#IS IT BECAUSE OF THE WET DREAM IN CHAPTER 3??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sophiethewitch1 · 11 months ago

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What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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ozai-the-bonsai · 4 months ago

Note

Could you write for Daemon targaryen like currently after all those nightmares in harnehal he finds a prisoner of harnehal as the only person who brings him peace him falling in love with her and trying to be better person he still fights for team black obviously rahaenya is definitely not happy with these arrangements especially seeing him all dedicated all in love some things he never have done for her but she have no option currently rather accepting his second wife though at the end when team black would be winning and fight at harnehal like aemond Vs Daemon she ask for reader's head happy ending at the end please or anything you wanna write I just wanna see Daemon happy in love at end please

Finally I have time for my hobbies again! Sorry I left you waiting for ages, this term the exam season was tougher than what I have been accustomed to… Anyways, I have started writing some stuff and I wanted to post the intro instead of writing a full-length chapter 1 since it would have taken a couple more days (:

As a side note, I honestly have no idea where this story will be headed because I have no clear course planned, I had some little ideas and I just started writing them. Also I will be introducing stuff which is not in the asoiaf universe.

I am continuing to read Silmarillion from where I left off and let’s say the ideas about Daemon’s love interest are… inspired from what I have been reading (; Enjoy!

Memento Mori

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: strong language, I am not a native English speaker, reader is (or will be) described with long hair

This is a very short introduction! Also the chapter is from Daemon’s pov. The title is inspired by Memento Mori by Lamb of God (the song has been a great inspiration for the story so far)

The dungeons of Harrenhal were cold, wet and lonely.

He had no idea when, how and why he had gone down there – one moment, he was in his chambers and the next, he was opening his eyes to the mossy stone walls of the dark dungeons with a torch in his hand. The line between dreams and reality was becoming thinner each day he spent in this cursed castle.

As Daemon walked past the empty cells, he tried to shake off this unsettling feeling lingering around him, dancing on his neck on its tippy toes, making him wonder whether he was indeed alone.

I doubt Simon Strong keeps prisoners down here, he thought while wiping the water from his forehead which was dripping from the broken ceiling. Maybe he has decided to lock up the witch?

Just when the Rogue Prince – correction, the King Consort – was about to turn back and leave the depressing, humid and somewhat eerie atmosphere of the dungeons behind, a soft humming reached his ears.

A soft, sweet humming of a song coming from one of the cells at the very end of the darkness.

“What kind of prisoner is Simon Strong hiding here?” Daemon asked, his voice created echoes as he waved the torch in front of him, trying to cast some light.

The humming stopped immediately, as if the sound itself was cut by a knife.

Daemon’s purple eyes widened upon seeing that the last cell was indeed not empty.

There was a young woman inside, looking at him with her eyes full of curiosity. Her hair had an unearthly shine under the dim moonlight. She tilted her head to the side. “You can see me?” She asked, it was the same soft voice from a moment ago, though the sweetness was no longer there to be felt.

Daemon raised an eyebrow at her direction. “Do people not see you?”

The young woman shook her head, her movements – no matter how simple they were – felt almost too harmonious. “Not normally, it is not intended that I am seen.” Stopping for a moment, she eyed Daemon from head to foot. “You are not really here, are you?”

The raised eyebrow quickly turned into a frown. “What do you mean? I am standing in front of you.”

She shook her head once again. As her soft whisper filled his eyes, Daemon started falling into the nothingness, again, for the unknown-th time ever since he had come to Harrenhal.

“Wake up.”

***

When he woke up, trying to catch his breath, Daemon found himself lying on his bed, as always. Anytime he had one of those weird dreams – he wasn’t even sure if he should call them dreams anymore – his consciousness would find its way back to his bed.

Unless he was daydreaming, which were considerably the worse.

“Who the fuck was that weird woman?” Daemon muttered to himself as he stood up, dressing up in his regular robes. The feeling in his stomach was telling him that he had to go down there, to the dungeons, to find that woman. If he were to wait until dawn, he feared she might be gone.

What was it that she said again? It is not intended she is seen?

Leaving his chambers with a torch in his right hand, Daemon shook his head to the thoughts flowing through his mind, causing his silver hair to move. “Weird woman,” he muttered to himself as he walked through the dark corridors of the castle with haste. “She somehow reminds me of the witch.”

The dungeons were as dark and wet as he remembered from the dream. A cold wind was wandering besides him, kissing the mossy walls and licking Daemon’s skin, sometimes whispering wicked words in his ears. Even the wind was odd here, in Harrenhal, but he had somewhat got used to it – hearing its eerie whispers whenever he walked alone during the hour of the wolf.

“Show yourself,” Daemon spoke with a strong voice which created echoes as he stood in front of that very cell from his dream. “Your king commands it!”

“Huh, king?” The same soft voice answered from the dark corner of her cell. The moonlight had left its shining spot, leaving the torch in Daemon’s hands as the only source of light in this entire corridor of the dungeons. “I answer to no king.”

A condescending scoff left Daemon’s lips as he came closer to the bars made of steel, separating him and the weird woman. “You do live in Westros, do you not?” Daemon asked, not really waiting for an answer. “As long as you breathe in this land, you do answer to the King.”

A chuckle came from the darkness. “I have been breathing in this land before your ancestors flew across the Narrow Sea, Daemon Targaryen.”

Taglist: @throughgoeshamilton @mirandastuckinthe80s @xicesam @mariamyousef702 @eddiemadmunson @dont-try-pesticide @sweetybuzz25 @hc-geralt-23 @schniiipsel @ttae-yong @syrma-sensei @asiludida164 @kaitieskidmore1 @irmavanity-blog @pax-2735 @trickrtreatart @shanzeyxsyed @random-human02 @scarwicht @xcallmetaniax @instabull @niiight-dreamerrrr @my-dark-prince @stargaryenx @abaker74 @babywolff @sonnensplitter @bi-narystars @softtina @sadmonke @avalyaaa

#daemon x reader #daemon x reader smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #hodt #hodt fic #matt smith #game of thrones #smut

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piss-pumpkin · 5 months ago

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🌲 see you next summer <3 🍂

(Older)dipper pines x reader, douce amere chapter 25 ~3.5k words Masterlist prev

Fuck. Fuck fuck fucking fuck. The last day. You half didn’t want to wake up. The bed in your aunts house left you with the same feeling of a hotel mattress, despite the fact that it was decorated with all items yours. You probably should have slept at the twins place.

Summers been good. You should think about that Instead of the fact that you’d be leaving today. You did all you set out to, really. You’d had an adventure, you’d gotten your romance, there were world shattering stakes at play. And the ending was sweet. You’d said your happy birthdays your goodbyes were next. Shit, you still had to pack up. How could you have forgotten that?

You sat up, and scanned the room. There was a lot of you in it. Your laptop was sitting with its bunched up cords on the side table, and your clothes hung out of the dresser and a few lied on the floor. Sighing, you kicked your feet off the bed. One last morning. Your fingers were locked clenched around the bedsheets. You had to let go to brush your teeth.

Toothbrush was the first to get packed up. You slipped it into a plastic bag with the bristles still wet. Ugh. The bag felt heavier in your hand than it should have as you threw it in your suitcase, tucked under your shirts.

Sighing, you knelt knees on hardwood floor beside the pile of laundry you hadn’t yet washed, and began to fold. Each article past you by as you fit it into the case. Your hands wanted to linger on each shirt or or shorts you’d worn on the good days. Like the pyjama shirt you had on when Dipper confessed, or the ones that knew the sheets of his bed better then they might your home blankets. Or the bathing suit you’d worn plenty to swim together. And despite yourself, you had to linger on the shirt you’d worn for days without realize, stuck on the kitchen floor while Dipper was left to figure out how to save you all. You weren’t sure you’d worn it since.

The bandage on your head from that week was almost ready to come off. And the side effects were better. You could have a clear head before school started if you were lucky. As much as the idea was nice, it was weird. Going back to school. People there don’t know your story. And they wouldn’t understand unless they saw it for themselves. Everyone else you knew missed whole chapters of your mythology, and there was no easy way to change that. Maybe that’s why you and your Gravity falls friends were like family sometimes. Because it they could understand.

You scanned the room for what was left to pack. Your backpack in the corner was for easy access stuff: snacks, charger, laptop, anything you might want for the ride home. Heaving a sigh, you started to pile it in.

As your fingers brushed the inside fabric, you caught on papers. Oh. When you saw the names across their folded fronts, you knew. Your death notes, your letters. You blinked. What were you gonna do with those? They felt too raw to throw or give away. Maybe you’d keep them as a memento.

The room was lacking character by the time you were done, and the person you became in the summer was locked up in your bags. God, it sucked.

…

The bus stop. The bus stop sucked. Being at the cusp of a drivers license meant you’d nearly escaped them. The ground was crisp as you walked with Susan, the grass already drying and yellowing with the heat and creeping autumn. You sighed. A few months ago, the bus stop was the first place you saw your best friends. Back then it was one of the first busses in, now you were going to wait for one of the last out.

Every time you’d managed to say goodbye, it felt like it could be the last. Like you’d go home, and suddenly Gravity Falls and all its mysteries could be a fever dream, and you’d never find your way back. So far, you always had. But how could you be sure this time wouldn’t be the one where the illusion shattered?

You could do this. If you could survive this summer, you could survive its end.

Between everything, it almost seemed like it never would end. In the best ways and the worst, kisses that could last a lifetime, and weeks that stretched into purgatory as you waited for death that wasn’t coming.

The bus stop came into view, and the Pines family and friends were already there. No busses, though, so you had time. Your hand was shaking on the suitcase handle as you rolled it along. They were saying goodbye.

Aunt Susan, affectionately known as lazy Susan, put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “Should we say goodbye now before you go off with your friends?” She asked with her halfway southern drawl.

You pursed your lips, and nodded. She smiled, and wrapped you in a hug. “You’re a joy to live with, and a pain in the ass to try and take care of,” she said, brushing a few hairs out of the way of your head bandaid. “Thanks for helping out at the diner, and for keeping things… lively.”

You smiled as her big arms held you close. “Yeah… thanks for letting me stay with you,” you said.

She laughed, letting you go after a few moments. “Please,” she snickered. “You’ll hafta thank that boy of yours for living there, too.”

You smiled at the grass, “yeah, I will.”

She nodded, and the two of you started to walk again. Until the Pines saw you and you started to speed walk, leaving your Aunt behind, and eventually when you got close, devolving into a jog and you ran for your friends. You rushed up, practically jumping at Dipper and Mabel, your suitcase falling behind you.

You launched into Dippers arms, and when you landed, almost knocking the air out from your lungs. Shit man, you had to say goodbye today. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face into his sweater. “Dude,” you said, muffled by his chest. “Dude, oh my god.”

He squeezed you back almost enough to suffocate you, too. “I know, man,” he said, resting his head in your hair. The unspoken agreement was that no amount of time could ever be enough, probably. And even though the summer was great, a part of you regretted every moment you hadn’t spent clinging to him like a life raft.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, maneuvering your face sideways to better speak.

He sighed, leaning his head on yours, “yeah.”

Then you remembered there was also a bunch of other people around. Pulling only slightly away from Dipper, you pulled Mabel in, too, the trio you were. Her hand slapped your back as she wrapped an arm around you, and one around her brother. “I’ll keep you updated on literally everything embarrassing he does,” she said.

Dipper didn’t even complain. You snickered, “okay, well he better keep me up on all your shit, too, just so you know.”

”As usual,” he nodded.

Mabel groaned, “Ugh, snitch. Hey, who’s gonna tattle on you, then Y/n, this street has to go three ways.”

”I’ll self snitch, I’ll eat that bullet.”

The three of you pulled back, and you looked at them both. You’d see pictures, but the next time you saw them in person, they’d probably look different. A year can change a lot, as short as it was in the long run. Nobody was ever quite the same coming back to Gravity falls after school ended. The best hope was that the people you changed into were just as close as the people you were before.

You sighed. There were other goodbyes too. You looked at the Grunkles. You weren’t sure who taught Stan what dapping up was, but whatever. He wanted too. You dapped him up as he smiled sadly. And Ford tried and failed to do the same.

“Thanks for, like, basically letting me live at your house,” you said, only somewhat awkwardly.

Ford patted you on the shoulder, “it’s really nothing, Y/n, your basically family.”

”Yeah, what’s another mouth to feed, and a dent in my car,” Stan tried to complain, but he was still smiling, and occasionally glancing between you and the twins.

Wendy and Dipper swapped hats, she plucked his off his head and wore it backwards with a little smirk.

You saw Pacifica next. She was a little late, just approaching now. She seemed… fine. Better than the other day. You couldn’t help but to grin at her, and wrap her in a hug. And shake her side to side.

“My number one bitch,” you laughed.

She snickered, “I better be.” When you let go, she was still smiling at you, with a slight purse of the lips to hide the fact that she’ll miss you. “I’ll send you like, cool stuff… you know how it is.”

Daddys money was how it was. Even after supposedly becoming poor. But poor to a rich girl was still enough to shop a lot, and send you gifts when she saw something you’d like. “Thanks man,” you laughed. She really was nothing like her parents.

“And tell you like, all the gossip I hear,” she added. “So when you come back, your caught up.”

You smiled, “you better.” Snickering, you shook your head, “I’ll dutifully do the same.”

Mabel said her goodbyes to Candy and Grenda. Dipper said goodbye to Soos. Man, this sucked. A bus was starting to creep over the horizon, and you weren’t sure if it was yours or the twins. You weren’t sure which would be worse, actually, you leaving first or them.

It seemed like most of it was all said. Sighing, you went back beside Dipper, and leaned heavy on his side. Without a moments hesitation he wrapped an arm around you and tried to pull you in closer.

He sighed as the bus moved in. It was still too far to see the number, though. “Man, this sucks,” he complained. “I’ll see you next summer, I guess,” he said wistfully.

Well, that was like a stab in the chest. But that gave you an idea. See you next summer. The papers you wrote on your deathbed weighed heavy in your bag, and you had a good idea of what to do with… at least one of them.

“I have something for you, actually,” you said, slinging your bag off your shoulder and rifling through. Your hands landed on the golden letters, until you saw the one with his name on it.

You pulled it out, and passed it around your hands a moment. Too late to back out now, even if its contents were embarrassing. “Here,” you said, holding it out to him.

His fingers brushed your as he grabbed it, and started to unfold it.

You cut him off, swatting your hand over his. “No, do that when I’m out of sight it’s too cringe,” you laughed, shaking your head. “And like, maybe don’t message me about it. But…” you pursed your lips, looking at the grass, leaning your cheek onto your shoulder. “I wrote it the day before my exorcism. Read it or don’t, but don’t tell me about it,” you laughed

His eyes widened a moment, and he nodded, slipping it into his bag. “Uh, thank you,” he said quietly, with emotions unreadable.

The bus was pulling up, and you sucked a breath in through your teeth. It was yours. You’d be the first to arrive, and the first to leave.

You met Dippers eyes, and he sighed. The bus door was opening. And somebody must have gestured at the bus driver to give you a moment, because it didn’t pull away.

Dipper sighed. “Well,” he said, glancing at the bus. “Guess I’ll see you later,” he smiled, “I love you,” and gently kissed your forehead where you bandage was, light enough as not to hurt you, hard enough to leave an impression.

A crooked grin here on your lips, and you fought the urge to cover your face, which was probably blushing. “Cringe. Love you too, Dip,” you said, fighting to maintain eye contact. You gave him one last kiss, and grabbed your suitcase.

You sighed at the busses stairs, and looked back. “Bye guys,” you waved, looking over your friends once more.

They smiled. Pacifica waved, “Let me know when you get home.”

”Oh, us too,” Mabel said, elbowing her brother.

Dipper nodded, slightly blush on his cheeks, “bye Y/n.”

And then you were on a bus, going the opposite direction of Gravity falls, and on the first stretch of a journey far away from your friends. Into the… somewhat known, you supposed.

…

Dipper sat with his legs crossed on the bus. Mabel was already asleep beside him. He wanted to chide her, but it was already dark outside, the only light was the dim and blueish bus LEDs. He checked his phone. Almost midnight. They’d probably get home around one.

He tried to look out the window, but it was hard not to see his own reflection.

He pursed his lips. Your words were echoing around in his brain. Read it or don’t. But don’t tell me about it. He snickered to himself. But the paper felt heavy in his bag.

Sighing, he pulled it out. Just his name was written across the front, and the thought that you wrote it thinking it would be the last he read of you… he pursed his lips, and unfolded the paper.

Dear Dipshit

He smiled.

I’m sorry. We just got done talking about what we’re gonna do with me and Bill and whatever as I’m writing this. You didn’t seem too happy about the idea. This all sucks, I know. I guess I’m a little glad that you care enough to argue for me though, that you weren’t so mad at me for… this whole thing that you’d be fine with the risk. Sorry I worry you so much.

Dipper winced reading over the words. Of course he cares, he wanted to say. A part of him did begin to understand why you wouldn’t want him to message you about this though. The thought of you writing this, alone and thinking you were going to die…

Honestly, sorry about all of this. It was my mistake that landed us here, there’s a thousand things I could’ve done differently. Like, I could have told you about the statue, that would have been so easy. I could have told you about what he was saying in my head, I guess I thought it was my own thoughts. That seems so silly now, he was saying some weird shit. I could have told you “hey I shook hands with a rock” and even that would have been something. I guess that’s all over with now though, no use dwelling on it. Even if it’s hard to help myself.

So sorry. Yeah. I should write about better stuff.

Dipper fought the urge to text you and tell you it wasn’t your fault, reminding himself that he promised not too. But his chest tightening thinking of your guilt. Deep breaths. He told you. He told you after that it was a burden they all had to bare.

This summer has been one of the best regardless of all this, I won’t lie. Like, deadass. We did a lot of cool stuff. Hanging out, monster hunting, scheming. I really liked the Fourth of July. Bet you can remember why lol. I feel sorta cringe writing that. Whatever, I’ll live. Or… heh. Jokes.

Ugh, that was bad. He shook his head as he smiled. You were totally right though, that was a good night. He chose to think about that rather than your horrible dark jokes.

Honestly, you’ve been great. Like, as long as I’ve known you. It’s weird, we’ve been friends since we were thirteen. I’m surprised our friendship survived the school years. I’m glad it did.

He nodded along reading it, as if you were there next to him.

I forget what made me like you. Well, no, bad phrasing. I know why I like you, but I forget what exactly did it, you know? Like, I wonder what the moment was for little fourteen year old me that made me go “yeah, this guy… this is the guy.” Honestly, I wish I did.

I wonder what the moment was for you, too. Like what the fuck game did I have when we were thirteen that got you down bad for like, the next several years. Well I shouldn’t flatter myself too much, I guess, I don’t know if it was just a summer thing. I know we both dated other people during school. But still though, several summers.

Dipper covered his mouth with his hand. Who he was hiding from, he wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, the memory was clear in his head. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, not even close, but he definitely had a crush on you after maybe five hangouts, however quick that was. It was after the two of you worked with Soos to catch Bigfoot.

Oh god that totally reminds me: dating other people. When I dated that bitch I refuse to name, like, several times I basically just wished it was you. Like, he sucked so much, you know I’m not gonna get into it, and so much towards the end I thought about you. Like, how much nicer you are to me. Wow that felt super weird to admit. True though.

Oh my god. Dipper wanted to hide in his hand. He could relate too much. Dating somebody else to try and get over you, he definitely screwed up, and so much just wished he could be done with his feelings, or just be with you instead. He tried to avoid thinking about that year, it was embarrassment and shame enough for his whole life.

Dipper, I hate that as i write this, we haven’t even been dating that long. Like I know it feels like forever, to me at least, just cuz we’ve been friends so long, but we only got together like, this month. Isn’t that crazy? It feels crazy to me.

There’s a lot I imagined we’d do together. Like, we’ve never spent a Valentine’s Day together, that feels like a thing most couples do, right? I don’t even like that holiday much, and I’m still lamenting that. Have I even seen you in winter? The only time we hung out not in the summer was that one spring break. Winter would be fun, I think.

I love you, man. Like, for realsies. Sorry about everything. I’m glad you still like me, but I guess that means you’d be sadder if this doesn’t work out. Pros and cons to everything.

It’s been good. You’re one of my best friends in the world, and I wish there was more time. You’re sweet. Don’t forget me.

Yours,

Y/n

Dipper smiled. His vision was a little blurry, and he stared at the ceiling with his pupils to try and stop himself from crying. You really thought that was going to be your goodbye, didn’t you. Well, it was a good one.

Fuck. He glanced at Mabel, then back out the window. His face was a little red. His eyes drifted over the paper again as he skimmed through it once more. You wished that you’d had more time. And didn’t want him to forget.

As the lights of Piedmont drew closer, he thought; You’d have plenty time together. It had been a good summer, believe it or not. Just like the first one had been, despite the apocalypse. The world nearly ending seemed rather normal for an eventful summer. And how could he ever forget you? The idea seemed laughable.

He tapped Mabel on the arm to rouse her, and she started to wipe her eyes as they got closer to home. Plenty of time. Whether it be next summer, or maybe spring break if he was lucky, you’d have plenty of time. He looked over your letter. Wendy’s hat was heavy on his head. Next year, he’d go back and trade again. He’d see his grunkles for the holidays. He would watch Soos’ terrible YouTube channel. He had the number for everyone else he cared about.

Next summer, he’d have plenty more time. They got off the bus, hauling their bags behind them. His home always felt foreign after summer. There was a light on in the kitchen he could see. One of their parents must have been waiting for them to get home safe.

He sighed, and they started for the door, Mabel following groggily behind. Next summer, plenty of time. Maybe sooner. Hopefully sooner. How would he survive this school year? Dipper shook his head on the doorstep. He was already counting the days until classes ended, and he could go back. Because right now, Gravity falls felt more like home than the suburbs.

Next summer, he’d have plenty of time.

★彡๑ end ๑★彡

Epilogue

Chat. Im free. Finally. HUGE THANKS TO ANYONE WHO EVER COMMENTED!!! You guys were sometimes the only reason I actually started to write. Huge motivator. I’m done with this summer, main story over now. It was a long summer. But I’m a sucker I’ll probs write an epilogue or two.

Anyway, I started this fic with like 1/4 of a plan and a dream and somehow it ended at a cohesive story an even 25 chapters.

Also I’m goofy im arospec, I Bounce back and forth between loving the idea of romance, and being completely repulsed by it, which makes it hard to write a y/n romance sometimes. I tried to power thru it, but I feel like it shows in how little they actually kiss or say “I love you” 😭 I just can’t stand that stuff sometimes. Hope it wasn’t too obvious.

Thanks so much for reading!

Taglist: @cipheress-to-k-pop @dead-esque @phobo-ss

#x reader #my writing #douce amere #dipper pines #dipper pines x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #dipper x reader

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borathae · 1 month ago

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Grief is a funny thing

"Grief is a funny thing. You think that you got over it until you are sitting on a random bench, on a random Monday night and it comes back to remind you that it will always be part of you."

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: Angst, married life!AU, Hurt & Comfort

Warnings: OC graduated yaay!!, but it brings up old memories for her and she is in a state of guilt & grief, talk about loss of family and grief that won't leave, tears, but Jungkook is there for her and he is such a comfort, i love him a lot

Wordcount: 2.1k

a/n: sometimes i have the desire to write something angsty for the aaol!couple. listennn, i reread some of the main chapters again and i wanted to write something about OC's grief over her brother and how Kook handles her grief episodes. soo that's why this was created <3

You graduated. You actually did it. You are officially a person with a masters degree. You are something. The degree is at home where you left it. On the living room coffee table next to an empty glass of water.

You can’t look at it.

Nobody would get you if you told them that you don’t want to look at it, because it’s insane. You are aware of it. For years, all you dreamt of was being something one day. And then it happened and you were able to pursue your dream education and to graduate. You literally fulfilled your biggest dream, it should make you happy and it does, but it also doesn’t. Deep down in your heart you know the reason for it, but you aren’t ready to admit it to yourself yet. It would make you cry. You hate crying for negative reasons.

Your phone rings. This is the third time it does and you know that you can’t ignore whoever is calling you any longer.

Your heart stings when you check their ID.

Your Jungkookie is calling. You pick up, feeling guilty as you do.

“Yes?”

“Oh my god, finally. Thank god. Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for what feels like hours. Are you okay?” Jungkook sounds distressed on the other side of the line. Understandably. It is currently one in the morning and you left without warning.

“I’m okay, just went for a walk.”

“At one in the morning?” he sounds confused. Understandably so. You are normally sleeping at this time of day.

“Yeah, well. Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s pouring buckets right now.”

“I guess it is.”

Silence on his side where he clearly tries to process what you are saying.

“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up”, he says in the end.

“Paradis. The bench in front of it.”

Another silence. Understandably. You never went back there again after quitting your job.

“Just…just stay there. I’ll be quick”, Jungkook tries to sound neutral, but the anxiety is clear in his voice.

“Yeah, okay.”

“I adore you.”

“I adore you too.”

The call ends. You shove the phone back into your jacket pocket and continue to stare at the sign while the rain pours down on you. Jungkook doesn’t need to worry. You weren’t planning on leaving this bench for quite a while. All of this studying about how to help people and you feel helpless. It almost paralyzes you and makes time pass in a blur.

Jungkook runs to get to you, getting wet even under the umbrella as the water slaps against him. He calls out your name. You turn your head slowly, looking at him with tired, empty eyes.

“Oh my god, my love. You scared me so much. Why would you leave without saying anything?” he says, falling around your neck to hug you against him.

Your body falls into him. He is warm and his hug is tight. He cradles the back of your head, twisting parts of your jacket with his other hand.

“You made me worry like crazy. Please don’t ever do this again”, he says between little kisses all over your face and head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted, my love. Just tell me what’s wrong, please.”

Now that he is with you and you are in his arms, the state of you is so clear to you.

“I’m really cold.”

“No wonder. It’s fucking November and you’re sitting here getting drenched.” He says, trying to warm you by rubbing your back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let him help you to your feet. You hook arms with him, hugging his arm with both hands. You even go as far as to rest your head against it. Jungkook holds the umbrella even though you and he are already soaked to the bones.

“You’re worrying me, my love. What’s the matter?” he asks.

You and he walk back to his car at a slow pace.

“I don’t know”, you say.

“Why did you come here? Out of all the places?”

“I don’t know. I was at my old place too. It’s a storehouse for the restaurant these days.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t really get why you’re here and what you’re doing. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t look at it.”

“Look at what?”

“My masters.”

Silence. You can watch him as he processes what you said. You can also see how he is trying so hard to be supportive.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way, but why? I’m not judging, just having a hard time understanding this correctly.”

You cuddle closer. He always knows exactly what to say. It feels reassuring when he is honest. He might not understand, but he wants to. This is what unconditional love feels like.

“Whenever I look at it, I feel sick. I fulfilled my biggest dream and I’m happy, but I also feel lost.”

“I see. Now I understand. It’s scary knowing that something as big as college is over, but didn’t you play with the idea of doing your PhDs too?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“See? It’s not over yet if you want to. You have all the choices in the world. You can open your praxis or pursue your doctor’s degree. You have all the possibilities in the world. I’ll support you in any of them.”

“I guess.”

“Unless that’s what you’re lost with. Do you struggle with deciding?”

“I struggle with accepting the reality that I am something.”

“No, my love”, he gasps.

“I feel unworthy of it. I had this life”, you say, gesturing at the general direction of Paradis. “And now I have a Masters in psychology with chances of becoming a fucking doctor. It’s insane. I shouldn’t have this.”

“Yes, you should”, Jungkook insists loudly, furrowing his brows, “you worked so hard for it. I had to carry you to bed sometimes when you fell asleep by your desk because you were so exhausted from studying. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“See? You literally worked your ass off for it. You should have it, for fuck’s sake. You wanted it for years and I won’t let you feel like this now.”

You and he stop in front of his car. He shakes you by your shoulders gently as if to shake you awake from your self-deprecating nightmare.

“You’re intelligent, resourceful and hardworking, ambitious and resilient and you got your degree because of that. You are amazing and you worked hard for it. You deserve it.”

You nod your head, but say nothing to it.

“Okay, my love?”

He looks at you. You look at your feet.

“Okay, my love?” he stresses, caressing your cheek gently.

“Jungkook, I miss my brother”, you confess what truly hurts so bad, instantly breaking into tears.

“Oh ___ my love, I’m sorry. Come here”, Jungkook gasps, wrapping his unoccupied arm around you.

You melt into his chest, sobbing into it while he holds you and comforts you.

“He and I, we always fantasised about how it would be to become something. He always talked about sending me off to college one day. But he’s dead and he won’t ever see that I actually did it. He’s dead. Why is he fucking dead?”

“Oh my love. I’m sorry. Life is so unfair”, Jungkook gets out, crying with you.

“It hurts so bad. He was supposed to see me off to college and, and see me graduate.”

“He was. He really was”, Jungkook agrees, sobbing afterwards which gives you so much comfort. It feels so reassuring and comforting so cry with him. You don’t even mind crying for negative reasons when he is with you.

“I feel so guilty. He was supposed to escape this life with me. We were supposed to get healthy and be happy.”

“You were, my love. But it’s not your fault. He wouldn’t want you to feel guilty for changing your life for the better.”

“I know, but it still hurts.”

You look up at Jungkook, spilling tears. He does as well, cradling your cheek.

“He was supposed to know you. He was supposed to walk me down the aisle and, and be happy for me because I fell in love with someone like you.”

Jungkook smiles, sniffling.

“He was supposed to be there on my happiest days. Why did he have to die?”

“I don’t know and it’s so unfair.”

“It is. He, he was supposed to be there for me on those days. He was…” A sob interrupts you. Jungkook soothes it with gentle touches to your arms. “It hurts so much to know that he won’t ever see who I became. I will always stay this little, drug addicted orphan girl to him. It hurts so bad that I never became someone different to him.”

“No, my love no. I’m sure that his spirit is still somewhere out there and he watched you grow up and become who you are today, my love.”

“Do you really think that?” you ask, looking at him with child-like hopefulness in your eyes.

“I do. I’m sure he is currently looking down at you and he feels proud and happy.”

“I hope so”, you say and lower your head. Tears drip down from your cheeks. “Urgh god, I hate crying”, you get out, wiping at your own face aggressively.

“Hey no.” Jungkook stops you gently. “Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.”

You look up at him while he holds your hands. He caresses your chin with the same hand, using his thumb for it.

“Let’s go home, okay?” he suggests in a soft voice.

You nod your head.

“Come on, I’ll drive.”

