you with both arms and cups your ass, pulling you flush to him. You drop your mascara and smack his upper stomach.

“Lloyd,” you growl.

“Put a little honey in it,” he kneads your ass as you squirm.

“Let go--”

“You know I’m right,” he wiggles his hips and the towel slips off.

“Oh, god!” You push on him harder.

“Mm, you know, I never realised how tiny you are. I could just...” He bends his knees as he slides one hand down your thigh and the other up your back. He angles to scoop you up. You squeal in surprise. “Ah, easy as pie. Just like me, Pixie stick.

“Lloyd, put me down,” you writhe in his grasp. “This isn’t okay!”

“Should we consummate now--”

“Ew, oh, no.”

“Ew?” He echoes. “What’s ew about it? I’m rich, I’m attractive--” He pauses as he turns and tosses you toward the bed. You land in a heap with a yelp. “And I’m strong.”

You don’t have a chance to recover before he’s on top of you. He catches your hands before you can swipe at his face and he pins them above your head. He straddles you, shamelessly naked, and snickers.

“Trust me, my thrust game is on point,” he rolls his hips and you close your eyes.

“Lloyd, off. Now.”

“I’m tryna get off, Pixie, trust,” he leans over you until you feel his breath. “We could have lots of fun. After three years of tension, you know it’s inevitable.”

“Tension?” You hiss, “oh, I don’t think it’s the kind you think.”

“You’re stressed. I’m offering you relief. A little extra bang for your buck, here.”

“No,” you grit out between your teeth, twisting your wrists in his grip and you kick your legs. You don’t like the way it makes the whole bed jostle. “Just get off of me. Please.”

“I’m trying to get in you,” he snarls.

Your eyes snap open as his nose comes down next to yours. He leers down at you as his irises no longer sparkle. His features are sinister as he puffs down at you like a wild beast. Your heart jumps into your throat. He’s no longer just a nuisance, he’s a danger.

You open and close your fingers, “we’ll be late if you don’t.”

He stares down at you. You feel him breathing, shallow and rabid, as your own heartbeat thumps in your chest. He doesn’t have to stop and there’s really nothing you can do to make him.

“Mom’s already mad at me,” he grumbles and pushes himself up. He slowly drags himself off and turns his back to you. You watch the muscles tauten and bring yourself up on your elbows.

“I’ll iron your suit,” you relent. “Just put some underwear one.”

He scoffs as you carefully roll away from him. You move as if any sudden motion might antagonize him. He gets up and grabs his phone from the night stand. He huffs as he lights up the screen.

“This licks ass,” he growls.

You go to his suitcase and open it. You search out the label with the G on it and hold up the red blazer. “Is this the one?”

He looks at you as he chews his cheek. He nods and quickly goes back to his phone, tapping on it with his thumb. You roll your eyes and find a pair of black slacks to match. You take it all out and unfold the ironing board from the wall.

You nearly wince as he approaches. He passes you and goes to his bag, bending to sift through it. “You know, I usually like to hang free.” He rips something from the suitcase, “but for you, I’ll tie the hog down.” He stands and steps into the briefs one leg at a time. He snaps the band and puts his hands on his hips. “Happy?”

“Not really,” you mutter.

“Yeah, me neither,” he sighs.

❄️

In the daylight, the Hansen’s mansion appears even more pristine. As you come up the long walk with the elaborate set stone, Lloyd neatens his mustache with a small mother of pearl comb. You give him a side glance but say nothing. He hasn’t stopped fidgeting since you got in the car.

You get to the front door and prepare yourself for another encounter with the worst people you’ve met. For all your time working for the man next to you, you should be perfectly honed for the task. Still, you’re not sure you can be ready for that bunch.

Lloyd lets himself in and you follow. As you unzip your booties, he clears his throat. “Hey, mom, we’re here.”

He receives no answer but you can hear the din humming from another room. He takes off his jacket and hangs it. You put yours next to his. His cheek ticks with dread and he forces his chin up.

You follow him to the dining room and as he enters, he receives no welcome. A few stray looks are aimed at you but no one acknowledges your arrival. Lloyd clears his throat and sits. You claim the seat next to him and peer around. How jolly of a holiday.

As your boss shifts beside you, you hold back a yawn. You haven’t got enough sleep for this nonsense. Lloyd sits forward and reaches for the jug of orange juice. Another hand reaches out to catch the crystal decanter.

“Let us get the formalities out of the way, son,” William snarls. “You owe your mother an apology.”

Lloyd rescinds his reach and flinches, “an apology?”

“Yes, you humiliated her last night, storming off like that.”

Lloyd blinks, as genuinely confused as you’ve ever seen him. His throat bobs and his eyes brows arch, “Mom,” he looks at Gwenyth as she puts her posture as straight as she can. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you? And what about this one? I’d say she started all this trouble,” she accuses as she points at you with a red acrylic.

You nearly scoff. Instead, you match her energy. “I have nothing to apologise for.”

“Pixie,” Lloyd hisses.

“No, why should I apologise? Tell me exactly what I did and I’ll let you know if I’m sorry.”

“Pix, what are you doing?” Lloyd murmurs.

“Well, you...” Gwenyth begins. “You said—You--”

“You accused me of being out for money. I’m not. You insulted him,” you gesture carelessly to Lloyd, “repeatedly. So, I’m not entirely sure what I did that offended you so much. I’ve been pleasant but it doesn’t mean you can walk all over me.”

“You are defiant,” she yaps shrilly.

“I’m being honest. And to apologise wouldn’t be honest,” you shrug. “Now, if you would rather we leave, I’m more than happy to pack up. Obviously, I can’t meet your high standards.”

“Pixie,” Lloyd whispers.

The table is silent as you stare across it. You feel the fire burning under your skin. You’re not sure where that came from. Maybe it’s because none of this really matters. You don’t need to impress them. You just need to get that courthouse contract signed and you can be on your merry way. This is all just pretense.

“Hm,” William pushes the jug toward Lloyd, “you hold onto that one. She’s clever.”

“William,” Gwenyth yowls and swats her husband’s arm.

“She has a point,” he says.

“But--”

“Suppose we are a bit hard on the boy,” he argues.

“Or maybe he’s just a disappointment,” Lillian preens. “Daddy, please. He waited forty-three years to meet expectations.”

“Better late than never,” Benson snorts. “I’d prefer never.”

There’s a bit of laughter, though Gwenyth and Lillian continue to glare across at you. You would be intimidated if you were concerned about their opinions. But they are nothing compared to your grandmother’s eternal glower or your mother’s grim sighs. You might be better prepared for this than you thought.

“Exactly what she said,” Lloyd swipes up the jug and stops himself, reaching for your glass instead of his. He fills it and presents it to you with a smirk. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“All this waiting and for what,” Gwenyth fans herself and sniffles. “And he chooses this prissy little--”

“Gwen,” William warns curtly. “Please, do not spoil another meal.”

“Me? Spoil? I never.” She whines.

“Hm, yes, we will not mention Easter then,” William tuts. “Let us just enjoy today. After all, I’m sure she could be at home with her own family.”

You could and you would rather be. Yet, that is one thing you can blame on Lloyd. The more you think of it, you can blame every single snipe and jab on him. After all, he snared you into this. You might have been easily bought but that doesn’t excuse his machinations.

You look at him with no effort to conceal the revelation. He meets your eye and his brows twitch. He bares his teeth sheepishly. Your eyes narrow as you center every ounce of exhaustion, chagrin, and general distaste in his direction.

“You okay, honey pie?” He asks softly.

You reach for your glass and examine it, “is there prosecco in this? If not, could I request some?” You turn back to the table. You hear Lloyd gulp and feel him shift before he reaches to touch your arm. It’s your turn to indulge.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #meet the family

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sp0o0kylights · 2 days ago

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Adopt a Jock Part One / Previous Part / Part 10.1 (you are here)

A03

Chapter 10 is complete and will be fully uploaded to A03 this weekend when I can get around holiday shenanigans. It's very long so tumblr gets it in parts. I'm sure I could make a Thanksgiving food pun there if I tried hard enough but alas I am not Steve nor Dustin.

Apparently, if you stumbled into supernatural shit, you were rewarded with a mountain of legal paperwork so absurdly thick that Gareth was almost positive it included a government-approved execution clause for anyone reckless enough to speak about things better left unsaid

So, here they were: barely a week past the lab incident, eating lunch, keeping their heads down, like their entire world hadn’t been turned upside down.

(He couldn’t even appreciate the pun.)

“She keeps looking over here.” Tiff’s pen tapped out a furious rhythm, her gaze fixed on one Nancy Wheeler, “And she’s been following us.”

“Well according to Steve she knows about--you know.” Gareth said, keeping things vague in hopes it would prevent any visits from men in black suits.

“I’m sure she just wants to talk.” Jeff said with a note of sympathy.

The fucking traitor.

“I’m sure we’re not allowed to talk.” Stewart muttered darkly, pushing his peas around his lunch tray with a fork.

“Only with people who don’t already know.” Grant tried to argue, and that rapidly dissolved into an argument regarding NDA’s and tricky legal language that Gareth tuned out in favor of his new found hobby--doing his level best not to think about anything beyond his lunch and what new D&D character he wanted to play.

His last one died in the prior game, and though Eddie had--weirdly and entirely out of character--offered to revive it, Gareth had waived him off.

They needed some normalcy right now, and if that came at the cost of Gareth’s beloved druid meeting her maker, then so be it.

Plus a new character was a great distraction.

(He was set on playing a noble elf known as ‘Gregg from Accounting’, but a second dwarf named Iron the Chef had been tempting…)

“She’s coming!” Tiffany hissed, slamming her pen down.

Mourning the loss of an easy, drama free lunch, Gareth sighed and prepared himself.

“Hi.” Nancy said, announcing her presence with quiet determination, books stacked in her arms and chin raised defiantly.

No one said a word back.

“Jonathan let me know what happened, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry you got pulled into all of this.” She paused, clearly thinking her words over, before adding; “Steve, Jonathan, and I used to practice.”

Nancy stopped again, this time blatantly waiting for one of them to say something.

She got more stares in return.

“Given that things sound a little open ended, and that there were injuries, I thought it might be good to start up again. Steve suggested if we do, you all should come too.” She finished, bulldozing right through her own awkwardness.

“Practice what?” Grant asked, confused and trying to cover it with suspicion.

“Defensive measures.” Nancy answered.

Seeing their unchanged blank stares, she gathered her books in one arm, formed a finger gun with her free hand, and mimed shooting in such a deadpan manner that Gareth almost burst into disbelieving laughter.

While he was haunted by visions of Nancy Wheeler holding a gun, Tiff loudly picked her pen back up, making enough noise that all eyes went to her.

“You beat my score on Mrs. Click’s practice test by two points.”

“Uh--yes?” Nancy said, blinking at her.

Tiff's eyes narrowed. “I’m kicking your ass on the final.”

Another dumbfounded blink.

“Okay?”

“Tiff’s coping, as are we--no…defensive measures necessary.” Jeff said, in a desperate bid to soothe things over, “We appreciate the offer.”

She nodded, seemingly placated by his response. “Actually, where is Steve? I wanted to talk to him too.” Nancy asked, changing topics with ease. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Ah-ha.” Tiff muttered under her breath, as if catching out what Nancy really wanted.

Stewart kicked her ankle.

“He’s with Eddie.” Grant said, covering the sound of their resulting scuffle.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.” Nancy noted, in that same neutral tone the Feds spoke in. All fake nice without giving a single thing away.

It was a little terrifying.

“We all spend a lot of time with each other.” Tiffany shot back, hackles very much raised and not bothering to hide it. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”

“Man, we are vicious today!”

“She’s really sore about that grade.” Stewart covered, offering a sympathetic pat to Tiffany’s shoulder (who looked an awful lot like she was going to bite his hand for it).

Did Nancy Wheeler even know about the weird academic rivalry Tiff had with her? Gareth took one look at Tiff’s gritted teeth, and thought better of it.

“I wouldn't be if I was able to properly finish that essay,” Tiff motioned to the now hopelessly crumpled paper underneath her pen, “ instead of rushing it because I had to pull someone out of a lab--”

“Nancy’s right.” Jeff cut in, in another desperate attempt to distract them all from eating each other. “I haven't seen much of Steve or Eddie today.”

He turned expectantly to his right. “Gary?”

Gareth frowned back at him.

“Why would I know where they are?”

“Oh,” Stewart said, far too innocently. “You haven’t realized you’re their assigned zookeeper?”

Wadding up his napkin was second nature. So was launching it at his friend's head, who expertly (and unfortunately) dodged.

“So you’re saying you don’t know?” Grant asked, a smile creeping across his face.

Gareth opened his jacket, fishing around for a moment as if he was searching for something, before pulling his hand back to show off his extended middle finger.

Pity he actually had the answer.

“They’re in the drama room. Steve sweettalked Mr. Barns into letting them set up early for Hellfire’s game.” He grumbled, ruining the entire effect.

“See?” Stewart said smugly.

With deliberate slowness, Gareth raised up his other middle finger before waving them both in a circle.

“Fuck you, fuck you--”

“Not in your lifetime.” Tiffany answered, to multiple chortles.

“Don’t bother them, Wheeler.” Gareth continued, ignoring the assholes he called friends to turn back to Nancy. “They’re setting up for the Hellfire’s last game of the year and Ed’s is a little…obsessive about it.”

As in he was known to be a complete and utter terror in the days leading up to his grand finales but Gareth wasn’t telling her that.

These games were a big deal for Hellfire as a whole. Precious things they looked forward to and the finale game was something they often worked several months, if not a solid year, to reach.

This year's game had more riding on it than any one prior. Hellfire’s shared sanity, for example, and a shining piece of normality they all found themselves desperately needing.

(Plus the problem of Eddie flunking again--and not telling anyone.

See--Eddie had been touchy the first time he hadn’t graduated and even with the appearance of monsters and government lackeys, Gareth expected this year to be even worse--but the Steve of it all added a rather explosive emotional element.

“You still have most of Hellfire.” Gareth had pointed out, when he’d hitched a ride home a few days prior and found the paper declaring Eddie’s super senior year a lost cause. “You know you’ll still have them after they graduate too, right?”

“Because they’re going to be looking forward to their old pal Eddie while in college, sure.” Had been the clipped response.

“They will.” Gareth said, with a level of assurance he hoped Eddie could feel. “And if that’s the concern, then you’ll definitely still have Steve.”

Who hadn’t gotten into college, and openly admitted to refusing to try now that monsters were back.

“I guess.” Eddie had said, looking like a deflated party balloon.

In typical Munson fashion, he seemed to realize he was giving away more “real feelings” than he’d intended too, and changed the subject with an energy that Gareth knew was fake.

He hadn’t called him out on it though, and equally, he had not called out the mania Eddie had slowly been succumbing to since that fateful day. He’d get over it--Gareth knew he’d get over it--if they could just make it past the point where Eddie’s own brain informed him the world was ending to prove it.)

All of them deserved a break, and a place to put aside all the stupid shit and simply have a good time, and heading off Steve’s nosey ex-girlfriend before she could cause problems would go a long way to help.

“I’m sure they can spare two minutes.” Nancy was saying, mid creation of the exact problem Gareth was hoping to avoid.

“No--uh,” He flailed about for a reason she couldn’t, and the longer she frowned at him the more his brain simply vanished all forms of higher thought. “Don’t?”

Nancy’s expression soured, mouth twisting in a line Gareth very much did not like. “I’m sure they--”

“Tell us what other things you practice. Besides, you know. The pews.” He interrupted frantically.

Under the table his foot struck out, and though he had no idea who he’d struck he hoped whoever it was understood what exactly he was trying to do.

“The pews?” Nancy echoed, after a painfully long moment.

“You know? Pews!” Gareth mimed a gun, and then made “pew” noises while firing it.

Besides him, Jeff gave a very Harrington-like sigh.

(He’d been doing that a lot lately, Gareth made a mental note to mock him for it.)

“You cannot tell me you guys only practice with guns.” Tiffany huffed. She had not been the kicked party, but thankfully, hadn’t needed the nudge to catch on. “What happens if you run out of bullets?”

Nancy gave her an odd, almost calculating look.

“We use whatever else we have on hand.” She said flatly.

Which just boded so fucking well for the rest of this conversation (and Gareth’s life, given he was uncomfortably aware of the things that went bump in the night.)

“Well, give us an example.” Tiff continued, and given the now increasingly concerned looks that the rest of Hellfire was darting between her and Nancy, Gareth knew the rest of his idiots hadn’t caught on.

On a piece of paper he scrawled--and the underlined twice, for good measure;

‘Go. Find. Byers!’

--and then chucked it at Grant’s head. Who thankfully opened it, even if he made a face while doing so, before proceeding to pass the note around as Tiff and Nancy traded increasingly pointed words about weapons training.

“When you’re in a situation, you use whatever you have on hand. I would assume you knew this, given what I heard happened the other day.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t it make more sense to train and carry with backup weapons rather than just hoping you find something on the way? What if the--what if we’d been in the woods?”

Gareth watched the note travel from person to person, until it was dropped back in front of him.

‘You go find him.’ Someone had scrawled, followed by multitudes of doodles, two of which featured army-hat wearing dicks driving tanks.

Then and there, he decided that perhaps his friends truly did deserve death should a similar situation arise in the future.

Useless. They were all useless.

“You’re welcome to make a suggestion, Tiffany.”

“I will. I’ll make a list even.”

“Good.” Nancy smiled, with all her teeth.