You let him help you into the car. You stare outside as he drives off and you continue to stare outside as he drives through the city. It’s late and it's raining, which means that the streets are almost empty for a change. Jungkook doesn’t have the radio on. The purring of the car and the rain against the window are all the noises you hear. He has his hand on your thigh, giving you constant rubs of comfort. It’s warm and it’s nice.

You and he drove for a while when you break the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances at you.

“For what?”

“For running off without warning. For being so ungrateful for my masters. For dumping all of my stuff on you.”

“I’m not even gonna play into this right now because there’s nothing for you to be sorry for”, Jungkook answers you with slight anger in his voice. He isn’t angry at you, but your self-deprecating use of words.

You hold his hand.

“I’m just so messy and you’re so good”, you confess.

“You’re tired and you’re exhausted. Today was a very overwhelming day. Don’t believe your thoughts anymore, my love.”

You and he stop at a red light.

“You love me, right?”

Jungkook instantly leans over to kiss you. First your lips, then your forehead.

“I love you so much”, he whispers, cradling your cheek and gazing deep into your eyes. “I love everything about you, even the messiest and darkest parts. I always have and always will.”

You can’t bear to look into his eyes anymore, lowering your head shyly. The red light switches from red to green back to red again in the time you and he sit in the car and let his words sink in. The rain sounds calming as it hits the car.

“What are you thinking right now?” he asks in a quiet, gentle voice.

“A lot. Grief and guilt and, and… I guess, I’m thinking that I don’t feel overwhelmed anymore now that I talked about it with you.”

“Yes? This makes me happy to hear. I’ll always be there for you. And I’ll always come and get you from wherever you run off to.”

He makes you laugh. Jungkook laughs with you, kissing your forehead. The light switches to green. He takes this chance and drives off, holding your hand as he does.

“Jungkook, I wanna take a shower and then talk in bed”, you tell him.

“That sounds good. We’ll shower and then we’ll cuddle and you can tell me all about your brother.”

“But I already told you everything.”

“And? It won’t ever be boring to me.”

“Oh.”

A deep breath fills your lungs and as it leaves you again, you feel lighter. You rest your head against the window, looking at him. The rainy night city passes him, the changing lights paint the prettiest of artworks onto his face.

“You’re the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me.”

Jungkook squeezes your hand because that is all he can do right now in fear of looking away from traffic for too long.

“I can say the same about you, my love.”

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minnie-cai · 3 months ago

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I had a dream of sleeping over nerd!Arts dorm room, it was storming outside and he refused to let me go walk out on my own I was on hid bed and he was working on something hes reading a book with his glasses low on his nose and was only in a white shirt and sweats where his junk was almost out. I was so horny I just straddled his lap and started going crazy, he ended up shoving my face against his pillow pounding me from behind fucking me while he kept his glasses on <3

𝑰 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵 “𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬” !

that’s so crazy i actually had the exact same dream last night so here’s something i wrote about OUR dream

not proofread, bless your eyes, it’s 2 am and my eyes are basically shut.

rating ; mature. smut. it’s smut. leave if you’re a minor. or don’t. i can’t stop you. actually i can. i will find you. and take away your phone.

oh nerdy!art my beloved, where he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met and he’s stumbling over his tongue awkwardly as he tries to flirt with you but it turns out his tongue was made for bigger things.

and it’s so weird the first time you fuck because you fall next to him on the mattress, out of breath, sweaty and high on orgasms and suddenly, all you had heard about nerdy guys being good in bed was confirmed.

you start dating, he holds your hand around campus sweetly and all of your friends love him. you’d heard the lore of all of tolkien’s writing at least a hundred times as you played with his hair but you’d hear it thousands if he asked. you give him head under his desk as he does your assignment for you and he cums all over his thighs and panics, rushing trying to find a towel or a dirty t-shirt as he babbles apologies and squirms because he hasn’t even properly finished yet.

after a few months of dating, it’s totally casual and normal for you to stay over at his single dorm after you’ve complained about how annoying your roommate was, under the condition, of course, that you’d let him study when he needs to. you promised.

you were lying in his bed, wearing a hoodie he’d lend you after you’d softly fucked with the rain pattering on the window. you pouted and twisted the fabric of the sweater in boredom. art was sweet, sure. he’d made you finish first like a gentleman, cleaned you up and dressed you but you just found it so annoying that he managed to move on to studying right after sex. you stared at him and stared and stared as he sat in his chair, his foot resting on the desk as he read a book he was assigned with his lips lightly agape and his round glasses low on his nose.

the grey sweats he’d thrown on quickly after he got out of bed being a size down from his normal one, giving you the great view that was the outline of his semi-hard cock.

as you’re thinking and just admiring him, you hear him sniff and he swallows, his adam’s apple bopping with the movement. and suddenly, yet again, your panties are wet. what is this boy doing to you?

“artie….” you mewl gently from the bed, your legs twisting under the sheets as you try not to press your thighs together. “is it gonna take long?”

“i wanted to finish at least two chapters by class tomorrow, why?” he mumbles as he moves on to the next page, licking his fingers so that the paper doesn’t stick together but the only thing you can think of is him licking his fingers and playing with your clit as he mumbles compliments against your collarbone.

“nothing… just a bit bored…” you respond as you start to stand up but he just hums, not looking up from his book. when you reach his chair and lean against the back of it with your elbows, moving your fingers to run through his hair, scratching his scalp gently, his head falls back against your chest and he lets out a breathy grunt.

when you moved to straddle his lap, that was his last straw. “you’re kidding…” he mumbles in a soft but raspy voice with a sweet smile when you roll your hips against him. his glasses threatening to fall off his nose and his curls falling messily on his forehead, times like these is when you really take a look at him and realize how gorgeous he is, like he’s trapped a ray of sun inside his eyes.

“huh?” you giggle, almost breaking this innocent character you’d built up. “i don’t know what you mean.” you shake your head with a gentle smirk and furrowed eyebrows, your eyes narrowing as you try your hardest to look confused and hold back your laugh.

“oh you don’t? oh really?” he says with an amused laugh and raised eyebrows. “i- yeah?- rea- really?” he starts with narrowed eyes but he ends with a scoff and a small smile as he realises he wasn’t sure what he really wanted to say and was just stuttering nonsense. “you don’t know what i mean? you want me to show you what i mean?” he chuckles with a sarcastic attitude, looking up at you through furrowed eyebrows.

“i might need you to show me what you mean.” you laugh but it’s cut short by a shriek when art throws you over his shoulder, laughing. “what are you doing?” you cry out as he stands still in front of his twin bed for a second, contemplating before he decides he doesn’t want to throw you on it and gently sets you to sit on the bed. he pauses and folds his arms, looking down at you, the smile not fading from his face. “what are you looking at me for? c’mon, pretty! down and on your belly.” he says, snorting at his own tone.

“down and on your belly? where did you come from? orderin’ me around!” you say surprised by his newfound confidence before following his instructions. “i’m not sure, i like it though.” he replies laughing before settling on the bed, his knees on each of your sides as he pulls down your panties, pulling your hips up, carefully raising them.

his hands hold their position on your hips when he inserts into you, making you sigh shakily. he grunts as he feels the warmth of your walls enveloping him. his head falling forward, his eyes shut.

moments after, he pulls himself back together, pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and moving his hands to push down your back, your body being smashed against the mattress by his warm palms and when he moves to rut into you, you leave out a moan, muffling it with the pillow.

by the time he is close to cumming, full on whines and whimpers fall out through his lips, his thrusts getting quicker as he chases his release. “so pretty… fuck.. ugh- so good…” he babbles and his upper body connects to your back, folding forwards to try and handle the pleasure as you suddenly feel the cold material of his glasses against the skin of your neck which you felt was burning, the sensation making you shudder.

“please, baby… i’m- i’m close…” he blabbers on your neck, leaving small wet kisses against it as his rhythmic pace gets rougher.

when you both cum, whining and moaning like hormonal teenagers and fall back against the bed, he wraps his arms around your head, pulling you into his chest. “that was really, really hot-“ he pauses, taking a long deep breath “don’t do it again.” he finishes and laughs, pulling away to wipe the fog off his glasses with his your shirt.

#art donaldson #challengers #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfic #mike faist #minnie thoughts #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #nerd!art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut

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eureka-its-zico · 1 year ago

Text

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 6

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention.

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 16.7+

A/N: I swear I don’t start writing chapters with the intention of making them like this. The next chapter is probably going to be smaller because I get so much anxiety giving you guys these big beefy chapters. This chapter is HEFTY and full of angst. There are more one-on-one interactions with the crew members to start bringing everything together. I'm not going to lie, I struggled a lot writing this week because I started to think my writing was trash. I know it’s not necessarily true but ya. I prevailed enough to bring you this. As always, thank you, guys, for all the love and support. For always being so kind and loving my story as much as you do. I hope you all continue to enjoy this story🖤 Much Love, Jenn

P.s. This chapter is sponsored by not really Halsey’s - Ya’aburnee

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Previous Next

The background noise that rose and fell in octaves around you told you that they were all still talking; still arguing. Usopp disappeared to find Luffy who you could only guess was inside that damn kitchen. Nami continued to try and talk sense into Zoro who ignored every word she said by lazily running his swords over the wet stone he’d placed on the galley’s island.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Nami was struggling to keep her voice calm but she was losing. She’d looked over at you more than a few times since you’d all evacuated to the ship to help her, but what could you magically say to make Zoro change his mind? He didn’t seem like a man who responded to pleading or demands.

He strongly held on to his beliefs. They were a system that guided him; molded him into the pain in the ass he was now. While you watched him continue to tune Nami out it was easy to see the dedication he’d given over the years to become who he was even at a young age.

Behind all that arrogance was a determination that sliced just as sharp as his blade. Zoro knew who he was and what he needed to do to succeed, and that was more than you could say for yourself at times.

So…who were you to get in the way of his dream?

The answer to that was as startling as a slap to the face. You were the woman who’d fallen hopelessly in love with him, and he hadn’t even realized it yet.

While you wanted to remain steadfast and devoted to the belief that Zoro had a chance and that the probability of him defeating Mihawk was high, the realistic part of you sounded like Naan.

“Get those foolish thoughts out of your head, girl.”

For once, you wanted to swat away all of her cynicism. All of her realism forced you to fight to still believe in magic and the good in the world around you outside of science and facts. You wanted to believe that Zoro knew what he was doing and that he was strong enough to beat a grown man almost half his age.

The other part of you, however, howled on the inside for you to stand up and go to him. To take his face in your hands and demand that he look at you and not turn away. Zoro didn’t respond to pleading, but it didn’t keep your own cries from weighing heavy on your tongue.

Don’t do this. Stay with me. Make a new dream - with me.

All your life Usopp and you imagined what it would be like to get off the island. To put Syrup Village behind you, all the pain and unknowns that never received answers. You could both leave on your own adventures and replace all the painful memories with ones aboard ships and the open seas of possibilities.

You never imagined you’d meet people like Luffy or Nami. Like him.

Looking at Zoro now as he dragged his sword over the stone one last time you felt your heart sink. Zoro had placed all three swords neatly on the table and took his time giving them adequate deadly attention. He didn’t seem bothered that you and Nami were in the room and sheltered out anything she tried to tell him.

Nami was begging in her own way. What could you possibly say that would change his mind? She was looking at you now, as your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself - constricting the breath from your lungs making it impossible to formulate words. You were holding on so tight because you knew if you let go, you might run to him.

“Doc-“ the sound of her calling you jolted you out of your thoughts and back into the present. Back to where you didn’t want to be. Nami was flying her eyes like a whip from you and back to Zoro as if you needed help knowing where to direct your pleas. “Is there anything you want to add here?”

Fuck

Zoro looked up. He actually looked up from what he was doing to look at you. Shit. Did he want you to say something? Or did he just want to know if you were going to be another obstacle in his way?

“I-“ I don’t know what to say.

What did she expect you to say? Everything you wanted to say wasn’t meant to blurt out in front of her or anyone else. You were still trying to process that you were admitting to yourself that all the feelings you felt weren’t just indigestion. That it wasn’t just the liquor from the fishbowl that made you wish you’d laced your fingers in that moss-green hair and kissed him.

Luckily for you, Usopp came running back into the galley which told you all that Luffy was right behind him.

“Oh great you’re here. Maybe you can convince him to call it off.”

Zoro had gone back to examining one of his swords and making sure it was ready for the morning. He looked so deep into the edge of the katana you wanted to ask him if it was like a magic mirror and what did he see? Did he see a victory inside that blade as he polished it? Or did he see something much darker?

“I won’t do that.”

“Did you not see the size of that guy’s sword? He will slice you into sashimi.”

“What’s going on?”

“I have been trying to figure that out for the last thirty minutes,” you huffed.

Your words only earned you an exasperated look from Nami.

“You were there when it happened!” She shot back, her voice incredulous.

“And I am still struggling to comprehend how we went from zero to a thousand in less than a minute.”

You hated this entire thing. The tension radiated like a volt of electricity between all of you. One minute, you felt fine, or as fine as you could be in this situation. The next, the anxiety from Usopp or Nami would set you off or you would completely close down like the indifference Zoro was currently showing all of you.

“I’m even more lost now,” Luffy muttered.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on. Your big, bad Marine grandpa sent a warlord of the Sea to bring you in, and instead of getting the hell out of here when he had the chance, Zoro challenged him to a duel.”

“Which he accepted.”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Usopp muttered to Luffy.

Usopp looked as nervous as you felt. Your body finally removed itself from the booth in the galley to stand beside him, linking yourselves arm and arm.

While Nami spoke, Zoro sheathed his sword and placed it back on the island. His arms extended out as he leaned his hands against it, his eyes boring a hole into Nami as she spoke.

“You are a fly to him. Something to be swatted and forgotten.”

“Not if I win.”

“You’re not going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

Your hand fell down to grab at Usopp’s and squeezed it lightly. Big brown eyes turned to look at you and, whatever he saw reflected in yours, was enough to make him squeeze yours back.

You knew Nami was trying to make a point. This dude was dangerous. He was a pirate warlord, for Christ's sake, but the idea of Zoro no longer existed…

No. No. You wouldn’t think it. Couldn’t.

“Guys, guys, maybe we need more drinks,” Usopp offered.

A part of you wanted to laugh. You could feel it bubbling up inside your chest but the wildness of it let you know it would come out panicked; a sound that displayed the current breakdown of your soul.

No one else seemed to appreciate his attempt at lightening the mood.

“Tell your first mate he’ll get himself killed.”

“Tell your navigator to butt out.”

For once, Luffy looked lost. A look of childish uncertainty replaced the care-free nature that lived inside him. You hated seeing him so unsure, but he was the captain. He was your captain and these situations called for him to make the best decision for his crew.

“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea, Zoro.”

“When you met me tied up on that cross, what did I say?”

Oh, no. No. You knew where he was going with this. Luffy telling you the story in this very galley came flooding back in crystal clear clarity.

“What makes you think I wanna play pirates with you?”

“No, the other thing.”

“I kill your kind for a living?”

“No!” Zoro almost shouted the word. “Come…” A groan of frustration left him as he finally looked away from Luffy. The desire to get Luffy to remember consuming him - to remember why he needed to do this.

And like a switch being flicked, a quiet, “Oh,” sounded beside you, and you knew Luffy remembered.

“That you made a promise to someone a long time ago to become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“The only way to do that is to beat Mihawk in a duel and take his title. I intend to do just that.”

The words left him in a shout. All that determination rolled into a punch of syllables directed at Nami. At you. Anyone who tried to stand in the way of fulfilling that promise he’d made so long ago.

“Can’t you just fight him without anyone dying?”

Your voice was sheepish, so small it barely carried over a whisper. Zoro wouldn’t look at you. You’d only earned a small flick of his attention before he replaced it back on the galley’s island.

“To be the world’s greatest swordsman only one can live. There can’t be two-“

“Why not that just seems silly-“

“Because that is just how it is!”

He’d dismissed you without a second thought. A teacher schooling an ignorant child who wasn’t privy to how the world works. You wanted to throttle him.

“Even if you die in the process? Will you please do something?”

It hurt to see Nami so frantic. You were used to seeing her composed and smart. Maybe her anger when someone was doing something particularly idiotic. Never broken. Not like this.

Luffy regarded Zoro one last time and when you saw the soft smile press a hard line into his lips, you knew any chance of getting him to change Zoro’s mind was gone.

“It’s his dream, Nami. I can’t get in the way of somebody’s dream.”

“What if I dreamed of being eaten by a sea beast what the-“

Usopp gently tugged on your conjoined hands to get your attention. His head shaking once to tell you now wasn’t the time to make jokes or be angry. Wasn’t it?

“What’s it going to take, huh? You want me to say you’re the best? You’re the best. Okay? You’re the best I’ve ever seen, but you are not better than him. And if you fight him tomorrow, you’re going to lose.”

Every word she spoke threatened to make your knees collapse. You didn’t know anything about Dracule Mihawk, except his apparent love for overly large things. Big sword. Big hat. Big feather for said hat. There was no denying, however, the sheer power that radiated off him as he stood there unmoving while Zoro challenged him. The fact there hadn’t even been a glimmer of worry that shifted through his eyes told you plainly he was more powerful than you could imagine.

And Zoro wanted to fight him. To the death. That manic laughter was beginning to bubble up again in your chest and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to keep it quiet this time.

Zoro finished sliding his last sword home inside his sash as he asked, “Why do you even give a shit?”

“Because you are my friend, you idiot.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t have any friends.”

If this was something Nami ever spoke of, it wasn’t something she’d shared with you. Maybe it had been true before you’d all met each other, but that wasn’t true now. In that moment, it didn’t matter if she remembered you were all there or not. His words hit a scab deep inside her and pulled and picked until he ripped it open.

Fresh blood from an old wound.

This time you weren’t worried about accidentally saying anything. Warm fuzzy feelings were thrown to the back of your mind as your own blood thundered for you to come forward and defend her.

“And you are acting like a Grade A asshole.”

You released Usopp’s hand to take a step forward. You had every intention of going to her and seeing if she would allow you to stand beside her. You never got the chance. Nami’s eyes looked at each and every one of you- her supposed crew mates - just before she turned on her heel and left the room.

Once she disappeared from sight it left only the four of you inside the galley. Luffy looked as if he was trying to process just what took place and Usopp, well, he was Usopp. He looked about as lost as you were in the grand scheme of things.

Your eyes flashed to Zoro and found him already looking at you. His wrists hung loosely over the hilt of the sword as he regarded you. He didn’t soften as your eyes met his but seemed to harden further. A silent challenge for you to try and say something that he would only dismiss.

“What was that?”

“I told her the truth.”

“No,” you snarled. “You told her whatever was most convenient for you and your feelings. You want to go get yourself killed, Zoro. Fine. But don’t stand there and act like everyone is supposed to be happy about it.”

“No one told you that you had to be here or that you were even wanted here.”

“Guys-“ Usopp interjected.

Neither of you were listening. You could feel your eyes narrow in on him. The pain that had moments ago made it impossible to breathe now hardened into stone.

“You better hope Mihawk kills you, Zoro because if not I’ll make you wish he had.”

A part of you meant what you said. Your anger was a living thing at how Zoro used his words as an extension of his swords. Your skin felt like brimstone with the current of fire underneath ready to burst free and set him on fire with how fucking angry you were at him. The way he spoke to Nami. To you. And yet, underneath all that building rage was a fear so palpable you could taste the cold sweat on your tongue.

You didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t wish him dead. You just wanted him to admit that his ghosts screaming for battle also scared him too. Instead, you were locked in a staring contest you knew you would lose. Zoro’s eyes hardened until he was a mask; unreadable and untouchable. While you knew at any minute your regret was moments away from making itself known.

With one final look in his direction, you turned to storm after Nami. You needed to find her and make sure she was okay. She did have friends. She wasn’t alone like she apparently thought she was.

You rounded the corner of the galley that led to Nami’s room. Usually, you would’ve knocked or done something to announce yourself. Naan raised you to be aware of everyone’s space and it was rude just to barge in but you weren’t thinking. You were brimming with too many emotions; too many thoughts that fought to be the clearest. So, when you barged into Nami’s room an apology was already forming on your lips.

Until you saw her standing with a bag in hand.

“Where are you going?”

The question hung between you like something fragile. Her own throat noticeably bobbed as she swallowed around something she was going to try and sell you.

“I was just going out-“

“Don’t lie, Nami.” You moved the rest of the way inside her room and closed the door behind you. “No one carries around an entire suitcase just because.”

Her tongue rolled around the bottom of her lip before she turned away from you. You took note that she was still holding onto her suitcase. She wasn’t going to drop it, which meant however this went she planned on still leaving.

You didn’t want another Zoro-style fight where insults were thrown to prove points or make someone hate you into letting them go. When she turned back to look at you, all the emotion was stripped from her and you prepared yourself for a fight.

“Are you going to tell Luffy?”

A sigh pressed past your lips as you shrugged.

“What am I going to tell him, Nami? You left because you got into an argument and someone said something you didn’t like?”

“Like I give a shit what Zoro or any of you think.”

“Is that why you’re worried I’m going to run and tell Luffy you’re leaving? Make it make sense.”

She turned on her heel and walked back over to a drawer she’d left slightly open. Her hand pushed it back hard before she turned back to face you. The hand that held her suitcase dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

“I need to leave.”

“Why? Nami, If this is about what Zoro said you know it’s not true.”

“Who are you kidding, Doc? We never chose to be a crew. We were all thrust together by circumstances and just stayed together.”

“Usopp and I chose you guys.”

Hollow laughter escaped her like she couldn’t believe you’d claim this madhouse of a crew. Or maybe the joke was on you, and you just couldn’t see you were the butt of the joke.

“You don’t get it-“

“Help me understand!”

“I had a job to do before I met Luffy. I completed it and I need to get back.”

“If that was true you would’ve left a long time ago.”

“Ugh, what is it with you? Why can’t you just accept that I’m leaving?”

“Because I don’t think you really want to go back,” you replied, cutting her off.

The two of you stood there in a silent face-off. Deep down, you both knew that you were right. There were plenty of opportunities for her to leave and go back to whatever life she had waiting for her, but she’d stayed. Maybe it was because of convenience, at first, but somewhere along the line, it changed.

Nami was happy being a straw hat. Whatever life she had previously was one she’d continue to run away from if she could, but something was calling her back. Whether it was family. Friends. Work. You would never know unless she told you.

“What makes you so sure?”

“People who want to sneak away in the night don’t stay up showing a small town village girl maps they created in hopes of drawing a map of the world one day.”

It was only a few nights ago when she had done it. You’d been unable to sleep. Your stomach was tossing like the waves outside the ship. You’d tried to make a tea to ease your stomach and it had failed miserably. Nami had found you curled up becoming one with the galley’s kitchen and gently peeled you from the table. In the very corner she stood in is where she’d sat with you under the light of a lamp and showed you every map she’d ever drawn.

“That’s just a dream, Doc.”

“It’s a good dream.”

She shook her head, her hand outstretched to take back the suitcase she'd discarded.

“Dreams are just fairy tales for adults. It’s better if you get used to disappointment now than later.”

You wanted to reach out and grab her as she moved past you towards the door. You still had time to do it. To shake her - yell at her - that they didn’t hold the commodity on pain or a shitty life. Maybe you would never know what it was that Nami lost. She may never want to share with you that story of her life, and that was fine. You just wanted her to know she didn’t have to keep running. That you would help keep her dreams alive and safe as long as she wanted them.

When you turned to follow her you found the door wide open and Nami gone. You could’ve chased after her, but it would only cause a scene. She’d made it clear she’d meant to run in secret - you finding out was an unexpected accident. A part of you wanted to tell Luffy so you could both go charging after her and make her come back, but Luffy would never make anyone do something they didn’t want to do.

How could it be in less than a day everything had gone to shit? Zoro was so eager to die and Nami…Nami was just gone. With one last look around her room, you moved to sit in the chair she’d been in earlier. The sound of her laughing as you tried on clothes brought the ghost of a smile to your lips and you wondered if you’d ever get to hear it again.

The Going Merry felt like a ghost ship.

Somewhere in the bridge, you were aware Usopp had run to hide there as the after-hours of fun began to take its toll. Luffy disappeared outside the ship and you wondered if anyone had noticed yet that the ship was one straw hat less.

You’d been sitting inside Nami’s room since she left, unable to leave just in case she’d changed her mind and came back. You wondered how long you could wait here before reality forced you to face it that the small family you’d chosen was falling apart.

Not much longer if the rising hues of the sun’s blood-orange tint on the night sky had anything to say about it.

With one last glance around the room, you headed back out onto the bridge. You didn’t know where to go. You didn’t feel like playing nursemaid, though you were sure Usopp would’ve appreciated the help, and you didn’t think you could keep quiet about a missing orange-haired girl if Luffy asked where she was.

You were starting to feel your own hangover begin to creep in and one thing was for certain, you were going to need some coffee.

Your footsteps sounded loud against the wood. The sound only reminds you of how empty the Merry had become. You pushed through the galley’s French doors and found yourself walking into a Zoro deep in meditation. It was something he usually did in the confines of his room sandwiched between his crates of rum and the small window that looked port side. You’d only ever seen him do it once on the stern of the ship in the early morning when no one was around.

Not that you were staring or watching or anything.

All three of his swords were set on the hanging baby blue table in front of the window seat where he now sat. His bandana was secured to his head about as tightly as his arms were to his chest. His eyes were still closed and you thought, maybe you’d be lucky enough to turn around and run back to the bridge. You’d take your chances with Luffy.

“If you’ve come to talk me out of the duel I’ll tell you right now. You’ll just be wasting your time.”

He growled out the words from somewhere deep in his chest. It croaked in places as if he’d been asleep and your presence had woken him. Zoro hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he didn’t need to see to know you were there.

You’d come stomping in like a person ready to perform a verbal battle when all you wanted was some coffee and a little bit of calm before…

“I came for coffee not to tell you how much of an inconsiderate asshole you’re being.”

That got his eyes to open and focus on you. You only spared him a moment before you made your way to the cupboards. You were just going to focus on getting a cup and what you needed to make your coffee. You weren’t going to acknowledge him.

Even as you reached the cabinets and started searching for the kettle, you could feel his eyes boring between your shoulders. It forced an irritation to set fire in your chest and that only seemed to grow worse until your hands were squeezing the iron of the handles. At any moment, you expected to see blood dripping from your palms.

You let out a deep breath and tried to push away all the things you wanted to say. To scream at him. You found the kettle and focused on filling it up and turning on the stove because if you didn’t you would start yelling at him about how maddening he was. It was a good thing you had to look for the coffee grounds to steep them or else you would’ve burst with how petty he was; the bitchest man alive.

If it wasn’t for making your damn coffee you would’ve crumbled into a sobbing mess as you struggled to find the words to make him stay. You were doing a pretty good job at ignoring him, but of course, Zoro could never just leave it alone. He always had to poke and prod and-

“You seem to be struggling with that coffee.”

“And why does it matter to you? Are you suddenly in the mood to be caffeinated?”

“Just wondering how long it’s going to take for you to finish and get the hell out of the galley.”

“Okay, that’s enough! Enough, Zoro!”

You hated how your voice betrayed you. The way it broke as his name left your lips. What you hated more was how he responded to the exact sound as it touched his ears. His body language was still rigid but he sat up straighter. His arms dropped down from his body to sit in his lap.

“I get that this means something important to you. It’s a lifelong goal and you want to accomplish it, but how can you expect to accomplish anything when you push people away.”

“I’ve accomplished plenty on my own before I ever meet any of you.”

“That’s fantastic. Great for you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What I’m saying is, you don’t have to do everything alone anymore. We are all here for you-“

“Why do you even care? What was it you said, that I better hope Mihawk kills me or I’m going to wish he had.”

You knew saying that would come back to haunt you. How many times had Naan told you speaking out of anger never made a situation better? Zoro thought you’d said it because you hated him to the point you hoped he’d lose.

“I only said that because you are being an ass.”

“I didn’t know you hated me enough to hope I died.”

“I don’t hate you, Zoro! And the last thing I want is to see you get hurt or worse fucking die. Why can’t you see what it would do to the people who care about you? Why can’t you see that I like you, you idiot!”

The words stumbled out before you could catch them. Your chest felt like it was on the verge of collapsing while your lungs refused to release the breath it held captive. It felt like a lifetime passed between the two of you, and yet you knew it was only seconds. It was long enough for the sting of tears to crown your eyes as you waited for Zoro to do something. Anything.

What made it worse was how unmoved he appeared by your confession. Your words didn’t seem to cause any reaction from him other than his usual empty stare. The cool look of emotionless stone replaced the teasing sparks of mischief that gleamed in his eyes or the smiles that warmed his face when he was surrounded by his crew.

You would’ve given anything for any emotion besides the empty reply you received.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I want to know you, really know you, but first, I need the chance to do that. I can’t do that if you’re dead.”

“I’m not going to lose.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It’s obvious that you don’t believe in me. Like Nami. You both think I can’t do it.”

“Oh my god, Zoro - enough! We are just worried for you. We give a shit about you still being alive. I want to be able to wake up and hear your grumpy ass voice or find you drinking on the stern. I want to be able to have conversations with you while you begrudgingly go with me to forge ingredients and put flowers in my hair. I want to see you look at me the way you did standing alone on the Merry like you did tonight.” You took in a shaky breath as you took a cautious step toward his seated position. “You have infuriatingly crawled your way inside my bones, Roronoa Zoro, and have taken hold. I don’t want to know what life is like without you.”

Your breathing was fast and shaky as if you'd been running. It didn’t matter that the tears you’d struggled to contain fell freely down your cheeks or that your chest heaved, ready to cave in at any moment.

You were vaguely aware of the Sun beginning to peak its way inside the windows. The timer on what could possibly be the last time you were with Zoro coming to an end. Maybe that was why when he moved to stand you allowed yourself to hope. You let yourself believe maybe your admission meant enough to make him stay, but you watched as he silently slid each katana into their holsters on his sash and it felt like the ground opened up and swallowed you whole.

“Why can’t you just admit you have feelings for me?”

It was true that you didn’t know much about the world or how it works. You’d never been out of the village. Never had many friends outside of Usopp. The boys in the village are always ridiculous or sometimes cruel or just too stupid to look at. You imagined you had to be broken since all you’d cared about was becoming the greatest doctor you could be. So, maybe you’d read into the small glances too much or the way when you almost fell and he’d secured you close to him with his chin dipping into your neck. It was subtle but you felt it.

People didn’t just do that when they didn’t like someone, did they?

Once he’d made sure everything was secured inside his sash, Zoro came around the table and walked until he stood beside you. He wouldn’t look at you and just kept looking at the battle ahead because now the sun had risen and he had a promise to fulfill.

“I don’t give a shit about you.” His words stabbed into your chest and twisted. It felt worse than anything you’d ever felt; a storm cloud of emotions that darkened your mind. But underneath that, you could hear the tremor in his own voice as he forced himself to tell you. “You’re just another one of Luffy’s little add-ons to an already big enough freak show of a crew.”

“Why are you so scared to give a shit?”

“Scared of what?” This time when he snapped it whipped his head to look at you. The soft touch of his eyes hardened into something wild and desperate. “Of you?”

“Either you’re scared or you are a coward. Only someone who’s a coward can’t admit to the truth.”

“Or maybe you’re just delusional.”

Maybe you were. You didn’t know how the world worked. How people worked. You’d traveled into uncharted territory when Zoro began to worm his way inside your brain and hold your heart hostage. It was possible you’d only seen what you’d hoped to see.

His jaw ticked to whatever irritated thought he had while he looked at you. You expected him to say something else. To finally tear you completely down until there was nothing left. Instead, he turned away from you and started towards the galley’s French doors dismissing you completely.

You listened as he pushed through with the soft sound of the doors swinging on their hinges filling the space. You weren’t going to follow. You couldn’t watch him walk out knowing he may never come back.

It felt like an eternity passed before you heard the first clash of blades outside the Merry. You were still standing where Zoro had left you. Unable to move, at first, in case you take that move forward and restart time. As if you had the ability to keep it suspended and him safe.

It wasn’t until that ringing of metal scraping against metal resonated inside the wood of the Merry that your body jerked back into the present. You already knew Luffy would be there with Zoro; believing in him and cheering him on. Usopp too simply because he knew the power of what support could do for someone.

And Nami…

Nami had to be long gone by now and you? You were here cowering inside the safety of a vessel so you didn’t have to see. The sound of a body colliding into the dock gave yours a jolt.

Sure, Zoro had ripped out your heart after you’d admitted what you hadn’t been able to admit to yourself. You’d done it, selfishly, in hopes that it would keep him in the confines of the safety of the ship, but that wasn’t Zoro.

He wasn’t about safety and backing down from anything. From the moment you’d met him, you’d seen the dedication he held when it came to his ability to fight. The fire drove him to consume and lay waste to those who stood in his way, but underneath the harshness of the fire laid something soft. He’d defended that little girl in the bar. He stood up for those who preyed on villages and mercilessly attacked women and children.

For all the drinking and hard-headed idiotic things Zoro could do he was one of the best men you’d ever meet. There wasn’t anything that Zoro hadn’t proved he could do. So, why couldn’t it be possible for him to beat Mihawk?

With your mind decided, you pushed your back off the island counter and took off running at full speed. You would support him no matter what was shared between you. Zoro deserved it: he deserved to be believed in.

You were going up and over the stairs to take the ramp down to the dock when you saw Mihawk stab something small into his chest. You could feel your knees buckle. The way your body went limp and forced your legs to collapse in on themselves as they smashed into the wood of the ramp.

Zoro’s arms were spread out in Y shape. The edges of his swords barely missed the arm’s of Mihawk, the handles of his swords touching the design on his trench. He was close, but not close enough to do any damage and not far enough away from the small blade that Mihawk embedded deep in his chest.

“No.”

Your denial came out in a hush and was carried away by the wind.

Mihawk told him something. Maybe about retreating and forfeiting the match to save his life. It was enough to radiate rage through Zoro’s body and hardened his eyes with determination.

Zoro would never run. It wasn’t in his character.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Nami approach the dock. She came to stand between Luffy and Usopp and for a split moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay. Nami was back. The universe was working on fixing all the wrongs that happened in the last few hours.

Mihawk pulled the small blade from out of his chest and you watched as Zoro stumbled back. His swords helped him to stand back up on his feet to face him.

“I’ll do you the honor of killing you with Yoru.”

No. No.

The word almost clawed its way out of your throat. A possession so deep to halt time ached through your veins until you thought it was almost possible to do it. As if the very fabric of the air would rip open at any minute just to save him.

You couldn’t miss the satisfied smirk that curled Zoro’s lips.

“Now that’s more like it.”

You watched as he unsheathed the Wado Ichimonji and brought it up to his mouth. His body stood straighter as he connected the two swords as one and began to spin them. You’d seen him fight plenty of times with just the two swords. The sheer strength he had just using them didn’t seem to compare to anyone else. You’d seen him use his three-sword style only once before and nothing compared to the sheer strength and speed that came from him placing that blade between his teeth.

Hope blossomed in your chest as you watched him spin the swords. His body took off moments later as Mihawk moved to rush forward, meeting him in a clash that rattled like thunder from the impact. Zoro came to a sliding stop just feet in front of you. His swords still lifted up to deflect the blow from Mihawk’s blade before they crumbled to pieces in front of him.

Zoro locked eyes with you, your body mimicking his, as he removed the Wado Ichimonji from between his teeth. You could feel fresh tears streaming down your cheeks turning your vision blurry. With his eyes locked on you, he used it to help him get to his feet.

If your voice would’ve worked you would’ve told him to stop. That he didn’t need to turn around but you knew he would. This was Zoro. The most infuriating man on the planet and honored bound to his beliefs. You clamored to get to your feet. To run to him to try and keep him from turning to face Mihawk.

He must have seen it on your face. You were probably doing a terrible job of keeping your thoughts off your face. All the panic.

A soft smile slid across his lips. It wasn’t big enough to crack his lips or show teeth. It never reached his eyes, but it didn’t have to. It was a smile just meant for you. His way of telling you it was alright; to soothe you before the final blow came.

For one last fleeting moment, you looked at one another and you imagined yourselves back inside the ship. Zoro sitting in his hammock being his usual broody self while you clean up the wound on his chest. You could practically hear him mumbling some shit about you not being gentle against the lip of a newly opened bottle of rum.

It felt so real that, for a split second, you thought it was. You’d been so caught up in your own daydream that you hadn’t realized he’d turned his back on you. Now he was facing Mihawk his arms spread open wide giving him a perfect kill shot of his chest.

“Wounds on the back are a swordsman's greatest shame.”

“Magnificent.”

In one swift motion, you watched as Mihawk sliced through the air with his blade cutting perfectly through Zoro’s chest.

“NO!”

This time you did find your voice and it was unhinged. All that panic you pushed to the side and all that hope you’d allowed yourself to blindly follow came crashing down like a wave. It strangled every last bit of feeling until all that was left was the crushing weight of despair. You were aware that Luffy was there at his side. You could hear him calling out to Zoro with his hands pressed at his body.

You were sprinting down the last of the ramp and onto the dock. You couldn’t remember bending down to be at his side but your eyes could see him. It was Zoro but not the Zoro you were used to.

Already he was turning ghostly pale as the wound continued to bleed. We have to stop the bleeding. There was so much blood and he was in so much pain. The wound Mihawk created went from the left shoulder down to the beginning of his sash. It was massive. Zoro’s breathing was shaky and would quiet down until you weren’t even sure if he was even taking in a full breath.

You reached over to feel his pulse. It weakly flutters against your ring and middle finger as you press down. When you pulled away you noticed your forearm streaked with blood.

“Monkey D. Luffy - what is your goal?”

“I’m going to become King of the Pirates.”

“King of the Pirates, eh? That’s a much more treacherous path than even defeating me.”

“I don’t care.” Luffy looked back at Mihawk. His usual determination in his voice, but it missed the warmth and it trembled with each word. Whether it was from anger or sadness you would never know. “It’s what I am going to do.”

“Hmm. Maybe you will at that. This world could use a few more wild cards. Roronoa Zoro, It’s too soon for you to die. Grow strong and come find me. I’ll be waiting.”

You wanted to scream at him to go to hell. You wished you could send him there yourself, but Zoro was still alert. He was fighting and that meant maybe it was his fate to be the one to send the big feathered asshole there himself.

You wanted to tell him that. To make a joke. You owed him the one about the Marine and the Pirate walking into a bar. You just couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your hands were trembling violently every time you moved them to try and touch him. So, you clenched them down and kept them pressed into your thighs.

Usopp came to kneel beside Luffy and Nami slowly made her way to stand next to you.

“He’s losing so much blood. Doc, what should we do?”

What should we do?

What were you supposed to tell them? You were the doctor. Their doctor. It’s why Luffy had asked you to join. It was your job to heal them and keep them well.

Doc, what should we do?

You should know the answer. You should be the one ordering them around and telling them what to bring you to start staunching the wound.

“He’s gonna be okay. Hey Zoro, can you hear me? He said it was too soon for you to die.”

“Luffy-“

Fuck. Zoro sounded so weak. All the broody, snarky asshole comments that he’d made were full of life. Each word was rich with the baritone of his voice that dripped down your skin like honey. That same voice now barely rose above a whisper.

“If I fail to become the world’s greatest swordsman…you’ll be disappointed. Right?”

Each word came out strained. With each breath, he fought to take through the gash in his chest.

“You could never fail me.”

Zoro opened his eyes and looked over at his Captain. The pain began to make tears spring into his eyes and run down the corners.

“Never. Again. From now until I beat him.” A grunt of pain burst from his mouth as he grabbed his body to the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji and lifted it up to the sky. His free hand covered his face as if he was ashamed. “To become the world's greatest swordsman I will never lose again!”

Zoro swore it with such conviction you expected him to stand up at any moment and walk himself back to the Merry. Your assessment was wrong, however, when he suddenly went limp with the sword and his arm crashing down against the dock.

“Zoro?”

This time he was unresponsive. The blood pooling around his middle and seeping into the front of his gi blossomed into a flower that grew ever brighter with each passing second.

“Doc!” Usopp shouted. It was enough to finally tear your eyes away from Zoro and focus on something else. “What do we do? You’re the doctor here.”

“Right.” The word came out in a huff through your nose.

Your eyes scanned the scene that was laid out in front of you. It was time to be scientific about this. To focus on what was fixable in front of you and to put whatever feelings you had to the side.

Why did that feel easier said than done?

They were still waiting for you to direct them. Six pairs of eyes equally as lost as you waiting for direction on how to save their crew mate - their friend - in front of them. Your tongue lashed out to nervously wet your bottom lip as you scrambled to your feet.

“We - we need to move him back to the ship. We have to stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, right good call, Doc,” Luffy offered as you all scrambled to grab a limb.

“Just make sure that when we lift him we do it carefully-“

Luffy and Usopp didn’t wait for you and Nami to grab a hold of either leg. They just lifted and his legs flopped against the deck.

“Jesus, she said to do it together and carefully!” Nami snapped.

“I’m sorry I’m just nervous.”

Usopp was obviously as panicked as you.

“It’s alright, let's just grab him and get him back to the Merry.”

The four of you grabbed a hold of Zoro and this time smoothly picked him up. Luffy and Usopp carried his upper body and thank god he did. You weren’t expecting him to feel like you were trying to carry a sea cow. Scratch that. It felt like you were trying to carry a sea beast.

The first steps you took were good, but by the time you started making it up the ramp back into the Merry, you were all struggling not to drop your end.

“Easy! Easy! Jesus, be careful!”

Nami instructed the boys - mostly Usopp - as they took the last step down onto the bridge.

“Guys. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold my end,” Usopp grunted.

“We are almost there, Usopp. Just hold on.”

“I’m trying but this guy is really heavy.”

To prove his point, Usopp started shuffling backward quicker than you expected. He shoved his shoulder into the double doors of the galley forcing you all to catch up with him. The movement causes you and Nami to bump into one another as you each hold on to one of his legs.

“Easy. Don’t drop him!”

“I didn’t. He’s just heavy. I mean, he’s got a really big head. It’s, like, freakishly big.”

“Now is not the time, Usopp,” you grunted as you all moved to set him down on the island.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The question came from Nami as she made her way around the galley’s kitchen. She was searching through cupboards at a furious rate and you didn’t have to ask what it was she was searching for. She’d heard you loud and clear about needing to stop the bleeding. You had some clean linens that were stashed inside your room. You should’ve gone for them, but suddenly, seeing Zoro lifeless on the island of the galley…you couldn’t recall any of your training.

“Zoro? Hey, can you hear me?”

Luffy’s soft question was drowned out by Usopp asking where the first aid kit was.

“Why would we need a first aid kit when we have a doctor?” Nami shot back.

“That’s right. Doc, what are we doing?”

They were looking to you to direct them. You are the doctor. This was your time to shine to be able to prove that you were worth the space Luffy had offered you. So, why couldn’t you move? Your brain was moving at a thousand miles a minute and yet every time it landed on free space it came up empty. If it wasn’t empty, it was screaming that Zoro was dying and you weren’t going to be able to save him.

Nami returned to the head of Zoro and was holding it in place. You weren’t sure why. The wound was on his chest. Usopp was now thrashing around the room looking for rags.

“Doc!”

This time Nami smacked your arm to get your attention. Your feet moved of their own accord to the edge of the island as you reached out and started peeling back the soaked fabric of his shirt.

There have been times when you were daydreaming in the privacy of your room that you imagined peeling back Zoro’s shirt just like this. To expose the taut muscles underneath. In all of your daydreams, it was never like this. Not like this.

A sharp hiss of air cut through your teeth as you exposed the large gash to the room. It was approximately two - almost three inches in width. The first and second layer of skin was severed leaving the third exposed and dangerously close to opening it to severe infection.

“These towels are all I could find. Where’s he bleeding from?”

“Everywhere.”

“Nami, I need you to add pressure with the towels. I have to run to my room and get some supplies.”

“Ok, but Doc hurry.”

Asking for speed felt like an understatement. There wasn’t a soul alive inside that ship who didn’t realize that Zoro was beginning to show fewer and fewer signs of breathing. His skin was taking on a grayish tone like a corpse making his green hair look sickly against the grotesque hue.

You didn’t bother telling her you knew he was dying. You just needed out of that room.

Your feet carried you out of memory to your room which sat directly across the hall from Zoro. How many times had you gone to go inside your own room and paused, considering knocking on his just to see him leaning against his open door? The thought of never having the chance to make it a reality spurred you inside your room.

You knew you were going to need thread and a good stitching needle to close the wound. What you really needed was something to fight infection both outwardly and inward. The tonic would have to wait. Without further thought, your hands started going through every jar that held a gathered plant and salves you’d previously made. What you needed was the same Chiterra you’d used on Zeff mere hours ago. It’d been left inside your satchel.

You ran to its place sat on your bed and upended the bag onto the mattress. Your hands flung everything off until you came to the jade-green bottle and held it up to the light. You didn’t need the sunlight to tell you there wasn’t enough in the bottle. You’d applied most of it on Zeff.

With a scream, you hurled the bottle against the wall. All that panic was turning to rage and you couldn’t keep it bottled in. You went to grab the things you did have and noticed on the small desk in the corner the snowdrop Zoro had placed behind your ear.

Suddenly, you were standing back inside that forest. The feeling of his fingertips gliding over your ear as he deposited the flower, hand lingering longer than it should’ve. There was no mistaking the way he looked at you then was the same way he’d looked at you on the deck. The same way he’d looked at you seconds before Mihawk and tried to slice him in half.

No. Zoro wasn’t going to die today.

Grabbing what you had, you rushed back out of your room and to the galley.

“We need to go to the Baratie and ask if they have any supplies.”

“What are you talking about?” Nami asked, flabbergasted. “How do you not have the supplies?”

“I used most of it last night, mending Zeff.”

“Why the hell were you doing that?!”

“It was to help, Luffy-“You took a deep breath and pressed your hands out, as if it was going to push all the panic you’d pressed down from climbing back up again. “It doesn’t matter now. Luffy, can you go to Baratie?”

“I’m not really hungry right now, Doc.”

“Luffy, no-“ deep breath. Breathe. “I need something that is able to fight an infection. Something we can put on the skin.”

“Right! Right, I can do that!”

Luffy looked over Zoro’s body one last time before he sprinted out of the kitchen. It left the three of you waiting there until he returned but you were done with waiting. You were a doctor and it was about damn time you acted like one.

If only you could get your hands to stop shaking.

“Usopp, I need you to take this needle over to the stove and sterilize it for me, please.”

“I’m on it, Doc.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Nami patiently waited to take whatever direction you would give her. You were sure if you told her to bring you fifty buckets of seawater she would do it without question.

“Just go back up towards his head and talk to him. I’m going to sew up the wound and, well, it’s not going to feel too great.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

You both went to move around the other to get into position when you lightly grabbed her arm in passing. She turned to you with eyes too wide to be anything else but shocked and you wondered if you mirrored her expression.

“Thank you for coming back.”

You weren’t sure why you needed to tell her that, especially at a time like this, but you meant it. No matter what was happening right now, Nami had proven to be the sister you’d never had. Without her here now you might have been lost.

You let your hand fall away as you came to the side of Zoro and began to unravel the thread. You had most of it unraveled when Usopp showed up beside you and handed over a very sterile needle. You threaded the black thread through the stitching needle and decided to start working on the smallest area.

Maybe by the time you finished with it the tremors in your hands might have disappeared.

Luffy arrived back from Baratie with Zeff and Sanji in tow. All three of them walked in just as you finished the last crisscross of stitching on Zoro’s chest.

“Oy, I was wondering why he was asking for me,” Zeff huffed as he came around the opposite side of the island. “I could’ve sworn you said you were a doctor.”

“I am. I just don’t have anything to put over the wounds to support healing or to keep them from getting infected. I asked Luffy to go in case you did.”

Sanji set down a basket on the island and you couldn’t keep your brow from quirking up in question.

“Are we having a picnic?”

“Very cute, smart ass,” Zeff shot back. “Yellowtail skin is known to have enzymes in the skin that staunch the wounds and speed up the healing process.”

As he explained it all to you, Sanji unrolled a set of very sharp-looking knives and handed the second largest to Zeff. Right after he unrolled the yellowtail from its wrapping and held it out for the older man to take.

Zeff stroked the fish in appreciation before he began to cut it. Once the head was removed and he sliced it in half, you all watched as he carefully thinly sliced the yellowtail’s skin in sections. Each section of the fish was cut and placed on a plate until the entire fish was flayed. When he finished with the last slice, Zeff motioned for someone to grab the plate as he made his way around to join you on your side of the island.

“It’s my turn to teach you a little something, girl.”

You wouldn’t deny that you didn’t know about yellowtail skin being able to do any of this. As you watched Zeff carefully layer it over your stitch work, you wondered if Naan was even aware of it.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Usopp’s question was so soft you wondered if he’d even spoken. His eyes, like the rest of you, all focused on the motionless body of your crew mate.

“I’m not going to lie to you. He’s lost a lot of blood. I’m sure your doctor can even tell you that. It might be too late for him.”

“But it might not be.”

Luffy wasn’t going to give up on Zoro. He refused to think of any possibilities where Zoro didn’t wake up. You wish you shared the same belief as him. That Zeff’s words didn’t sit heavily in your thoughts because it was the same one you had.

“He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world. Talk to him. Tell him stories. Sing him sea shanties for all I care. He may not reply, but at least he’ll know his crew is still with him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “Singing lovely little tunes isn’t going to save anybody.”

“It’s not about science or what’s up here,” Zeff replied, a thick finger poking you dead between the eyes. “Sometimes it’s the heart of the matter that saves people.”

Naan would’ve hollered about Zeff being the biggest idiot she’d ever met if she’d heard one word of that. A part of you wanted to ask if he could tell by the look he gave you.

“We need to wrap him.”

“God, does that mean we gotta hold him up again?” Usopp whined.

“Yes,” you shot back. “Usopp it does mean I need you guys to help hold him up.”

“I can help you. If you like.”

Sanji stepped around Zeff to come to your side. All his earlier flirting was replaced by the genuine desire to help. You were sure if Zoro knew Sanji had helped him in any way he would implode, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Sure. I would appreciate it. Thank you, Sanji.”

You waited on bated breath to hear a cheesy pick-up line and found yourself coming up empty. You got your wraps ready as you motioned for Sanji to lift him and when you finished, Nami offered to let Zoro stay in her room. You didn’t help carry him inside and figured it was only a few short feet from the galley to her room.

You needed air. You needed rum. You still needed to go fix up your room.

The only thing you did was the first on that list.

You’d found yourself standing on the stern of the ship. Your arms hung over the railing as you took in the endless blue that surrounded you and the last few stragglers of ships remaining from the night before. You tried to let your mind relax by wondering who was on those ships; the stories Usopp could create would either leave you in wonder or hysterics.

That was what you really wanted. Your best friend to tell you a story as far-fetched as the one you’d all been a part of in less than twenty-four hours. You went to remove yourself from the rail when Luffy appeared beside you. His eyes scanned out over everything before him before he turned to smile at you.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Hey Luffy. Everything alright?”

He still looked shaken by everything that had happened. The smile he’d tried to plaster on his face while Zoro was still conscious on the dock was replaced now with something you never thought you’d see: fear.

Monkey D. Luffy was afraid. You wanted to reach out and hug him. To remind him that life came with no playbook and you were all just fumbling around trying to make the best decisions without ever knowing the outcomes.

“Yeah. No. Maybe Nami was right and I should’ve tried harder to stop Zoro.”

“Luffy, Zoro was always going to do what he wanted. I don’t think you telling him not to do it would’ve mattered. What he wanted to know was that you were in his corner believing he could do it. You did the right thing as a Captain. As a friend.”

As the words left you, you knew every single one of them was true. The stubborn idiot was going to go out and do this duel no matter what. It’s what he’d trained himself to do and why he continued to train. Who were any of you to tell him all of that was for nothing?

While Luffy listened and filtered your words through his head, you could see the small worry lines that had creased his forehead begin to ease. The darkness behind his eyes lightened just enough that you could feel his sunshine beginning to peek through the storm.

“I’m always going to be in every one of your corners because you guys are in mine.”

You tried to give him a weak smile. Something that could equal the one he’d given you. You could feel it falling flat and decided it was safer to look back over the side of the Merry or at your hands.

It was a mistake. How you’d missed the blood - Zoro’s blood - that had caked on your fingers and between them was beyond you. Instantly, you felt like you needed to bathe. To scrub your skin raw before it leaves a deeper imprint like an unwanted tattoo.

Luffy must have noticed your panic because he moved closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, and gently reached out to stop you from scratching through your skin.

“Why are you out here, Doc?”

His question was light. Soft. A whisper that forced you to hang your head before a flood of emotion threatened to burst from the dam in your chest.

“I should’ve believed in him more, like you do. I should’ve shown him or had more faith in who he is.”

“The Demon Pirate Hunter?”

That did make a snort of a laugh leave you as you looked up at Luffy.

“Your first mate.”

You were surprised when Luffy suddenly wrapped a long arm around you and pulled you into a tight hug. You thought you were going to have to tap out and tell him it was too much. Damn, could he give a good hug. But you didn’t. You wrapped an arm around his waist and allowed yourself to be consumed for just a little while by sunshine.

“You did an amazing job today, Doc.”

You pressed a scoff into his chest before you pushed away and secured yourself back over the railing.

“That’s really sweet Luffy, but no I didn't. I was sloppy. Unprepared. My response time was shit.” Your delay in helping Zoro could be what cost him his life. You didn’t want to say it out loud. The guilt - shame - of that hard fact sat like stones in your gut. “If Naan were here she’d have my ass.”

“But you saved him.”

Luffy looked so confused and you weren’t sure you wanted to explain it to him. He believed in you more than you believe in yourself.

“No. All I did was make him comfortable if he died.”

It felt like you were speaking through molasses. The idea of him dying filled your body with such raw grief it threatened to topple you over.

“That’s not true.”

It was true, and Naan would’ve used this moment as another one of her hard lessons. One just to prove why getting attached to others was never good for a healer. Everything she’d ever taught you had gone right out the window as you watched Zoro fall. All the training and knowledge wasted as you acted like a lovesick girl and not the one who maybe could’ve saved him if she hadn’t been so lost in her head.

No. You weren’t who Luffy thought you were or who you’d even thought you were. You should’ve stocked up on ingredients more. Noted all the tools you were missing and got them instead of worrying about a world full of promise and adventure.

“I’m going to go wash up, Luffy. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Make sure you stop in to see Zoro, Doc. I know he’d like to hear from you.”

You didn’t know what to say. Would he want to see someone who selfishly tried to keep him from being who he was? You could still hear the last conversation playing in your head. The way his voice cracked just enough to notice.

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

You didn’t mean it. You weren’t sure if you could face him but another part of you wondered if the last memory you wanted to carry of him was him lying bleeding on Baratie’s dock.

The bath had been scolding hot and your skin was still slightly red from how furiously you’d scrubbed it. You’d had no intention of going in to see Zoro.

Not yet.

But as you left your room you heard Nami’s voice raise and you bolted toward the sound. What if something was happening to Zoro? Instead of the possibility of you going into doctor mode, you noticed it was yelling of a different kind.

“And I would like it if Zoro wasn’t dying in my bed!”

No! Not dying…

You came shooting around the corner and into the room. Your eyes take in a small-looking Luffy as Nami stands on the opposite side of where Zoro lies. Her eyes were piercing and sharp and full of anger directed solely at your captain.

“I can’t get in the way of someone’s dream, Nami.”

“What’s going on here?”

Nami’s gaze moved over to you and it made you want to stop in your tracks. It felt like she was almost blaming you for the dying friend in her bed.

“Nothing. I was just leaving.”

“Again?”

The word came out before you could stop it. The irritation sparked from her in waves. You hadn’t meant to say it but you were too emotionally exhausted to care.

“Again?” Luffy asked, visibly lost.

“It's nothing,” Nami quickly dismissed your words as she set down the book she’d been reading. “Just a slip of the tongue. Right, Doc?”

She wasn’t giving you time to answer her because she wasn’t trying to have more conversation. Not with you and definitely not with Luffy. Somehow, you’d both ended up in the shit yard.

You turned to watch her retreat and didn’t take one step forward until you were sure she was gone. You reached out to Luffy and touched his arm briefly before you dropped it back down to your side.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just-“

He was back to looking lost. His eyes searched for answers ingrained in the wood of the ship and coming up short. He looked up at Zoro still lying motionless in bed and turned in your direction.

“I’m going to get the Wado Itchy Monkey ready for him when he wakes up.”

“Itchy monkey?”

“His sword.”

Now this was the Luffy you knew. It wasn’t as cheerful as it should’ve been but you would take this smile over the wounded look any day.

“Oh, right. The Itchy Monkey.”

You hoped somehow Zoro could hear this and was screaming.

“Do you want to come with me? I think Sanji is also with Usopp in the galley cooking something. If you want to eat.”

“Maybe later. I need to do an assessment first.”

“Oh, yeah. Let us know how it goes.”

“You got it, Captain.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?

“Captain. No one else does.”

His question took you back. Was there something else he wanted to be referred to instead of Captain? He’d seemed to make it pretty clear his dream wasn’t just finding the One Piece, but having a crew all his own.

“Uhm, because you’re my Captain and that is false. Usopp does say it…sometimes. In between calling himself Captain Usopp.”

You waited to see that infamous smile brighten his face. The one that reminded you of the good that was housed inside him and the painful realization he was still so young. What you got instead was a softer smile, one that still reached his eyes but spoke plainly of gratitude.

“Make sure that when you’re done you get something to eat. That’s an order.”

You offered up a mock salute as you replied, “Aye, Captain.”

It felt ridiculous. It felt silly but it also felt good. Like you weren’t standing in a room where Zoro was slipping in and out of death. Silly like sitting back in a restaurant. All five of you enjoying a meal filled with laughter and teasing conversation.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to face the unconscious man before you. He looked incredibly peaceful and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve believed he was just sleeping. But his breathing was still too shallow and there wasn’t any eye movement indicative of dreaming or thought.

He looked like a shell of the man you’d fallen in love with. The color hadn’t returned to his skin and there was a noticeable sheen of sweat to his forehead and upper lip. Gently, you pressed the back of your hand to his forehead and felt the warmth to his skin.

You figured there would be a fever, but not so soon. You weren’t sure if it was a good or bad sign but you wouldn’t dwell on it. A fever meant he needed medicine, which was your specialty. You set to work pulling what you needed out of your satchel and began to make something to help reduce the fever and hopefully help whatever infection was in his blood.

After you steeped all the ingredients through the strainer you walked over to Zoro and gently lifted up his head. You had some trouble wiggling the nose of the bottle between his lips when you remembered you still had to contend with his teeth.

“A pain in the ass even while dying,” you groaned.

You placed his head back down against the pillow and quickly ran through your options. You tried to prop him up as much as you could before you placed your hand on his chin and applied a small amount of pressure until you felt his jaw begin to open. Finally, you were able to deposit some of the medicine between his lips. Your hands gently coax his throat to swallow by running your fingers against the skin.

Once it was done you placed the jar behind you on Nami’s dresser and went to get a cool washcloth. You weren’t sure if you were going to stay until you started wiping the sweat from his brow.

You found yourself sitting in the chair Nami no doubt abandoned and the book she’d been reading to him. The tale of Noland. The liar. A man who claimed to have seen something and there was never any proof.

Liar. That’s what stuck out to you the most.

You’d been staring at the cloth in your hands, fingers picking at the fraying pieces unable to look at him. Not until now.

You weren’t sure why you felt so unsure of whether you should be there. If you should bother staying. The last time you’d spoken he’d made it clear what he thought of you and yet…

Reaching out you took hold of his hand for the first time. It felt wrong doing it like this but what were the chances of you being able to do it again? Your thumb moved slowly over his knuckles as if trying to outline each one perfectly to memory.

“How are you supposed to train me to kick your ass if you don’t wake up?”

Zoro didn’t show any signs of stirring at your words. You expected him to turn his head at any minute. His eyes flew open in horror at the idea of you ever kicking his ass. You could practically hear all the remarks he’d make.

“The day you ever kicked my ass is the day hell freezes over.”

“It’ll take a miracle for you to even get close.”

But they were the only ones that you heard in your head. Figments of previous conversations warped to fit the crazy narrative that he would be able to answer you back.

“You know, if Naan could’ve seen how I acted today she would’ve killed me.”

An empty laugh left you as you looked up at his face. There wasn’t the usual dart of a raised brow in teasing. No hard stare that made you feel like he was silently yelling at you for getting on his nerves.

“She would’ve been disappointed. She taught me over the years that a doctor who can’t think on their feet at lightning speed is useless. A doctor who got emotionally attached to their patients was equally as useless.” You tore your eyes away from him to look at the safety of your lap. Unable to look at him as you spoke, “I was useless at being able to help you when it mattered.”

The sob you’d been struggling to hold back erupted in a burst that forced you to cover it with your hand. You couldn’t let anyone else hear you as you shattered.

“Maybe that was my final lesson from her. To prove that caring for all of you the way I do is only going to harm you later.”