“Fine.” Tiff returned, looking half feral.

Was this some type of weird mating ritual between academic types? God, they were scary.

‘Well, that definitely won’t come back to bite us in the ass.’ Gareth thought wryly as Nancy stormed off in the opposite direction of the drama room, tapping the note against the table. He glanced at the rest of the group, who appeared to be attempting to tempt Tiff out of her snit by way of asking her what dramatic bullshit she thought Eddie would be pulling in the finale.

If nothing else, he decided, they’d prevented ruining Eddie’s day--and possibly, their entire night.

Nothing, save more fucking monsters or equally evil government lackeys could manage that.

(Pity that Gareth had forgotten the third most powerful force on the planet when it came to wrecking plans.

Middle schoolers.)

xXx

The day had dragged but they'd made it, and Eddie in turn, had made that wait worth their while.

The lights in the drama room were low.

The entire table had been set up with such care and drama that Gareth almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Goblets lined both sides, each filled with a dark red liquid Gareth knew damn well could not be wine.

Candles--real ones, had been lit, casting shadows across Eddie’s face as he lounged in his throne, a master in their element.

A castle, meticulously crafted out of wooden sticks and painted a dark, forbidding gray towered in front of Eddie down at the end, with the layout of the insides crawling down the table atop carefully gridded paper.

Monstrous figurines stood in a row off to the side, like little soldiers, planted right in front of a plain, if not comically large, cardboard box.

It was elaborate, meticulous, and half the items had clearly been stolen from Steve’s house, if not outright decorated by the man’s own hand.

“Welcome, my friends.” Eddie purred, breaking the spell that had fallen over Hellfire.

“Oh my God.” Grant breathed, jostling Gareth’s shoulder as he pushed inside.

“Dude, you outdid yourself!” Stewart added, voice awed as he took it all in.

“He had help.” Steve confirmed, materializing at Eddie’s shoulder. He leaned forward, adjusting something in front of Eddie, ignoring the immediate angry swat and hissed warnings about “ruining the moment, Steven!”

“Glad to see you putting your mom’s party planning skills to good use.” Jeff teased, but no one missed the way he ran a hand down the table, staring giddily at the spread.

Steve gave him a shrug, but even in the dim light Gareth could see how pleased he looked.

It was magical, and Gareth felt something come alive in his chest that he’d privately thought the manticore had killed.

A childish sort of excitement, bubbling up as he realized he was about to have a damn fine time.

This, of course, is when the actual children came in.

“I made a timeline.” Dustin announced, shouldering his way in between Jeff and Grant to slam down a massive piece of paper.

“Oh my God where did you come from!?” Stewart yelped, started as more and more children suddenly swarmed Hellfire’s table.

“The middle school is literally next door. We walked.” Max rolled her eyes as she took a seat next to Tiffany. “What idiot let you guys light candles in here?”

El fell in right next to her, stealing what was clearly intended to be Grant’s chair.

Who looked like he’s about to say something about it until he caught sight of her delighted face.

Gareth would have laughed at the obvious way Grant’s shoulders slumped as he accepted his fate, if his own chair hadn’t just been usurped by Michael Wheeler.

“A timeline?” Steve asked, before Eddie could surge to his feet and kick the brats out.

(They all watched him jerk anyway, like he’d intended to do just that and barely caught himself.)

“Uh, everything?” Dustin scoffed, waving a beat up folder in the air. “We took it all the way back to when we first met El.”

Next to him, Lucas had stepped up to the table, running a hand down it in much the same way Jeff had. “We decided it might help us figure out where the manticore came from.” He said absently.

A riot of emotion exploded over Steve’s face, made all the funnier by the fact that it was entirely at odds with the setup he’d so lovingly created.

“I’m sorry, did we not hear the Chief of Police? He’s investigating this, our involvement is over.” Steve made a slashing motion with his hand, as if that would hold them all off.

(Gareth, who once watched all of these children fight each other over an arcade score for three consecutive days, knew it was a lost cause.)

Dustin made yet another scoffing sound in return.

Given how often he seemed to make them, Gareth wondered if he had problems with a sore throat.

“I thought we all widely agreed Hop’s investigation skills are terrible.”

“Hello?” Stewart said irritably. “We were about to get started?”

Eddie swung himself into a sitting position and made like he was going to stand up, likely to pounce on the opening Stewart had just given.

Pity Steve once again, beat him there.

“Yes, but he’s not investigating, is he? We,” Hellfire’s jock made another motion, this one a circular twirl of the hand. Gareth was starting to wonder if the gestures are directly linked to his stress level. “already did that part. He can now do the part he’s good at, which is fixing it.”

“He’s not good at fixing it, look at what happened with the demodogs!”

It was at this moment Gareth made his fatal mistake. In hindsight, he should have known better than to ask out loud,

“Okay, can someone please explain what the hell’s a demodog?”

Several protests, groans, and pencils are flung his way for it.

(“Do you know how often that word has been thrown around!?” He’d defend much, much later. “You guys keep saying it but not what they are!”

“If you stopped eavesdropping all the time maybe you wouldn’t be wondering about such things.” Eddie had responded snidely.

“It’s not my fault you keep talking about this shit when I’m right there you asshat--”)

“What, you didn’t think there were actually feral dogs in Hawkins did you?” One of the kids asks incredulously, like he can’t possibly believe anyone is so stupid as to buy into it.

“They were like the manticore, but small and more, well, doggish.” Dustin dismissed, this time with a Harrington flavored hand waive of his own. “Ask Steve, he was there.”

Gareth turned to do just that, D&D campaign be damned (He would not apologize for wanting to know what else might be out to kill them all even if the finale was technically on, sue him) to find Steve had slipped right into mother hen mode.

“No.” He spat, charging forward as he flapped his arms around, like the children are a flock of birds he can scare away. “You are not sucking anyone into this, and we are not getting involved! You heard Hop!”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a coward, Steve.”

“I’m not a coward, I’m someone who doesn’t need another near death experience! There’s not a reward if you have five in a row, dickheads.”

Seething and not bothering to hide it, Eddie picked up the massive gold goblet in front of him and took an obnoxiously loud sip out of it.

“I’m also going to remind you that Henderson here,” Steve stopped behind Dustin to rattle his, “is going to camp in a few days? I believe the rest of you also have similar engagements.”

It was Mike’s turn to scoff.

“Lucas is only in summer school until 3 and camp doesn’t start for another two weeks. We have plenty of time!”

“It’s not summer school,” Lucas protested, eyes darting to Max and back as if she wasn’t aware the kid was a nerd. “It’s a creative writing program--”

“Yeah, well, the rest of us are busy.” Steve fired back. “So any theories you have, you can take and shove right up your ass.”

“Why is it always the ass with you Steve? Do you have an ass fixation?”

Gareth watched as Eddie immediately choked on the dyed Mountain Dew he had been chugging down, hacking so hard tears welled in his eyes.

Jeff shared a pained look with Gareth over the table as Grant pounded him on the back.

“I do not have an ass fixation, Henderson--”

“Okay.” Tiffany clapped her hands together, the sound ringing out throughout the drama room.

“Here’s the deal. Summer break is two days away. Steve is right--most of us here are working, if not preparing to go to college. No one needs to go snooping around where we aren’t wanted, and we definitely do not need anymore injuries. Kapeesh?”

Henderson immediately turned on her. “So we’re just gonna trust the guys who fucking started all this!?”

“Given they also have better ways of handling it, yes. We are. Hopper told them about Stewarts goo, they sent some suits in to kill the manticore, and thanks to El’s heads up we caught things ahead of time for once. Can’t we just enjoy that?” Steve was beyond worked up now, repeatedly running his hands through his hair, only to fix it, pick at it, and then repeat the process again. “For fucks sake Dustin, Eddie just stopped limping!”

“I don’t think it’s over.” Mike muttered angrily, pushing a finger against Tiffany’s water bottle.

She grabbed it before it toppled over, glaring at him.

“El, do you feel anything?” Steve spoke like he was invoking a god and not an undersocialized twelve year old.

“No.” She admitted, after a long almost uncomfortable pause. “I do not.”

Steve pointed at her victoriously. “There you go!”

“But--”

“No more buts!” Steve shrieked, before seemingly to realize he’d done so. He coughed, and then said; “I thought you dorks would be storming in here trying to get Eddie to DM for you, not harassing us about the Upside Down.”

“You guys are playing D&D?” Lucas asked, as if he hadn’t been salivating over the spread for the last five minutes.

“I really like your cleric.” Will said quietly to Jeff, having leaned over to look at his character sheet at some point during the argument.

“Will, aren’t you a Dungeon Boss?” Steve asked, to the horror of those around him. “Why don’t you go sit by Eddie, I’m sure you’d enjoy seeing how he does stuff.”

A wince rippled through the members of Hellfire.

There was simply no way Eddie Munson, a man known to be possessive at best, would ever allow any of them to even glance at his notebook, let alone his entire spread laid bare behind his screen.

Those were his secrets--the result of too many late nights and an easy contributor to his failing high school yet again--and this was the grand finale.

Steve sitting next to Eddie had been miraculous enough--and that was with Eddie actively demanding he sit there, in a vain attempt to drag Steve out of his issues.

Fearing the worst, Gareth snuck a glance at their glorious--and notoriously ridiculous--leader.

Eddie sucked on his teeth, the noise painfully loud in the abrupt silence, eyes on Byers the Younger before they drifted back to Steve.

Who clearly had no idea he’d put his foot in it.

Tiff looked ready to break a pencil, eyes glaring a hole in Eddie’s head as if daring him to disappoint the group's golden retriever while Grant, Jeff and Stewart had all magically found something else to look at.

Gareth himself hunkered down, waiting to see how this would play out.

One more painful, pulsing second and then Eddie seemed to come to a decision, rolling out his hand and gesturing Will closer.

“Indeed Baby Byers,” He dropped into one of his many DM voices, something deep but alluring. “come closer and learn from the master of masters. Perhaps you’ll find something here to take back to your own campaigns. Something truly…terrible.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Dustin as Will’s Party groaned, though none of them put up much of a fuss once they saw the sheer smile that overtook Will’s face.

With the unique combination of embarrassment and pride, Will took his place next to Eddie.

Steve beamed in the corner, clearly pleased with himself and it was not lost on Gareth (or anyone else in the know) that Eddie preened only after sneaking an obvious look at Steve’s face.

“God he has it bad.” Stewart muttered, only to hiss when Jeff not so subtly jabbed him with a pen.

Gareth just shook his head, and gave Eddie a grin that said he would absolutely be getting shit for this later.

“Stevie, be a dear and fetch more chairs would you?” Eddie drawled, as he settled back into his throne, baby Byers happily checking out the items he had laid out behind his DM screen.

Which Gareth supposed was Steve’s punishment for inviting the kids along, but then, Eddie may as well have been bossing the jock around all day regardless given the look of the place.

(He’d certainly taken advantage of doing just that while his leg had been healing.)

That was their mess though, and Gareth happily put all thoughts of monsters, murder, men in black and every other awful M word aside to inside pull out his luckiest D20 die.

“Hellfire,” Eddie boomed as the all finally settled, “It's time to show the kiddies how it's done. Let’s roll!”

“And Dustin bitches at me for my puns.” Steve loudly complained as he came back into the room with chairs.

Eddie shushed him again.

#Ive pretty much lost the tag list for this #so if you would still like to get tagged for updates #lemme know below #steddie #the party #Hellfire adopts Steve #Look they lived #Eddie isnt even limping that bad promise #Hellfire finale #0o0 fanfics #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve is hellfires collective golden retriever #kids continue to be just The Fucking Worst in terms of annoying Steve lmao #they are taking YEARS off that mans life

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carame1bunny · 3 days ago

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‎ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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The beginning of something, yay! I really hope you like it and I’ll try to write as fast as I can. I want the chapters to be way longer, so I’m going to try working on it! Enjoy! xx Bunny

warning: none, maybe Alastor being a cocky bitch:)

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Alastor didn’t even know how he ended up here. Sitting in his car and driving to the loveliest jazz bar in New Orleans, The Red Magnolia, his favorite. Rosie, an old and dear friend of his, has recommended him to a manager, even though he didn't ask for it. He wasn’t interested in making any deals, but went to the “meeting” for her sake.

He knew he had a way with people, so he could have easily succeeded in business, however, his heart was always set on radio. Even when he was a little kid, putting on a show for his mother and pretending to be a radio host, his microphone consisted of a stick and a rock stuck to it with a few layers of cheap tape. Well, he was a real one now— the best one in all of Louisiana at that. Yet, it was sometimes good to make some investments and add to his wealth. After all, money opened doors charisma alone could not.

The humid air carried the familiar scent of lingering perfumes and magnolias, it was spring after all. There was no spring in New Orleans without magnolias. The distant hum of the city was mingling with the sound of his engine.

He snapped out of his thoughts when his eyes began recognizing the area around the bar. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the chatter of late-night revelers grew louder. It was busier than usual, which made him frown. He hoped that it wouldn’t get too popular, he didn’t need people recognizing him left and right whenever he came here. It was lovely to speak to his listeners and hear them praise his hard work, but not when he came here to have one or two glasses of rye and look for his next victim. That, he preferred to do in peace.

He parked his car and made his way in through the back room. The young woman cleaning in the back immediately perked up and went to stand in front of him.

“W-welcome, Mr.Leblanc!” She stood rigidly, clutching her cleaning cloth like a lifeline. He towered over the girl, who was obviously very flustered by it. He smiled smugly, pleased when he was able to make the ladies blush and stammer. And he loved when men were nervous around him, afraid of his words that could shatter their fragile little egos.

“Mr.Devereux is waiting for you in his office.” She fidgeted with the hem of her uniform. “Shall I lead you the way?” She looked up at him. She was pouting her lips, trying to make them look plushier, and tried to open her eyes up wider. It was pathetic.

“Thank you, buttercup.” He flashed a grin, and stepped aside to go up the stairs. The somewhat little bar had a decoration that was just perfectly his taste— dark red, black and gold. The warm, flickering glow of candlelight danced against the rich walls, giving the place an intimate, almost theatrical ambiance. The jazz band’s music filtered through the floor, it made him smile. Jazz had always brought him comfort, and it was his Mama’s favorite. He paused for a moment on the landing, letting the smooth rhythm of the music fill his senses. The black door of Mr.Devereux’s office taunted him, he reminded himself that he won’t let Rosie talk him into any more crap.

After a quick composing of himself, he knocked and stepped in slowly. Mr.Devereux was a short little man well into his forties; his head was balding and his body rounding. He kinda reminded Alastor of a garden gnome. He stood up fastly, nearly stumbling over his own feet, at least he wouldn’t have a big fall.

“Mr.LeBla—”

“Just Alastor.”

“Alastor, in that case… Just call me Rob, I’m very pleased that you were able to make it!” He shook his hand with the little man and smiled tightly when he felt the man’s sweaty palm. It made sense, he was awfully nervous, and could barely look Alastor in the eye. He recognized this kind of nervousness in men. Sweaty palms, red faces and the constant furrow of their brows, it was the matter of money. “Brandy?” Rob offered, his own glass already filled to the rim. He mumbled a ‘sure’, and sat down on the chair that sat before Rob’s desk. Once delivered, he sipped at his brandy and hummed at the burn in his throat.

Once he fell back in his seat, Rob spoke. “I was glad when Rosie told me your name, after I burdened her with my troubles.” He chuckled, his chubby fingers massaging his most likely aching temples. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase, because it’s awfully urgent.” Great, Alastor thought, let’s get this over with.

“There’s this lady…Y/N Valmont. We have gotten her half a year ago. Her face is real pretty, voice like a siren. However, we cannot afford to keep her. Even though people adore her, the bars pay way less for her time.” He swallowed his brandy in one go and continued as soon as the liquor went down. “Mostly because she's a woman, and because she’s unmarried, they expect her to… how can I say this nicely? Do you understand?

Alastor was at a loss, he had no idea what this had to do with him and why “No, Mr.Devereux, I don’t know what you mean. Care to explain?” He had an idea what the proposition was, but he wanted to hear it from Rob’s mouth.

“They expect her to whore herself out, kiss the ass of the male audience. And obviously, she refuses to, stubborn little lady she is, but she can be real sweet when she wants to b—“ Al silenced him by putting a hand up. The other man immediately retorted back into his chair and straightened his back.

Now he spoke what he had on my mind the whole time since he stepped in the Red Magnolia. “What does this have to do with me? I am nothing, but a radio host.” Being humble was always a safe way to go in his opinion.

“Alastor, you have power, you are heard by all of New Orleans. And I have heard that take part in investments from time to time, she could be your greatest investment.” He was stumbling over his words, a new layer of sweat formed on his reddish face.

“If she says she doesn’t want to be courted around, then what would change if I “bought” her from you?” Alastor crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. There was a somewhat awkward silence in the office, the only thing that was heard was the jazz sneaking up and through the floorboards. He could also nearly hear the gears turning in the other man’s head, he was really thinking hard about how to say his next few words.

“Well, people will eventually know that you’re her sponsor and gossip will come around. They will assume you’re courting her and that’s it. No one will expect her to whore herself around. All you have to do is sponsor her, pay for her numbers, her dresses and everything that helps her doll up. I would say… 80 percent, and we will pay the rest. We will manage her, and you just pay.”

He was confused, and just a tad angry. “Then what?” He raised an eyebrow. His lips were stuck in a grin.