What good was having a doctor who was only going to fail them later? But Zoro still being alive proved that it wasn’t just medicine that kept people going, but their own desire to live. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need him to wake up and proclaim his undying devotion to you. Even if he woke up still hating you, you would accept it. Anything was good enough for you if it meant you’d get to see him smile one last time.

Walking into the galley you expected it to be either quiet or at least filled with light conversation. Maybe even a couple of gloomy faces.

What you hadn’t expected? For it to smell like Baratie inside the tiny space, and to find the reason for the smell to be Sanji talking away with Luffy and Usopp while he cooked.

“It smells like heaven in here,” you mused, taking in a deep inhale of all the aromas floating inside the kitchen.

Usopp was leaning against the island - in the same exact spot Zoro had been in mere hours ago. His blood still stained part of the wood. You couldn’t bring yourself to go near it. So, you made your way around it completely and over to sit with Luffy. Who was currently cleaning the Wado Ichimonji for Zoro just like he said he would.

Everywhere you looked Zoro’s presence was a constant reminder. A ghost haunting you that you hadn’t signed up for.

“If this is heaven then in walked an Angel.”

Instantly, all your sadness was quickly replaced with irritation - and relief.

“It’s a little too early to be flirting, isn’t it?”

“Nah. It’s never too early to let a beautiful woman know just how breathtaking she is.”

“Ugh, I wouldn’t let Zoro hear you talk to Doc like that,” Usopp chuckled nervously. “I think he’d probably implode.”

“I’m sorry. Who?”

Sanji either must have had the worst memory you’d encountered in a while or he was playing dumb for the hell of it. Usopp took a bit of the apple he’d grabbed from the fruit bowl. He held up a finger letting Sanji know he needed to wait while he chewed before he spoke.

“Green-haired guy. Three swords.”

“The one from this morning?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Sanji cocked his head to the side as if he was questioning if Usopp was telling him a joke and he’d missed the punchline. He was in the middle of folding something in the middle of what looked like dough and you were tempted to interrupt their small discussion about your nonexistent love life to see what it was.

“I think I’ll take my chances.”

Sanji smiled warmly at Usopp and sent another eye twitch in your direction.

This guy was going to give you trouble.

You watched as Luffy softly ran one of Zoro’s clothes over the sheath of the blade. He was taking his time and made sure he didn’t miss a single part. He was dedicated to making sure Zoro knew his things were safe here, with all of you, on the Merry. That he was a captain who would do what was necessary for the things you all loved and held valuable.

“So, how did he look, Doc?”

Luffy’s question tore your eyes away from watching him do another round of polishing. He hadn’t looked at you yet, but you knew the minute you started talking he would give you his undivided attention.

“He’s doing okay. No real change in vital signs. A slight infection has set in and gave him a fever. I made some medicine to give him every few hours just to make sure it’s nothing major.”

Luffy placed a hand on your shoulder and gave you a light shake. A smile graced his lips as he replied, “The best doctor in all of the East Blue and soon, the Grand Line!”

You wish you could smile back brighter or maybe with something that looks genuine. Instead, a grimace meant to resemble a smile graced your lips.

“I don’t know about the best doctor. I had no idea yellowtail skin had so many wonderful properties in them.”

“I don’t think any of us did, honestly,” Sanji offered.

“It makes me wonder if Naan even knew about it.”

“What? You mean the resident doctor in your village never used the wonder that is yellowtail.”

“I think if you told Naan to go fishing for an ingredient you’d end up fishing your teeth off the floor.”

“Oooh,” Sanji chuckled. “Is she really that bad?”

“Worse,” Usopp interjected. “Naan isn’t really known for taking new age information or techniques very well.”

“Hey,” you interject with a pout.

“You know it’s true. She follows what her mother taught her religiously and makes Doc follow it too. I’m not saying she’s not a great doctor just…really old school.”

“I mean, she is old, Usopp,” you deadpanned.

“You know what I meant.”

“You two seem to know each other pretty well.”

Sanji was keeping himself busy still with scooping batter into a piping bag. You were so tempted to ask him what the hell he was making and how soon would you be able to get any of it. His statement was said with an inviting smile and a look of interest in his eyes as he looked between you and Usopp.

“Doc and I go way back. She was literally, like, my only friend in the village we grew up in.”

“That is not true. You had Kaya. I had you and Naan and that was about it.”

“I’m sure a beautiful woman such as yourself has plenty of friends and admirers.”

God, please make him stop calling you beautiful.

“Well, you’re wrong. No one in the village liked me.”

“They were actually scared of her.”

You loved how casually Usopp could just drop information without a care in the world. He was always like that since you were kids. You figured it must have been part of his ability to weave stories so intricately. Sprinkle truth throughout the lie and no one was sure what part was real and what wasn’t. The only problem here? He didn’t follow it up with anything else but the truth.

“Usopp!” You shot out in a groan.

He’d taken a bit of the apple again so all you got in response was a shoulder shrug.

“Why would villagers be scared of you?”

It wasn’t hard to miss the disbelief in Luffy’s voice or the small chuckle that clung to the back of each word.

“Because-“

“Because she just showed up out of thin air on the island.” Usopp interrupted trying to swallow the remaining apple pieces in his throat. “No parents. No nothing. They all thought that a Siren or something dropped her off on the shores. All the villagers thought she was a bad omen.”

“Oh my god, Usopp! I’m like right here I can tell it and, by the way, you are the reason why everyone thought I came as a curse from the ocean and that my mom was a Siren!”

“I was trying to help you. It got Johnny Fittsmore to stop cutting pieces of your hair, didn’t it!”

“Wow. Okay.” Sanji mumbled. “Weren’t kidding on the friend's part.”

“Why was he cutting pieces of your hair?”

You weren’t surprised Luffy was confused. He was kind-hearted, and would probably never grasp the concept of people choosing to be mean.

“I just showed up on the beach aboard a small lifeboat. Naan said she could hear my cries from her house.”

“Cries? As in a baby?”

Sanji stopped all he was doing to rest his hands on the counter. His broad shoulders hunched forward as he looked at you through a small window of hair. He looked visibly upset and the last thing you needed was the new guy to think you were broken.

“I don’t know if I was a baby. I just know I was small and Naan decided not to let the birds eat me.”

“No parents?”

“I mean, does anyone really have parents at this point?”

Usopp’s mom unfortunately passed away while you were both young. He’d never met his dad, Yasopp, wherever that no good baby daddy of a pirate was and basically had Usopp chasing after shadows in hopes he would ever return. Luffy seemed to only have a crazy stalker grandpa and that left Nami and Zoro with the chance of having actual functioning parental units somewhere.

“The lucky ones do.”

Sanji’s reply was delicate, like his smile, as if he said it too loud it would spook you.

“I guess that makes us an unlucky bunch of misfits,” you replied.

“I think we’re pretty lucky,” Luffy interjected. “We all found each other.”

You were not going to cry.

In the few hours this all happened, you couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and meant it. A handful of those times had been with Luffy and, just like the times before, you could feel your own smile curving your lips. A real one.

“I could drink to that.”

“Funny you mention a drink,” Sanji began as he placed something in the oven. “But I think you still owe me one.”

You got up from your seat and made your way over to stand next to the sink. Your eyes watched as Sanji did, in fact, have a bottle waiting in the basket he’d brought back from Baratie.

“You always carry a bottle around with you?”

“Only when I get the chance to share a drink with a talented woman, such as yourself.”

“Do any of these lines usually work on women?”

A full-throated laugh left him as he grabbed two glasses and began to pour the drinks. You would never say it out loud, not even if someone threatened to cut a limb off, but you enjoyed Sanji’s company. He didn’t take himself too seriously, except for his cooking.

He let you tease him and took everything you served in stride. Although…you did miss the way Zoro always seemed to have something equally sharp to send back your way. Sanji just liked being in the company of others, especially if that company happened to be the opposite sex.

“Sometimes,” he answered honestly. “It’s usually my charm and not my words that do it.”

“I can see that.”

He was charming. He was handsome. There wasn’t a point in denying facts just because your cup of tea was currently brewing on life support in the back. Sanji handed you your glass and lifted his up in a toast.

“To the first drink and, hopefully, to many more.”

You moved your glass to meet his and a light clink filled the space between you. You brought the glass to your lips and swallowed the liquid in a few gulps. As you set your glass back on the island you could hear a soft chuckle from Usopp coming from behind you. When you turned to look at him he was grinning from ear to ear.

“What?”

“Zoro is going to be so pissed when he gets up.”

You were about to tell him to shut up and remind him you were both very much single and in no way romantically involved. Even if you might have wanted that to happen, Zoro made it clear it wasn’t what he wanted.

You started to open your mouth when Nami came crashing in through the galley’s doors.

“Luffy! Luffy! The Arlong Pirates are at Baratie. We have to leave now.”

“What? Why? Why should we leave?”

“Because they are looking for you!”

“Just fucking great,” you sighed as you grabbed the bottle Sanji had left on the table.

Her last words were directed at Luffy. Of course, someone was here for Luffy. When wasn’t someone here for him? Stalker grandpa. Stalker grandpa’s war dog. Now another pirate who may or may not be working with stalker Grandpa.

“Me?”

Luffy seemed as surprised as the rest of you. A finger pointing at himself just to make sure we were all physically sure it was, in fact, him.

“And the map. Those fishmen will tear this place apart if Zeff doesn’t turn him over.”

In a flash, all the joking and light conversation disappeared. One minute Sanji was beside you and then he was bounding around the island to get to his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“If Baratie‘s in danger, I need to be there.”

You knew what was going to happen before Luffy even spoke. The goodness that was the core of who Luffy was would never abandon people to possible pain and suffering. It wasn’t in whatever strange and stretchy DNA that made up who he was. It was why you’d joined him and why you would continue to be aboard this ship until he no longer wanted you there.

“Alright, I’m coming with you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? They are hunting you. We need to run.”

“I’m with Nami on this one. I’m really not trying to ruffle any feathers or scales.”

“Usopp. There are innocent people inside that place.

“How do you know that, Doc? It’s a restaurant that serves pirates!”

“Usopp - we,” you indicated between the two of you, “are pirates.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s a solid point, but still-“

“I’m not running,” Luffy cut in. “We’re going to protect this place.”

“This isn’t your fight. Why would you do that?”

You could feel yourself waiting for the answer - for Sanji to experience the man that was Monkey D. Luffy. With a kind smile, he simply replied, “You fed us.”

Kindness for a kindness.

“Look, I know this crew. Their captain, Arlong, has the highest bounty in all of the East Blue. You do not want to mess with him.”

“It sounds like he messed with us first.”

“Luffy, please. Please.”

“Nami. What are you so afraid of?”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it or why you moved towards her. It didn’t matter if she tried to deny it or cover it up with anger this time. You’d seen her and the fear that rolled off her like a sickness appeared to cripple her.

“What do I have to be afraid of? You are all going to rush in there and get yourselves killed!”

“Nami,” Luffy said, “I can’t let innocent people get hurt because of me. If those fishmen guys want a fight, we’re gonna give them one.” He looked between Nami and you and walked over to her. A solid hand cupping her shoulder. “You two stay back with the ship and protect the map. Hmm.”

“Fuck that!”

You stepped forward to the other side of him forcing him to turn from Nami to face you.

“I’m going with you.”

“Doc, it’s safer-“

“I don’t care. You’re down a man right now and, no offense Usopp, he isn’t the greatest choice for backup.”

“Hey! I’m taking all the offense!”

“Take it all I don’t care. Luffy, I may not be a three-sword-wielding badass but I can help you. Let me help you. Please.”

Luffy regarded you for one long moment before he slowly nodded.

“You can’t be serious?”

Nami regarded you like you’d gone insane. Maybe you had. You weren’t a soldier. You didn’t know much about fighting besides when you punched Isaki Quade in the nose in the lemon grove.

“I’m going with him, Nami.”

“It’s going to be alright, Nami,” Luffy interjected. “The ship and the map will be safe with you.”

With that, Luffy turns on his heel and heads for the door. As you walked past the island you reached up and removed a pot from the upper rack. If Zoro could see you now, you could already hear what he would say in your head.

Seriously? You’re bringing the pot with you?

“What’s with the pot?” Sanji asked.

You twirled it around in your hand as you both tried to keep pace with Luffy’s quick steps.

“It’s my weapon of choice.”

Sanji still looked confused but you didn’t have time to explain. Luffy was already up and over the side of the Merry and walking towards the deck. If you didn’t catch up fast he would be inside Baratie before you even made it to the door.

“This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea.”

You knew Usopp was trying to whisper it to himself. He’d always been one to talk his thoughts out when he wasn’t even trying. You tried to soothe him as you passed through the door into Baratie with a pat on his back, and instead, he nearly became one with the ceiling.

“We are going to be okay, Usopp.”

“You shouldn’t even be here, Doc,” he snapped back. “You are the ship's doctor. What happens if we get injured and so do you?”

“The good news is in that scenario I’m just injured - not dead. So, I can still patch you guys up.”

“That doesn’t make me feel the least bit better.”

If the mood wasn’t so serious you would’ve laughed. The moment felt like you were back in Syrup village with Usopp rambling on and on about if he should or shouldn’t tell Kaya he was in love with her. No matter what you told him, his head would still worry. It was his nature.

Everything froze in time, however, when Luffy pushed open the double doors and stepped inside the eerily quiet dining room.

“Who here is Arlong?”

That was one way to make an entrance.

“That would be me.”

A deep voice boomed from below you and when you looked over the railing, immediately you wished you’d stayed on the ship. He was holding an older man by the collar, sharp teeth exposed at his throat. You suddenly wished Zoro was here.

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy and I hear you're looking for me.”

“Why, yes I am.”

You had to hand it to Luffy. Arlong looked terrifying to look at and overly confident. Luffy didn’t seem the least bit phased by any of it as he led you all down the stairs.

“So, this is the pirate I’ve heard so much about? You know? I was expecting someone…bigger.”

“So was I.”

If you weren’t so fucking terrified you would’ve laughed. At least Luffy was able to smile for the both of you, because the minute eyes darker than the trenches of the ocean peered up at all of you ready to rip out your throats you swear you felt your soul exit stage left.

“Do you know who I am, boy? I’m Arlong the Saw. Even the Marines flee before my flag.”

“Not ringing a bell. How’s you find me anyway?”

A sickening chuckle that reminded you of gills taking in water filled the room.

“An old friend helped me track you down.”

He clicked his tongue right after he finished, and you hated the fact that you jumped. You hated it even more when Sanji moved to stand just a little in front of you to protect you.

In all of a second, the dirty blonde-haired fishmen reached into a black bag and took out a-

“Is that a fucking clown head?!”

You wanted to scream but swallowed it down as it started talking and- oh god moving. The neck area actually wiggled as he shouted, “Heya, Straw Hat. Did you miss me?”

“Burpy? What are you doing here?”

“Believe me, it wasn’t my first choice either. But these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain’t easy when you don’t have any hands.”

He let out a laugh like this was like any other day. All completely normal.

“How’d you even know how to find me?”

“I told you. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.”

To prove his point, you watched in horror as an ear fluttered its way out of Luffy’s hat and back to attach itself to Burpy’s head.

“What is happening right now?”

Your whisper was aggressive and you weren’t even sure why you were even asking Usopp or Sanji like they even knew. It just made you feel a bit better when all three of you looked at each other equally disturbed.

Luffy, as usual, looked less shocked about the ear in his hat and more that he’d been listening.

“You were listening all along? You heard everything?”

“Everything. And that got old quick, ‘cause you shidiots have no idea what you are doing. By the way, Doc, it's so nice to finally meet you. You’re equally as delicious as Dreamsicle. Wherever she is. Hey, Lips!”

Burpy turned to yell at the fishmen who did have rather large lips to scratch his ear. You were still stuck on the fact a clown head was trying to hit on you.

Maybe you should’ve just stayed with Nami on the boat.

The fishmen denied him his apparent scratch and Burpy went into full shriek mode. You instantly winced at the sound and tried not to cover your ears as his head was shoved back inside the black bag.

“Listen here. I want my map and half of whatever you plunder as tribute. And if you bow down to me, I might even let you serve in my kingdom.”

Arlong was walking slowly towards you - towards Luffy. You weren’t sure if while he talked he was smiling or snarling.

“I don’t bow down to any man.”

“I’m no man.”

“Or fish,” Luffy corrected. “You’re no king.”

“I will be when I get my Grand Line map.”

“Then…” Luffy placed his hat back on his head and you already knew what was coming. “You’re going to have to fight me for it.”

Shit.

Suddenly, coming in with a fucking cooking pot felt ridiculous, but you were gripping it tightly all the same.

“Then let the fighting begin.”

Right as Arlong smacked his fist into his hand, the sound of a gunshot went off and your eyes traveled up to see a rather large Chef’s hat in the middle of the room. Attached to that hat was Zeff who held a small muscat in his hand.

The other fishman who sat at the table with Blondie immediately got up and kicked the wood of Zeff’s wooden leg. It broke without pause and sent the older man tumbling to the floor. When he looked up, the Fishman kicked him hard and sent him flying back through three tables.

“Zeff!”

Sanji’s voice was filled with so much pain your chest aches but it was also thundering to life with adrenaline. How the fuck did you think a pot was going to help at all against them? You could hear Zoro chastising you, calling you a dumbass and you swiftly pushed it away. Now was not the time to talk to imaginary Zoro.

Sanji ran down the stairs and kicked Blondie away and used the momentum to land on their table. He spun off and kicked the Fishman who’d hurt Zeff.

“Usopp!”

He ran past you and shrank down small to get under the table. No one else saw him do it. They were too busy watching Sanji as he took on the fishman.

“Usopp, get bac-“

You moved down the stairs to get him and were greeted with Sanji’s body landing on the exact table. It tipped over instantly and exposed Usopp underneath. He immediately clamored out from underneath it.

“Get the people out of here! Get them out now!”

You rushed down what was left of the stairs as Luffy started shouting out his gum-gum pistol. You could hear his body stretching impossibly far back, but you were busy trying to get to Sanji. He was choking on the air trapped in his lungs and your body was seized in terror that he may have a punctured lung.

“Sanji,” you asked, placing a hand on his face to bring him to focus on your face and the other gently on his side. “Are you alright? Does anything feel broken?”

“Just…my pride,” he wheezed back.

You ignored the fact he’d placed his hand over yours and lightly began to move him towards Usopp who was now on the other stairs. You looked back and saw Arlong toss Luffy violently against the pillar.

“Get up!”

“Luffy!”

You tried to move down off the stairs and felt Sanji grip you tightly around your waist to keep you there with him and Usopp. He kept throwing punch after punch and Arlong took them all with stride. Luffy wasn’t making a dent and to Arlong this was just a game.

Luffy tried to swing on him one last time and Arlong caught it. He tried to swing again to make Arlong let him go, and he easily caught that one. With both fists in his hands, he used them to pull Luffy to him.

You tried to wiggle free but Sanji held on tight and the feeling of Usopp’s hand on your shoulder joined in. Luffy looked so scared; so angry as Arlong told him something through sharpened teeth. One minute they were there and the next Arlong flung him up into the foray.

“Luffy!”

This time you did scream as Arlong took the stairs to reach him. The continued sounds of a body being thrown through stained glass windows.

“Doc, I know you want to go to him but you can’t! It isn’t safe.”

“Fuck that I can’t just let him die!”

You were nearing hysterics. Why couldn’t they remember that Luffy was a Devil Fruit eater? That outside was miles and miles of ocean and Arlong knew it. All it would take is one splash, and one toss, and Luffy would be defenseless. All it would take is him falling over the dock and he would drown.

“He isn’t going to die!”

“Usopp, he ate a Devil fruit! Mother Ocean turns her back on those who do and what is outside with them?”

You needed them to understand that it wasn’t because you wanted to be a hero. You weren’t that kind of person. You just wanted to save the life of your Captain.

You refused to lose two people on the same day.

“Oh, shit,” Usopp mumbled and you felt your head shaking along with it.

“Yes! Shit. I need to make sure he’s okay. Please.”

Sanji looked from Usopp and back to you. Blue eyes desperately searching your face to come up with a reason to tell you no. Finally, he released the hold he kept on your waist and nodded up the stairs.

“Go check on our Captain.”

You mouthed the words thank you as you bolted up the stairs. You took them two at a time and rounded the broken foray doors to see the sunlight coming from outside. That door too had been completely smashed open with Luffy’s body.

The adrenaline in your veins screamed at you to move faster; be quicker. Your feet thundering onto the dock just in time to see Arlong holding Luffy up over the edge of the dock and…was that Nami?

“Nami!” You called out to her. “What are you doing?”

“Doc! Stay back!”

Each word that left Luffy came out choked and ragged. His hands weakly clamored at the grip Arlong had on his throat. Your eyes didn’t know where to look. Luffy who was in danger or Nami who…had a suspicious-looking tattoo that looked like Arlong in tattoo form and the Grand Line map in hand.

“What is going on?”

“A business transaction, girl,” Arlong chuckled. “Don’t be a pest and interrupt.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, asshole,” you snapped. You should’ve cared when the smile left his face. When he looked like he would throw you into the ocean along with Luffy. “Nami. I asked you a question.”

She turned on you then. Her whole body facing you as she gave you a shrug and a look so icy it could’ve frozen hell slid across her face. For all her show of hatred, however, she couldn’t hollow out the heartbreak in her eyes. Nami didn’t want you to hate her but she would make you, and you wanted to know why.

“What is it that you aren’t comprehending, Doc? I was sent to steal the map and bring it back to him. I’ve been a part of Arlong’s crew this whole time. I played you.”

You didn’t believe her for one second. Your friendship isn't something that could be faked. The way she cared and pleaded with Zoro to not fight Mihawk. She’d even pleaded with Luffy to run while Arlong was here and maybe…maybe it’s because she was running too.

“I don’t believe you-“

“Believe whatever you want. It’s not going to make a difference or make any of this less real,” she snapped.

She dismissed you by completely turning away from you and headed towards a Jolly Roger that held the same emblem as her tattoo. Arlong went to bite at Luffy’s neck and Nami called to him.

“Why waste your time killing a Devil Fruit eater when the sea can do it for you.”

No! “No!”

This time when the fear threatens to freeze you in place and to keep you from making that critical step forward, you don't hesitate to burst into a full sprint. Your words leave you in a rush.

“I’m a doctor! Do you hear me Arlong!? I’m a doctor.”

“Doc, no-“

“What good is a human doctor to me?” Arlong snarled in response.

You could hear the sound of his fingers releasing Luffy. The sound of his body edging closer to the lip of the ocean.

“Columnaria! Fish rot. I can cure it.”

That caused him to pause - for everyone to pause.

“How? You’re a human.”

“We had fishmen who served one of the wealthy businessmen where I lived. They would get sick and Naan- the healer would have to treat them. She taught me how.”

Cautiously you moved towards him with your hands up. If he did decide to not take you up on your offer and drop Luffy into the ocean you wanted to be close enough to jump in.

“I can treat any of your fishmen who are sick with it. I can teach you how to care for it yourself. But if you drop him into the ocean you’ll get nothing.”

It was easy to see how much Arlong hated that you knew how to cure a disease that killed fishmen like wildfire. A human. You bargained his men’s life for the life of your Captain and that seemed fair.

“Don’t do this, Doc.”

“I’m sorry, Luffy. I have to.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d failed Zoro somehow. You wouldn’t fail Luffy too.

Arlong took all of a second to consider your offer. He showed you he accepted it by dropping a very weak Luffy back onto the safety of the dock.

“I accept your bargain, human. Welcome to the Arlong Pirates.”

_________

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always welcome.

_________

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

Text

In Silent Screams (3/3)

Chapter word count: 11.8k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision (past) Warnings in this part: Smut (F/F), Angst, Gaslighting, Blackmail, Mild attempted sexual assault

A/N: This is probably the most uncomfortable fic I've written after In Flames (for good reason lol), so I'm nothing short of amazed if you were able to go through every line in this three-parter. P.S. For some reason, third part was the hardest to write for me, I guess it's because a lot of the scenes now are the same ones from In Flames after R found out and switching perspectives was a lot harder than I anticipated :P

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It all feels like a dream, starting from the moment she opens her eyes and a few rays of light have filtered through the slats of the blinds. For a few moments Wanda pretends she’s back to that day—to that first morning she woke up next to you as your wife. She can still vividly recall the setting: your old bedroom in Montauk. Less than a year out of college, both you and Wanda were being frugal about the whole marriage thing, opting out of checking into a hotel after the festivities the night before.

Wanda smiles to herself at the fond memory. She glances to the side, and the alarm clock reads 5:30. It's too early to be waking you up, or anyone in this sleepy town. Nevertheless, she has to talk herself into extricating herself from your arms if she wants to pull off a very special breakfast-in-bed. A hesitant decision, a quiet sigh, and Wanda's slowly pulling herself from the warmth of the bed. The wood floor feels cool against her bare feet, prompting her to reach for one of your used polo shirts hanging over the back of the desk chair.

She enters the kitchen, her hands immediately getting to work. The spinach and mushroom are her first go-to, swiftly layered with day-old bread, and custard mix, forming the base for her strata. Next come the eggs, which she sets to poach, anticipating the smooth burst of yolk that'll cascade over the muffin once all is said and done. And then finally, bacon—your favorite.

Sparky trots into the kitchen, inevitably drawn by the wafting aroma, his tail wagging in tandem with his eagerness. He settles by her feet, watching with those pleading puppy eyes, occasionally letting out a quiet whine that speaks of his impatience and hope. Wanda chuckles, bending down to ruffle his fur. “You think this will get you a piece, huh?” she teases. But, she already knows that she'll give in, sneaking him a piece or two. He's your and Wanda's baby after all.

After she’s finished plating the meal, she sets them on a tray and carefully carries it back to the bedroom. The morning sun presents itself more boldly, almost spotlighting you in bed. Your face is tucked beneath a pillow, the sheets haphazardly pooled around your waist, revealing the bare expanse of your back, without a care in the world. Warmth floods Wanda's chest. She places the tray on a nearby desk.

Breakfast can wait.

Slipping into bed behind you, she becomes a shadow to your form. Her fingers gently trace the curve of your shoulder, lightly skimming over your skin. A shiver runs through her, and she lowers her lips to your nape. The temptation is too great, and soon, her tongue joins the fray, drawing a wet path down your spine. And then, unable to stop herself, she begins to rub herself against you, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sheer fabric of the polo shirt she's wearing, infused with your scent, rubs tantalizingly against her sensitized skin, heightening her need.

She can't stop thinking about last night, and the times before. She can't stop thinking about you—having you, being had by you. However, as your muscles start to tense, indicating the micro movements of your awakening body, a soft “fuck” slips from Wanda's lips, distracting her rhythm. She waits, a small smile tugging at her lips, silently asking if you're ready to greet the day—together.

You lazily roll onto your back, causing Wanda to reposition herself, now straddling your abdomen. With a drowsy smirk, your eyes half-lidded, you murmur, “Good morning,” squinting at the enthusiastic goddess—my wife, you think possessively to yourself— hovering above you.

Her face lights up, her morning energy nearly palpable. “Morning,” she chirps back, leaning down to capture your lips in a short but sweet kiss. Breaking away only slightly, she gives you a playful eskimo kiss, her nose rubbing affectionately against yours. A giggle escapes you, and she continues until you feel her nose scrunch up from how hard she’s smiling, all the while relishing the sound of her laughter.

When she's done teasing you, she buries her face in your neck. Drawn to the soft, milky expanse of her thighs, your hands begin to wander. As your fingers brush the curve where her thigh meets her hip, the subtle absence of fabric gives you pause. She's without a stitch beneath your polo. Your thumb ventures further south, discovering the dampness tangled in her soft curls. Heat surges to your cheeks, and you bite your lip, stifling a moan.

Wanda notices the slight change in your expression and a devilish smirk forms on her lips. “Seems like you found a little surprise,” she teases.

“Did I?” you smirk, tracing the V-line leading to her hidden treasure, teasing her a little. Wanda's breath catches, her pupils blown. But just as she readies herself for whatever comes next, you suddenly shift upwards, unbalancing her slightly. Reflexively, her legs wrap around your waist, anchoring herself to you. Her hands fly to your shoulders, gripping them for support. With a swift move, you part the front of the polo she’s wearing, exposing the smooth curve of her breast to the cool morning air.

The sudden exposure makes her gasp, but before she can utter a word, you close the distance, taking a hardened nipple into your mouth. Her face contorts in unabashed pleasure, her world spinning as you draw her deeper and deeper into your mouth. It's messy and primal, yet at the same time, it's reverent and sacred—something she has only ever experienced with you. She can't help but squirm, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer, urging you on.

Keeping an arm firmly around her waist to ensure she stays secure, your free hand travels down her belly, fingers tracing a sultry path to her soaked center. You leisurely trace her slick folds, gathering her arousal, playing with it.

“Please, baby,” she arches and bucks, grinding her hips, “more...I need more.”

Your lips twist into a devious smirk, reveling in her desperation. Drawing back slightly, you gaze at the flushed, vulnerable state of her, taking a moment to commit the image to memory. “I love it when you’re this needy…” you rasp, the tease evident in your tone.

Oh, but she is. She needs you to claim her, time and time again. She never wants to be anything else other than yours once more.

You lean back in, trailing a path of searing kisses from her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts. Without warning, you nip at her tender flesh, causing her to let out a surprised gasp. Marking her further, you suck and bite gently, leaving a trail of reddened spots, declaring your claim on her. With every purple bruise you leave, Wanda's moans grow more desperate, more wanton.

When you finally lift your head, her chest is littered with bites, then with a wicked grin, you dip your finger into her wetness once more, circling her entrance but never dipping inside.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I... I want you,” she admits breathlessly, biting her lower lip, eyes pleading. “Please, I need you inside.”

Not wanting to make her wait any longer, you slide two fingers into her, curling them expertly. Wanda's body arches off the bed, her inner walls instantly tightening around your digits, pulling them deeper. Every sound that spills from her lips, the way her body arches, trying to get closer, to feel more of you, tells you just how good you’re making her feel.

Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, while your fingers continue to piston in and out of her. The room is filled with the sound of Wanda's ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your fingers moving within her. As you feel her body tense further, you take a chance and slide a third finger into her, stretching her, filling her completely. The sensation of being so full sends Wanda over the edge.

“Oh, God!” she gasps, her back arching, eyes squeezed shut. Her hands grip your shoulders tightly, knuckles white from the intensity of her climax. Her inner walls spasm around your fingers, coating them with her release, her entire body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

You keep up the pace, not wanting to stop until she's wrung out from pleasure. Each stroke of your fingers sends aftershocks rippling through her. When it finally becomes too much, Wanda grabs your wrist.