“Then, once people accept that she does fool around with a man, especially New Orleans’ beloved radio host, they pay her and us properly, at least we hope so.”

They talked about details, and he thought… Fuck it. It wasn’t a lot of money, at least to him. Even if the plan failed, he would get the money back from the Red Magnolia, and it would bring him more attention.

“So, when can we expect you to decide?”

Alastor chuckled and offered his hand. “I’m in.” He never did anything like this, never acted so spontaneous, he always thought things like this through. But, a good deal is a good deal.

They shook hands, and while Mr.Devereux was working out the paperwork, Alastor decided to head down to the bar. The bar had three floors, the ground floor, where the stage was, around it the dancefloor along with tables with their seats, and of course the counter in the corner. The second and third floor were only balconies, the second had even more tables and sofas, it was more of a section where the guests could talk. The third was only used for the offices, no guests were allowed up there, there was barely any lighting even, only some oil lamps on the walls. The band was playing a soft tune, and people were dancing. His eyes got stuck on a couple. A girl with reddish hair and adorable freckles was resting her arms on the shoulders of, most-likely, her lover, a man with black curly hair. He recognized the lady, she sometimes played the piano right here in this very bar, her long and toned fingers telling the truth of her life’s passion. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the way they were looking into one another’s eyes, their sparkling gazes and soft grins told him everything he had to know. His eyes suddenly picked up a glint on the girl’s finger, a diamond ring. Now that he was looking at the young woman, he could see it. The very bottom of her abdomen was rounding up, her hips softer than usual and a light glow adorning her face.

In moments like this he wished he lived a normal life, a life where he could have fallen in love with a girl, marry her and eventually have a little one of his own. Maybe that way… he could have made his Ma prouder of him. However, he quickly snapped out of it. He didn’t care about all that, no woman could compete with the love he had for radio and the thrill of taking a human life. He wasn’t meant to settle down, or have a child, no.

He looked at everyone’s faces, but no one could see him, he couldn’t blame them, even he himself was struggling to see up there. However, as his eyes roamed around, they caught another pair. He felt his chest tighten for a second, his gaze caught another. Sleek updo and a pink dress. A young woman, who was sipping her cocktail and ignoring the seemingly cocky guy talking to her. She had the sweetest face he ever saw, shy smile and big doe eyes.

Suddenly, Mr.Devereux came up beside him, putting the papers in front of him. He was forced to rip his eyes away from her, so he could read through the contract. It took him quite some minutes to finish reading, he could feel her eyes still lingering on him. While he didn’t date, he enjoyed being around the ladies, they were either his dearest friends or his toys. Maybe this new little skylark could be useful to entertain him, until he gets bored, of course. Once finished, he saw how everything was written as they agreed on.

“So, are you satisfied?” Mr.Devereux asked, motioning to the contract. Alastor got his pen out of his breast pocket and just before making it official, he flashed his eyes again to the girl, who was just zoning out while wrapping her lips around a cigarette. Yes, a new toy is just what he needs. He spoke once he signed every paper.

“You’re damn right I am, Robert.”

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taglist: @jyoongim @lovingyeet @adamwarlockislife-blog @that-dumb-bitch @midorichoco @alastorswifeee @sugurubabe @captainfia @alastorssimp @iheartalastor @speedycoffeedelight @1o-o1 @kimmis-stuff @qu1cks1lversb1tch @chibistar45 @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @redfoxwritesstuff @fries11 @certifiedcrybabyyy @sirens-and-moonflowers @rapturenyx @visara-valentina

#alastor #alastor fanfic #alastor fanfiction #alastor fluff #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader

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auroras-zenith · 3 days ago

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what doesn't kill you // part 4

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

prologue ✧ previous ✧ next

You'd be lying if you said that at least part of the motivation for coming tonight wasn't to see him. Or rather, for him to see you.

"It was totally badass though! You were like, 'No I won't leave till I'm done!' even though the building was collapsing and stuff!" Chargebolt complimented, quite enthusiastically.

Jirou looked unimpressed. "You make it sound dorky."

You had to agree. "It wasn't like that." You argued amusedly, lips twisted into a grin. "It was way cooler."

You had contacted Jirou after that day that she had visited you, deciding that you had gone far too long without her in your life. It was weird, finally getting to know somebody who you had gone to high school with, but it was nice nonetheless.

She was dating Chargebolt, you'd learned, the quirky but endearing individual who had secured his spot as ninth on the Japanese hero charts.

Tonight was a new experience for you. Everyone else standing as you socialized with Japan's top heroes, it was odd being the only one sitting. In a wheelchair no less.

Insecure wouldn't be the right word to describe it. You were practically Bakugo's female counterpart. You didn't get insecure; but you couldn't deny that you did feel rather out of your depth.

"Hey look! it's Kiri!"

You turned to where Chargebolt was pointing–feeling your back straighten instinctually as your eyes locked onto an ash blonde man dressed in a nicely pressed suit stood beside him.

Bakugo choked as he saw you–but Kirishima was headed towards where you stood before he could come up with an excuse not to follow. His grip on the champagne glass in his hand tightened.

"Hey Denki! Jirou, L/n." Kirishima greeted with a toothy as they reached your group–Bakugo quietly standing by his side, his eyes trained firmly on his shoes.

"How are you doing, L/n? You look amazing." The red haired giant greeted kindly.

His knuckles were going white as he stared holes into the floor. He had bought you those shoes, he noted. The day that the two of you opened your agency.

God, how could this be happening?

He couldn't look up–couldn't bear to see you like this. Crippled.

It felt disrespectful to the memory of you he held so highly in his mind. His partner on the battlefield. Someone he trusted with his life.

So he kept his neck bent and his mouth shut, feeling ready to fall apart at the slightest inconvenience.

"-t children, Katsuki?"

"What?" He asked, only catching the last half of your sentence as he tuned back into the conversation. He felt his chest squeeze oddly at the sound of your voice.

"I asked if you were still screaming at children." You repeated, cocky grin slightly tense as you tried to fall back into the same familiar rhythm of teasing and bantering that you normally had with him.

No matter how much you denied it, part of you was on the edge of your seat, yearning for his approval.

But how could he give it to you while he was so focused on the floor?

"Oh. Uh, no." He said gruffly, eyes unwavering. He didn't so much as crack a smile. "I've- uh- I've got to go. I think I hear Pinky calling." He mumbled, hand in his pocket and head bowed as he quickly left.

Your smile faltered slightly–and suddenly everything you had thought about 'not feeling insecure' flew out the window as you shrunk back into your chair.

What were you doing here? In a room full of Japan's top or soon to be top heroes?

They had been your classmates at one point, but it was different now.

One wrong move and now you sat, crippled in a wheelchair as they all strived to reach the common goal you all shared.

The goal you would no longer be able to achieve.

You stared at your lap as the cogs in your mind turned furiously

"L/n?" Jirou called, not appreciating the way your shoulders curled inward. "You alright?"

You nodded slowly. It was an uncomfortable feeling, the one that haunted you now. Not sad. You had long believed there was no point in being sad. Rather... resigned.

Defeated.

You had fought a battle, and you had lost. Now you had to live with the consequences.

Like the partner you had known since your first year of high school unable to even look you in the eye.

"I think I'm going to head out early." You finally mumbled, shaking your head to try and clear your thoughts as you looked around for your things.

"They haven't even announced the awards yet," She frowned. "You don't want to stay?"

No. You really didn't. "Just text me an update? Of who gets what." You couldn't care less, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

You were headed for the door the second she agreed, mumbling quick goodbyes to everyone who stopped you on your way out.

The sterile smell of the hospital only spurred your movements faster as you rolled through the automatic entrance. Bags that had been so kindly brought to you by your friends for your stay dumped haphazardly by your room door, medication wildly thrown into your pockets; you grabbed your things, heaving them into your lap as you made once more for the hospital lobby.

You just needed to start anew.

Red lights foretold an ominous warning as you waited silently in the back of your uber, headed home. Tonight would be spent packing what you needed, you had decided.

Tomorrow, you would be gone.

a/n: wouldn't you like to know weather boy

taglist: @floverisland @biancatomlinson @rosaryia @highlandhyena @sarashu @rednicotine @emmaiscool22 @your-mum3000 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @sikuthealien @thefirst-ofus @harryzcherry

permanent tags: @phtmmsqrde @pikachuzhc @stabbygabyy @frosted-flakes

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sweets-library · 3 days ago

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care and consequence

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 7.9k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: spanking, improper use of a hairbrush, punishment, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline and D/S dynamics

a/n: holy shit guys, the reception on that last one was actually insane, thank you all so much! i hope you guys like this one too, I'm sorry it took so long! i have a lot of personal life drama going on rn, plus I'm sick again :/ anyways, enjoy and strap in, its a long one! ao3

You had regretted coming to the bar about an hour ago, though you’d never admit it. The music thrummed in your chest, matching the relentless pounding in your head. Around you, people were dancing, drinking, and laughing, lost in their own worlds. As much as you wanted to join in, your body felt like it was rebelling against you. Still, you clung to the idea that one more drink might just do the trick.

Navigating through the chaotic sea of heroes, you pushed your way to the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry with a shot on the side. Your last drink had taken a while to finish, but this one? This one needed to count. The bartender turned away, and just as you started to feel the room sway, the door flew open with a booming, "WHAT IS UP, PARTY PEOPLEEEEE!"

Ah, Mic made it!. He had been unsure if he could, with the radio show’s schedule, but he must’ve handed the reins to someone else to show up fashionably late. You watched as he carved a path through the crowd, greeting everyone with that infectious energy, before you turned your attention back to your drinks. Downing the shot in one swift motion, you grabbed your cocktail, setting your sights on Nemuri.

You found her in conversation with Kamui Woods and Mount Lady, her laughter carrying over the din. Sliding up beside her, you felt the brush of her nails as she pinched your side with a knowing grin. Without missing a beat, she continued chatting, but you knew she had clocked you. You were happy to wait, sipping your drink and letting its warmth spread through you, barely tuning into the conversation until Nemuri said her goodbyes.

She grabbed your hand, giggling as she pulled you onto the dance floor, and you let her lead—hoping the music might drown out how unwell you felt.

As the tequila and vodka settled into your veins, the world around you softened into a hazy blur of neon lights and pulsing bass. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat that rattled the floor beneath your feet. Strobe lights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of colour across the writhing crowd, while smoke machines filled the air with a thin mist that clung to your skin. The music was loud, so loud that it vibrated through your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks.

You finally started to feel it, the carefree buzz you’d been chasing all night. The alcohol loosened your limbs, and you let yourself get lost in whatever dirty, hypnotic rhythm Nemuri was dragging you into. Around you, people shouted over the music, laughed too loudly, and clinked glasses at the bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint hint of perfume mingling with something more electric. It was the kind of energy that pulled you in deeper, making everything else fade away.

A few songs passed in a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies. You floated from partner to partner, dancing with Thirteen, Snipe, and Nemuri again, before you found yourself twirled straight into the arms of Present Mic.

“Zashi! Hi!” you practically shouted, grinning at him with the same excitement that buzzed through the room. It felt like he was the only one who hadn’t made it to the party yet, and now, everything was perfect. You could imagine him being stopped by every person on the way in, catching up and spreading his contagious energy.

“Heya, baby, how’s it hangin’?” he grinned, pulling you in so close you could feel the bass rumbling through his chest. But even here, his voice cut through the noise effortlessly.

“Soooo good! I love dancing, I’m so happy you came! Thought you’d get stuck at the station,” you gushed, letting the sway of the music carry you from foot to foot.

He laughed and gave you a playful dip, sending you squealing in delight as the room spun for a brief moment. But when he pulled you back up, his smile faltered as you coughed into your arm, the noise cutting through the music like a reminder that not everything was as smooth as the party felt.

“Gave one of the interns the mic for the night. She was over the moon to take it,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, leaning in closer to cut through the pounding music. His usual energy seemed slightly tempered, though his voice still carried effortlessly. He lowered his tone as he added, “Didn’t think you’d make it out tonight. Shouta told me earlier you weren’t feeling so hot.”

At the mention of your boyfriend, you scanned the room out of habit, already knowing he wasn’t there. This kind of scene was never his thing; too loud, too crowded. Besides, he had patrol tonight.

“Sho’s just paranoid. I’m fine, see?” you replied, brushing off the comment with a lighthearted twirl under Hizashi’s arm. The movement made your head spin a bit, but you ignored it, flashing him a grin as you let go of his hand, intent on heading back to the bar for another drink. Before you could get far, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly.

“Hey, you trying to leave me all alone out here? This party’s not even close to over,” Hizashi laughed, his voice rising just above the thrum of the bass. You joined in his laughter, not noticing how, with each song, he subtly steered you away from the bar. The colours around you swirled in a kaleidoscope of neon lights, flickering across faces and catching in the smoke-filled air. Every beat seemed to vibrate through your body, keeping you in a daze of music, movement, and heat.

As the hours blurred, so did the people. Dance partners came and went, their faces brief ly illuminated by strobe lights before they disappeared back into the crowd. But through it all, Hizashi never left your side, keeping a playful hand on your shoulder or at your waist as if he were your lifeline in the chaotic sea of bodies.

Then, a slower song melted into the speakers, and the mood shifted. The lights dimmed to soft blues and purples, and the frenetic energy on the dance floor calmed. Hizashi took the opportunity to pull you close, his arm wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt comforting against the heat of the room. Your head fell naturally onto his shoulder as the world seemed to slow down for the first time that night. The sway of the music was soothing now, and the chatter around you dropped to a murmur.

Couples paired off, holding each other close, moving in time to the slow beat, while others used the moment to catch their breath. The heavy scent of spilled drinks, sweat, and perfume lingered in the air, but here, in Hizashi’s arms, you felt an odd sense of calm. You giggled softly as he whispered in your ear, making quiet jokes about the unlikely pairings that had formed on the dance floor. His voice was steady and warm, grounding you.

But then, he stopped abruptly. The sway of his body stilled, and you blinked, the moment interrupted. Confused, you lifted your head to look at him, but his attention was no longer on the dance floor.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think your song’s been played out,” Hizashi said softly, his voice taking on a tone that felt more final than playful. You lifted your head to question him, confusion crossing your face, but before you could get a word out, he spun you around; right into the arms of someone new.

Or rather, someone far more familiar than you would have preferred.

“Shouta!” you gasped, looking up to find him staring down at you, his dark eyes narrowed in that way that instantly made you feel small. His gaze wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a sharpness in it that cut through the fog of your drunken haze. You straightened up, biting your lip as emotions flashed across your face, impossible to hide in your current state.

“I thought you had patrol?” you asked, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I finished early,” he said, his tone even but firm as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His grip was gentle, but the intention was clear as he began guiding you through the crowd and toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, I gotta-” you started to protest, trying to twist out of his hold. But Shouta cut you off before you could finish, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I paid your tab. You can see everyone another time,” Shouta said curtly, his voice as firm as his grip around your waist. The finality in his words made your chest tighten, but you huffed anyway, stubbornly digging in your heels.

“I promised Nemuri another dance, and I was gonna get another drink!” you protested, though the moment the words were out, you knew they were a mistake. Shouta’s gaze sharpened, his eyes darkening as they bore into you. It was a look that made your heart skip a beat and sent a nervous tremor down your spine. Your feet shuffled on instinct, your earlier defiance wilting under the heat of his stare.

“We are leaving right now, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. The words slid over you like a command, impossible to ignore. His hand drifted down to your ass, the touch firm and possessive, sending a shiver through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued, “Unless you’d like to get a head start on your punishment in the bathroom. Here. And. Now.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The heavy atmosphere of the club seemed to fade, the sound of the crowd growing distant. All that remained was the heat of his presence and the weight of his words. The tension coiled in your stomach, leaving you unsure whether to push back or submit.

“No… m’sorry. Let’s go,” you mumbled, your voice barely rising above the pulsing music, but your regretful look and the way you let him pull you along seemed to say enough. Once outside, the sudden quiet enveloped you, your ears ringing from the absence of sound. The contrast was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Shouta’s disappointment radiating off him like an invisible force.

He guided you to the car, and without even a hint of protest, you slid into the back seat. The cool leather felt grounding against your skin as he buckled you in silently, his focus unwavering. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as he leaned in, resting his hand on the headrest. His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier sternness.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet urgency. You shook your head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, though the flutter of anxiety in your stomach made it hard.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours. “Start drinking this.” He handed you a bottle of water, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want at least half of it gone by the time we get home. And if you think you’re feeling sick, just tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

The seriousness in his voice made your heart race. You nodded, taking the bottle from him, the cool plastic a small comfort in the heated moment. As you unscrewed the cap, you could sense the shift in his demeanour. He was looking out for you, but there was a firmness in his words that reminded you of the line you’d crossed.

“Okay.” you mumble, staring at his chin to avoid the intensity of his eyes. He sighed and closed the door before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the journey home. The ride wasn't long but it was dead silent and it gave you enough time for some of the alcohol to wear off and the reminders that you were sick to kick in.

Shouta, of course, knew you at the very least, had a bad cold. That morning, he had taken charge, insisting you call off work and ordering you to stay in bed. He had been so sweetly concerned and caring. He had meticulously arranged everything, ensuring you had enough food and medicine at hand. You could still picture him moving around the kitchen, checking in on you with a watchful eye, his brow slightly furrowed in that familiar expression of worry.