“Enough,” she breathes out, a sated smile curling her lips.

You can't resist the allure of the taste she's left on your fingers. You raise them to your lips, deliberately and slowly, letting her watch as you savor her taste. The move earns a flustered gasp from her.

“You taste so good,” you murmur, your voice low and husky.

Wanda's cheeks redden, but her eyes darken once more, filled with a burning intensity. “Your turn,” she whispers, reaching for you.

Thirty minutes before she can call it a day, the sound of a knock on her office door sends a ripple of tension through Wanda.

She knows that knock all too well.

Taking a deep breath, she calls out, “Yes?” even as she mentally braces herself for who might be on the other side.

The person almost immediately steps in, and—unfortunately, she's correct about who she thinks it might be. Before she can utter a word, he says, “You know, I can't just come in without an appointment, right?”

“Exactly, Vision. You shouldn't be here without—” she starts to say, but he interrupts her by triumphantly holding up an appointment slip.

His cheeky grin widens. “Got one right here.”

Wanda eyes the slip, pursing her lips as she thinks of a retort, keeping her guard up. The game has changed, but Vision's audacity, it seems, remains the same.

“Alright, what do you want? And I wouldn’t entertain anything that doesn’t have to do with the course.”

“Just some clarification about our last lecture,” he says as he closes the door behind him, audibly locking it. Wanda maintains her composure, not letting it show that the small act alarms her in the slightest.

“Go on,” Wanda prompts, leaning back slightly against her desk, arms crossed defensively.

But Vision, without missing a beat, launches into something entirely different. “I miss you,” he starts, and Wanda's posture stiffens, her fingernails reactively digging into her arms rather painfully. “I realize I messed up, Wanda. I do. But I can change.”

“Vis—” she warns, trying to interrupt him, but he barrels on, his voice filled with desperation.

“And if, by any chance, you're pregnant, I'll step up. I promise. I'll be responsible,” he continues, his voice quivering slightly. “You have no idea how happy I’ll be if you are.”

“I'm not pregnant,” Wanda whispers, struggling to keep her emotions in check. It's one thing for him to disregard her boundaries and be reckless with his words, but to assume that she would continue a pregnancy, knowing he's the father? Even the thought of it is sickening.

“And I would still choose not to be even if you were successful in your plans,” she adds, just to spite him.

Vision looks as if he might be sick, his complexion turning pallid, and a faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Wanda has never seen him struck by her words this hard, and she realizes she doesn't have any idea what he might do next.

“I just... I thought…” he stammers, eyes glistening, “I just wanted to matter to you, b-by—”

“By what, Vision?” She cuts him off, her tone icy. “Hoping you'd lock me down by trying to knock me up?”

Vision’s face crumples further, tears spilling over. For all his stature—tall, lanky yet broad-shouldered—in this moment, he's stripped of that facade. His body shake as he tries to hold back sobs. “I didn't... I didn't think it through,” he manages to say between choked breaths.

Wanda almost pities him, but she shakes her head. “If you’re not here for school, you need to leave.” Her voice is cold, but inside, she's fighting a storm of guilt for the hurt she sees in him.

Just then, the shrill ring of Wanda's phone startles them both simultaneously. Vision's eyes dart to the screen as her caller ID lights up, displaying your name. In a split second, desperation and panic take hold of him. He lunges for the phone, but Wanda is quicker. She swiftly grabs it from her desk, tucking it safely into her purse.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses, her back pressing against the desk.

Vision's eyes burn with an intensity that chills her. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he looms over her, his presence imposing in the small confines of her office. “That’s her, isn’t it?” he demands with barely suppressed jealousy. “She's coming to get you now?”

Wanda backs away slightly, her breathing erratic. “Vision, you need to think—”

“I am thinking.” His voice drops to a low, menacing growl. He tilts his head, eyes never leaving hers. “And maybe I'm thinking of doing something you won't like.”

“No!” Wanda pleads. “Look, Vision—okay, okay, let’s talk. Just not here. We can go to your place.”

His gaze narrows, considering her offer. “When?”

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough.

“Tomorrow,” he states without room for argument, his eyes drilling into hers. “Same time. Like we used to.” The allusion to their previous meetings isn't lost on her.

Wanda's throat constricts, “Fine,” she whispers, barely audible, a clear note of dread in her voice. She hates the familiarity of this situation. Most of all, she hates that she's put herself in this position to begin with.

Suddenly, Vision reaches out, his fingers nearly brushing the side of her face. Wanda instinctively shrinks back, but the space between the desk and Vision offers her little room to escape. Her back is to the wall, both literally and figuratively. She can feel the cold press of the desk behind her, contrasting with the heat emanating from Vision's body. It’s obvious what he's thinking, what he's restraining himself from doing.

Horrified and trapped, Wanda closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of the touch she anticipates, she hears Vision's harsh intake of breath. The realization that she's retreated from him seems to strike a nerve.

Without another word, Vision pulls away sharply, as if burnt. He turns on his heel, storming out of her office. As soon as he’s gone, her legs give out from under her and she slides down to the cold floor, clutching her chest as she struggles for air. The walls of her office seem to close in on her, trapping her in her own spiraling thoughts.

As the room begins to blur, the sharp buzz of her phone breaks through her spiraling thoughts. Instinctively, she reaches into her purse, pulling out the phone. Your name illuminates the screen, and with it comes a flood of emotions—relief, safety, love.

The mere thought of you—so close, just beyond these walls—stops a panic attack from consuming her.

“Would you like to go bowling?” Wanda asks you as soon as she fastens her seat belt.

The randomness of the suggestion takes you aback, and a hearty laugh escapes your lips. But as you glance over to see Wanda's reaction, expecting to see her sharing in the moment's levity, you're met with a pained expression.

Your smile fades immediately, replaced by concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Wanda mentally curses herself, realizing just how easily you can read her, see past her defenses. Needing to come up with something plausible, she quickly blurts out, “I had something super spicy when you called earlier. Didn't handle it too well, it seems.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up in a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, hoping you'd buy the lie, or at least not press further.

You don’t. “Hmm… how about we take Sparky out for a stroll today?” you suggest.

“A walk sounds great,” Wanda replies, her voice softening.

“Good,” you say, starting the car. “Let's head to the park. A bit of nature might do us both some good.”

The engine rumbles softly as you shift the gears, transitioning smoothly from one to the next. And then, almost instinctively, you reach out to take Wanda's hand, your fingers lacing with hers in a gentle yet firm grip. You hold her hand throughout the entire ride home, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze whenever you feel them tremble between yours.

That night, while you sleep soundly beside her, she finds herself unable to sleep. She spends the empty hours simply studying your peaceful face. There's a childlike innocence in the way your lips part slightly, a soft snore escaping occasionally. It's endearing, and it makes Wanda smile, even through her turmoil. She imagines traces of age on your face—the lines that will mark years of laughter, the silver that will streak through your hair. She tries to picture herself beside you, her own face carrying the weight of the years, both of you holding on to each other until the last breath. Her smile is teary as she hopes and hopes that this is where she's headed—to this future.

Because tomorrow, she will have to see Vision, and if everything goes well, she'll never have to see him again. Then she will finally express how she needs you to take her back to Manhattan or anywhere far from here, so she'll never have to relive this nightmare she’s created.

The next day comes like any regular day of the week. She kisses you goodbye as you head off to work, and she feeds Sparky to his heart's content before getting into a pinstripe blue blazer set. She fails to notice just how good she looks in this well-fitted ensemble, the fabric hugging her waist perfectly. Her focus is solely on feeling powerful, as she knows she'll need all the strength to finally put an end to things with Vision.

Wanda takes a deep breath, then another, and then two more, before she finally gathers enough courage to knock on the door. Vision answers almost immediately, as though he had been anticipating her knock down to the very second.

The man before her now looks wholly different from the one she had encountered just yesterday. His blue eyes are bright and clear, his face clean shaven. The scent of a cologne she doesn't recognize wafts to her. New, she thinks. It's heady and distinctly masculine, unsettling her slightly.

“Wanda,” he greets with a charming smile, one that reaches his eyes, but doesn’t quite touch the soul behind them. For a moment, she's transported to the countless afternoons she spent here, entangled with him with nothing—not even air—separating their sweating, writhing bodies. His lips quirk into a sly, familiar smile, as if he too remembers those days and expects this visit to be a similar occasion.

“Vision.” Gripping her shoulder bag tighter, almost using it as a shield, she quickly sidesteps him. “May I?” she asks, though it sounds more like a statement as she makes her way into his apartment.

He chuckles softly behind her, the sound dripping with memories she would rather forget. “Of course. After all, you've always felt at home here.”

Wanda's stride falters for a fraction of a second at his words, the implication threatening to pull her under. But she needed to keep her wits about her. If she wants this conversation to go her way.

“Let’s just get to the point, Vision,” she says curtly.

“I intend to,” he replies, closing the door behind them with an intentional finality. Wanda allows herself to glance around, seeking even a brief distraction from what's about to unfold. His apartment is in disarray, a stark contrast to his appearance. Her eyes are drawn to one particular piece amongst the chaos—the finished nude painting he had made of her. The realization catches in her throat. It appears he’s finished it.

Wanda shoots him an expectant look, urging him to speak first.

Vision clears his throat, attempting to sound casual but failing. “Wine? Or should we skip the formalities?”

Her eyes narrow, her patience waning. “We skip.”

“Alright.”

He sighs and drops onto the couch. “Look, I've said sorry over and over, but I’ll say it again. I'm sorry, Wanda. I'm sorry for being careless that night.” His voice lowers, “But I don't regret it.”

Wanda's eyes flash with disbelief. “You don't regret it?”

“No,” he murmurs. “What I regret is that it didn't result in... well, you know.”

The implication is clear, and Wanda feels bile rise in her throat. How could he say something so audacious?

She opens her mouth to retort but he continues, raising a hand as if to hold off her words, “I want to keep seeing you. I can’t stop. Because, believe it or not, I'm in love with you.”

Wanda feels as though the ground has been pulled from under her feet. Every instinct tells her to run, but she knows that this won’t have an ending if she does. Wanda swallows dryly and closes her eyes, trying to piece together a strategy, a way to get through him, a way to get out of this unscathed, a way to ensure he won’t tell anyone about this when she leaves.

“I-I believe you,” she starts. “I think I’ve always known, no—felt, that you l-love me.” Vision nods to her words, his lips curling into a hopeful smile.

“But I have to be honest with you, too,” she continues, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I took advantage of those feelings, Vision. I knew, deep down, that you felt this way and I still... I still let it happen. And for that, I'm deeply sorry.”

He stiffens at her words, a frown forming on his brow. “Wanda—”

She raises her hand, signaling for him to let her finish. “I don’t love you. It's Y/N. It's always been her. From the very start. What happened between us, it was a mistake, one that I haven't forgiven myself for. Especially because of what it means for Y/N.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking into his eyes earnestly, “You deserve someone who can return your feelings, who can love you wholeheartedly. You're a handsome, intelligent, passionate young man. There are many out there who would consider themselves lucky to be with you—”

But Vision vehemently shakes his head, unwilling to accept it, refusing to acknowledge their end. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“You can't,” Wanda insists, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “It's over.”

Vision's eyes flash dangerously, the calm veneer shattering in an instant. He takes a step forward, trapping Wanda with a threatening look.

“You think you can just fuck me and then discard me like nothing?!” he hisses.

Wanda backs up, startled. She feels her control starting to slip away. “Of course not. I… you were my friend. I cared—I care about you. But I shouldn't have let it get this far.”

He scoffs, not a word of hers reaching his ears. “So, it's all a game to you? You get to decide when to play and when to stop?”

“No, it's not a game,” she replies, desperate for him to understand. “But I can't keep lying to myself or to you. I can't keep hurting Y/N or you.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and there's a glint of something dark and foreboding in his eyes. “Maybe you should've considered the consequences of your actions, Wanda.”

She swallows hard, sensing the danger in his voice. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe Y/N should know the truth,” he surmises, his voice dripping with malice. “Maybe she should know exactly who she's been sharing her bed with.”

Wanda feels like she might faint anytime. Panic rises, threatening to choke her. “Vision, please,” she pleads, “you can't do that.”

His eyes remain steely. “Why not? She deserves to know, doesn't she?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, grappling for words, trying to appeal to his sense of reason. “Yes, she does. But not like this. Not from you. If anyone should tell her, it's me.”

“But you'll never tell her,” Vision says, his voice laced with accusation. “I see it in your eyes, Wanda. You don't have the balls to be honest with her. Because you're afraid. You're afraid she'll walk away.”

Both are poised in this high-stakes game, each waiting, anticipating, guessing what card the other will play next. For a heartbeat, Wanda feels disarmed, Vision's threat too sharp and too real. But as the seconds tick by, something shifts in her. She straightens up, pulling herself to her full height, and when she speaks, there’s no fear or hesitation in her voice.

“You’re not going to tell her,” she declares.

“And what makes you so sure?”

“Because you know I'll hate you,” she says. “And if there's even the slightest chance that I'll change my mind, then doing that wouldn't be it.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, but the look in his eyes betrays his indifference. “You think there's a chance you'll change your mind?”

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

The defiant look that had been painted across Vision's face begins to crack. He looks smaller somehow, like he's shrinking back into himself. His shoulders slump, and the facade of control and confidence he'd donned earlier dissolves. The boy from yesterday, the one who seemed so heartbroken, returns in full force.

“Wanda,” his voice trembles, almost as if he's on the verge of tears. “Please, I’m all alone. I told you my life, I told you about my parents, nobody in this world cares about me! And I know I said I’m fine and I can survive without them, but why should I when I have you, Wanda—”

She can't help but pity him, his brokenness tugging at her heartstrings. But she knows that relenting now would mean drowning in the same cycle all over again.

“Vis, you will find someone. Someone who isn't me, someone better for you. Trust that.”

“How can I want someone else when I had you,” he insists with unwavering stubbornness, his eyes growing more frenzied, and Wanda shivers at the unsettling sight before her.

“Maybe you had me,” she says tearfully as she decides to finally drive a stake into his heart. “But not in every way like Y/N has me.”

Before she can register what's happening, Vision's hands are suddenly around her waist, pulling her forcefully against him. The initial shock and his assertiveness make her freeze for a split second. As he starts rubbing himself against her, she feels the unmistakable hardness growing between them.

“Vision, stop!” she protests, trying to wriggle free.

“Can you feel that?” he whispers hoarsely, clearly misinterpreting her struggle, mistaking it for their first time together and all the other times she eventually gave in to his advances. “That's how much I want you. Need you.”

Tears of frustration and fear spill from her eyes. “This isn't right, Vision. Let go,” she pleads, placing her hands against his chest and pushing with all her might.

“Wanda, just—maybe if we—you’ll see. You’ll see that you love me, just let me—”

Her fist connects with his cheek, causing him to stumble a few steps away. For a while, they both freeze in horror, the gravity of the situation sinking in. In his moment of delirium, Vision comprehends what he was about to do to the woman he claims to love, and guilt claws at his guts, wrenching his insides.

On the other end, Wanda's chest heaves with shock and distress. She stands there momentarily paralyzed, the aftershocks of the ordeal still rippling through her. Tears blur her vision, but she refuses to let them fall, not now, not when she needs all her strength. Her gaze meets Vision's only briefly before she pulls herself together. She wraps her arms around herself, and then rushes to the front door.

He yells, “No, Wanda! I…please let’s just—”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

Wanda goes straight home after the whole fiasco with Vision. She locks herself in the bedroom, crying for hours, paying no attention to Sparky's worried barks from outside the door. She tells herself that it could be worse, trying to talk herself out of going to the police. If she goes to the authorities, she'll have to give a statement. This would inevitably lead to an investigation into their past, revealing things she doesn't want you to know.

Drained from crying, Wanda's eyelids grow heavy. As sleep overtakes her, vivid dreams flood her mind, each presenting an alternate reality. In one dream she’s back in Vision’s apartment, his arms wrapped around her like a chain, and every time she tries to pull away, the chains grow tighter, pulling her back into his prison. A cold dread settles in her heart, as she struggles and fights, desperate to wrench herself free from his grasp.

The next scenario places her in a world without Vision. It's a life untouched by his influence, where she walks unfamiliar streets and meets faces that do not recognize her. Then, in a sudden shift, she's back at her office on that fateful evening, but the events unfurl differently. The temptation of Vision never materializes. She leaves, unburdened by the weight of a choice she didn't make.

But the relief is short-lived. These dreams meld into a harrowing nightmare, saturated in hues of red and black, where you discover her secret. She tries to call out, to explain, to mend, but her voice is swallowed by the deafening silence of the dreamscape.

In her seemingly endless silent screams, Wanda wakes up. The remnants of her haunting dreams still clutching at her, making her jolt upright. The fabric of the sheets sticks to her body, drenched in a cold sweat. Each breath comes in ragged gasps, as if she's been submerged underwater and has just broken the surface.

The bedside clock reads half past six and panic sets anew. You could be home in an hour, given that you haven't been extending your hours at the office lately. The realization pushes her into a frenzied urgency. Throwing off the sheets, Wanda rushes to the ensuite bathroom. The cold stream from the shower brings a semblance of clarity, washing away the residues of her nightmares.

Wrapped in a towel, with droplets still cascading down her skin, she dashes to the kitchen. She pulls out ingredients, her hands working methodically, albeit with a haste that speaks of her need to keep busy, to keep the demons of her subconscious at bay. She manages to prepare a simple but appetizing meal, but the mere thought of taking a bite threatens to turn her stomach inside out.

The dining table is set, and she seats herself, her gaze distant once again. And she stays there, lost in her own head.

It’s how you find her when you get home at 9:15 in the evening.

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

She asks you how your day was, and you respond tersely with a simple, “Good.” She attempts to get you to elaborate, maybe share an anecdote like you usually do, but you dismiss her efforts, attributing your lack of interest in conversation to fatigue.

But Wanda can’t stand the silence. When it’s quiet, the voices in her head are even louder.

So she decides to tell you about her day instead. She swears to herself this is the last day she’ll ever lie to you with a straight face. She talks about the final projects her students have begun submitting. As she describes her favorites, your interest particularly sharpens when she mentions the portrait projects. You pepper her with questions, mostly about who made which, and Wanda offers names that probably wouldn't mean much to you.

After you finish eating, you thank her with a small smile. It's only then that Wanda feels she can breathe again. She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, her longing evident. However, just as she tries to deepen the kiss, you pull away, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Showered without me?” you tease, but it lacks the usual lilt in your voice. She simply nods in response. You playfully tap her nose, whispering, “Naughty girl.” Then, without another word, you're on your feet and heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

She proceeds to clear the table and wash the dishes, all while the sound of the shower fills her ears. She allows herself a small smile, chiding herself for being overly affected by her dream.

By the time she makes her way up to join you, she discovers you've already drifted off, turned away from the vacant space beside you that's meant for her.

She’s positively shaking as she takes the short walk from the parking lot to the classroom, the dread building up inside her like a swelling storm. The thought of facing her class, and especially Vision, sends shivers down her spine. The recent events—the horrifically inappropriate advances and Vision's glaring sense of entitlement—play over and over in her mind.

Her feet eventually take her to her destination, but she remains outside for a full minute. The thought of facing Vision again is almost enough to turn her around. But another, stronger, voice reminds her of her duty, her commitment to her other students, and her own integrity. Moreover, she doesn't want to be alone today, here the haunting events with Vision could replay in her mind without any distractions.

She pushes open the door. It appears to be a typical day, with her students clustered in small groups, engrossed in conversation and seemingly oblivious to her arrival. She swiftly surveys the room and, to her relief, doesn't spot the familiar blue eyes that usually fixate on her by this time.

When she starts her lecture on the final topic of the semester, it flows seamlessly. Still, the end of the course can't come soon enough; continuing here is untenable. She can’t keep teaching here, when these hallways keep reminding her of the mistake that almost cost her everything.

You've been leaving the side of your bed cold for almost two weeks now. Sometimes, your careful movements stir her awake, and she watches you, bleary-eyed, as you go through the motions of prepping for a run, a habit you've picked up quite recently. At first, Wanda would always ask where you’re headed and if she can accompany you. But you'd consistently dismiss her offer, always seeming in a rush to hit the pavement.

She thinks it’s good for you—the exercise. The only aspect of your new hobby that she dislikes is that you typically go before sunrise, where everywhere is still too dark and eerily quiet, and her imagination runs wild of all the worst things that could happen to you while you’re out on your run.

And Wanda wouldn’t admit it, but she can't help but internalize the consistent rejection of her offers to join you. She wonders if there's a deeper reason behind it. When you're out and she's left alone with her thoughts, Wanda can't help but let the guilt seep in. Has she become too transparent? Has something given her secret away? Did you find out about her affair? How would she even begin to explain?

But then you return after your run, with a sense of tranquility, as though the exercise had been a cathartic release of some pent-up tension. However, something still feels amiss. Perhaps it's because she hasn't slept with you since the night she discovered she wasn't pregnant with Vision's child, and all that has passed between you are brief, perfunctory kisses here and there. She wants to discuss it with you, but she doesn't want to appear too eager or guilty. Instead, she remains committed to being a good wife. And even though being a good wife was never about housework, Wanda ensures that every corner of the house sparkles and shines.

Meanwhile, you go about fulfilling your own household responsibilities seamlessly. From tending to minor repairs to ensuring that bills are paid on time, you continue with the routines that have always defined the dynamic of your relationship. There's no sign of resentment or dissatisfaction in your actions. It's almost as if everything is back to normal. This confounds Wanda even more. She starts to question her own memory, wondering if perhaps this distance, this new version of you, has always been present and she just never realized it. It's possible that you've become this way while she was preoccupied with her affair, and she didn't notice how you slowly adjusted to her unavailability.

Of course, she only has herself to blame. She's determined, however, to rectify it and make it up to you.

Which is when the idea strikes her. The dream vacation to Hawaii that both of you often fantasized about but never took due to financial constraints and a tight schedule. With the money from her teaching job, she now has the means to turn that dream into a reality. A surprise trip might be the perfect remedy to rekindle the connection that has worn out due to your busy lives and... her unfaithfulness.

She knows it doesn't atone for her sins, but it's a step in the right direction.

It should have been the perfect day for her surprises. She has two of them—the surprise trip and the news of her resignation from the university. She had just handed you the box with all the Hawaii trip details, and you were about to dive in, when there was a knock at the door.

Two men in dark suits have arrived at the house, looking for her. Detectives—Rogers and Barnes. Wanda uncovers the real reason behind Vision's absence from school, and it wasn't due to personal family matters or a decision to pursue education elsewhere.

He's been in an accident, and they suspect foul play.

Their questions start off simple, touching on the basics. But soon, they feel like piercing arrows as they delve into the phone calls between them, how close they were, and if she ever set foot in his apartment. Throughout the interrogation, Wanda manages to keep a straight face, though deep down she knows she probably can't fool detectives of their caliber. Yet, she silently prays that you don't see past her mask.

“That’s enough,” you interject firmly. “My wife has answered your questions. Unless there’s anything else directly related to your investigation, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Your intervention when their questions grow more intrusive suggests she's managed to keep you in the dark. The realization that you're still on her side floods her with immense relief.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time,” Rogers says.

But Wanda isn’t done. She has her own questions. She needs to know if Vision's involvement with her is the reason they're here, probing. She wonders if he might have informed the authorities about their inappropriate relationship, and if that somehow relates to his current situation.

“Wait!” Wanda exclaims, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She contemplates asking her burning questions, but with you observing from the side, she suppresses her urge to do so. Instead, she conveys her worry—she is, after all, his teacher.

“Is he… is he okay?”

Wanda's complexion turns ashen upon catching the look on Barnes' face, instantly realizing he's fully aware of her and Vision's relationship. She can barely hear Roger's response, her blood rushing in her ears.

“…that he’s stable. However, he remains in a coma. It’s uncertain when or if he’ll wake up, but let's hold onto hope.”

Oh.

Her secret's safe—for now. But she... she has to be certain. She needs to tie up any loose ends, if there are any.

It's reckless to visit Vision's apartment in daylight, especially right after a visit from the police.

Exiting her car, Wanda's sandals softly scrape against the ground. She pauses to scan her surroundings, her gaze flitting from one building to another. The neighboring houses and apartment complexes stand silent, their stillness almost eerie, as if they've been forsaken. She knows that not many reside in this part of the town, a fact that had made Vision's apartment an ideal hideaway for their secret meetings.

She cautiously approaches Vision's unit, her hand shaking slightly as it reaches for the door knob: locked. A memory surges—Vision handing her a spare key during one of their early encounters. Retrieving it from her bag, she hesitantly fits it into the lock, preparing herself for what she might find beyond the door.

It opens with a muted creak, and a blanket of darkness envelops her. Hesitating at the threshold, she fumbles for a light switch, her fingers brushing against the cool wall before finding it. She'd half-expected Vision's belongings to be packed up, perhaps by a landlord who wanted to move on from the situation. But everything appears untouched, as if frozen in time; dust hasn't settled, and the items scattered about give no indication that the place has been vacant for weeks. It occurs to her that the ongoing investigation might be the reason the apartment remains untouched.

Wanda moves quickly, knowing she shouldn’t linger. Heading straight to the bathroom, she swiftly gathers her toothbrush and a few other personal items she had left behind. As she emerges, her gaze is drawn to the corner where Vision's easel stands. It used to hold a portrait of her, a work he'd wanted to submit for his final project, capturing her in a light she had never seen herself. But now, it’s empty.

A cold rush of panic seizes her. She clutches the edge of a table, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Had Vision decided to move the painting for some reason? Or worse, had the detectives seen it and taken it as evidence? The painting wasn’t just art; it was tangible evidence of their affair.

But then, in the midst of her mounting fear, a memory jolts her—there was another painting, the one Vision had purchased from the gallery where she used to work. With a newfound urgency, she hurries to his bedroom. The scene is disarrayed, with sheets and pillows strewn about. Ignoring the mess, Wanda goes directly to the cabinet where she remembered he last stored it. She yanks open the doors, and her eyes dart around, searching, but the painting is nowhere to be found.

Desperation grips her. If the detectives come across either painting, they'd have more reasons to scrutinize her further than she's comfortable with. Such involvement would be near-impossible to hide from you. Wanda proceeds with caution, scanning the apartment for any lingering items that could connect her to Vision. Unexpectedly, she finds a piece of her lingerie nestled within his sock drawer. Swiftly, she snatches it up. Before departing, she meticulously wipes away any fingerprints from the surfaces she's touched, then dashes to her car.

Once inside, she pauses to draw several deep, steadying breaths. It's overwhelming to think that this is now her reality, teetering on the brink of exposure.

She eventually finds herself falling off the edge when she discovers Natasha’s email on your laptop, mere moments after the crushing realization that you hadn’t bothered to open her gift.

Her instinct is to craft a lie. She searches her mind rapidly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for the intimate handhold. Maybe she could say it was an old friend from the past, or perhaps a distressed student she was comforting. But one glance at the photo and she knows, deep down, that any excuse would fall flat. The way Vision looks at her, with such unmistakable affection and wonder, betrays any innocence she might claim. Trying to explain this to you or anyone else would be an exercise in futility.

Wanda had played out various scenarios in her mind about how you might discover the truth, but she never imagined it would be through seeking the expertise of your best friend. It was perhaps naive, but she had hoped you wouldn’t notice anything or, if you did, that you'd confront her about it.

But why would you come to her? She's been pushing you away for months, and the only time she truly showed you how much you mean to her was when she was so relieved that she wouldn't be carrying the consequences of her indiscretions in her womb.

In case you need them, the subject of the email says. Need them for what? Wanda wonders. From the way Natasha worded the message accompanying the photos, it doesn't appear you're just discovering the truth now.

No, it seems that you’ve known for a while. Which means—

The pieces fall into place, a chilling realization creeping over her. Wanda's breath catches as she pushes the laptop away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. The way you had carried yourself, especially around the police—it was far too serene, too measured. When they mentioned Vision's name, you didn't so much as flinch or even show a flicker of surprise.

Her heart beats painfully against her ribs. The calm demeanor, the calculated way you’d been moving about—it wasn't out of ignorance. You knew. And for how long? The thought terrifies her. How many days or weeks has she been living this lie while you watched, silently knowing everything?

Your silence, amplifying her betrayal, eats away at her conscience. The quiet before the storm, she thinks. And she's right in the middle of it.

“Wanda?”

She’s hiding in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, practicing a smile and a thousand more expressions even though she's barely holding it together.

“Wanda.”

She couldn't shake the thought of you knowing. Did you have any involvement in Vision's accident? You've never intentionally hurt even the smallest creature, let alone another human being, right?

“Wanda!”

She nearly leaps out of her skin as the bathroom door slams open, and you stare back at her, looking just as startled and taken aback.

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

You narrow your eyes at her, and she shivers under your intense scrutiny.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in here for almost an hour.”

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

You continue to watch her for a moment, before saying, “Alright.”

Just as you're about to step away, Wanda remembers the plans for later. “About the dinner tonight,” she starts hesitantly, “with your colleagues from the bank... should we cancel?”

She's desperately hoping you'd say yes. She can't bear not knowing what's going on in your mind. The way you act as if everything's normal is suffocating her. Does she even still know the real you? Every moment you're not cursing her out or confronting her betrayal feels like an eternity.

But you shake your head. “No, let's do it. We already promised them.”

Wanda's heart sinks a little, but she nods in understanding.

“I'll go grab some wine real quick,” you say before leaving the bathroom, leaving Wanda alone once again with her thoughts.

Later, as the last of the guests leave, she's certain you've picked up on her distress, noticing how you kept glancing at your watch and drifting out of conversations. She senses your gaze on her as she escorts Scott and his wife to the car, acutely aware you're observing her every move from the bedroom window.

Though they're older than both you and Wanda, they've only been hitched for two years. Wanda can't help but wonder if maybe things are smoother for them because they waited to get married. But then a familiar warmth washes over her. The memory of how deeply in love she was with you surfaces. Even if you had waited six years to propose, she’s sure that had you suggested it within the first few months of dating, she would've said yes in a heartbeat.

Truth be told, she doesn't regret it now, the timing of it, and everything in between.

All she's uncertain of is how tonight will unfold.

The house lies shrouded in an inky stillness, almost like it’s holding its breath. She carefully climbs the stairs to the bedroom you both share, one uncertain step at a time. The door is slightly open, and you're standing by the window, your silhouette thin and brittle.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from you. Your eyes are closed, and your body trembles. Though she should be consumed by fear, her only desire is for you to open your eyes, hoping to find the person she fell in love with over a decade ago still there.

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she continues. But you remain silent, unmoving. “Y/N?”

Still, nothing. Wanda is slowly but surely losing her sanity.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No!” You roar with a primal intensity, reminiscent of a wounded animal in the wild, and the sheer force of it makes Wanda recoil. But she doesn't move away from you. Not at this crucial moment, when she senses how close she is to losing you. “You tell me what you did!”

You stalk towards her menacingly, until you're mere breaths away, and Wanda wants to reach out and touch you, but she knows she'll be burned.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me… over and over and over,” you tell her brokenly.

“Y/N, please–”

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now,” you say, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you! I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

The confirmation she's been dreading, along with the murderous glint in your eyes, saps the color from Wanda’s face. “Oh my god,” she chokes out, hand clamping over her mouth in horror. “Y/N…”

You try to walk away, but your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, knees first, like a puppet with its strings cut. The tears flow freely now, unburdened by pride or anger. A raw, guttural sob escapes your lips, echoing the pain in your chest. Wanda, too, collapses, a mirror reflection of your despair, her body shaking as sobs rack her frame.

How could she have ever been afraid of you, especially knowing what you've been through? Beneath it all, she sees the woman she deeply loves, now appearing so fragile and torn apart, all because of her own mistakes. “I'm so sorry...” she whispers, her apology a mere drop in the ocean of hurt between you.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask suddenly, looking at the carpeted floor before you.

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

You offer a wry smile. “He must be really special then.”

She frantically shakes her head. He's not. No one is. It's always been—

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda responds hastily, almost too hastily for your taste. And by the look on your face, she's crushed by the realization that no matter what she says next, your trust in her words may be irrevocably broken. “I thought I did, but no,” she admits. She can't bear the thought of deceiving you further and aims to leave no question unanswered.

“Did you…” you start, staring intently at the ceiling, and Wanda knows exactly what you’re asking even before it comes out of your mouth. The fact that you have to ask leaves her utterly heartbroken.

“...ever love me?”

This was her doing. The very second she acted on impulse and succumbed to temptation was when she truly lost you.

“I love you,” Wanda murmurs, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours, stubborn for her words to reach you. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You love me?” your voice falters, making you wince. “You have a truly unique way of showing it.”

How does she prove it? How can she make you believe? Wanda scrambles for tactics, for miracles, for a do-over.

“After all this,” you continue, “you might as well have killed me. Being dead might be painless compared to this.”

“Baby, please don't say that,” Wanda's voice breaks, choked by tears she can't hold back. She feels the urge to reach out, her fingers itching to touch you.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.” Your voice is steady, each word dripping with cold resentment.

“You can stay,” you say after a while. Wanda senses a fragile hint of hope blossoming within her. But it's quickly crushed when you add, “Stay in this house, for as long as you need. But I'm leaving.”

And it’s here where the panic sets in. The realization that she's on the brink of losing you entirely, not just emotionally but physically as well, hits Wanda like a freight train. The walls of the room seem to close in on her, and the weight of her decisions and mistakes press heavily on her shoulders, making her feel as if she's sinking.

“No,” she whispers. “Please, don't go.”

You start to slide your wedding ring off, and that’s when Wanda loses it. She launches herself at you, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. In the split-second it takes for the golden loop to slip off your finger, a flood of memories rushes over Wanda—the scent of rain as it patters on the roof of the reception, the song playing in the background as you and Wanda sway to your first dance as a married couple, the warmth of your hand intertwined with hers. Those fragments play in a demented, rapid slideshow, and time stretches and contracts, maddeningly so.

For Wanda, it feels like someone's drilled a hole in the base of her skull, letting all the sorrow rush in like a merciless flood. Everything else is white noise. For that brief instant when her lips slot against yours, you don’t push her away. Wanda pours everything she has into this kiss, hoping you'll feel her truth in it. But then, before she even has the chance to deepen it, you’re pulling away and it’s—

It’s over.

Stubborn as always, Wanda tries to hide in your neck, and you feel her tears sliding down your throat. She clings to you with all her might, holding on for as long as she can. But when she feels you gently place your wedding ring into her palm, her face crumples with a pain so profound, she knows she may never recover from it. And then you begin to rise, lifting yourself from the floor. As she instinctively clings to your leg, you take another step, causing Wanda to stumble forward from the sudden loss of support.

“This can't be the end. It just can't,” Wanda murmurs to herself like a mantra, as if repeating it will change the course of reality. She's almost certain you hear her, but it doesn't change your stride; you just keep walking away.

The ring burns in her palm, a searing reminder that her promise of loving and cherishing you always means nothing to you now.

Wanda can't quite figure out how, but you've chosen to remain in the guest bedroom for the evening. She'd heard the engine of your car roar to life, but then it fell silent after just a few moments. Peering out, she’d seen you stepping out of the car, phone pressed to your ear.

Who had you been talking to? An intense curiosity had consumed Wanda, making her wonder who had been on the other end of that call. In the short window they'd been estranged—no, just temporarily separated, because Wanda refused to believe that you'd entirely lost your affection for her—could there have been someone else? Someone waiting in line for their turn?

Now, she stands hesitantly in front of the guest bedroom door, hands clenched in her sides, torn between giving you space and continuing to fight for her marriage. She's torn, but not clueless. It's not just about barging in or holding back; it's about the aftermath. She stands there, frozen, trying to figure out which move won't blow everything to smithereens. Because the time she has with you is running out and there might not be a tomorrow.

Or a you and her. Ever again.

Wanda finally sinks to the floor, her back flush against the cold, indifferent wood of the door. Sparky, pads over, his little claws making almost no sound against the floor. He nestles himself on her lap, making his bed there for the night. She wraps her fingers around his soft fur, his warmth seeping into her, but his presence is a double-edged sword. As much as she adores him, he's going to be the only thing of you she gets to keep, and it's going to be a painful reminder from here on out.

In an act of despair, she presses an ear flat against the door, searching for the tiniest murmur, the faintest shuffle. Anything to tell her what's happening on the other side of this barrier. A barrier that was never there before. She's on the outside, and the thought that you're moving on, building a life sans her, is terrifying.

It's a cruel irony, she realizes. Here she is, just a few inches from you, yet completely and utterly in the dark. And so, she sits, hoping against hope, that at some point during the night, she'd hear the door creak open, and you’d scoop her in your arms and take her back.

She waits, because that's what love does—it waits, even in the darkest of times.

The next morning, Wanda wakes up, surprised to find herself in a bed instead of on the hard, cold floor. She doesn't recall making the trip, but the idea that you cared enough to ensure she slept on something warm and comfortable almost makes her heart leap out of her chest.

However, her happiness is short-lived as she opens the closet and discovers that some of your things are missing. To a stranger, the differences wouldn't be obvious, but she knows which shirt and trousers you chose, and she understands the implication. It means you won't be returning tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow either. When she goes to the bathroom, she finds only one toothbrush, and that's enough to make tears well up in her swollen eyes once more.

“Thanks for picking up,” Wanda says, her fingers gripping the phone tight, holding onto it like she’s drowning and it’s her only lifeline.

“Well, you've called enough times. Figured I'd give you a break,” Natasha's voice, though distant, is biting, as frigid as the coldness that Wanda has been feeling in her bones these past days.

“I need to know where she is. Please.”

A sigh on the other end, followed by a chilling silence. “You think after everything, you still have the right to know her whereabouts?”

“She's still my wife,” Wanda counters, but it’s weak.

“She was your wife,” Natasha fires back, unrelenting. “The last I checked, people who love their partners don't sleep with college kids.”

The words hit Wanda harder than any physical blow could. She's taken aback, gasping for air as if she's been sucker-punched.

“I—”

“She loved you,” Natasha continues ruthlessly, “more than you ever deserved. And you threw it away, for what? Some fleeting thrill?”

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

Pushing down the slightest twinge of sympathy that threatens to surface, Natasha picks up on Wanda's faint, broken breaths on the other end. She can tell Wanda's on the verge, and it's familiar, too familiar. It's almost exactly the sound she caught when she was on the phone with you the other night.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Wanda barely manages to say.

“Well, it did,” Natasha snaps, her voice cold. “Intentions don’t change actions. And actions have consequences.”

Wanda’s voice comes off a little strong this time, thick with conviction. “Maybe I deserve this, Natasha. Maybe it’s my time to pay for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

“But you... you’ll never get it. You’ll never understand why I can’t just let go, why I can’t give up on her,” Wanda says.

“And why’s that?”

Wanda's voice trembles with the knowledge that what she's about to say is a cheap blow. “Because you've never been married. You've never committed yourself to someone in the way I have with her.”

That stings, and Natasha can feel her own anger rising.

“Don’t think for a second that just because I’m not married, I don’t understand commitment, pain, or betrayal,” she says, voice low and measured.

Wanda swallows hard. “I didn't mean to—”

“Of course you didn't. But here we are, yet again,” Natasha cuts her off. She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “I’m not telling you where she is. She needs time, Wanda. Time away from you. If she wants to talk, she’ll find you.”

That's the last thing Wanda wants. She worries that distance will solidify your resolve, turning her from an immediate regret to a distant afterthought.

“I need to see her, Natasha,” Wanda pleads, “Just tell me where she is.”

“Why? So you can make things even worse?”

After a tense pause, Wanda plays her last card, “Remember that night after we all went out? The night you and Bruce...” she trails off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Natasha stiffens, instantly knowing where this is headed. “Don’t you dare, Wanda.”

Wanda forges on, “I never told anyone, never used it against you. I kept your secret. You owe me, Natasha.”

The feeling of Bruce's hand against her cheek, the humiliation, the denial—all of it comes rushing back. She never thought Wanda would throw that night back in her face.

“You're really going there?” Natasha laughs hollowly.

“I’m desperate, Natasha. I love her. I can’t lose her,” Wanda’s voice breaks.

The line goes quiet, stretching seconds into what seems like hours. Finally, Natasha exhales heavily, the weight of the decision clear in her tone. “I'll give you an address. Show up, try to talk to her, but if she asks you to leave, you respect her wishes. Understand?”

Wanda swallows dryly. She knows Natasha can enforce her terms if she wants, which means she has no other choice but to comply. “Understood.”

Natasha's parting words would later linger in her mind for hours.

“This doesn't mean I've forgiven you or that she ever will. But you get your shot. Make it count.”

Wanda’s been standing outside the diner for what feels like a long time. She hopes her outfit—a parka over a crisp white v-neck and high-waisted jeans—makes a good impression. A glance in the reflection of the diner’s window confirms her red hair looks glossy and radiant, cascading in waves down her back.

Time and time again, Wanda had turned over every conceivable strategy to win you back. But in the end, they all hinged on the one thing she feared most: agreeing to a divorce. The very thought threatened to break her from the inside, but her desperation to make things right, to show you that she's changed, made this painful decision a necessary one. Wanda had taken so much from you, taken everything you had to offer and discarded it carelessly. Now, it was her turn to give something back, even if it meant letting you go, legally.

She tells herself, repeatedly, that their love story isn't defined by a marriage certificate. They won't end just because their marriage does. She had to believe this; it was the only way she could find the strength to move forward.

Steeling herself, Wanda takes one step forward. Another. Until finally, she’s there.

“Hey,” Wanda greets, doing her best to sound casual as she slides into the booth opposite you.

You give a nonchalant nod, mouth full of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

The scent of your cologne is the first thing that hits her, and it’s... different. This one's sharper, crisper, with a hint of citrus, perhaps. It's as if you're purposely shedding parts of yourself that she's grown accustomed to, distancing yourself in the most elemental ways. There's a new watch on your wrist, sleeker than the one she gifted you on your last anniversary. Even the way you hold yourself seems altered, shoulders squared and posture more rigid. Every detail screams of a transformation, a conscious effort to morph into someone she wouldn't recognize.

But why? To hurt her? To move on? To forget? All of the above? It's been just a week, yet the differences are already evident. Wanda dreads to think how much more will change if she goes months without seeing you.

This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s putting it mildly. “Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules,” Wanda admits.

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying. As you take another bite of your sandwich, Wanda studies her intently, looking for any fleeting sign of emotion, but there’s nothing there but a chilling detachment.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” she continues. She's woken up next to you for more than a decade; she’s not easily deterred by the display of indifference. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

“Okay.”

Wanda notices the fleeting moment your eyes dart to her left ring finger before you quickly look away.

“I, uh, got something for you,” she says.

“No, thanks.”

Wanda’s heart sinks as you dismiss her before even knowing what it is. Determined, she pulls out the small ring box and places it on the table, feeling a pang in her chest. “But it belongs to you,” she murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your wedding ring,” she says, pointing out what you already know. Your expression darkens, frustrated that she misses the underlying meaning of your question—not about the ring itself, but rather its significance right now.

For a split second, Wanda harbored a fragile hope that seeing the ring might stir something within you.

But then you're shaking your head, beginning to say, “I don’t want—”

“I understand,” she says, her shoulders sagging as she leans back into the booth. “But I'm returning it to you, and I’m keeping mine. What you decide to do with it is up to you. However, holding onto it on your behalf isn't something I can do.”

The ring she slipped onto your finger five years ago held all her promises, all her devotion to you. So it hurt that you no longer accepted that, no longer recognized it as yours. And she didn't want to be the guardian of that pain anymore.

“Fine,” you say, reaching for the tiny box and Wanda releases a heavy sigh of relief.

“So, you've got your ring back, and I'll sign the divorce papers once they're drawn up,” she says, mustering all her courage for what she's going to say next. “And then, I'll come for you.”

She watches in surprise as you nearly spit out your coffee, a few droplets escaping past your lips. As you hurriedly reach for a napkin, Wanda can't help but offer a gentle smile, always finding your occasional clumsiness endearing even in the middle of breaking her heart.

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a melancholic self-awareness. “I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.”

“I don't hate you, Wanda,” you say. She can tell you're telling the truth, and she smiles a little at that.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

She takes a deep breath, knowing she needs to be clear, to lay everything on the table. “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.”

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you,” she continues, “I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“Wands,” you say, the nickname slipping effortlessly from your lips, and she has to fight the instinctual urge to reach for your hand across the table. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.” She senses the skepticism in your eyes, and she can't blame you, not after everything that happened in the recent weeks. You’re my dream, Wanda had confidently and lovingly written in her vows. The memory of that day, with the weight of those words, is as vivid in your mind as it is in hers.

She's always been the type to hold onto what she loves, never letting go without a fight. But seeing the dark circles under your eyes, the sunken weight of your cheeks, she knows the very sight of her is taking a toll on you. And so, she’s leaving, for your sake.

“I'll see you soon,” Wanda says, getting up to leave. She hesitates for a moment, considering whether to go for your cheek, if you'll allow her. However, the lack of response from you pushes her to take small, shaky steps toward the door and out of the restaurant.

It isn’t over. Wanda’s made up her mind: she won't give up on you. Maybe she's the villain in this story; and hell, there's probably someone out there, all primed and polished, perfectly poised to love you without the scars and rough edges. Except, she doesn’t care, even if she knows she’ll be diving headfirst into the storm.

She swears that someday she'll be on her knees, asking you to marry her again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff #vision

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bucketslutz · 4 months ago

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Don't Be Late (Professor Logan Howlett/Fem Student Mutant Reader)

A/N: This one's a doozy, don't know how I feel about most of Logan's dialogue in this one but oh well! Enjoy!

Chapter Summary: Awkwardness ensues when you arrive at Logan's class on Friday, finding no one there but him.

Warnings: 18+, mindors DNI!!!!, drinking, reader getting drunk, puking, swearing, light depiction of anxiety disorder, sexual harassment (nothing bad happens to reader, light harassment only)

Word Count: 4,712

Chapter 3

This is the fourth night this week you’ve masturbated to the thought of your professor. Unfortunately, your fingers don’t offer the same release that you’ve been seeking from Logan. Instead of relieving the pressure that spreads through your body, your orgasms leave you dissatisfied and in need of more relief. But you can’t. He’s your professor, and downright terrifying to speak to. He makes every hair on your body stand on end, like your body is in a constant state of flight or fuck. Plus, you’re pretty sure he hates you. He stares at you, makes rude remarks, and barely even pays you any mind. But, goddamnit, sometimes you swear his lips curl into somewhat of a smile when he sees you. And you haven’t seen him smile at much of anything. But you cannot misconstrue tolerance with infatuation. He just might hate you less than everyone else, which could be enough for you to get through the semester without anymore anxiety than you already have.

You turn over in bed with a huff and glare at the clock. 2:14 am. If only you spent as much time studying as you did masturbating, maybe you’d get your masters a year earlier. You almost fear going to sleep. Afraid that another dream will leave you hot and bothered in Logan’s class tomorrow, and you don’t like that he has that effect on you. You repeat a mantra as you doze off, I do not want to fuck Logan Howlett.

…

It’s been a good morning. You woke up, no explicit wet dream, with enough time to manifest a Colombian dark roast and one of the best breakfasts you’ve had in a while; which you enjoyed while watching the sunrise from your roof. For a brief moment, you considered flying to class. The weather was perfect, making you long for a place you could traverse the sky in peace without a worry of who might see you. You often find yourself dreaming of such a life. How freeing would it be to fly around the world, helping people in need, exploring areas unknown? As much as you daydream of this life, you still know deep down that your dream can never become a reality. No, every day you hear of someone else being killed just because they’re a mutant. Or others disappearing off the streets and thrown into secret government labs where they conduct god knows what kinds of tests on them. That’s not a reality you ever want to face. You don’t want to think about how the government might exploit your powers. The thought of them abusing the atomic structures you manifest to create weapons of mass destruction makes you sick. No matter how desperately you wish you could display your strengths for good, you can’t. And that breaks your heart.

Despite the unfortunate stifling of your powers, your morning still ends up going just as well as it started. You’ve timed your commute perfectly; slipping into your favorite parking spot with just enough time to walk to class, Colombian dark roast in hand. You open the door to Logan’s class, quickly stopping dead in your tracks once you see that not a single one of your classmates are here yet. You check the time on your phone, there’s only 3 minutes until class starts.

“I was beginning to think it was something I said,” Logan’s voice calls from the front of the room, his broad frame leaning against the white board., “Did everyone tell ‘ya to skip?”

You chuckle softly, “No, Logan, I think it was actually something you said.” He furrows his brow, you clarify, “Wednesday when you left class you sorta said ‘see ‘ya Monday.’ So I think people just got confused.”

“Huh, and I guess you’re here…” he trails off, wanting you to explain.

“The convenience store. You said you’d see me on Friday, so, I just assumed you misspoke the other day,” you conclude, your fingers fiddling with the lid on your thermos. He just stares at you for a beat, making your anxiety swell in your throat. Is he mad at me? I think he’s mad at me, you think to yourself, “Not that you messed up or anything! It’s definitely everyone else’s fault for not following up with you, or whatever.”

“Right,” he says, giving you an incredulous look. You definitely weirded him out. The way he’s looking at you makes your breath hitch, and not in a good way.

“Anyway,” you continued, setting your coffee on a nearby desk, attempting to drive the topic of conversation elsewhere, “I might as well give you this.”

You approach Logan slowly as you rifle through your shoulder bag in search of your essay. Your fingers anxiously fumble between each folder and binder in your bag, incapable of grasping anything. You halt your approach, digging deeper in your bag to find the folder containing your essay. Jesus Christ where the hell is it. You’ve been searching for hours, has it been hours? Or 15 seconds? You cannot tell because time has halted right here. Blue folder, blue folder, blue folder, you repeat to yourself, hoping your thoughts do something to pop the folder in your face. Finally, after years of searching, you’ve found it. You pull it out of your bag with a breath of relief, stepping forward as you intend to hand it to Logan. A gasp escapes your lips when you slam straight into Logan’s tall frame, stumbling backwards, nearly falling until hands grasp your waist and keep you upright.

“You alright?” Logan asks, his hands remaining fixed on your waist. You look up at him through your long eyelashes, your hands planted flat on his chest for support. You cannot help the fluttering in your heart at your proximity to him, feeling your arousal swirling inside you at the feel of his strong hands holding you tightly. Logan stares at you from above, breathing heavily through his nose; his sharp, repetitive inhales almost sounding like a dog sniffing the air. You struggle to form a coherent thought, the only thing flooding your senses is the smell of Tobacco and pine emanating from Logan. Only a few seconds have passed, but as far as you know time doesn’t exist anymore. Logan loosens his grip on your sides, smoothing your jacket down with his hands before letting you go. You clear your throat, trying to shake the impure thoughts that are swarming your mind.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” you exhale, handing him the folder, “Um, my essay. Here you go.”

“Right, thanks,” he smirks as he takes it from you, “Don’t suppose you want to be the only one hearing my lecture today.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you affirm eagerly, watching Logan’s smile dissipate into a pursed line. He was joking, oh my god. Kill me. “Oh! You were kidding! No, I’d much rather be home right now. Definitely do not want to be here…with you.” Your words grew quiet towards the end, unsure if your recovery was even remotely smooth at all. If you could even call that a recovery.

“Oh, so you don’t want to be here with me?” he questions, his arms crossing over his stiff chest.

“No! No, no, of course I do, you’re lovely, I mean, not—I don’t hate you is what I’m saying. You’re lovely, as far as professors go,” you stutter, a clammy layer of sweat forming on the palms of your hands. He’s silent, his eyes burning a hole into your soul. Surely, he’s mad at you, “I would so love to sit and listen to you lecture, if you want, totally up to you. I’ll be here taking notes and listening if—“

Logan calls your name with a chuckle, interjecting your ramblings and bringing them to a halt.

“I’m just messing with ‘ya, bub,” he assures with a self-satisfied smile, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You can tell he gets a lot of enjoyment out of making you uncomfortable, giving himself personal satisfaction every time you squirm under his gaze.

“Oh,” you mutter dejectedly, your face blushing red from embarrassment, “right, well, you sure got me.” You attempt a laugh to hide your anxiety. Fiddling with the strap of your bag, you try to focus on anything else than the tears of embarrassment that prick the corners of your eyes. You hate this feeling, someone making a fool of you just because of your gentle, people-pleasing demeanor. It makes you feel weak, even though you physically aren’t, but no one knows that. They just see a meek, quiet girl that they can walk all over and take advantage of.

“Shit, are you okay?” Logan asks, a surprising level of concern in his voice. His knees dip slightly, craning his neck to your level to try and meet you face to face. You keep your eyes to the ground, not wanting to embarrass yourself further by crying in front of your professor just because he teased you a little bit. You’re surprised to feel fingers grasp your chin, gasping as Logan lifts it to so you’ll meet his eyes. Tears haven’t fallen down your cheeks yet, but you’re sure you look embarrassing; flushed cheeks, watery eyes, parted lips inhaling air shallowly. Logan looks concerned, which surprises you. It seems out of character for him, considering he only speaks to cuss someone out.

“You look like you need a drink,” Logan says, not a hint of humor in his face, fully meaning this seriously and earnestly. Like it could solve all of your problems.

“I can’t drink I have class,” you whimper, slightly confused.

“Not now, later, here—you got a paper? Pen?” he asks as he drops his hold on your chin, holding his hand out while he waits for you to hand him what he’s asking for.

You nod, shuffling through your bag for a notebook and pen, retrieving it and handing it to him with a sniffle. He starts scribbling something on an empty page.

“9 o’clock,” he hands you the paper, an address is written on it, “go there, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you declined politely.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, I’m asking you,” he corrects, a firm tone in his voice making you nervous to say no. It’s almost as if he isn’t asking, merely telling you what you’re supposed to do, but disguising it as an ask to seem less brute.

“Okay, 9 o’clock,” you conclude, nodding your head in agreement.

…

What the hell are you doing here? This is inappropriate. This breaks multiple codes of conduct. But free booze? Who are you to decline an offer like that. The outside of the establishment is like any other mountain-town, backwoods, rural dive bar. It honestly wasn’t too far from where you live either, maybe you ought to give this place a visit more often. You step out of your car and approach the front door, lit with a neon red “open” sign flickering in and out of consciousness. The door jingles and creaks when you open it, causing a few of the patrons to turn their heads towards you before promptly returning back to their drinks and games of pool. The air smells of stale cigarettes and salt, rock music droning through a busted jukebox in the corner. Straight ahead, you see the bar, lit dimly by more neon signs and faulty overhead bulbs. A familiar figure is already there, Logan’s flannel-covered back is to you, hunched over what you can assume to be a drink he’s been nursing. You approach the bar-seat next to him, pulling it out with a sharp scratch to the ground, causing Logan to turn his head in your direction. Before you can even mutter a greeting, the bartender has already intercepted your attention.

“What can I get you?” he asks, scratching at his scraggly beard, a rag draped over his thin, tattooed shoulder.

“Um, Woodford and coke?” you ask as you get comfortable on your stool. The bartender laughs at your request.

“This ain’t that kind of place, missy,” he quips, you try and look at Logan for support but he’s focused on his beer, “I got Maker’s, Jim Beam, and Jack, what’ll it be?”

“Maker’s, I guess,” you concede, watching as the bartender walks down the bar to make your drink.

“Bourbon girl, eh?” Logan remarks, adjusting in his seat to face you.

“Um, yeah, I don’t like much clear liquor,” you say, trying your best to avoid eye contact, “or, it doesn’t like me at least. Some of my worst nights started with a bottle of vodka.”

Logan laughs, catching you off guard, you laugh lightly with him. The bartender sets your drink in front of you, you thank him with a smile.

“Open or closed?” the bartender asks, but before you can even think of a response, Logan answers for you.

“Put her on mine, Jim,” Logan says.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—“

Logan gives the bartender a stern look, and he walks away, no contest.

“Thank you,” you grin, taking a sip from your glass.

“Don’t mention it,” he waves off, the same warning in his voice as last time. There’s a beat of awkward silence. You’re not sure what to say, or why he even asked you here.

“I um—“ you pause, trying to find the right words, “I appreciate you going out of your way to try and make me feel better about earlier.”

“I didn’t go out of my way,” he corrects, turning back towards the bar, his body now parallel with yours, “this is usually where you can find me this time of day.”

“Oh, well, thanks for inviting me, I guess,” you correct your previous statement. You purse your lips, wanting to explain your behavior earlier. But you’re not sure if that’s appropriate, you feel bad that he had to take pity on you just because you got choked up from him making fun of you. “Look, I at least want to apologize for the way I acted earlier and—“

“Save it,” he interjects with a raise of his hand.

“I’m…sorry I—“ you stutter, trying yet again to apologize for your presence, causing Logan to cut you off with a wave of his hand again.

“You don’t need to keep doing that. Have your drink. Relax. I’m not pissed at you,” Logan reassures, his voice stern. You’re convinced that his voice doesn’t fluctuate from that kind of tone too often. But despite the sternness of his voice, you feel your shoulders relax. You’re holding his gaze but you don’t feel like you’re about to combust. You feel…fine. You feel just fine.

“Huh,” you mutter, a curious tinge to your voice. Relax. Have your drink. You ponder the glass for a moment, considering it. Fuck it. You raise it to your lips and chug, swallowing every burn the Maker’s leaves down your throat without a care. Logan’s brows raise at your sudden gratuitous impulse.

“Okay then,” he remarks with a grin.

A buzz floats around your head, your chest heaves from your uninterrupted drinking.

“Rick!” you call, attempting to get the attention of the bartender.

“Jim,” Logan corrects you quietly, smiling in amusement as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Jim! Can I have another?”

…

You’re four bourbon and coke’s into your evening, and you cannot recall the last time you had this much fun. You beat Logan twice at pool and watched him take fruity, girly shooters for each loss, per your request. Currently, you’re in the middle of another game, a tied score bringing out your competitive edge. Logan’s frame is bent over the pool table, lining up the perfect shot. You chew on the straw in your drink as you unabashedly ogle his ass. Damn, he looks good in those jeans. He makes his shot, the cue ball ricocheting off of the edge and barely skimming the 8 ball he was trying to get in.

“Damn it,” he grunts, turning away from the table, his chest rising and falling in frustration. You giggle in excitement, ready to take your turn.

“Jim! I’d get started on that lemon drop if I were you!” you call, your voice slurring slightly as you’re ready to claim your victory over your professor.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, bub,” Logan warns, clearly a bit more annoyed at the fact he’s losing than he’s letting on.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, baby,” you counter, a teasing, almost sultry edge to your voice. Logan holds his eyes on you, watching as you bend over the pool table to make your shot. You close one eye, carefully trying to line up the cue ball in the direction you want to go. The ball is towards the center of the table, but you’re so sure that you can manage on your own, balancing on your tip-toes.

“Need a hand?” Logan asks, trying his best to hide his amusement at the precarious position you’ve put yourself in.

“Shh!” you snap, “I’m concentrating! 8 ball, corner pocket.” You make your shot, but your feet slip out from under you with the momentum you built. You almost crumble to the floor, but Logan’s hands catch you around your ribcage first. He lifts you onto your feet, but in your buzzed state you’re having a hard time maintaining balance.

“Easy there,” Logan drawls, keeping his hands so temptingly close to the side of your breasts. You’re jelly in his hands, letting him take hold of you in whatever way he wants. You could spin around and make out with him right here, which you honestly consider for a moment. But before you can, Logan leans his face close to your ear, his beard tickling your cheek.

“Looks like you scratched,” he whispers, his gravelly voice reverberating around your skull. Any other day, this would make you wet immediately, but the competitive monster inside of you is awoken. You shake your head in disbelief, turning your focus back to the pool table. There’s no sight of the white cue ball anywhere. You suddenly find your balance, scrambling out of Logan’s grasp to search for what pocket the ball got shot into. ‘Lo and behold, it made it into the corner pocket you were aiming for.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, stomping your foot in frustration, gripping the table with white knuckles.

“I told you not to get ahead of yourself,” Logan taunts, one hand planted on the pool table, the other on his hip. You scowl at him, trying to find a clever comeback, but your liquor soaked brain is coming up dry. The sound of your name turns your attention towards the bar.

“I got ‘yer lemon drop right here,” Jim calls, setting the sugar rimmed shooter on the edge of the bar closest to you.

“Get her a shot of Tito’s to wash that down with, will ‘ya, Jim?” Logan chimes, maintaining eye contact with you. Your jaw drops in shock at the deliberateness of his actions. The nerve.

“Are you trying to get me to be more sloppy just so you can beat me again?” you question, your eyes narrowing as you cross towards him. You stand just a few inches in front of him, squaring up to him with a challenging look in your eyes.

“I think you’re doing a good enough job at being sloppy by yourself,” he teases, eyeing you up and down. You roll your eyes as you brush past him and towards the bar to retrieve your punishment. Lemon drop in one hand, Tito’s in the other.