Throughout the afternoon, he had kept in touch, sending periodic texts to check on your well-being. Each notification was a reminder of how deeply he cared. The messages were gentle nudges, urging you to rest and take care of yourself. You could almost feel his presence with each ping, as if he were there beside you, coaxing you to indulge in soup and reminding you when to take the next dose of cold and flu medicine.

But as the hours slipped by and daylight faded into evening, the excitement of your friends celebrating the end of the semester began to tug at you. The allure of laughter and music beckoned from the outside world, tempting you to leave the cocoon of blankets and soothing remedies he had encouraged you to embrace. You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Shouta, knowing full well the firm stance he had taken. He had told you when he left for his night patrol that you were to be doing nothing for the rest of the night but resting and getting better.

In a moment of weakness, you had chosen to ignore his guidance, allowing the crippling fear of missing out to get to you. Now, as the consequences of your decision loomed large, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest, a blend of regret and dread creating a terrible cocktail with how awful you were already feeling physically.

As Shouta pulled into the driveway, the rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The tears welled up, unbidden and hot, as the guilt of your choices crashed over you like a wave. You hiccuped, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs, but it was futile. When he parked the car and came around to your door, you barely registered his movements, lost in your own turmoil. As soon as he opened the door, he unbuckled you and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he felt you trembling against him. “I know you’re not feeling too hot. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some comfy clothes. Does that sound good?”

You nodded against his shoulder, the gesture almost instinctual as the weight of your exhaustion settled in. With a gentle yet firm motion, he hoisted you out of the car, his strength reassuring. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around him like a koala, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He adjusted his hold, securing you against him effortlessly as he maneuvered to get the door open with one arm, not even considering putting you down for a moment. The night air was cool against your skin, but Shouta's warmth kept the chill at bay. As he carried you inside, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

He took care of you mostly in silence, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he guided your movements. Gently, he slipped off your heels, his touch tender against your tired feet. Without a word, he helped you out of your dress, replacing the once-glamorous outfit with the softness of your favourite pajamas. His fingers were careful as he wiped away the makeup you'd used to hide the ruddiness in your cheeks and the shadows beneath your eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he worked, focused but gentle.

When he pressed the cool glass of water into your hands, you drank obediently, the quiet rustle of him preparing the medicine a comforting sound in the background. As he handed you the pills, his eyes softened, a silent reminder that he was looking out for you. After you’d swallowed them, he guided you to sit down at your vanity, still working methodically, brushing away the remnants of the night.

The makeup wipe brushed over your nose, tickling slightly, and despite the exhaustion and the lingering tipsiness, a small giggle escaped your lips. You leaned up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and smiled mischievously, asking for a kiss. He indulged you, pressing a brief, soft kiss to your lips before continuing, his attention shifting to your hair. The tender motions of his hands as he brushed it through were almost hypnotic, lulling you into a sense of calm as he completed your nighttime routine for you.

A thought bubbled up, slipping out before you could stop it. “How did you know where I was? Thought patrol didn’t end till 4?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur as he turned you to face the mirror. Catching his eyes in the reflection, you saw a flicker of irritation still lingering there, and the weight of it made you shy away. You broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the clutter of items strewn across the vanity from earlier in the night.

“Hizashi texted me when he got there,” he replied quietly, his voice steady but tinged with that edge of disappointment. You couldn't help but pout at the mention of it, feeling the sting of being caught, of letting him down. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, but you felt his concern just as deeply, even in the silence between you.

“Tattle-tale,” you mumbled under your breath, but before you could sink too far into your pout, Shouta’s fingers tipped under your chin, gently but firmly, guiding you to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“He wouldn’t have to tattle if you hadn’t been misbehaving, would he?” His voice held that familiar grumble, a mix of irritation and concern that made your heart skip. You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze and the undeniable truth behind his words.

“No, sir,” you murmured, looking as contrite as you felt. His expression softened slightly, and he let out a quiet puff of air, almost a sigh, before pulling you up from the vanity.

With his hand steadying you, he guided you toward the bed, but your legs still wobbled beneath you. Dizzy, you tumbled onto the mattress, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you sank into the plush blankets. Shouta rolled his eyes, but there was a tenderness behind it, and with practiced care, he shifted you to the other side and tucked you in properly, smoothing the covers over you.

“Wait, Sho... you’re not... are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice suddenly small and sincere, cutting through the haze of your tipsiness. His brow furrowed at the question, and for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he assured you, his voice softer now. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up. Rounding the bed, he moved to his side, slipping in beside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that conversation tomorrow wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. But as Shouta’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his chest, the heaviness of the night melted away. His familiar scent, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his body drowned out any lingering bad feelings. For now, wrapped up in him, everything felt right, and you let yourself drift into the comfort of sleep.

The morning greeted you with a vengeance, leaving you feeling every bit as awful as you feared. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, your sinuses were stuffed to the brim, and your body felt clammy and weak, so much more wrung out than you had been jus the day before. Groaning, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, hiding from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Despite the warmth of the covers, a bone-deep chill had taken root, making you shiver as you curled in on yourself.

“Wake up, baby. You have to take some medicine.” Shouta’s voice, calm and resolute, pierced your cocoon of self-pity. You whined in response, a pitiful sound muffled by the blankets.

“M’sleeping. No thanks,” you muttered petulantly, half-hoping he’d let it slide. Usually, this was when you’d hear him chuckle softly, maybe feel the comforting weight of his hand on your thigh as he gave you a few more moments to stir.

Instead, the covers were suddenly pulled back from your face, exposing you to the cool morning air and making you gasp at the loss of warmth. The sudden brightness forced your eyes to flutter open, though they quickly squinted against the light. Before you could protest, Shouta’s hand was on your face, gentle and deliberate, as he smoothed the strands of damp hair plastered to your clammy skin. The touch sent a shiver through you, the tenderness soothing away your irritation.

His expression hovered between stern and soft, his dark eyes scanning your flushed, pale face with an almost clinical precision. You could feel the weight of his worry as he brushed his thumb over your temple. Despite your exhaustion, guilt pooled in your chest, mingling with the sickness that had you pinned to the bed.

“It wasn’t really a request. Come on, sit up.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind it. Before you could muster a protest, his strong hands slipped under your back and shoulders, lifting you with ease. The sudden shift left you disoriented, and before you knew it, you were propped up against the headboard.

Two pills rested on the palm he held in front of your face, his dark eyes steady and expectant. “Open,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something in the commanding gentleness of his voice had you obeying instinctively, parting your lips without hesitation. He placed the pills on your tongue, and you grimaced as you swallowed them with a few sips of the water he pressed to your lips.

Just as you moved to push the glass away, his hand caught yours, steadying it. “Finish this,” he said firmly, guiding it back toward your mouth. The weight of his worry lingered in the way his fingers stayed wrapped around yours, ensuring you drank more.

You managed another sip, your movements sluggish and reluctant, before he spoke again, his voice softening. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, too weary to form words, and he nodded in quiet acceptance. “Okay,” he murmured, taking the now half-empty glass from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. His fingers brushed against your knuckles briefly, grounding you in the moment. “You can sleep a little longer until the meds kick in. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit better.”

You gulped and cast your eyes downward, unable to meet his steady gaze. The words he didn’t say lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, a reminder of the talk you’d hoped that you might avoid. Shouta, ever composed, didn’t press. Instead, his hand smoothed over your hair, the motion tender and familiar, as if to reassure you that his frustration didn’t mean he cared any less.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your brows, a soft, lingering gesture that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t fair how easily he could dissolve your guilt and stubbornness in a single moment of care. You couldn’t even summon the faintest trace of upset, not when his touch was so gentle, so grounding. Instead, your eyelids grew heavier, the pull of exhaustion impossible to resist. With a quiet sigh, you let yourself drift, surrendering to the lull of warmth and safety he left behind.

Time passed in a haze, unmeasured and weightless. When you woke again, the pounding in your head had dulled to a faint, manageable throb, and though your limbs still felt heavy, they no longer ached with the same intensity. The room was empty now, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks that painted the walls and the rumpled sheets beside you. If Shouta hadn't insisted on taking some medicine earlier, the light would probably be giving you the worst of headaches, but instead, you were able to enjoy the warmth. Of course, Shouta was right, as always. It was no wonder you let him take the reins so often; he had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. It went beyond simple intuition, it was deliberate and unwavering care. It was why you trusted him so deeply.

If you didn’t know that, if you couldn’t feel it in the way he cared for you, you wouldn’t be in this dynamic with him in the first place. You wouldn’t be sitting here now, heart pounding in the quiet aftermath, debating whether pretending to sleep a little longer might save you from the punishment just a little longer, or if it would only make things worse.

But even as your thoughts tangled with uncertainty, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything. For all the moments like these, where guilt and the weight of your mistakes pressed down on you, there was always the unwavering reassurance that Shouta would steady you. He’d take you in hand, reminding you in no uncertain terms just how much you mattered to him.

He wouldn’t tolerate behaviour that diminished your worth, not in his eyes, and not in your own. It wasn’t just discipline; it was care, deeply rooted and uncompromising. And when all was said and done, forgiveness would follow, that was never an uncertainty. With Shouta, there was no lingering doubt, no unspoken resentment, only the quiet, steady rhythm of love in its most honest form.

It was about more than letting go; it was about giving that trust to someone who cherished it, someone who didn’t just take care of you but found joy in doing so. And in turn, you found joy in being cared for. It could be terrifying sometimes, to put that kind of trust in someone, but with Shouta it had always felt worth it.

You sigh and slide out of bed, resigned to your fate. The chill in the air bites at your skin, and the sickness still clings to you making you shiver. You rummage through the closet until your fingers find the familiar softness of one of Shouta’s sweaters. It’s an old crew neck, worn and slightly stretched out, big even on him and perfect for wrapping yourself in his warmth.

Pulling it over your head, you pad out to the living room on bare feet. The sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, drawing a soft, dreamy sigh from your lips.

Shouta is perched on the couch, papers spread across the coffee table in neat stacks. A faint furrow creases his brow as he grades with careful precision, the rhythmic scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. One of the cats is curled in his lap snoring, and a ray of sunlight streams through the window, bathing the scene in a golden glow that feels almost unreal. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

His sharp eyes flick up, catching yours as you linger in the doorway. Before he can say a word, you shuffle over and flop down beside him, burying yourself against his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed again. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, as grounding as the weight of his presence.

“G’morning baby.” you sigh, and his arm curls around you to tug you to his side properly.

“Good morning, my love. Feeling a little better?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, vibrating gently against your ear. You nod, nestling closer into his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his breathing soothe your lingering unease.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, the occasional scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. He finishes grading the last test on his stack, and you catch a glimpse of his expression as he marks something on the page. Oof. Poor kid.

You might have dozed off again if not for the fluttering unease in your stomach, a familiar mix of guilt and anticipation. The thought of the looming punishment makes it impossible to relax entirely, though Shouta’s calm presence keeps you from fully spiralling.

And then, as if he could read your mind, he sets the papers aside with a quiet sigh. The finality of it settles in your chest like a stone. He turns his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks softly, a warmth and firmness interwoven in his tone.

“We need to have a talk, little girl.”

You bite your lip, the weight of his gaze settling heavily over you. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. “I know. I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Shouta doesn’t immediately respond. He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, assessing. The silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

Finally, he exhales deeply, sitting back and crossing his arms. His posture is relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you rooted in place.

“Why?” he asks, his voice calm but piercing.

Your stomach churns. You know the answer, of course, you do, but the way he asks makes your guilt multiply. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. You glance down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your pajama pants, anything to avoid the weight of his disappointment.

“For… for not listening,” you whisper, each word sticking in your throat. “And going out when you told me not to.”

“That’s correct,” he says, his tone steady but no less cutting. “But more broadly, I’m extremely not thrilled with your complete disregard for your own health and well-being.”

The words land with a precision that makes your chest ache.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice softening but still firm. “I love taking care of you. But part of that is making sure you take care of yourself when I’m not there. I need to trust that when I tell you to rest and recover, you’ll actually listen. Instead, you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? A few hours of fun?”

His gaze locks onto yours, and the weight of his disappointment has you nodding mutely.

“And,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “I have never, and will never, tolerate you lying to me.”

Your head snaps up, a reflexive protest bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t lie—”

The glare he fixes you with stops the words dead in their tracks. It’s a look that leaves no room for negotiation.

“What did you say,” he asks, his voice low and measured, “when I told you to spend the night resting and recovering before I left for work?”

Your cheeks burn as you break eye contact. His stare feels like a spotlight, illuminating every guilty thought you’re trying to suppress. You shift uncomfortably, your voice trembling as you admit, “I… I said, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”

The silence that follows feels deafening. You dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable. The weight of your admission hangs heavy in the air, and you shrink under the judgment you can feel emanating from him.

Finally, he sighs, the sound carrying more disappointment than anger. “You know what you did,” he says, each word deliberate. “Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Your stomach twists, dread pooling in your chest. His tone is calm, almost gentle, but it carries a finality that leaves no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t normally punish you while you’re sick,” he continues, leaning back against the couch, his voice even. “But since you seem to think that being sick has no bearing on your decisions, I won’t let it affect mine either. Stand up.”

Your knees feel weak as you scramble to obey, rising unsteadily to your feet. Confusion flickers across your face- why not just pull you over his lap like usual? Why make you stand?

“Go and get the wooden hairbrush,” he says, his voice low and dispassionate, the command sending a shiver down your spine. “The flat, square one. And lose your pants on the way.”

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the waistband of your pajama pants.

He doesn’t budge, his expression firm, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

The room feels colder as you move, your steps hesitant. The gravity of the moment weighs heavily with each step you take toward the bedroom. Your heart races as you reach for the brush, the smooth wood cool against your palm. Sliding your pajama pants down your legs, you feel your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and anticipation. You decide to take off the sweater as well, knowing Shouta would have you sweating soon.

When you return to the living room, brush in hand and pants abandoned, Shouta’s eyes meet yours. His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of care visible beneath the stern exterior, but it does nothing to ease the butterflies raging in your stomach.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to come closer. You obey silently, beyond arguing at this point. There would be no getting out of this, Shouta cares too much about you to let you get away with this. You hand over the brush and he places it on the arm of the couch, and then you fold yourself over his lap obediently. Without another word he folds your shirt up to expose the entirety of your backside, and places his hand on it, making you squirm with dread.

“Safeword?”

“Red” you whimper, accepting your fate.

He doesn't hesitate any longer, steadily applying his hand to your ass with all the restrained muscle of a pro hero, just hard enough to make sure you know exactly where you belong. The first few swats land on your bare ass, and you already want to start crying. And then he starts talking.

“Let's go through each unfortunate choice you made yesterday, shall we?” he says, and you try not to tense up at his disappointed tone.

“First, you disobeyed me when I specifically told you to stay in bed while you weren't feeling well, and second, you lied to me and said that you would be home for the night. Third, you disregarded yourself and your health, which we will be going into great detail about with the hairbrush.”

As he laid out your actions, your ass got steadily reddened, and the tears started falling against your will. You fisted the fabric of the couch and willed yourself not to squirm, knowing it would only make things worse for you.

Shouta’s voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority, each word landing like a stone in your chest. “Do you think I asked you to stay home for no reason? That I ask you to listen to me for my own amusement?”

Your stomach churned at his tone, the disappointment in his voice far worse than any raised voice could have been.

“You trust me to know what’s best for you, and in turn, I trust you to be honest with me. I specifically told you to stay home, to rest and recover. Instead, I get a text from Hizashi that you’re out, you’re drinking, and completely ignoring what I asked of you. What if he hadn’t messaged me? What if I had come home to an empty house, no idea where you were, and no way to ensure you were safe?”

The image his words painted made your chest tighten with guilt. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet upset that cut deeper than anger ever could. You knew how much this dynamic meant to him—not just as a way to care for you, but as a source of reassurance in a life that was chaotic and dangerous. Being a pro-hero came with enough unpredictability; this was one area of his life he could keep steady.

Even with that realization weighing heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help it. Against your better judgment, a pouty response escaped your lips, soft and stubborn, laced with defiance that you immediately regretted.

“I was gonna be home before you got back—” The sharp crack of his hand meeting your thigh cut off your words with a yelp, the sting blooming as tears welled in your eyes. His hand rested firmly on the offended area, grounding you.

“That is not the point and you know it. You dont get to have a bratty attitude with me about this, or the hairbrush is going to be followed by a long time out in the corner for you to fix it. Am. I. Clear.”

“Yes- ‘m sorry, I'm sorry sir.” you cry, your face soaked and dripping onto the cushion.

“Hm. As I was saying, this will not be happening again. You misbehave, you get consequences. For the next two weeks, you will be in this house and in our bed by 9 p.m. sharp. If I’m not home, I expect a picture of you in bed, and then you will put your phone in my bedside table.”

The shame of his words was almost as unbearable as the sting still radiating from your thighs. You sobbed into the couch, mortified at the level of supervision he felt you required. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

“I am not playing about this,” he pressed on, his gaze unyielding. “If I find out you’ve stepped foot out of this apartment, you had better have a damn good reason—or you’ll find yourself right back here, no excuses. If you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I will do it for you.”

You nodded again, your sobs turning into shaky, uneven breaths. The shame was overwhelming, and yet you knew he wasn’t done.

As the spanks land, the force behind them pulls a sharp gasp from you, and each strike feels like a wave of guilt crashing over you. His words pierce through the haze of pain. "I think this way you might begin to understand how serious your actions are. His disappointment lingers in your chest, making it harder to breathe.