“Bottoms up,” you chime, maintaining eye contact with Logan as you lick the sugar off the rim of your glass, taking the shooter down with one swift gulp. You wince slightly, before humming in satisfaction, the sweetness masking the vodka just enough. You exhale in preparation for your next drink, closing your eyes and willing yourself to not think too hard about what you’re going to inevitably do to yourself. A single lemon drop is not enough to make you blackout and puke all over your house, but another shot of vodka on top of that might just put you on that track. Swallowing your hesitance, you bring the glass to your lips and choke it down in one gulp. Frowning at the way it burns your throat, sending tingles down your spine.

“Oh, wow,” you grunt, your face twisted into a pained expression. “Okay, fuck you, m’gonna win this next one.”

Logan snorts at your drunken confidence, already anticipating what might happen next.

You did not, in fact, win the next one.

Logan cockily slams a shot glass of clear liquid in front of you, causing your jaw to drop in surprise.

“Thisn’t fair,” you pout, leaning against the pool table for support.

“I choked down 2 lemon drops because of you, the least you can do is take this shot of tequila, princess,” Logan counters, offering you a slice of lime and a flimsy packet of salt.

“Bitch, this’s tequila?!” you exclaim, too drunk to even comprehend the fact that he just called you princess.

“Bottoms up,” he says teasingly, pushing the glass towards you, clearly quoting you from when you were more confident earlier. “Unless you’re feeling like chickening out on me.”

“No! I jus’ don’ wan’ get too drunk before our nex’ game,” you slur, almost tripping over yourself. Logan sighs, considering your drunken state for a moment.

“Tell you what,” he starts, “I’ll do half this shot with you if you quit your whinin’, got it?” You nod eagerly, accepting his proposal. With your confirmation, Logan takes the lime in his mouth and bites it in half, giving you part of it. You secretly wish he gave you the half that was in his mouth. He rips the salt packet open, and you watch earnestly as his tongue swipe along the back of his hand before he pores some of the salt on it. You follow suit, wetting the back of your hand with your tongue and allowing Logan to pour a bit of the salt on it. Logan goes first, licking the salt up, swallowing half the shot down, and finishing it off with a bite of the lime. You try and stifle a gag when you look at the glass of clear liquid. You sigh, closing your eyes tight as you lick the salt off the back of your hand, choke down the tequila in one gulp, hoping the squirt of lime juice in your mouth will save you. It does not. Your throat burns and you involuntarily shiver at the contact of the liquor on your tastebuds.

“I’m gonna get these back to Jim,” he gestures to the stack of glasses that’s accumulated over the course of your games, “rack ‘em up for me, princess.” Logan nods to the pool balls, indicating for you to get another game started. You oblige, leaning over the table to retrieve the balls and placing them into the plastic triangle. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Assuming it’s Logan, you smile, craning your neck to get a view of him. You startle when you see a complete stranger pressing up against your rear. A yelp leaves your lips as you scramble up onto the table in an attempt to get away.

“Don’t be like that, baby, I was just saying hi,” the strangers gruff voice beckons to you from where your feet are hanging off the table. You scrunch your face in disgust. He has a long, unkempt beard with yellow teeth peeking out behind it. His hairline is thin and greyed, his figure broad and heavyset. He towers over you, making your stomach churn.

“No thanks,” you say, sternly, sobering up slightly in an act of self preservation. The stranger doesn’t let up, though. Still attempting to pull you towards him by grasping at your ankles. You don’t register anything else around you. Not Logan’s shouts from the other end of the bar, you don’t see him rushing towards the stranger either. Your preservation is the only thing on your mind.

“I said no, asshole!” you shout, reeling your legs back before kicking into his chest with as much force as you can muster, your abnormal strength sending him flying all the way into the back wall 10 feet away. He crashes against the wood paneling, leaving a dent in his wake, groaning and writhing in pain on the ground. Your adrenaline dissipates, allowing the realization of what you just did to really sink in. Someone of your size should not have been able to send someone like him flying in the way you did, and the way that Logan looks at you, indicates just that.

“…You okay?” Logan asks carefully, reaching towards you, helping you down off of the pool table. You tumble off the surface, allowing Logan to fully support your weight. “You, uh, seemed to have it pretty under control there.”

“I don’ skip leg day,” you slur, feeling your mouth suddenly fill with saliva, your natural instincts of self preservation just dissipated, and you now are feeling the full brunt of every sip of alcohol you had tonight. The blood drains from your face and a wave of nausea washes over you, “Logan, I think’m gonna—“

You can’t even finish your sentence before you hurl the upset of your stomach all over the floor in front of you, Logan just barely missing the line of fire.

“Shit,” Logan hisses, trying to support you as best as he can without getting your puke all over him, “Okay, let’s get you out of here before you kick someone else through a wall.”

You’d find that funny if you weren’t painfully nauseous right now. Logan slings your arm around his neck, you’re limp around him, like a rag doll. The next few hours are a blur. You’re delirious, incapable of forming a coherent thought. You might recall Logan asking for an address, or directions. But you don’t remember what you said, or if you even said anything in response through your drunken stupor. Which leads you here, hunched over the toilet in Logan’s bathroom, as he tries to shove croutons in your face in an attempt to soak up the liquor that’s strangling your stomach. You’re half awake, ready to fall over and sleep this off. So you do just that, fall over, that is. You’re snuggled into the shag rug on his bathroom floor, reveling in its softness. Oh, this is perfect. You think to yourself, dozing off already.

“C’mon, you can’t sleep on the floor,” Logan grunts, scooping you up off of the bath mat. An incoherent whine escapes your throat at your loss of comfort. You snuggle into his chest, seeking the same comfort you were just robbed of. Your body lowers onto something soft and plush. You sigh in approval, spreading your arms across the expanse of this luxuriously soft bed. Ready to get comfortable, you groan in indignance at the stuffiness of your jeans. You ungracefully unbutton and prod them down your legs, freeing your body from the stiff discomfort of the pants. You hear a throat clear, and feel the comforter get pulled out from under you and then promptly over you, cocooning you in a soft, pillowy heaven. The soft fabric feels so nice and cool against your bare legs, clad in nothing, save for your panties. You silently thank your sober self for wearing a tank top and no bra today, allowing for optimal sleepwear.

“There’s water for you here,” Logan tells you, gently, gesturing to what you think is the nightstand, but you can’t bear to look at it.

“Don’t puke on my bed,”Logan warns. The light gets turned off and you sigh at the peaceful nature of the space. You inhale, reveling in the scent of Logan that lingers on the bed.

“Hm, bed smells like you,” you hum in satisfaction, finally feeling your sleep begin to overtake you. There’s a beat of silence that hangs in the air.

“Night, princess.”

...

A/N: hehehehehehe😈😈😈😈 I hope y'all had as much fun reading the bar scene as I had writing it. I loved writing reader letting loose a bit and not being so anxious, hopefully she stays that way but you'll have to wait and see. I'm getting oral surgery tomorrow so I'm not sure when the next update will be. click here to view on ao3.

Tags: @wolviesgirl @sanemis-piss

#logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #x men #wolverine #logan gets reader drunk but in a trying to get her to have fun way not a pervy way #deadpool and wolverine

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vilsoo · 6 months ago

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prize counter girl ☆ twelve

➥ michael afton x camgirl!reader

you've been a camgirl for only a few months and everyone loves the content you post. when michael afton porn surfs to relieve his stress, he comes across your videos. the more he jerks off to your content, the more he's addicted. but it wasn't until, a few months later, he sees your familiar face as the new employee working at the prize counter.

chapter warnings. recorded masturbation, sex toys, squirting, sexual tension, wet dreams.

notes. the pov has been switched from michael’s pov to the reader’s pov for this chapter :) i’ll be doing this for some chapters in the future as well.

pcg materlist • previous • chapter thirteen

“I’ve been wanting to do this to you… for so fucking long…”

Nothing could compare to the arousal pounding in your pussy, the way Michael— your hot manager— settled right between your legs, kissing your clit right through your soaking panties. He’s definitely the type to enjoy giving pleasure, to want to make you feel good because he prioritizes your needs. Looking down and seeing him drizzling kisses on your skin, worshipping every inch of your body from between your thighs and up to your stomach, your chest, your neck, and then to your sweet lips.

He has your thighs resting on his shoulders as he licks your cunt, enjoying every flick of his tongue and the way he would suck and kiss on your clit. He was so greedy with it, devouring your pussy like it like his last meal on earth as he holds your thighs down for you to stop squirming. Stuffed right in between them that he could also suffocate; but you’d bet he’d love that.

“I always imagined you’d taste so good… Mm, you’re so sweet.”

“I can’t get enough of this pussy, baby.”

“I need you. Now. Stay right there and keep your fucking legs open for me.”

You were soaked, completely drenched that your arousal trailed down from your cunt and left a mark on your silk sheets. If he only knew how desperately your body ached and writhed for him every day and every night, with him and without him. Your thoughts become incoherent when his cock was brushing against your clit, the same cock that utterly surprised you during your first video chat together. Michael’s size was perfect, so perfect that every fraction of it imprinted in your mind. And you took the opportunity that one night in the supply closet to finally feel it in your hands, to even taste him and his sweet cum…

“Please, Michael. I really— I really need— I can’t…”

“You can’t what, pretty girl? What are you begging for, hm?”

All you could do was whine in such carnal heat. Who knew that a man like Michael could render you as a needy, deprived slut that’s good for nothing but a fuck? Going brainless when his cock is finally inside you, raking against your insides as if he was molding your cunt to hug his cock perfectly. He pulled out for a brief second, then slammed back inside your drenched pussy, fucking into you so good that your body was sinking into your mattress.

This was everything you ever wanted with him; one of your heated fantasies that comes and goes across your mind. It felt so real. Way too real.

But just as you were about to come, your eyes suddenly flung open to your darkened room. It took a few moments to adjust to reality, rapidly darting at every corner of your room in confusion and then glancing at your digital clock showing 3:21 AM. The silver moonshine was peaking through your blinds and the ambiance of late night city traffic could be heard.

You sat up and panted heavily, feeling your heart thundering in your chest. It took a few seconds to calm down, to finally breathe normally. But once your brain solidified the dream you just experienced, your heart began pounding in your chest again.

A wet dream.

A very vivid dream sequence of Michael, eating you out and having sex with you right on your own bed…

Suddenly your heart was not the only thing pounding right now. Once your brain processed the dream, you started ruminating on everything. This nocturnal emission was so intense that there could be a possibility you had an orgasm in your sleep. Not that that hasn’t happened before, but with Michael, the man you’re now dating that started to invade your dreams, your arousal stirred erratically. From such a hot and intense wet dream, you took your hand and chafed your finger against your panties. Just as you expected; soaked and drenched.

You can’t what, pretty girl? What are you begging for?

If only that were all real. If only Michael was here, hovering over you, dirty talking in your ear and fucking you so good. Sometimes you let your imagination get the best of you and think he’d be the type to dirty talk like that. In reality, you’re very fond of him; how adorable it was seeing him all flustered from you that he just couldn't stand it. This awakens a side of you of taking control; showing no mercy to him and teasing him so cruelly. So cruel that he would hate it and grow frustrated, gaining the ability to cascade his dominance over you.

Your needy pussy was aching, throbbing, pulsing, literally flexing over nothing from all these fantasies. And since you were wide awake and horny at 3AM, there’s no way in hell you could go back to sleep now. With your fingers slowly rubbing your clit, you needed to take care of this.

Sure, all your toys could definitely help. Your collection of various sex toys that you record yourself with could resolve this issue and make you come so fast that you’d pass out and fall right back to sleep. But what you really yearned for was Michael, who could not only take care of you and satiate your desires, but could make your nights feel less… lonely. Intimacy and connection was what you craved the most, after all.

You missed him. Dearly.

Now you’re horny, sad, and lonely at 3AM.

Without wasting any minute now, you reached over to the bottom drawer of your nightstand, finding the pink vibrating dildo hidden inside a dust-free pouch. Then you suddenly glance at your tripod with the ring light standing beside your body mirror; it didn’t cross your mind about recording yourself at all today. You just wanted to get your orgasm(s) and go right back to sleep. But taking advantage of the fact that Michael watches your content and enjoys them all, you wanted to show him exactly what he does to you.

As you set up your tripod, your phone, the pink lighting, and the angle, it felt as if you were recording this for Michael. Him, and only him buried in your mind, wanting to play with yourself just for him. Sure, your loyal followers and fans could get off to this, but they’ll never know how Michael was the lucky man in your mind tonight. They’ll never know that you were only showing how much of a desperate slut you were for him.

Panties to the side, you wanted this orgasm more than ever that you couldn’t waste time taking them off or even engaging in slow foreplay. You couldn’t even set up the app you use to make a livestream; instead you swiped straight to your phone camera from your lock screen and pressed record. If you managed to stay awake after making yourself come so hard multiple times tonight, you’d definitely upload this to your NSFW Twitter, which is also where Michael follows you on. Your eyes were cropped out the camera, only revealing your mouth, your bare breasts, and of course, your cunt.

There was no need for lube since it was so slick and soppy for your silicone dildo to rub on, your breath hitching from how sensitive you were. You raise your legs higher and spread them wider for the camera as you turn the vibration mode on. Shock waves of pleasure pulsed through you that your hips began to stutter and squirm. You couldn’t even contain your moans and whines, growing more desperate and urgent as your imagination runs wild replaying the dream.

Usually whenever you livestream with your sex toys, you always start off so slow and coy, just to tease and engage your viewers. But since you were so impatient, you immediately slide the vibrating dildo inside your soaking pussy and threw your head back, thrusting it faster and deeper inside you. Your eyes fell half-lidded, convulsing around your dildo hitting that sensitive spot that made you lose control over yourself. Letting your mind get taken over by the desperate sensation of Michael, craving for him to be the one fucking his thick cock inside of you until you’re knocked out of air.

You needed this, you needed him. And just by imagining your dildo as him fucking you, you tried so hard not to moan or scream his name on camera. You were so dizzy with desire, dizzy by the heated fantasies you so desperately wish to come true any moment now. As you thrusted the dildo faster and hearing the lewd sounds of your juices fill your room, you can feel your orgasm starting to blossom in your stomach and your walls clenching erratically.

That’s it, pretty girl. Fuck that pussy for me.

Make a mess all over yourself. Show how much of a slut you are for me.

Imagining him dirty talking and talking you through it had your orgasm rippling and pounding so intensely that you're crying two octaves higher than you're used to. You can hear yourself squelching, pushing out clear fluids that sent your mind in a haze. Coming so hard and fast over camera, even recording yourself squirting all over your dildo and on your sheets. All within the span of two and a half minutes.

After you caught your breath and drifted back to reality, you couldn’t help but grin at the camera like an eager little slut, even sliding a finger inside your cunt to taste yourself and then rapidly slapping the dildo on your cunt. You were a mess and it was all because of the thought of Michael. You’re wrecked, and he’s never even touched you yet. You ease another two fingers into your drooling cunt, the camera catching the glint of your arousal. So nasty, so filthy, so sloppy… just for him.

Before you could forget, you stopped recording and headed straight to your NSFW Twitter. Only cropping the last 40 seconds to post as a short clip, which is where you were fucking yourself hard and building up your orgasm until you made a hot mess of yourself. You even hinted in the caption that this was for Michael, hoping he was still awake right now to see it…

thinking of you xx

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The next day when you were in the supply closet restocking the candy for the prize counter, you were startled by Michael watching you with a small smirk on his face, his body slanting against the door frame like he was blocking you from getting out. Just the thought of him having his eyes on you even if you were completely unaware of his presence made your heart leap.

“Michael,” you chuckled nervously, this time struggling to make eye contact with him. Even if you tried your best to look him in the face, your stomach contorted, as if the butterflies were gutting you inside. You really couldn’t look him in the eyes after last night, after your dream…

He didn’t reply, which made the tension in the supply closet so thick it was impossible to slice. His eyes were the one searching for your face, slanting his head evoking such curiosity. You allowed him to step forward and draw closer just to invade your space, to make the gap between you two thinner. Your gaze lingers on his forearms revealed from his dress shirt sleeves rolled up, trailing up and finally holding meek eye contact with him.

The lust was pooling in your eyes that he could see it, he could sense it. Doe-eyed, slothful, and yearning… The epitome of submission. The glimmer in your eyes that makes him lose his mind, he felt inclined to lift your chin up with the crook of his index finger, and you instantly melted inside. He was so fine, you fought the urge to drop down on your knees and unbuckle his belt, tasting his cock again in the same fucking closet.

“Was that video you just posted… for me?” he mutters lowly, lips just barely brushing each other’s that if you were to lean in ever so slightly, you could just kiss him.

“…Maybe,” you coaxed, a small smile creeping in the corner of your lips. “Why, did you like it?”

He inhales sharply, as if he had pent up frustration from watching you fuck yourself silly and posting it, that the both of you knew so well that if you were anywhere else alone besides the pizzaplex, you’d get it on right now. Shamelessly tearing each other’s clothes off, feeling each other’s skin, desiring to recreate each forbidden, nasty fantasy that you both have for each other…

With his finger still holding your chin, you feel him take his thumb and ever so lightly brush it against your bottom lip. Involuntarily perching your mouth slightly open for him, he caresses your bottom lip with your thumb. The two of you were lost in your own worlds, lost in your addicting desires. The way you crave each other was so fervent, yet so dangerous because of how impossible it was to fight the intense urge everyday to not spend more time together.

Risking each other’s employment and breaking the fraternization policy every day, hell, even if you were fantasizing about each other you felt like you were bound to get fired anytime. But the two of you didn’t care— you were both slaves to each other’s temptations.

“I’d like it more… if you didn’t hold back on screaming my name.”

#( ♥︎ ) — prize counter girl.#michael afton #michael afton smut #fnaf smut #michael afton x reader #fnaf x reader #michael afton x you #fnaf x you

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sexyandcringe · 6 months ago

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Hopeless romantic

Part 2 ◇ Part 3 ◇ Part 4

Warnings: none, osamu feeling inferior to tsumu :(

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt/comfort

A/n: Osamu's POV! I swear i'm gonna continue the story-line in the next chap.!

All of his childhood, Osamu felt like he was divided in half because of his brother: half food, half clothes, and half affection from their parents. It was almost like people didn’t see him as his own person. To the world, they were “The Twins”, never just “Osamu” and just “Atsumu”.

Time changed, things changed, they each started to become their own person, dreaming of different futures and places to go to.

Osamu always felt like he was the shadow to the light named Miya Atsumu, but he loved him dearly, so much that even today he half-expects to find Atsumu tangled up beneath the sheets of their childhood bunker bed, only to be greeted by the disappointing sight of his mirror, where his reflection gets blurred with the lines of his twin brother.

Osamu loved Atsumu but he didn’t want to hurt people like Atsumu often did; he told his brother that he was never going to become like him, so he became a little less selfish, less stubborn and less greedy.

With you, though, he is greedy. And he wants all of you.

He wants to hold you while you two watch some stupid anime called Haikyuu that you’re obsessed with, he wants to listen to you rambling about your day and your disdain for Alice, the insufferable colleague of yours; he wants to cook for you and feed you with his own hands and he wants to wait for you in your shared bed.

Osamu didn’t want a lot of things in his life, except his restaurant and his family, but since the day he saw you walk in with wet hair and drenched clothes, he started to want a lot more than he could afford, from the most mundane acts of waking up together to the intimacy of making love to you.

He is patient though, he lets your relationship grow steadily.

He thought that he would be happy with the leftover crumbles of affection that you gave him, but when you stopped coming to his shop, Osamu lost it completely.

He was waiting for you around 7 PM like every Friday, he was feeling confident that day and wanted to suggest a casual outing to the neighbouring town's food fair.

(Nothing like a date, just a friendly hang out, he told himself).

His resolve wavered when you didn’t show up, not for one, not for two, but for three weeks in a row. He thought of all the possibilities as to why you didn’t come for so long, and he tried his best not to imagine the worst-case scenario. That can’t be. Nope.

On the third Friday of your absence, Osamu was crumbling. He closed the shop earlier than usual and went straight into the supermarket to get his guilty pleasure: the Butter Cookies.

His grandma always used to get them for him and unlike many other children, he never found sewing tools or anything of the sort in the box; his grandma knew that that kind of disappointment would be far too great for a six-year-old, food-enthusiast ‘Samu.

Well, grandma, that kind of disappointment is too great for a twenty-six-year-old ‘Samu too, because the guy was nearly panicking when he couldn’t find the boxes of Butter Cookies at their usual place.

He was positive, though, because even after searching everywhere and not finding them, he didn’t lose hope. They will be available in another grocery store for sure. He got his priority straight and redirected his steps to another store across the town.

Luckily for him, the store was still open for another hour and it didn’t take him long to finally see his comfort food, in all its glory, staring at him from the shelf in the second aisle.

He was just about to go and pay for his box when he caught a glimpse of your silhouette, halting him in his tracks and confirming that it was, in fact, you.

Concern etches across his features as he looks at your tired and empty eyes, wondering if you have been taking care of yourself. Did you eat enough? Sleep enough?

The desire to call out to you is strong, leaving him no time to think before he is already approaching you, “That one will go bad in like 2 days.”

You look like a deer caught in headlights, doe eyes staring at him in what he wants to believe is awe. You smile timidly before saying: “Hi Osamu, long time no see.”

Yeah, long time no see, indeed. Osamu wants to be mad at you for making him so worried, for not coming to his shop, for not letting him know if you were doing okay, but he is just the owner of a restaurant and you’re just a regular client.

At least, you used to be a regular client. He can’t force you to like his company or his shop, no matter how much he wishes it.

Despite this, he can’t stop the bitter remark that slips past his lips,“Yeah, because someone hasn’t been coming to my restaurant lately.” you visibly wince, though he can’t seem to care enough.

You stutter some poor excuse as he inspects the other vegetables in the aisle, handing you one with a clean surface that will last at least five days, per Osamu’s calculations.

His hands touch yours and it makes him blush like a middle schooler.

You both talk about nothing and everything and in between the mundane banter and playful jabs, Osamu finds himself agreeing to a cooking lesson at your apartment.

And he couldn’t be happier.

Reblogs are really appreciated!

Tags: @lees-chaotic-brain @writingsofanomnivore @pressuredtreasure @k4sumis0u

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu comfort #osamu miya comfort #osamu comfort #osamu angst #haikyuu angst #i love him sm

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hwaslayer · 7 months ago

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love you in slow motion (psh) | three.

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist ♡

—summary: seonghwa will go through hell and back for you, as long as he can continue to see that smile on your face. because to him, that smile feels like a rainbow after the rain, thewarmth of the sun on a winter day. because to him, you’re more than just his bestfriend—you’re love. even though everyone seems to see that except you.

—pairing: park seonghwa x f!reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) bestfriends to lovers | fluff, angst, eventual smut

—word count: 9.7k

—chapter warning: cussing/mature language, hints of a kiss (in a dream), feeling slightly hot & bothered by said dream lol, lots of overthinking (i mean lots!), some jealousy, san takes oc out to a casual dindin, ppl reallllly pushing for the oc x hwa agenda lol, some more seonghwa x oc x charli time, mixed signals, theyre both just sooooo scared of each other lol, sleepover!, sorry if i missed anything since i quickly edited to get this up 🫶🏼

—a/n: hi! sorry for the late update hehe hope you enjoy! the next updates might be a bit slower than usual (and as you can guess, my posting schedule is all sorts of messed up now 💀) but i promise i'll get them up asap! <33

You don't know where you're at.

You're standing in the middle of the road, and it's pouring rain. You're drenched, and the only goal you have right now is to get to the house on the opposite end of the street. You start your walk, picking up your pace as much as possible to get out of the rain. However, with every step you take, you find that you aren't actually moving.

Just stuck in place.

You're trying to run now, but the house only seems to be getting further. You're dying to get out of the rain, the wet seeping through your skin; chilling every bone in your body. You feel yourself starting to cry, but nothing is coming out.

Nothing.

You're just stuck.

Suddenly, someone appears out onto the road ahead of you and you stop. You stop in your tracks, but somehow, you aren't afraid. Their figure feels familiar, their aura comforting. He stands tall, his wavy black hair resting beautifully on his head. He sees you and walks over, an umbrella shielding him from the rain.

"Hwa?" You look up when he finally gets in front of you, a small frown forming at the corners of his lips.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" You shake your head and start crying, while Seonghwa throws his coat over your shoulder and brings you close. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I-I couldn't get to the house—" You point down the street.

"Sh, it's okay. I'm here now. Okay? I'm here." He continues to hold you close, despite your damp clothes against his own. His touch his comforting, his hand pressed at the small of your back.

"Where were you?"

"I'm right here with you." He pulls back slightly, hand coming to tilt your chin. "I'm always right here." His thumb gently caresses your chin. Before you know it, his lips are inches away from yours, seconds away from crashing into yours.

And it happens.

Seonghwa presses his lips to yours and you can't describe the feeling running through your body—

This is by far the second, or third dream you've had with Seonghwa recently, and you're not sure what your mind is trying to tell you. But, you're caught off guard when you realize your heart is thumping out of your chest, and there's this weird aching sensation in between your—

"Shit." You gasp, feeling flustered that you're finding your body reacting to Seonghwa in this way. You dig your head into the pillow, groaning at the thought of seeing Seonghwa in a new light.

But, the thought was here. It had made a home in that itty bitty corner of your brain, now on a mission to haunt you forever.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to finally face it.

You turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling. It's randomly 3:34am in the morning, and you don't seem to be the least bit sleepy. You let out a heavy sigh and pick up your phone, pulling up your call log and almost pressing Hwa's name by instinct.

Pause.

You've always called Seonghwa when you've had a bad dream, when you simply couldn't sleep, when you just needed company; but tonight, you weren't sure what you were gonna call Seonghwa for.

You just know you're longing for him. Specific reasoning unknown.

"Hwa." You kinda whine into the phone, but Seonghwa is too busy moving around in his bed.

"Mmm? Is everything okay?" He groans even though he picks up like he always does— even if he's half-asleep and on the verge of falling back asleep in 0.2 seconds.

"I can't sleep."

"Bad dream or something? Where's Charli?" You hear him mumble against his pillow, but it's still clear enough for you to hear.

"Yaya wanted her tonight." You turn onto your side, letting the phone sit on the edge of your pillow. "And uh, no. I just woke up randomly."

"So.. try shutting your eyes, Y/N." He sighs a bit.

"I can't. Can you stay on the phone with me for at least 5 minutes?"

"I'm here, aren't I? What's gotten you so shaken up?" He finally hears it in your voice, another small whine and a drip of neediness. And for you, Hwa knows that only means two things:

Something bad happened.

Or, something good that you can't make sense of.

"Nothing."

"Okay." He lets it go. "Maybe you should drink melatonin or tea before bed again." He mumbles again.

"Yeah." You lay on your back again, shutting your eyes as you listen to Seonghwa breathe softly through the phone. It isn't long before you feel your eyes getting heavy, immediately finding comfort in Seonghwa's soft snores.

The next morning, Seonghwa vaguely remembers the phone call, and for a second, he thinks it's a dream. But, when he turns over and sees his phone still connected to the call, he smiles to himself as it's his turn to listen to your soft snores.

He's glad you were able to fall back asleep. It normally doesn't take much, but he takes some kind of pride knowing he's always the first thing that comes to mind when you need comfort, safety. He feels something swell in his chest, and he's not sure what to make out of it.

What to do with it.

When he feels confident that you'd be okay, he ends the call and gets himself up for the day— barely ready to face another day of work. He doesn't like when his sleep is interrupted, and truthfully, it does fuck up his mood. Kinda throws him off balance.

But if it's you, he'll sacrifice. Because he just wants you to be okay, to be happy. He's seen you cry and hurt more times than he'd like to admit.

More times than he's seen you smile.

That's all he really cares about.

You.

"Goodmorning grandpa!" Woo smiles at him. "You look tired, what happened?"

"Just had a broken sleep, is all."

"You sure that's it?"

"Mhm." He looks down at Wooyoung with a brow raised before filling up his water bottle. As expected, Wooyoung doesn't let it down easily and Seonghwa should've been better prepared. "What?" Is all he can respond with this early in the morning, while Wooyoung is beaming with energy and smiling all up in his face.

"Dude, just tell me." Wooyoung smirks at him. "It bothers you, huh? You didn't expect San to actually shoot his shot with Y/N."

"I shouldn't have asked." Seonghwa shakes his head. "Can you just.. get out of my face first?" Wooyoung laughs and sits on the edge of the treatment table, feet dangling back and forth while he waits for Hwa to respond.

"So. Does San shooting his shot with Y/N make you angry?"

"Why would it make me angry? If they're happy, then that's all that matters. I can't control her life, and I'm not gonna get in the way of that."

"But, your feelings." Seonghwa pauses and shrugs, continuing to put a few supplies away.

"I'm not gonna be that person."

"I wish you would just tell her." Wooyoung whines a bit. "I love Sannie, but I think we all know what's truly meant to be."

"We don't." Seonghwa sighs. "Anyway, I want them to figure this out. And if it works, then it does. I'll be happy for them. Point blank period."

"It would hurt though, wouldn't it? Because it's Sannie. Not just some random."

"Course it would." Seonghwa mutters lowly, in hopes of Wooyoung not catching on. But, he does. He sadly catches on. As much as he loves his friends, he truly wishes Seonghwa could just be happy. He knows Hwa could find that in the right places had he just looked. But, he also knows true, genuine happiness would be wherever you are. With you.

He hopes he'll see it come to fruition one day.

The more Seonghwa talks about it though, the more it does hurt him. Because one day, he was planning out how to say this to you. How to sort out his feelings, how to be honest. Finally face the fact that after all these years, he's really loved you.

Then the next day, he's having to can it and scrape the entire thing. Throw the whole damn thing in the trash. Because if it's one thing he does, it's put his friends before himself. Even if it meant sacrificing and killing himself in the process. That's just who he is and he'll remain true to it no matter how much it hurts.

But damn, does it fucking hurt.

"It doesn't matter cause it'll blow over eventually." Hwa turns over his shoulder, hearing a few athletes stroll into the training unit. "Done with this?" He looks at Wooyoung with a brow cocked up.

"Yeah." Wooyoung hops off the table and gets himself together, Seonghwa already greeting the athletes as they walk into the room for their sessions.

"What're you doing later?" Hongjoong pops a chocolate almond into his mouth as he lazily lies down on San's bedroom floor, tired from the workout session they just came back from.

"I'm going to dinner with Y/N." San gives him a dimpled, toothless smile as he stands in front of his closet, wondering what to wear for later.

"Oh, right." Hongjoong yawns. "Is it like.. a casual thing, or like a date-date?"

"Uh, I guess casual?"