The spanks stopped for a moment, and you gasped, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Shouta’s hands, firm and unyielding just moments ago, softened as they rubbed soothing circles on your spine. His voice, low and steady, cut through the haze of your tears.

“Breathe, baby. Take a few deep breaths,” he murmured, his tone no longer sharp but filled with an unyielding care that made your chest ache.

You hiccupped, following his instruction as you sucked in shaky gulps of air. The relief of his touch warred with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Your breath finally evened out, and your tears slowed, but they didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his praise—just a steady, measured approval for doing as you were told. His hand drifted to your shoulder, squeezing gently before he continued.

“Now,” he began, his tone sharp once more, “let’s discuss the way you’ve been treating your health.”

Your stomach churned, and your heart thudded as the words landed. His hand left your shoulder, and you braced yourself for what was to come, dread building with every passing second.

The hairbrush came down with a crack, the sound cutting through the room and drawing a pained cry from your lips. Shouta didn’t bother to shush you; the punishment was meant to leave a lasting impression, and he doesn't want you to hide where you are at emotionally. The strikes weren’t as rapid as the earlier flurry of his hands, but each one was deliberate, the wide, heavy impact sinking deep into your already tender skin.

You sobbed with each blow, your cries punctuating the rhythm he set.

“I will never, ever stand for you treating yourself the way you chose to last night.” His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone felt like another lash, hitting somewhere deeper than just your body. “You were sick- you are sick- and the fact that you thought you could just disregard that to go party makes me think you don’t understand how seriously I take your wellbeing. Not to mention how seriously I expect you to take it yourself.”

The hairbrush came down again, and you twisted slightly, though his firm grip kept you in place. The dull thud seemed to echo in your chest, a physical reminder of just how much you had messed up.

“Every part of you is important, mind and body,” he continued, the cadence of his strikes steady and unrelenting. “One of our biggest rules is that you don’t disrespect yourself, and you know very well I don’t just mean self-deprecating words. I expect you to take the same care for yourself when I’m gone that I do when I’m here.”

The words hit harder than the brush, and your quiet whimper turned into a full sob. His disappointment was unbearable, an ache in your chest that far outweighed the sting of your reddened skin.

“Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do so on your own,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

The tears streaking down your face weren’t just from the physical pain; they came from the overwhelming guilt of letting him down. You knew how much he valued self-care, and how hard he worked to instill that same value in you, even when he struggled to prioritize it for himself.

You sniffled, hiccuping through your tears, and a treacherous thought flitted through your mind. Hypocrite. He barely looked after himself most days. Your attitude almost made itself known again before the next blow snapped you out of your thoughts, and you yelped, realizing too late that the silence had stretched on too long.

“Every day until you are one-hundred percent better,” he said, his tone unyielding, “you’re going to sit at that table and write me fifty lines, telling me exactly how well you’re going to take care of yourself in the future.”

You let out a soft wail of protest at the thought, but he ignored it, leaning in to speak into your ear.

“And trust me, little girl, you do not want to have this discussion again.”

And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The punishing rhythm of the hairbrush ceased, and the room settled into a heavy, tear-soaked silence. Your sobs, however, remained steady, shaking your body as it lay slumped over his lap.

Shouta’s hands shifted, their movements no longer firm and corrective but gentle, smoothing up and down your back and thighs. He didn’t rush you, letting you cry as long as you needed, his presence grounding you even as your emotions spilled over.

When your cries softened to hiccups, he gently helped you upright, maneuvering you so you were straddling his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your tear-streaked face into his shirt, soaking the fabric with every breathy sob. He didn’t mind; his arms held you just as tightly, encasing you in a protective warmth.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he swayed you gently. “Alright, you’re okay now. I love you so much, baby.”

His voice was soft, full of love and patience, and it was that tenderness that finally cracked the dam inside you. The moment you had enough air in your lungs, you blurted out in a desperate rush:

“I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t mean to! I just—I wanted—I’m just so, so sorry,” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. The words poured out of you like water from a broken dam, each one carrying the weight of your regret. You weren’t just apologizing for the mistake, you were apologizing for letting him down, for making him feel like his care wasn’t enough to anchor you. The thought of betraying the trust he put in you made the tears fall faster.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged you even closer. “Okay, okay. I know. Thank you, babygirl, I know you are. You’re forgiven now, okay? You did so good for me, you’re all forgiven.”

His words were a balm to your guilt, soothing and grounding you as you took shuddering breaths, gradually winding down. Your sobs quieted into occasional hiccups, and he gently tilted you back to examine your tear-streaked face. Shouta’s soft smile held no trace of the earlier sternness. He reached over, plucking a tissue from the side table, and methodically wiped away your tears, along with the snot and drool that added to your humiliation. He discarded the tissue without a second thought, his focus entirely on you.

“Let’s go take a bath, baby, clear up your sinuses,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. He hoisted you into his arms with ease and carried you to the bathroom, grabbing two towels along the way. Setting them on the counter, he gingerly placed you atop them, your seated position making you just a little taller than him. He stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs, and studied your face with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice earnest and patient.

You took a moment to check in with yourself, cataloging the aches in your body, the tenderness in your emotions, and the lingering sting of your punishment. Eventually, you nodded and murmured, “Yeah, ‘m okay. I’m just really sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. Leaning up, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I believe you.”

He didn’t push for more, understanding how fragile you felt. Instead, he gave you space, letting you sit quietly while he started filling the tub. The sound of water rushing against porcelain filled the room, and he quickly stripped down before helping you out of your oversized shirt. His movements were efficient but tender as if he were afraid to overwhelm you.

Once the tub was full, he climbed in first and extended a hand to guide you in, settling you between his legs with your back pressed firmly to his chest. The warm water enveloped you, and his arms encircled your middle, holding you close.

“There we go, my good girl,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. The praise made you shiver, the tension in your body melting away as you nestled further into his embrace.

“Always my good girl, no matter what,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you so much.”

His words wrapped around you like the heat of the water, comforting and secure, and you let yourself relax completely. This was where you belonged—wrapped in his love and care, forgiven and cherished.

#aizawa thirst #aizawa/reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #daddy k!nk #daddy issues

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thursdayinspace · 1 day ago

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Only reasonable thing to do while waiting for an online meeting to start? Write two sillies being normal coworkers together. I'm just waiting for the day when I'll accidentally copy-paste smut fic into a Very Serious zoom chat.

It starts raining without warning. The sky darkens and then they’re in the middle of a downpour without an umbrella, without raincoats, soaked to the skin within seconds.

He looks at her. She meets his eyes, shocked for a second, and then she bursts out laughing. He laughs with her and can’t stop, and it seems that neither can she. When she takes his hand and pulls and they start running back to their car, careful not to slip on the soggy ground, he feels almost high on happiness. It’s the little things sometimes, like ending up in entirely unplanned ridiculous situations with the woman he loves.

The seats are as soaked as they are by the time they make it back to the motel and the rental company isn’t gonna be happy, but there’s nothing they can do about it. He’s not surprised when she follows him straight into his room—they’ve been sharing it since they got here even though she has her bag in her own room, still keeping up pretenses while they settle into this thing that’s building between them. They’re dripping water all over the carpet and they don’t care. Her hair is plastered to her face and she’s breathtakingly beautiful and he has no idea how he got so lucky, but here they are.

She walks ahead into the bathroom and their clothes hit the tiled floor. He sees her shivering, and turns on the hot water in the shower, letting her step in first before he follows her.

“Did you check the weather report this morning?” she asks, still grinning, and he shakes his head.

“I’d have brought a rain jacket if I had.”

She steps into him and wraps her arms around him and they just stand under the spray, the cold slowly melting away. He still hears her soft chuckles every few moments and hugs her tightly and he can’t stop smiling.

Warm and dry a short while later, she slips into bed dressed only a soft robe and he doesn’t bother with clothes at all, hoping that this is going somewhere that would just have them get in the way. She lies on her side, propped up on one elbow, and the look in her eyes is soft and happy.

“Remember our first case?” she asks.

“The graveyard,” he says. “Yeah. I remember.”

He can taste the smile in her kiss as she leans down and touches her lips to his.

There is no need for clothes. The robe slips off her easily and she climbs on top of him. He’s ready. This is new, this is still so new, and yet it feels right and familiar, his cock sliding into her as she lowers her hips until he’s in as deep as he can go.

“You were laughing then too,” he says. “In Oregon.”

She brackets his head with her forearms and rests their foreheads together. “I did.”

“I wanted you to stay,” he tells her. “In that moment, I think that’s when I knew we could be good together.”

“I think it’s when I knew I wanted to stay,” she says. “Even if I did think you were crazy.”

“Maybe I was,” he answers. “Maybe I am. Thanks for sticking around.”

She starts moving on top of him and he sucks in a breath, his hands finding her hips. She’s hot and tight around him and it feels so good. “If you’d made a move, I would have done this with you then.”

“Oh god,” he says. “Believe me, I thought about it. More than once.” She raises up just slightly to brace herself on her hands above his shoulders and rolls her hips harder, his cock sliding in and out of her in the most perfect rhythm, and he slides her hands up her back, feeling her muscles move under her smooth, warm skin.

Her breath is coming fast and her mouth falls open as she rides him and he thrusts up into her, making her gasp out loud and throw her head back. His hands find her breasts and every one of her exhales ends in a tiny moan. Through the fast-building need, his heart is clenching with joy. Nothing compares to this.

The sound she makes as she comes sends shockwaves of heat through his body, the sight of her riding him frantically, grinding her clit against him is what pushes him over the edge and his body arches off the mattress, his hands gripping her hips to pull her down against him as he buries himself deep inside her.

Her body, panting and exhausted on top of him, anchors him to this earth, to this moment, to life.

So, he thinks, this is what being in love feels like. This is what it feels like to be loved in return. He can’t get enough. He’ll stand with her laughing in the rain anytime, running for shelter hand in hand, for as long as she decides to stay.

#txf #the x files #msr #mulder and scully #fic #I guess #poangpals

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alwayssassydreamer · 2 days ago

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Song #3

Song Prompt Challenge

If you cried out for more If you reached out for me I would run into the storm Just to keep you here with me

Warnings: none

Characters: Shanks x GnReader

It started like it always did with Shanks: a laugh, a drink, and that irresistible smirk that made it impossible to stay mad at him for long.

He had an uncanny ability to turn the most serious moments into a joke, disarming you with his charm and leaving you wondering how you’d fallen for him so hard.

Tonight was no different.

The Red-Haired Pirates had docked in a small, lively port town, the kind that catered to sailors and adventurers. The tavern was bustling, music and laughter filling the air.

You had tried to stay at the edge of the chaos, nursing your drink and pretending you weren’t scanning the room for that telltale shock of red hair.

But, of course, Shanks found you first.

“Hey there,” he greeted, sliding into the seat across from you with a grin that could melt steel. “Fancy seeing you here. Or did you miss me too much to stay away?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Shanks. I just happen to like this tavern.”

“Sure you do,” he teased, leaning back in his chair with that easy confidence. “And I just happen to like this table. Funny how life works, huh?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that escaped.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he said, winking.It was maddening how easily he got under your skin.

But that was Shanks—carefree and irreverent, yet somehow always knowing exactly what to say to keep you from walking away.

As the night wore on, the two of you fell into the familiar rhythm of banter and stolen glances. Shanks was the life of the tavern, telling exaggerated stories and coaxing laughter from even the grumpiest patrons. Yet, despite the crowd, his attention never strayed far from you.

At some point, the conversation turned quieter, more intimate. The rowdy atmosphere of the tavern seemed to fade into the background as Shanks leaned across the table, his gaze locking onto yours.

“You know,” he said softly, “I’d do anything for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone.

“Don’t start getting all sentimental on me now, Shanks,” you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, his smile softening. “If you cried out for more, if you reached out for me—I’d run into the storm just to keep you here with me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them settling over you. Shanks wasn’t the type to make grand declarations, but when he did, you knew he meant every word.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “You’ve got this way of grounding me, of reminding me what’s really important. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

For once, you didn’t have a clever retort. Instead, you reached across the table, your hand brushing against his.

“You’re not going to lose me, Shanks,” you said firmly. “But you’ve got to promise me something.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t get yourself killed trying to prove something,” you said, your voice tinged with both affection and exasperation.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t make any promises there, sweetheart. But I’ll always come back to you. That much, I swear.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile crept onto your lips.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said with a grin.Shanks stood, pulling you to your feet with him.

“Come on,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Let’s get some air. I need a break from all this noise, and I think you do too.”

As he led you out of the tavern and into the cool night, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm settle over you. With Shanks, life was unpredictable and chaotic, but it was also full of moments like this—moments where the world seemed to stand still, leaving just the two of you.

And as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, you realized you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

#one piece #shanks x you #akagami no shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #red hair shanks #song prompt challenge #Spotify #op shanks

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solavita · 2 days ago

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headlock (gojo satoru) — chapter seven

pairing ; satoru gojo x fem!reader

words ; 5.2k

warning(s) ; gojo opening up, mentions of the past

author's note ; this work will include dark themes like violence, enslavement, character death, psychological trauma, and references to torture. sexual themes included. reader discretion is advised.

masterlist can be found here !

The days had passed quietly, the cabin and its surroundings caught in the liminal space between winter’s last grip and the promise of spring. The snow that had once blanketed the ground in an unforgiving white had begun to soften, shrinking into patches of ice and slush. Outside the cabin, faint hints of green peeked through the frost, the first signs of life tentatively returning to the world. It had been over a week since you woke from your coma, and longer still since the night Satoru held you by the fire, pulling you back from the edges of despair. You hadn’t spoken about it since, the memory lingering unspoken between you, fragile and unresolved. He had been distant since then, hovering around the cabin but never staying long enough to let the conversation drift toward anything meaningful.

The rhythm of your days had become strangely predictable: the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth, the occasional sound of Satoru’s boots against the floorboards, and the endless stillness that surrounded you both. Though the routine was calm, you couldn’t shake the undercurrent of tension, the sense that something was waiting just out of reach.

This morning, the sun had broken through the cloud cover for the first time in weeks, the light spilling through the cabin’s window and casting a warm glow on the wooden floor. You stood near the window, staring out at the melting snow, the bare branches of the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The world felt different, lighter somehow, as though the first touch of spring had brought with it the possibility of something new.

“You’re up early.”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see Satoru leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked less guarded than usual, his posture relaxed, though his sharp blue eyes missed nothing as they swept over you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said simply, your gaze drifting back to the window. “The light woke me.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen the sun,” he remarked, stepping into the room. His boots creaked softly against the floorboards as he moved closer, stopping a few paces behind you. “You should enjoy it while it lasts.” You gave a small nod, though your thoughts were elsewhere. The melting snow, the hint of green beneath the frost—it all felt symbolic, like the world was trying to tell you something. Or maybe it was just the quiet hope that things could change, that they could get better.

You had so many questions. Questions that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts, that refused to let you rest. The flash drive—its fate haunted you. Had he looked at it? Did he know what it contained? What had been happening back at the estate while you were stranded in this isolated cabin? And the biggest question of all: Was he going to turn you in?

You glanced sideways at Satoru, who still stood by the window, his arms crossed, his gaze distant as he looked out at the melting snow. He seemed at ease, his usual air of untouchable confidence cloaking him like armor. But beneath that veneer, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He had saved your life, nursed you back to health, even held you during your weakest moment—but you didn’t know why.

And the not knowing was suffocating.

Your fingers tightened around the windowsill, the faint warmth of the sun doing little to ease the cold that seemed to settle in your chest. You needed answers, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could sit in this limbo without them. “Satoru,” you said, your voice cutting through the silence. It wavered slightly, but you steadied yourself, forcing it to be firm. “What are you planning to do with me?” He turned his head slightly, his bright blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, his expression didn’t change, as though he were weighing your words, deciding how much to say. Then, he let out a quiet sigh, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

“Planning?” he echoed, his voice light, almost teasing. “I didn’t realize I needed a plan for you.”

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You know what I mean,” you said, your voice sharper now. “The flash drive. The estate. The Republic. Are you going to take me back? Turn me in?”

Satoru’s smirk faltered, his expression becoming unreadable. He stepped away from the window, his movements slow, deliberate, as he came to stand in front of you. He tilted his head, studying you, his gaze uncomfortably piercing. “Do you really think I’d drag you all the way out here just to hand you over?” he asked, his tone quieter now, almost serious. “If I wanted to do that, I could’ve done it a long time ago.”

“Then why haven’t you?” you pressed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound confident. “You’re not exactly known for keeping secrets from Suguru, are you?” The mention of Suguru’s name made something flicker across his face—so brief you might have imagined it. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to yours.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, his voice measured, “because I’m not sure what I want to do yet.” His honesty caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you found was the same enigmatic expression he always wore—calm, unshakable, and maddeningly unreadable.

“What does that mean?” you asked finally, your voice quieter now, tinged with unease.

“It means,” he said, his tone softening, “that I’m trying to figure out if you’re worth the risk.” The words hit you like a blow, sharp and unrelenting. You opened your mouth to respond, to demand an explanation, but he held up a hand, cutting you off. “Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said, his smirk returning, though it was smaller now, less certain. “I’m just saying there’s a lot at stake here—for both of us. I’m not in the habit of making rash decisions.”

Your frustration flared again, the ambiguity of his words doing little to ease the knot of tension in your chest. “And what about the flash drive?” you asked, your voice hardening. “Have you looked at it?”

Satoru’s gaze didn’t waver, but there was a subtle shift in his expression—a flicker of something guarded. “Not yet,” he said simply.

“Why not?” you demanded, your heart pounding. “You’ve had it for weeks.”

“Because,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “I wanted to hear what you had to say first.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. “What I have to say?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief. “You think I’m just going to tell you everything?”

He shrugged, his smirk widening slightly. “You might, eventually. People tend to open up when they feel safe.” His gaze lingered on you, his voice dropping to something softer, almost coaxing. “And whether you believe it or not, you are safe here.”

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavier. You wanted to believe him, to trust the warmth in his voice, but the stakes were too high, the risks too great. You couldn’t let yourself forget who he was—who he worked for.

“I don’t feel safe,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. Satoru’s expression flickered, a faint shadow crossing his face before he quickly masked it. He nodded slowly, as if he understood, though his gaze grew sharper, more determined. He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours, the intensity in them making your breath hitch. There was a weight behind his gaze that hadn’t been there before—a resolve, as if some internal decision had finally been made.

"Listen," he began, his voice low, the playful tone he so often used completely absent. "I know that none of this makes sense to you. I know you don’t trust me—and honestly, I don’t blame you. But you need to understand something." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though he were trying to make you truly see him. "If I wanted to hurt you, if I wanted to hand you over to Suguru, I would’ve done it by now."

You swallowed, your chest tightening at his words. He was right, of course, but the uncertainty still clung to you, the fear of what he might do weighing on every moment you spent in this cabin. "Then why haven’t you?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why did you save me? Why are you keeping me here?"

For a moment, Satoru was silent, his eyes searching your face as though trying to find the right words. Then, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Because something about this… about you… makes me think twice." He shook his head, his gaze softening, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe I’m just tired of following orders without questioning them. Maybe I’m tired of the world Suguru’s trying to create."

You stared at him, your mind struggling to make sense of his words. "You don’t agree with Suguru?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked away, his gaze drifting to the window, his jaw clenching. "I used to," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "Back then, I thought he was right. I thought we were the ones who deserved power, that the world would be better off under our control." He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. "But seeing what it's become… seeing what we’re willing to do to achieve it…" He shook his head, his gaze flicking back to you, something raw and honest in his eyes. "It doesn’t feel right anymore."

You blinked, taken aback by his admission. This wasn’t the Satoru you knew—the confident, untouchable sorcerer who seemed to revel in his power, who had always stood by Suguru’s side without question. This was someone different—someone who was questioning, doubting, someone who was struggling against the very thing he had once believed in.

"You…" you began, your voice trembling, "you want to help me?"

He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, his expression softening. "Maybe," he said quietly, his voice steady. "Maybe I want to help myself, too. Maybe I’m trying to figure out what the right thing to do actually is." The sincerity in his words made your chest tighten, a mix of hope and fear swirling within you. You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust the vulnerability he was showing you, but the risks were too high. If this was all some elaborate manipulation, if he was just trying to earn your trust to turn you in later… you weren’t sure you could survive that betrayal.

"You don’t have to believe me," he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. "Not yet. But I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove it. I’ve been trying to protect you, to keep you out of Suguru’s sight, and I’ll keep doing that as long as I can." You studied him, your gaze searching his face for any hint of deception, but all you saw was honesty—an openness that made your heart ache, that made you want to believe him despite the fear that gripped you.

"What about the flash drive?" you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered at the mention, his expression tightening for just a moment before he nodded. "That’s your decision," he said, his voice calm. "If you want me to look at it, I will. If you don’t, I won’t. I don’t want to force you into anything." He paused, his gaze softening, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I want you to trust me. I want to earn it."

The words lingered between you, the cabin growing quiet except for the faint crackle of the fire and the dripping of melting snow outside. You could feel your heart pounding, your thoughts swirling as you tried to make sense of everything he was saying, of what he was offering. He was giving you control—something you hadn’t felt in so long. He was giving you the choice to trust him or not, to let him in or keep him at arm’s length. And for the first time, it felt like you had a say in what happened next.

Slowly, you nodded, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your shirt. "I… I don’t know if I trust you yet," you said, your voice trembling. "But I want to. I want to believe that you’re not like him."

Satoru’s expression softened, his eyes holding yours with a warmth that made your chest ache. "That’s enough," he said, his voice barely a whisper. He took a step closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, his touch warm, reassuring. "It’s enough for now."

—

The sunlight spilling through the cabin’s small window had become a kind of torment, a reminder of the world beyond the walls that held you. The snow was melting, revealing patches of earth and the first hints of spring. You could see it from your perch by the window—tiny buds on the trees, shy and tentative, and the faintest blush of green against the dull browns of the forest floor.

You’d been inside too long. The ache in your leg was manageable now, reduced to a dull throb that only occasionally flared when you moved too quickly. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. You couldn’t sit idle any longer. You needed to breathe, to feel the wind on your face, to remind yourself that you weren’t a prisoner in your own body.

Satoru was seated at the table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a book open in his hands. He didn’t look up as you approached, but you could feel the way his attention shifted toward you, the way he noticed everything, even when he pretended not to.

“I want to go outside,” you said, the words coming out firmer than you’d intended.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, one pale eyebrow arching in mild amusement. “Do you?”

You nodded, clutching the back of the chair nearest to you for balance. “Yes. I need to. Please.”

Satoru’s expression didn’t change, but there was something thoughtful in the way he closed his book, setting it down on the table with deliberate care. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” he asked, his tone light but edged with skepticism. “You can barely walk.”

“I can walk well enough,” you countered, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. “I’ve been moving around the cabin just fine.”

“Inside the cabin,” he corrected, gesturing around the room. “Flat floors, no ice, no uneven ground. It’s not exactly the same as outside.”

“I don’t care,” you said, the frustration spilling into your voice. “I need to go out, Satoru. Just for a little while. I’m not asking to hike through the forest. I just want to… feel the sun. The air. Please.” His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he regarded you. For a moment, you thought he was going to refuse, to tell you it was too dangerous, too soon. But then he sighed, the tension in his posture easing just enough to show that he was relenting.

“Fine,” he said finally, standing and stretching with an exaggerated groan. “But only for a little while. And I’m coming with you.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Satoru’s gaze softened at your gratitude, though his smirk returned as he grabbed your coat from the peg by the door. He must’ve brought one when you were still sleeping at some point, just like he had with some of the clothes from your room at his estate. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, tossing it to you. “If you fall and break something, I’m not carrying you back.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing, pulling on the coat and awkwardly slipping your arms through the sleeves. Your leg throbbed faintly as you moved, a reminder of its fragility, but you ignored it, determination overriding the discomfort.

Satoru opened the door, stepping aside to let you pass. The rush of cool air hit you immediately, crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine. You hesitated on the threshold, the brightness of the day almost overwhelming after so long in the dim light of the cabin. The chill seeped through the thin soles of your boots, but you didn’t care. The sun was warm on your face, the breeze brushing against your skin like a whispered reminder of freedom. You took another step, then another, the uneven ground forcing you to move slowly, deliberately. Satoru stayed close, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watched you. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was steady, a silent reassurance that if you faltered, he’d be there despite what he said earlier.

You stopped a few paces from the cabin, your breath hitching as you took in the world around you. The forest stretched out in all directions, the bare trees standing sentinel over the patches of green that peeked through the melting snow. The air was cool but not biting, the kind of cold that promised warmth wasn’t far behind. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the soft rustling of the breeze.

Satoru tilted his head, his gaze following yours to the horizon. “It’s alright,” he said, his tone light but devoid of sarcasm. “Seen better.”

You turned to him, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Do you ever stop being smug?”

He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not really.”

The cool breeze against your face, the faint warmth of the sun on your skin, the earthy smell of melting snow and budding life—it was intoxicating after so many days trapped indoors. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again, like the weight pressing on your chest had lifted just enough to let the air in. Satoru stayed nearby, leaning lazily against a tree, his arms crossed as he watched you with a faint smirk. He didn’t say much, content to let you take it all in, though his sharp eyes never stopped following your every move. He didn’t need to remind you to be careful; his presence alone was enough to tether you to caution.

After a while, you ventured a bit further, your steps slow and measured as you tested the strength of your injured leg. It throbbed faintly, but the pain was manageable, a dull ache rather than the sharp agony you’d grown used to. Satoru didn’t stop you, though he pushed off the tree and followed at a distance, his boots crunching softly against the damp ground.

The forest was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the breeze and the distant trill of birdsong. The trees stood tall and bare, their branches still skeletal against the pale blue sky, but here and there, you could see the first hints of green buds, the promise of new life. The path beneath your feet was uneven, soft with patches of slush and mud, but you relished the feeling of movement, of freedom. As you moved further from the cabin, something caught your eye—a faint shape nestled among the trees, its surface dark and rough, contrasting against the pale light of the forest. Curiosity tugged at you, and you found yourself veering off the path, your steps unsteady but purposeful.

Satoru’s voice called out from behind you, a mixture of warning and amusement. “Don’t wander too far, princess. I’m not in the mood to carry you back.”

You ignored him, your focus fixed on the shape ahead. As you drew closer, the outline became clearer—a moss-covered statue, its surface worn and weathered by time and the elements. It stood just off the path, half-shrouded by a cluster of thin, leaning trees. The moss draped over its form like a tattered cloak, clinging to the curves and crevices of the stone. You stopped a few paces away, tilting your head as you studied it. The figure was humanoid, its features indistinct but vaguely serene. Its hands were clasped together in front of it, as though in prayer or offering, and its posture seemed oddly peaceful despite its age. The moss and lichen covering its surface gave it an almost ethereal quality, as though it were a part of the forest itself, a guardian of this quiet, forgotten place.

Satoru caught up to you, his footsteps slower now as he followed your gaze. He let out a low whistle, his tone laced with mild curiosity. “Didn’t expect to find something like that out here,” he remarked, his hands slipping into his pockets.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the stillness.

He shrugged, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the statue. “Hard to say. Probably some kind of shrine. You see these every now and then, especially in old forests like this.” His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—something almost reverent. You took a tentative step closer, your hand reaching out instinctively to brush against the moss-covered stone. The texture was rough beneath your fingers, the moss damp and cool. There was something about the statue, something that made your chest tighten—a strange mixture of calm and unease that you couldn’t quite explain.

“It feels…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

“Old?” Satoru offered, his smirk returning. “Sacred? Or are you about to tell me it’s cursed?” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes lingered on the statue, his expression thoughtful.

“Peaceful,” you said quietly, your fingers brushing against the stone again. “It feels… peaceful.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I can see that.” The two of you stood there for a while, the statue a silent witness to the unlikely companionship that had formed between you. The forest seemed to grow quieter, the breeze stilling, as though the world itself were holding its breath.

“Do you think anyone remembers this place?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Satoru’s gaze flicked to you, then back to the statue. He shrugged again, but his tone was softer this time. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just us now.”

Curiosity pulled at you, and as you glanced further down the narrow path between the trees, you noticed another statue partially hidden by the underbrush. You felt an inexplicable need to see more, to know what lay further along the trail. “Satoru, look,” you said, pointing down the path. The words slipped from your lips without thought, a childlike excitement bubbling beneath your usual wariness. He looked up from where he was leaning, his brows arching slightly, his gaze following where you pointed.

He pushed off the tree, ambling closer with a bemused expression. “More of them, huh?” he remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the area. “How many statues are out here?”

You didn’t answer, the excitement taking over your hesitation. You limped down the path slowly, testing the strength of your leg with each step. Satoru walked beside you, his presence steady but his movements leisurely, as if he was only half invested in this little exploration. His hands stayed in his pockets, his gaze sharp as it flickered between you and your surroundings. As you moved further along, the path widened, and more statues came into view—half-hidden by creeping vines, some leaning with age, others standing tall as if proudly defying the passage of time. There were angels with solemn expressions, figures clasping their hands in prayer, and others whose faces had long since been worn away, leaving only blank, moss-covered features behind. It was as though you had stepped into a forgotten shrine, a place untouched by the chaos of the world you’d left behind.

Your heart pounded with something that felt like wonder. These statues had stood here for who knew how many years, guarding a secret world that had thrived quietly in the shadows, untouched by the horrors of the Republic or the chaos of the sorcerers. Here, time felt almost suspended, a sanctuary nestled within the forest.

As you continued, the trees began to thin, the path leading you into a clearing that took your breath away. It was a field—a field full of statues.

They stood at varying heights and poses, some almost hidden entirely by the moss and greenery that had overtaken them. There were dozens—maybe hundreds—scattered across the open field, each one unique in its own way. Some were weathered with age, others crumbling, their forms softened by time and nature. Ivy crept up their legs, and patches of wildflowers peeked through the grass at their feet. It was like stepping into a dreamscape—a place where nature and humanity had intertwined so deeply that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

You stepped forward, your eyes wide, taking it all in. Satoru followed, his usual teasing smirk replaced with something quieter, more thoughtful. He stood beside you, his gaze sweeping across the field of statues, taking in each one, as if trying to understand what had brought them here—what had kept them here.

“What is this place?” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

He shrugged, though his expression was more contemplative than dismissive. “A monument, maybe. Something forgotten.” He paused, his gaze drifting over the statues, the wear and decay evident in their forms. “It looks like it was important once.” You nodded, a strange sense of melancholy filling you as you looked at them. There was something almost sacred about this place, as if it had been lost to time and was waiting for someone to find it again. You could feel a quiet reverence settling in your chest, the sense that these statues—these forgotten remnants—carried the weight of something significant.

You turned to Satoru, who stood silently, his hands still tucked into his pockets, his eyes scanning the clearing. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by an expression that was hard to read, his blue eyes softer, his gaze distant, as though he was lost in his own thoughts. The sunlight caught in his white hair, turning it almost silver, and for a moment, he seemed impossibly far away—like he didn’t quite belong in this world, or maybe like he’d already left it behind a long time ago. The thought made something tighten in your chest, and before you could stop yourself, the question slipped from your lips.

“What was your life like before all of this?”

He didn’t respond right away, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly. His head tilted, as though he was considering the question, weighing whether or not to answer. You watched him carefully, your heart beating a little faster as the silence stretched between you.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, piercing. “Before all of this?” he repeated, his tone light, but there was a faint edge to it, as if he were trying to deflect the weight of the question.

You nodded, stepping closer, your hands clutching the edges of your coat as a breeze swept through the clearing. “Before the Republic. Before Suguru. Before… everything. What was your life like?”

Satoru let out a quiet sigh, his gaze drifting back to the statues. For a moment, you thought he might brush you off, change the subject with one of his teasing remarks, but instead, he sat down on a nearby fallen log, his posture loose but his expression serious. “It wasn’t much different, really,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “I was still… me. Still powerful. Still untouchable. People looked at me like I was a god even back then.”

You frowned, sensing the bitterness beneath his words. “Did you like it?” you asked softly.

He let out a short laugh, the sound dry, hollow. “Sometimes. It was fun, being the strongest. Being able to do whatever I wanted, go wherever I wanted. No one could touch me. No one could stop me.” He glanced at you then, his smirk faint but his eyes darker, more guarded. “But it gets old, you know? When everyone expects you to be invincible all the time.”

You hesitated, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard. “You didn’t have anyone to share it with?” you asked carefully.

Satoru’s gaze dropped to the ground, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite name. “There was someone,” he said quietly. “A long time ago. We were close. Partners, friends, whatever you want to call it. He… understood me in a way no one else did.”

You felt your heart ache at the way his voice softened, the way his usual confidence seemed to waver. “Suguru?” you guessed, the name slipping out before you could stop it.

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Suguru. We were unstoppable together. The strongest. But then…” He trailed off, his hands clenching slightly before he relaxed them again, exhaling a shaky breath. “Then everything fell apart.”

You wanted to press, to ask him what had happened, what had driven a wedge between them, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was a pain there, deep and raw, that you didn’t want to touch—not yet. “And after that?” you asked instead, your voice gentle. “What did you do?”

Satoru shrugged, his smirk returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I did what I had to. Kept going. Kept playing the part everyone expected me to. It’s easier that way, you know? Pretending you don’t care.”

You frowned, your chest tightening at the bitterness in his tone. “But you do care,” you said softly. “Don’t you?”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you thought he might deny it, brush you off with a joke or a sarcastic remark. But then his shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I care. Probably more than I should.”

The vulnerability in his words made your throat tighten, and you hesitated, unsure of what to say. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay to care, that it didn’t make him weak, but the words felt inadequate, hollow. Instead, you sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. The two of you sat in silence, the wind rustling through the statues around you, the sunlight filtering through the trees casting dappled shadows on the ground. For the first time, you saw Satoru not as the untouchable sorcerer, not as the man who always seemed to hold the upper hand, but as someone who had lost just as much as you had—someone who was trying, in his own way, to find a place in a world that no longer made sense. And for the first time, you felt like you understood him.

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 8 hours ago

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never let me go | ruben dias

💐 synopsis: As a newlywed couple, you and Ruben are deeply in love and spend an intimate emotional night together in a coastal villa. tags: honeymoon night, smut but make it cute and passionate (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) | (around 3k words)

The bedroom door creaks open, and you step inside, still holding the hem of your dress to keep it from brushing against the floor. The room looks like it’s been waiting for you both all night. The villa is quiet except for the waves. You can hear them breaking against the rocks below, a steady rhythm that feels like it’s syncing with your heartbeat. The air smells of salt and the faintest trace of citrus from the grove you passed on your way in.

Behind you, Ruben steps in shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He’s loosened his tie, his white shirt slightly wrinkled from hours of hugs and laughter and dancing at the wedding party, but somehow, he still looks immaculate. Just the sight of him is enough to send a wave of warmth through you, the kind that starts low in your stomach and spreads all the way to your fingertips.

You turn to say something – maybe a joke about how exhausted you are from dancing, or how your cheeks still ache from smiling too much – but before the words can form, he’s already closing the space between you.

“Wait,” he says, his voice teasing as his hands settle on your waist. In one swift motion, he lifts you off the floor. You let out a startled laugh, your arms flying around his neck.

“Ruben!”

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he says, his smile widening as he steadies you in his arms.

His fingers shift slightly, holding you tighter. Then he leans in closer, his forehead almost touching yours, and his voice softens.

“With my beautiful wife.”

The words hit you square in the chest, and you’re not sure how to hold all of it – the tenderness, the certainty, the love. Your grip on him tightens instinctively, your fingertips brushing against the warm nape of his neck.

“Your wife,” you repeat, almost testing the weight of the words, and they come out so quiet they barely make it past your lips. But he hears them. Of course he hears them. “That still feels weird to say.”

“Get used to it,” he says, then he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I’ve been yours long before today, Ruben.”

He tilts his head back slightly, a playful gleam in his eyes. “True.” He pauses. “But now I get to say it officially.”

“Officially, huh?” you tease. “I think you’re just excited about the title.”

“I mean, it’s a pretty good title,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful, as though he's seriously considering the weight of the word. “Wife has a nice ring to it.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “You’re ridiculous.” But the smile spreading across your face betrays you, and the entire moment feels too perfect to be real. It’s like you’re floating, suspended in this bubble of joy that you never want to break.

Ruben leans in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to send a flutter through your chest. “I’m just happy,” he says quietly.

“I know.” You rest your head against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the waves outside. The sound is calming, familiar, grounding you in this moment, but inside, your heart feels like it’s ready to burst from the sheer intensity of everything you’re feeling. You want to hold on to this, to him, forever.

“I’m happy too,” you add, your fingers tracing small, absentminded patterns along his shirt. The words feel too small to describe everything that’s swelling inside of you – the love, the yearning, the certainty of him being everything you ever needed.

He tightens his arms around you, his hand resting on the back of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. You look up at him, eyes meeting his with a hunger that neither of you can hide.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, the words rough, full of a hunger that sends a heat through you that has nothing to do with the warmth of the room. He leans in, his lips catching yours in a kiss that’s deep, urgent, filled with all the things you’ve been trying to hold back all night.

Your hands slide down his chest, pulling at the fabric of his shirt as you arch against him, feeling the heat of his body pressing into yours. The kiss breaks for a moment, both of you gasping for air, and his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling as the room spins.

“I need you,” he says, his voice thick with desire. His hands slide down your back, pulling you closer, the space between you shrinking as if the two of you can’t get close enough. You feel the rush of his breath against your skin, the desperation in his touch making your pulse race.

“Then take me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but charged with everything you want. His eyes darken and in one smooth motion, he lays you gently on the bed.

Ruben hovers over you, his eyes roaming your face as if he’s memorizing every detail. “You have no idea how much I want you,” he says, his voice even rougher now, but still filled with the same adoration that makes your chest tighten with affection.

You tilt your head back, your hair spilling across the pillows, and reach for him again, your hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to you. You need him just as much, feel the ache of it in every inch of your skin, every beat of your heart.

And then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, the desperation in his touch matching your own. His body presses against yours, hot and heavy, and you can feel the way he’s trying to keep control, but you can also feel the way he’s unraveling beneath your touch. You pull him closer, your hands sliding underneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

Ruben pulls back for a second, and his hands move to the zipper of your dress. His fingers are clumsy, a bit too eager, fumbling with the fabric like it’s something he’s never seen before.

"Hold on," he mutters, trying again, but the zipper doesn’t budge. You can't help but laugh softly, a little nervous giggle that catches him off guard.

"You okay?" he asks, his brow furrowed in concentration, his hands still working on the zipper.

"Yeah," you chuckle, lifting your arms so he has more room. "You’re gonna have to work for this, huh?"

He laughs too, shaking his head. "Apparently, yes." His face softens with a smile. He gives up on the zipper and moves his hands to the straps, trying to slide them off your shoulders, but the dress won’t cooperate. The whole thing is tangled now, your arms awkwardly raised, your whole body stuck in this massive, elegant piece of fabric.

You both sit there, slightly breathless. Ruben shifts on the bed, leaning back with a deep sigh and letting out a laugh that sounds more from disbelief than frustration.

“Okay,” he says, voice breaking with a half-laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

You lean back against the bed, unable to hold back your laughter anymore. “I told you it was complicated.”

He shrugs with a grin.

You sit up, trying to find a way to untangle the mess of fabric, and he watches you for a second, both of you smiling at how absurd the whole situation is. The tension that was there a few minutes ago has eased, replaced by an ease that only comes when you're with someone you trust.

After a few more moments of playful struggling, Ruben finally manages to slip the dress off your body with a triumphant sigh, leaving you in nothing but the delicate white lingerie you’d bought specifically for tonight.

You sit up, feeling exposed but free, and Ruben takes a moment to just look at you. His eyes are full of admiration, as if he can’t quite believe that you’re here with him, in this moment. There’s no rush in the way he looks at you, just pure, unfiltered affection.

"God," he murmurs, almost to himself, a slight awe in his voice. "You’re perfect."

You feel the heat rise in your chest, the flutters in your stomach, but it's not nerves or embarrassment this time. It’s love – love that feels so big it could swallow you whole, but in the best way. Ruben reaches for you, his hands gently cupping your face as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

When he pulls back, he looks at you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours. "I don’t want to rush this," he whispers. "I want to remember every moment of tonight."

You nod, your breath hitching. Ruben’s hands are gentle, almost reverent, as they move over every inch of you, he’s not rushing – every touch, every kiss, every bite, it all feels like he’s savoring you. His lips finding every spot that makes you shiver, his teeth grazing over your skin like he’s marking you, claiming you in the most tender way possible.

His lips trace the curve of your neck, and then his teeth nip just below your ear. You gasp, your body involuntarily arching into him, but he doesn’t hurry. He moves lower, his lips finding the soft, sensitive skin of your collarbone, then your shoulder, trailing kisses all the way down your arm. When he bites lightly on the inside of your elbow, you can’t suppress the moan that escapes you, the sensation tightening everything inside of you.

He’s taking his time with every inch of your body, moving from one part of you to the next, his lips leaving behind a trail of heat in their wake. Your skin feels on fire, the sensation of him against you so intoxicating that it’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Your breath comes faster, your heart pounding in your chest, and despite the way his touch makes you feel completely undone, you can’t help but want more. You need more.

“Ruben…” you murmur, barely able to catch your breath. Your voice cracks with the desperation you feel deep inside, your body pulsing with the need for him. “Please…”

He pauses for a moment, looking up at you with that same adoring, almost possessive gaze. His lips are swollen, his chest rising and falling just as rapidly as yours. But he doesn’t speak. He just studies you, the desire in his eyes nearly suffocating in its intensity. And then his mouth returns to your skin, moving lower, his lips kissing, biting, teasing, marking every inch of your body as if he’s trying to make it impossible for you to ever forget this moment.

You bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but it’s becoming unbearable, the longing inside you too powerful to ignore. “Ruben,” you beg again, your voice full of want. “Please… take your clothes off.”

The heat is building so quickly between you both that you can’t hold back anymore. He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Ruben moves quickly, almost impatiently now, but still with that careful tenderness. He unbuttons his shirt, tossing it aside without breaking his eyes from you.

He stands over you for a second, his body in front of you like it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. The smooth lines of his chest, the way his muscles shift as he moves, it’s enough to make your breath hitch again. His eyes flicker to yours, and then his hands are at the waistband of his pants, swiftly unbuttoning them. The anticipation, the waiting, makes your chest tighten with excitement, and your heart races as he steps out of his pants, leaving him standing in only his boxers.

Then Ruben leans down over you, his hands on either side of your face, his lips brushing over yours in the softest kiss. But it’s not enough. Not anymore. His hands slide down to your waist, the desire in his eyes is like fire, and you know he’s feeling it just as much as you are – burning with it, aching for it. You can’t stand the waiting anymore.

“Please…” you whisper, your voice trembling with the need that’s been building since he first touched you. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Ruben doesn’t need any more words. His mouth finds yours again in a kiss so full of hunger and longing, it’s like he’s trying to devour you, to take in every part of you.

His fingers rest at the edge of your mouth before gently slipping two of them inside, grazing your tongue in slow, deliberate circles.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice shaken, but still trying to sound calm, controlled.

You can’t answer immediately, not with his fingers pressing against your lips, so you shake your head instead.

He chuckles softly, that familiar teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you wanted to feel me inside of you, amor.”

Your heart races in your chest as he tilts his head, still smiling, before slowly pulling his fingers from your mouth. His touch lingers for a moment, then he lowers his hand.

“Okay, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s put them somewhere else,” he says, his voice low with intent.

He takes your hand, guiding it to help him, though you both know he doesn’t really need it. He’s still teasing you. He gently moves your underwear aside, pushing those two fingers, now dripping wet with your spit, inside of your cunt. His touch is slow, in-and-out, and you can’t help but shiver at the feeling of him finally as close as you want him, as you need him to be.

“Better now?” he asks, pride in his voice as he watches your reaction, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You nod, unable to hide the warmth building inside you. “Better,” you whisper.

His other hand, gentle, caresses the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek – and then he kisses you. His mouth is warm and comforting against yours, you pull him a little closer, needing the warmth of him, the closeness, and he responds, his body pressing against yours as if to reassure you that he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere.

His free hand moves to your breasts, tracing your nipples, and you let out a soft sigh against his lips. For a long moment, you stay like that – wrapped up in each other, his hands all over you, inside of you.

The kiss deepens, and the tension between you builds, quiet but undeniable. You can’t help it. You’re burning for him, every inch of your body craving his touch. “Ruben,” you breathe against his lips, voice thick with impatience. You want him, need him, and you can’t wait anymore.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Patience," he murmurs.

You shake your head, frustration mixing with desire. “I can’t. Please...” The words barely make it out before you’re kissing him again, harder this time, desperate for more.

The layers of clothes still left between you seem to vanish, almost without thought. It’s frantic but tender, your undergarments are now tangled up in the bedsheet, forgotten as you both move with a desperation that matches the intensity of the kiss. His body is pressed against yours again, both of you shivering, not from the cold, but from the need, the desire.

There’s a quiet moment when everything slows, and Ruben finally enters you, right when the rush of your heartbeats begins to sync with his. You’re finally with him in every way you’ve wanted all night. The space between you is gone, and you feel the weight of his cock settle deep in you, like everything is exactly where it should be. His hands trace the curves of your body, holding you close, and you can’t help but feel a deep, overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

It’s not just the closeness, it’s knowing you’ve reached this place with him, that all the moments leading up to this have led to this perfect connection. The feeling of being his, of being his wife, settles over you in a way you can’t quite explain, but it feels like the missing piece of something you’ve been looking for your entire life.

The sweat on your skin feels... beautiful. It’s a sign of how deeply you’ve shared this moment. The heat of it doesn’t make you want to pull away – it makes you want to stay wrapped up in it, in him.

You can feel your pulse under his touch, the rise and fall of his breath against your neck, and everything feels so perfect, so right. This is what you always wanted, and it fills you up, leaving no room for anything else.

You feel whole in a way you never have before, like you’ve become the person you were always meant to be – his wife, his partner.

You move together in a rhythm that feels both slow and urgent, there’s a shared intensity between you both, a connection so deep that it feels like you’re no longer two separate people, but a single, intertwined whole. The world outside the villa fades to nothing as you lose yourselves in the moment.

His touch, gentle but firm, holds you closer, guiding you as you respond to him, the tension building, slow and steady. The way his lips brush against your skin, his breath quickening as you do the same, it all pulls you deeper into this shared space, where only the two of you exist.

Your bodies are a tangled mess of warmth and movement, a perfect harmony of wanting and giving, and you both reach the peak together. When it happens, it’s loud, the culmination of everything you’ve shared. Your heart races, and his matches the pace of yours, as you feel everything around you blur. His arms tighten around you, and you bury your face against him, trying to hold on to the moment, the feeling of being so completely and utterly present with him.

#football fanfic #ruben dias #football fic #ruben dias fanfic #rúben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias fic #ruben dias imagine #brightlightwrites

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b1xi · 2 days ago

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───𝘊𝘜𝘗𝘐𝘋───ハイキュー!!

Tsukishima Kei(ハイキュー!!)x fem!reader

Word count:4009

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Anxiety clung to you throughout the day, manifesting in small, uncontrollable gestures. Your foot bounced nervously against the floor, setting an erratic rhythm, while you bit your lower lip every time your thoughts drifted to what Kimura might have discovered. The professor’s words felt distant, a background murmur unable to capture your attention. All your focus was on the clock, which seemed to move at a snail's pace.

Nayuta, sitting beside you, gave you an amused glance at some point, likely noticing your restlessness. "Relax, or you'll wear out the floor," she whispered with a sly smile, though she didn’t seem particularly concerned.

"That's easy for you to say," you murmured back, barely moving your lips. You knew Nayuta was used to dealing with situations that were unfamiliar to you; her confidence in Kimura was proof of that. But for you, having pinned your hopes on what seemed like rumors and gossip, the wait was unbearable.

When the bell finally rang to signal the end of classes, you almost jumped out of your seat. Nayuta, much calmer, gathered her things leisurely before looking at you. "Relax, Y/N. It's not a race," she joked as she adjusted her bag's strap.

"It is for me," you replied hurriedly, grabbing your backpack and heading for the door. Nayuta followed, chuckling under her breath.

"Y/N, come on!" Hinata called out enthusiastically as he took your arm, gently pulling you toward the gym. His energy seemed endless, as always.

"Shoyo, you go ahead. I'll catch up later," you replied with a conciliatory smile, stopping halfway down the hall. You raised your sheet music folder to show him. "I want to practice a bit today."

For a moment, Hinata looked disappointed; his shoulders dropped slightly. But true to his optimistic nature, he quickly recovered. "Oh... sure. Do you want me to let the coach know?" he asked with a mix of understanding and concern, making sure you didn’t need anything.

You shook your head gently. "No need. I'll tell him when I get there. Thanks, Shoyo."

"Alright, but don't take too long, okay?" He flashed you a bright smile before jogging down the hallway with his usual energy.

You walked with Nayuta by your side, her arm linked with yours as you made your way determinedly to the third floor. You stopped in front of a door with a sign that read Computer Lab. From inside, fragments of conversation, laughter, and murmurs filtered out, indicating that the club meeting was already in full swing.

"Welcome," Nayuta said lightly, opening the door with a casual gesture.

The interior was organized chaos, a reflection of the diversity of interests among the club members. Books were stacked on tables and scattered across the floor, some open and others balanced precariously. In one corner, three girls chatted cheerfully as they organized makeup products on an improvised rug. Their laughter contrasted with the two older boys sitting at a powered-off computer, clearly more interested in killing time than actively participating.

Your gaze inevitably drifted toward the center of the room, where Kimura was surrounded by a group of girls. They all held their phones, exchanging quick comments and soft laughter. Kimura seemed to dominate the scene with her characteristic confidence, her relaxed posture as she effortlessly conversed with the others.

Nayuta nudged you gently with her elbow, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Come on," she whispered.

You took a deep breath and followed your friend as the two of you crossed the room, navigating around books and people in your path. Kimura looked up at the sound of your footsteps, her blue eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and barely contained amusement.

"Finally, you're here," Kimura said, setting her phone aside and motioning vaguely to the two chairs in front of her. She leaned back elegantly on the table, her elbows resting on the surface and her fingers interlaced, as if about to seal an important deal.

You and Nayuta sat down in silence. Without wasting time, your dark-haired friend pulled out a gift bag bearing Dior’s unmistakable black-and-white logo. Kimura’s eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm at the sight, as if the bag held the answer to all her dreams. However, Nayuta dropped the bag onto the table with a casual gesture, quickly pulling it out of Kimura’s reach before the blonde could lay a hand on it.

"Talk first," Nayuta ordered firmly, her gaze making it clear she wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense.

Kimura sighed theatrically, as if humoring you both reluctantly. Then she cast a meaningful glance at her nearby friends, who immediately got the message and stepped away, leaving the three of you with more privacy. Once the noise in the room faded to distant murmurs, Kimura leaned forward, a conspiratorial expression spreading across her face.

"Alright," she began, twirling a strand of her blonde hair, "it was a bit tricky, but I got it."

You made an effort to maintain your composure, though your hands betrayed your nerves as they gripped the edges of your skirt. Nayuta, on the other hand, remained unfazed, her expression expectant.

"Tsukishima Kei," she pronounced the name with deliberate pause, "does not have a girlfriend." Her words landed as a small relief, but her tone suggested there was more to it.

"That's it?" Nayuta asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly expecting something more substantial.

"That’s all I can confirm," Kimura clarified with a shrug. "The guy is... unusually private. He doesn’t talk much about his personal life, not even with his closest circle. I could swear I’ve never seen him show interest in anyone here, but if he ever had a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be easy to find out.”

A brief silence followed her words as you tried to process the mix of relief and frustration. It was an answer, but not a definitive one.

"So, in summary, he's single, but there's no way to know if he’s had something going on before," Nayuta summed up, turning toward you. "That’s something, isn’t it?"

Kimura smirked, clearly satisfied. "That’s all you’re getting from me, girls. Now, my reward." She extended her hand, her eyes gleaming, and Nayuta, after a few seconds of deliberation, finally slid the bag over to her with a resigned air.

"A deal’s a deal," Nayuta muttered as Kimura inspected the contents with obvious enthusiasm.

With nothing left to discuss, the two of you stood and left the room. Nayuta closed the door behind her with a soft click, and before she could take another step, you bowed deeply, your arms stiff at your sides and your forehead almost touching the floor.

"Nayuta, thank you," you exclaimed sincerely, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I promise I'll pay you back for what you spent on that perfume."

Nayuta's soft laughter broke the solemn moment. "Enough of that," she said as she stepped closer and placed a light hand on your shoulder, guiding you to straighten up. Once you stood upright, her warm and friendly eyes met yours.

You stayed silent for a moment, biting your lip as you tried to process her words. Nayuta was direct and, at times, blunt, but in moments like this, her genuine support left you speechless.

"Honestly, Yuyu, I don’t know what I’d do without you," you admitted finally, allowing yourself a small smile.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you either," Nayuta replied with a rare touch of sweetness before shrugging with her usual carefree disdain. "Well, at least we know he doesn’t have a girlfriend. That’s a start."

She turned to open the door to the computer lab again, throwing you one last look filled with complicity. "See you tomorrow. Go practice for now and leave the next move to me. I’ll come up with something soon."

You nodded, no further words needed. Her confidence was contagious, and while you still felt a trace of nervousness, you now had a clear direction.

You made your way to the music room, where the calm of the afternoon enveloped you. You practiced for an hour, focused on perfecting the piece you would perform for the auditions. Your fingers moved confidently across the keys, tracing each note with precision as you lost yourself in the music. For a while, everything else faded away: the rumors, the worries, even the uncertainty that had accompanied you all day. It was just you and the music, a world where you had full control.

You nodded, no more words needed. Her confidence was contagious, and while you still felt a slight nervousness, you now had a clear direction.

You headed to the music room, where the calm of the afternoon wrapped around you. You practiced for an hour, focused on perfecting the piece you would present on audition day. Your fingers moved confidently over the keys, tracing each note with precision as you lost yourself in the music. For a while, everything else disappeared: the rumors, the worries, even the uncertainty that had followed you all day. It was just you and the music, a world where you had full control.

When you felt you had mastered the most challenging sections, you let the final chord resonate in the empty room before carefully closing the piano lid. You gathered your things efficiently and hurried to the girls' bathroom.

You changed quickly, carefully folding your school uniform before putting on the black sports outfit of the team. The lightweight, comfortable fabric prepared you. As you tied the laces of your sneakers, you took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror.

When you arrived at the gym, the familiar atmosphere enveloped you: the echo of bouncing balls, the voices of the players, and the squeak of sneakers against the floor. You greeted the coach with a brief nod as he focused on correcting the posture of one of the blockers, then headed to the table where you usually organized the materials.

You checked the stopwatch to ensure it was working correctly, then inspected the water bottles, carefully lining them up on the table so all the players could grab one during breaks. As you worked, you heard a conversation on the other side of the court, interrupted by the unmistakable tone of Tsukishima's voice.

"Finally here? Wasting time, were you?"

Your hands kept moving, arranging the last bottles on the table, even as you felt Tsukishima's shadow looming behind you. Your brow furrowed instinctively at his remark, but you took a deep breath before turning slowly to face him. His tall figure and relaxed stance, with his arms crossed, forced you to look up to meet his gaze behind those glasses.

"I wasn’t wasting time," you replied calmly, mimicking his indifferent tone while holding his gaze without blinking. "I was practicing—something productive, you see?"

He raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue, leaning slightly toward you as if trying to intimidate you. "Practicing? Funny, because when I went to the music room, you weren’t there. Aren’t you supposed to be so dedicated?"

A slow, almost mocking smile spread across your lips as you leaned casually against the table. "You went looking for me?" you asked, drawing out the words as if the idea amused you. "How flattering, Tsukishima. I didn’t know you were so concerned about my whereabouts."

The blond straightened immediately, his expression barely shifting, but the faint blush at the base of his ears confirmed you’d hit the mark. “Don’t make me laugh,” he replied in his usual biting tone, adjusting his glasses. “I just happened to pass by. I’m not as idle as you.”

“Sure, just a coincidence,” you countered with feigned innocence, turning back to the table to rearrange an already perfectly aligned bottle. “It must be hard for you to admit you notice my absence. Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. Sometimes, I’m hard to ignore.”

You could feel his gaze fixed on the back of your neck as you maintained a neutral expression, the air between you charged with that sharp sarcasm that seemed to be his favorite way of communicating.

“You know, for someone so short, you’ve got a massive ego,” he finally muttered before turning on his heel and walking toward the court, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the gym.

You suppressed a triumphant smile as you watched him walk away, Tsukishima’s words still lingering in your mind. There was something almost twistedly amusing about these interactions, like an unspoken game where both of you tested your wits. Maybe, you thought, Tsukishima was one of those guys who responded best when treated with the same indifference and sarcasm he so often dished out.

The idea left you pondering for a moment. Perhaps, in his own peculiar way, his sharp comments were his version of trying to get your attention. Of course, it wasn’t something you could confirm with certainty, but you weren’t about to ignore the possibility either. Still, you had no intention of sitting around like a fool waiting for clearer signs. If he wanted to keep up this push-and-pull dynamic, you were more than willing to play along. But only to a certain point.

"If he doesn’t make a move, then I’ll stop," you thought, adjusting one of the bottles he had knocked out of place on his way out. You weren’t willing to seem needy or lose your dignity over someone like Tsukishima, no matter how much, deep down, you liked him more than you wanted to admit.

The sound of the coach’s whistle snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly grabbed the stopwatch, heading toward the court. The players were already starting their drills, and you had work to do. However, as you went over the training stats and made sure everything was in order, you felt a gaze on you.

You instinctively looked up, and there he was—Tsukishima—pretending his focus was entirely on the drills. But the slight turn of his head and the barely perceptible shift of his eyes in your direction gave him away.

You stuck your tongue out at him in a quick, playful gesture, making sure he saw it clearly. Tsukishima didn’t take long to react. His eyes narrowed briefly, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips.

He turned back to face the court, now wearing an expression of barely concealed annoyance. The gesture was so typical of him that it almost made you laugh out loud.

As the day wound down and you prepared to head home, you made sure to help with the last few tasks. You gathered the scattered balls across the court and placed them meticulously in their designated spots.

“Y/N.”

The soft, delicate voice of Kiyoko caught you off guard. You turned to find the manager, her dark hair perfectly styled and her blue eyes avoiding yours with a shyness that was as characteristic as it was endearing.

“Yes?” You set the ball in your hands down and gave her your full attention, trying to interpret the slight unease in her expression.

“I… wanted to ask for your help with something.” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, and she avoided looking directly at you, fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket. Your mind immediately drifted to not-so-distant memories of her last request, which had landed you in a slightly embarrassing situation. Internally, you prayed this wasn’t something similar, but your curiosity won out over your nervousness.

“Of course, tell me,” you replied with a calm smile, though your eyes carefully studied her every movement, waiting for her words to clear up your doubts.

Kiyoko took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to speak was a challenge in itself. Finally, her blue eyes met yours.

“I need you to come with me… to buy something for the team,” she admitted softly, her tone almost apologetic for the interruption.

“Sure, no problem,” you answered without hesitation, offering her a reassuring smile. “Just give me a minute to grab my things.”

You quickly headed to where you had left your bag, making sure not to keep her waiting too long. As you slipped on your jacket and double-checked that you hadn’t forgotten anything important, you noticed Kiyoko standing nearby.

When you returned to her side, you gestured for the two of you to leave the gym. “What exactly do we need to get?” you asked, trying to break the silence that had settled between you.

Kiyoko glanced up, her delicate features lit with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I was thinking of ordering a banner for the team,” she said, a slight smile appearing on her face. “It’ll be black, with white letters, and I want it to say: ‘Fly.’ What do you think?”

You paused for a moment, reflecting on the idea. It was simple, direct, and motivating, but also carried a lot of meaning for the team. "I like it," you replied firmly, giving your approval. "It’s the perfect message for them—short but powerful. It matches the energy they bring to the game.”

Kiyoko nodded, clearly relieved by your support. “I thought something too long wouldn’t catch their attention, but I wanted it to have an impact. I want them to see it before every game and remember they have what it takes to reach higher.”

You smiled, impressed by the level of thought she had put into something seemingly so simple. “Do you already know where you’ll have it made? If not, I can help you find a place.”

“Yes, I think there’s a place downtown that does this kind of work,” Kiyoko explained as the two of you walked toward the subway station.

You took out your phone and quickly typed a message to your mom, letting her know you’d be home late. You didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily, and you knew she’d understand that you were helping with something for the team.

The subway ride was quiet, though the silence between you two was palpable. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t particularly lively either. Kiyoko seemed focused, mentally going over the details of the banner as she looked at her phone. Meanwhile, you watched the train’s movements and the flickering lights through the windows, letting the gentle swaying of the car fill the space between you.

When you arrived downtown, Kiyoko took the lead, confidently guiding you to a small shop specializing in custom prints and designs. The place was filled with samples of work displayed on the walls, from sports jerseys to banners of all kinds.

“I want it to look professional but simple,” Kiyoko explained to the clerk, who was jotting down notes as she spoke. “A black background with white letters and the message ‘Fly’ in an elegant yet eye-catching style.”

You nodded subtly from where you stood, pleased to see her handling everything with such precision. Although you weren’t directly involved in the decisions, you felt your presence gave her the confidence to express herself clearly.

“Would you like to add the team’s name or logo?” the clerk asked, and you noticed Kiyoko hesitate for a moment before turning to you.

“What do you think?” she asked, seeking your opinion.

“I think just the message will be enough,” you replied after a moment of thought.

Kiyoko nodded, grateful for your input. “Alright, just the message then.”

The clerk promised to have the design ready in a few days, and Kiyoko thanked him for his time before you both left the shop. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in warm hues that contrasted with the bustling city around you.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Kiyoko said softly, giving you a faint smile as you walked back toward the subway.

“It was my pleasure,” you replied sincerely. “I think the team will be thrilled when they see the banner. It’s such a thoughtful gesture from you.”

The manager nodded but didn’t respond right away. She seemed deep in thought, perhaps imagining how the boys would react to her effort. Her slight pause made you stop walking as well, until she finally spoke, her smile just barely visible.

“What do you think about getting some ice cream?” she suggested, her voice calm but carrying a surprising warmth that caught you off guard.

“Really? Ice cream? Kiyoko-senpai, you’re the best!” you exclaimed, your excitement spilling over as you gave a few small jumps of joy and eagerly followed her.

“Yes, really,” she confirmed with a soft laugh at your reaction, though she quickly added, “My treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you protested, though it was clear you had no intention of refusing the offer.

The walk to the ice cream shop felt lighter, the atmosphere filled with a mix of city sounds and the occasional quiet chatter between the two of you about the team’s practices or future plans. When you arrived at the small but cozy shop tucked into a quiet corner, the sweet and refreshing scent of ice cream greeted you.

“Pick whatever you like,” Kiyoko said, giving your shoulder a gentle pat as she stepped up to check out the flavors on display.

You moved closer, eyeing the wide variety of options. “Are you sure I can pick anything? This could be a dangerous decision,” you joked, shooting her a playful look.

“I trust you won’t blow my budget,” she replied, with a touch of sarcasm that wasn’t common for her but made you laugh.

Finally, you settled on a two-flavor ice cream, something classic yet delicious. Kiyoko chose something simpler, reflecting her understated style. The two of you took a seat at a table by the window, where you could watch people passing by.

“Thanks for this,” you said after a moment, savoring a spoonful of your ice cream. “I really needed it.”

Kiyoko looked at you, her expression calm but with a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. “I think we both needed this.”

You nodded, letting the quiet comfort of the moment settle between you. And as you shared the ice cream, you felt your bond with Kiyoko grow stronger—not just as teammates, but as true friends.

You had never felt as much pressure as you did in those days. Tomorrow was the highly anticipated interschool games, and in just four days, you had the audition you had been preparing for so diligently. The constant demands of dividing your time between team practices, piano sessions, and the endless pile of schoolwork had you on the brink of exhaustion. You could barely find moments to relax or even take a calm breath.

“Go home and get some rest early,” Coach Ukai ordered in his firm tone, his voice echoing against the gym walls.

“Yes!” the boys responded in unison, their energetic voices momentarily drowning out your fatigue.

You absentmindedly played with the Pochacco keychain hanging from your bag, a nearly automatic gesture in an attempt to dispel the weariness and tedium that had built up.

“Oh, wait, one more thing,” announced Takeda-sensei, his voice bringing silence and attention back to the center of the court.

Everyone stopped in their tracks, turning to hear what he had to say. Takeda looked toward Kiyoko, who stood beside him with her head slightly tilted as if trying to hide her nervousness.

“Shimizu-san,” the teacher called gently, prompting the black-haired girl to slowly lift her gaze.

The manager took a deep breath, as though she were gathering all the courage she could muster. “I know I’m not very good at cheering…” she began, her voice barely a whisper at first. Then, she seemed to make a sudden decision. She walked with determined steps toward the bleachers, climbing the stairs with Takeda close behind to support her.

From where you stood, you could see the players exchanging surprised looks.

After a few moments of expectant tension, Takeda-sensei and Kiyoko began to unfurl the black banner. The white letters in the center formed a single word: "Fly." It was both an instruction and a form of encouragement that seemed to fill the space with symbolic weight. The design was simple, but its visual impact immediately captured everyone’s attention.

Silence lingered as the players’ eyes scanned the message, and it was Kiyoko who broke it. Lowering her head slightly, with her cheeks faintly tinted red, she murmured, “Just… do your best.” Her voice, though barely audible, carried a sincerity that resonated deeply.

For a few seconds, the gym remained in a reverent hush until excited shouts and exclamations broke the spell.

“Kiyoko, no one’s ever said something like this to us before!” Daichi exclaimed, raising an arm to his face in a dramatic gesture as he tried to hide the tears that had started to well up. Around him, the others echoed his sentiment with endless words of gratitude.

The newer members of the team watched the scene unfold, not fully understanding the magnitude of what was happening. They had heard stories about Tanaka and Nishinoya’s devotion to Kiyoko, but seeing them completely silent, staring at the banner with almost reverential admiration, was something else entirely.

“Wow, they’re speechless,” Tsukishima commented from the side, his tone laden with his usual sarcasm. His gaze lingered for a moment on Tanaka and Nishinoya, who appeared frozen in place, staring at the banner’s message. “And that’s saying something—they never shut up,” he added, prompting a laugh from Yamaguchi.

Despite the remark, the intensity of the atmosphere remained. The players continued exchanging words of encouragement, feeding off the emotion of the moment. It was as if Kiyoko’s gesture had ignited a spark within the team, a renewed energy that seemed to transform the air in the gym.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Hinata urged, waiting eagerly by his bike at the front of your house. The redhead had offered to give you a ride to school that morning.

A light morning breeze brushed your face as you put your keys in your bag, trying to stifle a yawn. “Honestly, I should ban you from coming to my house this early,” you grumbled, adjusting your bag strap and walking toward him with reluctant resignation.

Hinata grinned enthusiastically, completely ignoring your complaint. “Hurry up and hop on!” he insisted, patting the back seat of the bike to indicate where you should sit.

You eyed him skeptically, crossing your arms. “Are you sure you can handle both our weights?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course, I can! I’m stronger than I look,” he replied with a wide grin, puffing out his chest as if to prove it was no problem at all.

You sighed, still hesitant, but finally gave in. “If we fall, I swear I’ll never forgive you,” you muttered, carefully climbing onto the back seat while he held the handlebars firmly.

“Trust me, nothing will happen!” he assured you, though the initial wobble when he started pedaling didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Despite that, he quickly managed to stabilize, and the bike glided smoothly along the quiet morning streets.

The morning breeze grew stronger as you moved, ruffling your hair and carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of a sunny day. Despite your initial doubts, you began to relax, enjoying the steady rhythm of the pedals and Hinata’s boundless energy.

“This isn’t so bad,” you admitted after a while, watching the scenery blur past you.

“See? I knew you’d like it,” Hinata replied, turning his head slightly to flash you a grin full of his usual enthusiasm.

“Awesome, we’re the first ones here!” he exclaimed jubilantly as he reached the front of the school and noticed the gym area was still empty.

You hopped off the bike, smoothing out your clothes and watching with a small smile as Hinata rushed to park his bike. Without wasting any time, you followed him toward the clubroom.

The peaceful morning was abruptly interrupted when Kageyama sprinted past the two of you, his usual focused expression and the rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoing around.

“Ah, Kageyama, you idiot!” Hinata exclaimed, startled as he was overtaken so suddenly. The redhead nearly lost his balance before reacting, picking up his pace to chase after him.

“Idiots,” you muttered to yourself, your tone a mix of frustration and amusement. It wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed one of their spontaneous clashes, and you doubted it would be the last. Despite their constant disagreements, deep down, you knew they complemented each other more than they cared to admit.

You decided to follow them at a more relaxed pace, listening to their voices echo down the hallway, mixed with the sound of their hurried footsteps. As you walked, you wondered if they would ever stop competing over everything... but deep down, you knew it was one of the dynamics that made the team special.

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