"Then why are you standing in front of your closet like it's supposed to be a date-date?" Hongjoong peeks from over the edge of his phone. "And why do you look so nervous?" Hongjoong furrows his brows at San wiping his grubby hands on his shorts.

"I'm not!"

"Mhm. I'm calling Seonghwa." Hongjoong snorts.

"Why would you say that?" San whines a bit. "Can you be honest with me? Is this wrong?"

"I thought it was a casual thing!" San groans.

"It is! But I swear, no matter what, I always feel a little guilty because of Hwa."

"You know for the most part, everyone's just teasing, right?"

"Right, but..?"

"But you know how those two are." Hongjoong sits up. "I don't even mean to discourage you because I know Seonghwa would tell you to go for it.. but you and I both know he's had it for her for years."

"Yeaaaah." San elongates his response with a sigh mixed in. "I don't know. I thought I'd just try and see where things go. I'm not gonna lie, I'm curious even though I probably will never amount to Hwa."

"Don't say that, dude." Hongjoong lets out a small chuckle. "It's just their dynamic, how they are. But, it seems to be fine for them both? At the end of the day, I know Seonghwa would just want Y/N to be happy and that's all that matters. Whatever that looks like."

"Has she ever talked about it? I haven't been here so I don't really know what's been going on between them."

"Nah. Quite frankly, it's the elephant in the room that no one wants to address."

"So, they've just been like that? Nothing's actually changed?"

"Nope. Same ol' Y/N and Seonghwa you know."

"Has Hwa dated anyone?"

"I mean, he's messed around but he hasn't really seriously dated anyone since Linh."

"Okay, so awhile." San nods to himself. "Damn, I don't know. Should I try asking her about it? We are catching up, that's really the main point of this."

"Sure?" Hongjoong shrugs. "I doubt she'd say anything though. Babygirl hasn't opened up to anyone about that and I don't think she will. Just go and enjoy your dinner with Y/N. Whatever happens, happens. Seonghwa will be Seonghwa, and he'll be supportive no matter what." San shakes his head.

"Yeah, I guess so. I just feel kinda bad for even having the thought."

"Seriously. It'll be fine. He'd tell you the same thing, I promise." San shrugs, pushing the idea to the back of his mind. The whole point was to mainly have time to catch up alone, though San isn't gonna shy away from the fact that he is curious to see if he'd have a chance with you.

He knows Hwa would be supportive, but it doesn't stop him from feeling bad. He doesn't wanna hurt anyone, especially friends he hasn't seen in years.

"Should I just wear this sweater?" San turns to Hongjoong, flashing a black sweater his way. Hongjoong is quick to give him a look, immediately shaking his head before laying back down onto the ground; hand tucked behind his head.

"Ew, no. Just throw on a shirt and wear that jacket or something." Joong points at San's black leather jacket. "Black jeans, boots. Simple, but nice."

"You're good at this."

"I thought you'd learn a few things in Barcelona over the past years." Joong shuts his eyes and lets out a sigh. "Guess not."

"Fuck you, dude." San scoffs, heading to the bathroom to get ready.

It's another 30 minutes before San is finally satisfied with how he looks, rushing Hongjoong out of the door as he grabs his keys and wallet. He's shooting a text your way to let you know he'll be there in a few minutes, and that he'd like to say hi to Yaya and Charli before taking you away for dinner. You simply chuckle and set your phone aside, walking into a cloud of perfume before dabbing some lip gloss onto your lips.

"Who are you eating with, Titi Y/N?"

"One of my good friends, San. You'll meet him soon. He's going to come say hi."

"San?"

"Mhm."

"Is Uncle Hwa his friend, too?"

"Yes." You look at her and brush her hair back. "They're really good friends."

"Is Uncle Hwa going?"

"No, pea."

"Why not?"

"Uncle Hwa has other things to do, too."

"But, Uncle Hwa is always with you—" At this point, Yaya gently knocks on the door and pokes her head in, calling for Charli to come towards her.

"Chacha, let's go." Yaya takes her hand. "We can watch a movie until Auntie Y/N comes back." Yaya looks at you. "Is Sannie almost here? I want to see him—"

"Well, speaking of him." You look over her shoulder and wave at San, who is shyly smiling and waving back. He digs his hands into his pockets and walks over, a subtle rosy tint settling on the surface of his cheeks. It's been a long time, he feels. He hopes Yaya still remembers him and adores him the same way.

"Oh, my Sannie." She says, cupping his cheeks. "It's been awhile, look at you! Still so, so handsome!" He shyly chuckles.

"Hi Yaya. It's nice to see you, too." She dusts off his jacket and continues to throw small compliments his way.

"Promise me you'll stick around next time. I wanna hear your stories, too. I'm sure it was beautiful in Barcelona."

"Yeah, it was fun! It's a date." He smiles before shifting his attention to you and Charli, who is shyly pressing herself against your legs while quietly observing him. "Is this the cutie I've heard all about? Charli?"

"Sure is." You gently squeeze her shoulders. "Say hi, Chacha. That's Titi Y/N's friend, San."

"Hi." She waves before tucking her face into your legs.

"She's really not that shy once she warms up to you." Yaya laughs. "Come on, pea. I've got our movie and popcorn ready to go." She runs to Yaya and grabs her hand. "You two have a good dinner!"

"Thanks, Yaya." San gives her one last hug before waving at Charli. "Shall we?" You nod, walking alongside of him to the car. As always, San opens your door first before climbing in the driver's seat. It's a little quiet and awkward at first because it has been some years since you two have talked. You're sure things have changed for San and vice versa.

But, when you get to the restaurant, you realize he's still the same San you've known all these years.

He awkwardly swings his arm around you, giving your shoulder a small squeeze as you enter the restaurant. He's stiff, unsure of what to do with himself around you, and it kinda makes you giggle.

He's always been like that.

When the host brings you towards the back to your table, his hand slips into yours and it feels.. unnatural for whatever reason. Everything just seems too forced for two people who probably truly adore each other as friends and nothing more. Which, is fine. There's nothing wrong with it. Reality hits you quick when you sit and smile at San in front of you. You know it's not a serious date, and you feel a tad bit bad feeling relieved that it isn't. Even though San looks incredibly good and so, so handsome, the initial infatuation has slipped away from you because San is one of your bestfriends and that's how you've always cherished him.

"So." You giggle when he flips through the menu and shifts in the seat. "How's everything been, Y/N?"

"I don't know, same old, I guess? Yaya's still healthy and going, Soyeon and Junseo are good. Charli's good. Restaurant is busier than ever."

"That's good. Yoongi's still there?"

"Yeup! Jini is there, too. I don't think you've met her, but she's a college student working part-time. My life saver honestly, she gives me a lot of breaks." San chuckles. "How's your family? I'm sure they're happy to have you back."

"Yeah, they're good. They're the same, too. Not much has changed." Your phone dings and it's Seonghwa sending you a random tweet that only you two would understand. He sends the laughing emoji, followed by another text about it.

"Sorry." You click your phone on the side to lock it.

"It's all good. But, yeah. They're the same."

"Your parents come to the restaurant from time to time."

"I know, they love it there. They've just been so busy lately with renovating the house that they're barely going out."

"Aw." You chuckle.

"Are you good to order?" You nod, swiftly apologizing when you accidentally kick San's foot under the table before ordering. The silence between you two isn't entirely unsettling, but it does feel weird after years of being away from each other. Plus, San feels like's trying way too hard to make this go a certain way when he shouldn't.

He's too fixed on it.

"San." You call for him when you find him glancing out the window nervously. "You okay?" You lean onto the palm of your hand and give him a smile.

"Sorry. I'm just nervous and I don't know why."

"Don't be. We've always been friends. Nothing has changed between us." He looks at you and the statement kinda breaks his heart. Maybe you two were really just meant to be friends. "Tell me! How was the program? Barcelona?"

"Ridiculously hard. I literally had no life, kinda why I fell off the grid and barely posted or anything."

"I'm sure it was worth it, no?"

"Definitely. Everything there is so different there. In a good way, though. It felt like a breath of fresh air for me."

"Did you date anyone?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess I'll tell get into that later." He clears his throat. "What about you, though? Are you into anyone?"

"Uh, no. And, I haven't really been seeing anyone."

"Mingi?"

"It was complicated, but I'm finally done with that." You poke at the appetizer that was brought out.

"I'm glad because he doesn't deserve you."

"Hm." You hum. "But otherwise, not much has changed. I think." San watches how you quickly pick up the phone when it dings again, and although it's not really an issue, he can tell how much your body language shifts from the text alone.

It's probably Hwa.

"Y/N. You're one of my really good friends, right?" You giggle and nod.

"Yeah, Sannie."

"So, can I ask you something? I want you to be completely honest with me."

"Of course."

"Is there anything going on between you and Hwa?" You look at him, down at your phone and then back at him. Because no, you're not really sure how to answer the question. Yes, but no? If this were any other day, you'd probably answer confidently. But today, things felt different. You can't say no without automatically second-guessing yourself.

"N-no? Why would you ask that? We've always been this way."

"I know, but. I just.." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Nevermind. It's probably dumb."

"No, tell me." He looks up at you just as he lets out a small breath, cocking his head to the side.

"Don't call me lame or make fun of me, okay?"

"Sannie." You let out a small, playful but defeated chuckle. "I won't, you know me." You take a bite from your plate.

"I don't know, I'm not going to lie. I've always had a little crush on you since we've known each other, and coming back, I truthfully thought it was a phase that might have gone away. It's not. I still have that crush on you, and I thought I'd see where it goes but—" San is rambling and you can't help but let out a small giggle at how frustrated he's getting. "I— I'm rambling. Sorry."

"No, San. It's okay."

"My point is, I thought there was a chance to explore this.. this time around." He gives you a tiny pursed smile. "But, if I'm being honest. I can see the way Seonghwa looks at you. I think we all can."

"Um. I don't know what to say? I don't think he sees me that way."

"Y/N." He cocks his head to the side, giving you a look as to say 'you know better than that.'

"Seriously!"

"What about you, though?"

"He's my bestfriend. Of course I love him and adore him to bits." You avoid eye contact and San isn't sure why that's the telling sign for him. But, you've deflected and didn't really answer the question. So, he's not sure what else to think.

"Are you happy?"

"I am."

"Truly happy? With how everything is?"

"I-I don't know. I think so. I'm.. content." He nods because for whatever reason, that answer tells him a lot more than it probably tells you.

"The last thing I wanna do is ruin things between my friends."

"I—We're just friends, Sannie." You don't even realize how low and pained your voice sounds when you let the response slip from your lips. "I think this is as good as it gets for us." San just looks at you because he notices how you nervously fiddle with your fork and poke with your food. Avoid eye contact. Respond lowly. Maybe you just hate talking about the topic in general. Maybe you do like Seonghwa and you're in denial. Whatever it is, San doesn't think this is as good as it gets for you two.

Which, truthfully, is a little heartbreaking for him. He kinda saw it coming. Everyone did. He just thought there was a possibility since he came back and you two were still just friends.

San can tell Seonghwa will always be number one for you. And that's okay. He's glad he is. You two work well together, and Seonghwa will put his life down for you over anyone. He's just sad because he believed he had a chance and today confirms he doesn't. He never did and he probably won't in the future.

This is as good as it gets for you two— you two as in you and San.

"Y/N." He calls for you once more when he notices your attention drifting off to the food on your plate, avoiding all eye contact.

"Hm?" You hum with a tiny smile.

"You know it's totally okay if there is, right?" You sigh and shrug. "You should just go for it."

"It's just not that easy."

"Whatever it is, I just want you to be genuinely happy." You pause. "And I truthfully think the answer has been in front of you the entire time."

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" You joke and give him a tiny, toothless smile.

"I'm afraid not." He laughs.

"I missed you." You let out a breath, cocking your head to the side as you observe him. Overall, he seems okay. He seems good. He seems happy.

You adore this Sannie, and you will always adore and cherish him the same way you always have.

"I missed you, too."

"So, can we talk a bit more about what else you've been up to over there? Your dating stories?"

"I'd be happy to tell you more." San smiles and continues to tell you about his adventures in Barcelona while the two of you dig into your main courses. Exploring and being on his own for the most part. He finally opens up about dating while he was out there, and how he had a few one night stands. He met a girl he did actually get into a rather serious relationship with, but he ended things since he knew he was coming home and didn't want her to plan her life around him. He wasn't the type to do long-distance relationships simply because he knew he wouldn't be able to pull it off.

The rest of dinner goes by smoothly, the two of you thoroughly enjoying each other just letting things be. Dinner made you realize that you missed having San by your side, and it made you remember all the times in college when you sat up late nights talking about everything and anything while everyone was asleep. You missed having that connection with him, and it feels good to have it back.

Though, you won't lie that San is incredibly attractive and someone you'd definitely fall for in another lifetime; being this way, not forcing things between you two and rebuilding your friendship after years felt the most right.

Your heart was just in another place.

When you get home, San opens your door and gives you a quick hug and a kiss to the temple before bidding you goodnight and sending his love to Yaya and Charli. It's just about Charli's bedtime so you quickly pick her up from the house to let Yaya rest and get her ready for bed with a quick wash up. Just as you respond back to Seonghwa's text, a call comes through on your phone from Soyeon.

"Hey." You press the phone against your shoulder while you continue to brush Charli's hair before bed.

"How's my daughter doing?"

"Good. Having the time of her life without you guys, actually." Soyeon laughs.

"Well, at least she isn't giving you problems."

"How's Japan?"

"Good! Warm. Fun."

"Gonna bless me with another niece or nephew?"

"Can you not?" You laugh.

"Doesn't hurt to ask, jeez."

"Anyway." She clears her throat. "I meant to call because I wanted to ask you about your dinner with San."

"You remembered?"

"Course I did, the heck? I was hoping to hear some juicy details by now."

"Nothing juicy. He's still the same Choi San." You chuckle.

"So, I'm guessing your little crush was actually just a little crush."

"Hey, he's attractive." You shrug. "But, I think we're always just going to be friends."

"Hm, cause of Hwa?"

"Now, why would you say that?"

"I digress."

"No please, enlighten me. Because even San had asked me if there was anything going on between us."

"Did he now? What'd you say?"

"Yeah, he did. And I said no, because what would be going on between me and Hwa?"

"Nothing." She sighs. But the silence definitely doesn't last long. "You know what, actually. I do appreciate San asking you that question. I wish you'd stop brushing it off." You sigh.

"What am I possibly brushing off?"

"The fact that you probably have feelings for your bestfriend, too. You're just afraid to admit it because you're afraid of things changing, or that Hwa doesn't actually feel the same. We can all see it, Y/N."

"I highly doubt it, it's just how we've grown to be."

"Girl, that man will lay down his life for you and drop everything just to be there for you in a heartbeat. He's done that for you since ever. You still think he doesn't feel that way for you?" Silence. "I'm just saying. A bestfriend doesn't always have to be at your beck and call because you're two different individuals running two very different lives. But quite frankly, Seonghwa is the one exception to that. He puts you before anything and anyone without question. If that ain't true, genuine love Y/N, I don't know what it is."

"You guys make this hard."

"Do we, or are you making it hard for yourself?" You sit and pause some more, quickly running through all of the moments Seonghwa has come to save you throughout the years. Be there for you. Lend an ear. Hug you and console you. Stay up with you. Find you in the rain when your ex-boyfriend let you leave. Held your hair back during shitty, wasted nights. Catered to you while you were sick. Helped your family; Soyeon, Yaya, Charli.

He was so, so immersed in your life that you didn't even realize how much he was. How deep it had gone for you and Seonghwa. How much Seonghwa had been there for you, more than you for him. There was no comparison.

Yet, he never complained once.

He never complained about putting you first.

"Mm, well. Just putting my two cents out there. You know I love you, right? And I just want you happy. Someone like Mingi doesn't deserve a good, beautiful person like you." Soyeon tries to cushion the blow, lecture, whatever you wanna call it, by reminding you about how much she cares for you.

"I know. I love you, too."

"Well, let me know how the aquarium goes tomorrow. And think about it, okay?"

"Mhm. Be safe with Junseo."

"Will be!" She ends the call, leaving you to sit and ponder on your thoughts longer than you'd like. Soyeon was right. You were just afraid, though. Why would Seonghwa have feelings for you like that when you two have known each other for long? You're convinced he'd always see you as his bestfriend, a pain in the ass, the one that he could never explore those territories with.

Today had you questioning everything. Revisiting everything, wondering what signs you've possibly missed. Your dreams. And now, you can't get it out of your head that maybe, you do love your bestfriend. That maybe, your heart was being saved for him. You can't deny the fact that you're curious.

"What's Uncle Hwa doing?"

"I don't know, pea. Probably busy." You finish brushing her hair and let out a breath, relieved Jini was able to help close up tonight and give you a break tomorrow. You were exhausted and you didn't realize just how much.

"Can you call him?"

"Cha, I'm sure he's busy."

"Call, Auntie Y/N. Please." She whines and you sigh, picking up the phone to Facetime Hwa.

"We're seeing him tomorrow, Charli."

"Ya, but.." Is all she responds with, eyes glued to the tv screen. "I w-wanna talk to Uncle Hwa."

"About what?"

"Tomorrow."

"He'll come." When Hwa finally picks up the Facetime call, you're only able to see his forehead and his eyes through the screen.

"What?" You furrow your brows at his incredibly sweet greeting.

"Jeez, hi to you, too."

"What're you calling me for?"

"For the record, it's not me calling you. Chacha wanted to talk to you for whatever reason." You hand her the phone. "Here, talk to your oh so loving Uncle Hwa." He snorts.

"Uncle Hwa!" She holds the phone loosely, also only showing off her tiny forehead and eyes through the camera.

"Yes, baby?"

"Are we still going to the aquarium tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we are. I'll pick you up in the morning, okay?"

"Okay." She giggles. "With Auntie Y/N, right?"

"Only because she asked to come." You glare at him from afar while fixing in your bathroom.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Laying down. Did you eat?"

"Mama made ramen."

"Hm, okay."

"Say goodbye, Cha. We have to go to bed."

"Oh. I have to go, Uncle Hwa." She looks down into the camera, making Seonghwa chuckle at how cute she looks. "Bye bye!"

"Sleep well, pea." Seonghwa says before clearing his throat. "Actually, can you put Auntie Y/N on the phone really quickly, please?"

"Titi Y/N!" Charli yells loudly. "Phone, phone, phone!"

"Okay, thank you!" You grab the phone from her, Charli running to your bed and getting under the blankets. "What is it?"

"What time do you guys wanna head to the aquarium tomorrow? Do you wanna go as soon as it opens in the morning?"

"Why, do you have other plans?"

"No, I'd rather just get in there when there isn't a big crowd yet."

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Breakfast, too?"

"Okay. So, what time should we be ready?"

"9am?"

"Okay."

"Well." Seonghwa shifts in his position. "If you need me again tonight, don't. I'm busy."

"Shut up, doing what?"

"Busy not picking up your calls."

"You idiot." He laughs.

"See you tomorrow. Give Cha a kiss for me." You look into the camera and roll your eyes before shutting off the call and getting into bed with Charli.

"Want some more?" Seonghwa looks at Charli as she eats a tiny cut of his pancake. She happily nods, picking at a blueberry off to the side of her plate. He cuts her a few tiny pieces, setting it onto the top. "What about you?" He looks at you.

"Can I have a little bite?"

"Here." He cuts you a half of his pancake and sets it on your plate.

"Uncle Hwa!"

"Mhm?"

"Do we get to see the penguins? A-and seals? A-and snakes, and jellyfishies, and starfishies!" Seonghwa laughs and nods, setting his empty plate aside.

"Yeah, we'll get to see all of that." Hwa calls the waitress over and immediately hands her his card to pay for the meal.

"Finish your food, pea. We'll see them as soon as you do."

"I'm done! I'm done!" She giggles.

"One more." Hwa forks the last piece of the pancake slice, popping it into her mouth before wiping away at it.

"I'm ready!" The waitress hands Seonghwa the receipt, giving him the opportunity to sign off on their receipt copy before tucking his away in his wallet.

"Good, me too!" He smiles at her and carries her out of the restaurant. You trail behind, watching as Seonghwa points at the birds flying around near the beach. The aquarium and restaurant were nestled on a small street right by the beach, gift shops and other cafes sitting alongside of them. It surprisingly isn't too busy yet, though you know the street and the aquarium will become crowded in the next hour or so. Seonghwa pauses in his steps and turns to wait for you while Charli continues to point out the seagulls sitting on the edge of the wooden rail that lines the walkway to the beach.

"Let me pay for the aquarium tickets."

"Nah, it's good. Don't worry about it."

"Hwa, you paid for our breakfast already."

"It's okay." He looks at you. "I wanted to take Charli out today."

"Oh, not me?"

"Not really." You playfully pinch him, causing Hwa to let out a small groan and a laugh. "I'm kidding. Seriously, it's not a big deal."

"Thank you." You give him a cute, toothless smile. After Charli finishes observing the seagulls around the beach, the three of you continue to walk towards the aquarium. Cars are slowly piling into the free spots on the road, and the street is becoming busier by the minute. The three of you wait at the corner of the street, waiting for the walk sign to come on in order to cross and finally make it to the aquarium. Just as the light turns red and switches the walk sign on, you step forward to make it across. But, you pause in your steps when you realize the oncoming car isn't stopping any time soon and Seonghwa picks up on it quick. He grabs onto your hand tightly and pulls you back, keeping Charli close to his side when the car continues to run the red light— barely slowing its speed.

"Idiot." He mutters to himself before looking at you, the both of your hands clasped together. "Careful."

"Thanks, pichu." He gives you a tiny smile before leading the way down the crosswalk, still holding onto your hand with Charli on his other. You like the way Seonghwa's hand fits so effortlessly into yours, the way it feels so natural, so meant to be—

"Uncle Hwa! Look!" Charli releases her grip from Seonghwa's hand and runs towards the seal statue near the ticket window. Seonghwa lets go of yours in an effort to run after her and make sure she doesn't wander too far, leaving you behind; suddenly feeling cold, empty. He doesn't spare a look back at you, busy snapping Charli's pictures while she poses next to the statue. You slowly head over, chuckling as Charli directs him on how to shoot the pictures.

"Look." Seonghwa shows her the pictures. "I'll send it to your mom and dad."

"Aw, Chacha. You look so cute. Who taught you how to pose like that?"

"You. And Mama." You laugh, fixing her piggytails while Seonghwa sends the pictures off and heads over to the window to buy the tickets. You hold onto Charli's hand as you two slowly approach the entrance, Seonghwa waving the tickets in the air to show off to Charli before handing it to the person at the door.

It's a slow start at first, with Charli glued to your hip as she holds your hand— bright eyes full of curiosity as they examine the surroundings. Seonghwa grabs a pamphlet that has the aquarium map included, suggesting to go straight into the marine life and coral reef section. As you walk in, the area is dimly lit, with the only light from the tanks bouncing off of the walls. Charli's eyes glow as she runts to the first tank full of jellyfish swimming around. She squeals when she waddles over to the clownfish touch pool, Seonghwa coming to her side and guiding her little finger across the surface to get a feel for their calcified skin. You giggle when she whines a bit at the feeling, Seonghwa reassuring her that they wouldn't bite or bother her.

Safe to say she was over it pretty quickly.

Eventually, you reach the coral reefs. Your eyes light up as you scan the entire tank against the wall, a variety of sea life co-existing and swimming through the clean waters. You sit Charli on the edge of the rail while you hold her close, letting her get up close and personal to the variety of fish swimming around the reefs. She looks up in awe, squealing and giggling to her heart's content when they pass her by and go along their merry way. Seonghwa comes from behind, surprising you with how close his chest is to your back.

"Chacha, did you see that?" He points from behind, chest now barely grazing your back. Any other time, you probably wouldn't have cared or looked into it much. But for some reason, today is different. You're not sure if it's because of the dream you had, or Soyeon's phone call— either or, or both. But today is different. You can't help but fix on how close Seonghwa's face would be if you were to turn to your left, on how he could literally engulf you in his arms and hold you close.

And the funny thing is, you don't think you'd push him away or dislike it one bit.

As if the universe was tuning into your thoughts, a fish comes swimming closely near the glass, causing Seonghwa to press up against your back and hold Charli's hand to the surface. He doesn't seem to pay any attention to what he's doing, chuckling with Charli as he continues to tell her what kind of fish it is. This might be a normal thing to him but to you, it's not.

Because now, your heart is beating against your chest [you hope to God he doesn't feel it]. Your palms feel sweaty. You're swallowing the lump in your throat. The room feels a teeny bit hotter.

"Titi Y/N, let's go!" Chacha whines a bit. You snap out of the trance you were just in, even though Seonghwa hasn't done much to create distance behind you. He looks down at you from the side, cocking a brow when he notices your delayed reaction.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." You put Charli down, following her direction as she leads you into the kelp forest exhibit, pointing at all the different fish she sees. There's a play area off to the side that she instantly finds interest in once she's gotten a good look at the sea life, romping around and digging her hands into the different activities laid out for toddlers. Seonghwa lingers around to supervise, with you trailing slowly after you've gotten to indulge in the exhibit. You loop your arm around Seonghwa's and he lets you, keeping you close to his side as Charli continues to play around in the play area.

"Hey, thanks for taking us today." He looks down at you and lets out a breathy chuckle.

"Wow, a thank you that I didn't have to initiate? That's a first." You gently punch him.

"I'm serious, pichu!"

"It's no biggie. As long as Chacha's happy."

"Yeah, she is."

"So, you never told me."

"What?"

"How was that dinner with Sannie?" Seonghwa asks, avoiding eye contact.

"It was cool. We mainly caught up." You shrug.

"That's all?"

"Why, do you think there's more? Did Sannie say something to you?" You nervously poke at him, but you're not sure if you're helping your case or making it worse.

"What?" Seonghwa looks at you. "I'm asking you. He didn't say anything to me."

"Oh, yeah. We just caught up about life. His program. Family stuff. Things you already know."

"Uh huh." Seonghwa cocks a brow up. "Why are you being so weird then?"

"I'm not!"

"Did he say something to you?"

"Seonghwa, no. I'm not being weird about anything."

"You're also a very bad liar."

"I'm not even lying, though." You sigh and let go of his arm. He won't let up, and it's only because you're so close to cracking. Even though San truthfully didn't mention anything specific about the dinner, you've been acting weird since he picked you up this morning. The way you look at him feels different, and the way you've been latching onto him is different. Not that he's complaining, but something has shifted in the air and he doesn't know what to make of it. But what he does know is you— he knows you, so, so well, and thats one thing he won't lose at. "I just—"

"Auntie! Uncle Hwa! Let's go to the penguins!" Charli yells as she runs towards you and grabs your hand. She begins to drag you over, telling you to hurry. "Uncle Hwa, come on!" You look at him and subconsciously grab for his hand to drag him along at the three year old's speed. Seonghwa follows along, having to pick up Charli in his arms so she's able to see properly. When he lets go of your hand, your heart sinks a bit and it must have registered on your face because Seonghwa has to do a double take. He catches how your smile fades and how you awkwardly fiddle with your fingers while looking out at the penguins. You brush it off pretty quickly though, with the way you giggle with Charli and pinch her cheeks when she happily waves at them. "I wanna go see the big dinos now!" She points to the dinosaur exhibit just down the other end of the room.

"Okay, let's go!" Seonghwa looks at you and holds out his arm, hoping that's the kind of comfort you were seeking for. Truthfully, he knows what you're asking for but part of him isn't sure why. And to be fair to you, to himself, he'll continue to keep it at bay until he's sure of what you're asking from him.

He doesn't wanna get his hopes up because it'll break him if you don't genuinely feel the same way he does.

And lowkey, he is a bit confused as to why you're acting needy all of a sudden. You've had your moments but Seonghwa knew to play it off because it felt innocent, like a bestfriend-honestly-bothering-her-bestfriend-just-because-he's-there kinda thing. Today, it didn't feel that way, especially when he looks at you and it seems like you wanna say something but you don't. Especially when you tug on his arm ever so subtly, hand teasing his so closely by the wrist.

What is it about today?

Why were you sending him mixed signals?

"What were you gonna say earlier?" Seonghwa asks while you continue to cling onto his arm.

"Oh, nothing." You decide you won't tell him about San's questions, or his sudden deep-dive into your relationship and feelings. You're hoping it stays between you two because lord knows you aren't ready to tackle that subject with Seonghwa right now, nor do you think Seonghwa would actually feel the same. Or, have the patience to deal with all the jumbled thoughts in your head about him. Little do you know. "We just caught up. That's all."

"Are you sure that was it? You know I hate liars, Y/N."

"Well, the subject about dating came up." You run through the sentence so fast that Seonghwa has to look down at you while trying to read into your expression. Whatever it was that was bothering you, he hopes you can talk to him about it. He'd be there to listen and offer his guidance no matter what.

Always you first.

"What about dating?"

"He asked if I was into anyone." You generally state now that Seonghwa's indulging in the conversation.

"Hope you didn't say Song Mingi." You gently nudge him.

"No, I didn't." You roll your eyes.

"Did you tell him you had a crush on him?"

"No."

"Hm." Seonghwa hums. "I still don't understand where you're going with this? What happened between you two?"

"Nothing."

"At all?"

"Look. I went to dinner with San and as I sat there, I realized he's still the Sannie I adore from years before. I just couldn't see him any other way."

"Whatever happened to 'he's so cute, Hwa'?" He mocks you. "Sannie is soooo cute, he would never date me." Seonghwa continues. "He'd never give me a chance, would he? Huhuhu—" His bottom lip pokes out.

"Quit, what is wrong with you!"

"I didn't say it, you did."

"I just realized some things, and I think he did, too."

"You're being so fucking cryptic, it's making my head hurt." Seonghwa rolls his eyes before returning his attention to Charli playing around with the dinosaur activities.

"How am I being cryptic?"

"You tell me everything, yet you can't even tell me what happened during your dinner with San without beating around the bush." You look at him with a small pout and he almost feels his knees buckling because god, he is so weak for you sometimes. But, because of that, he finds himself getting easily frustrated when you can't just be straight up with him. "So, where does this leave you two?"

"As friends. Like we always were." You tug on his wrist. "Hypothetically speaking, if we were to date, would that ruin things between us?" Seonghwa swallows the lump in his throat before shaking his head.

"Why would it ruin things between us?"

"I don't know, because we've always known each other like this. As bestfriends. It could be a dangerous thing, right? Cause we'd know too much about each other or whatever." You look up at him, and he locks his eyes with yours. He wishes he could say everything and nothing at once— but he sticks with the latter, his own example of keeping everything at bay.

"I truthfully don't think it'd ruin anything."

"B-because I feel like it would and that's why I'm just letting things be with San."

"You sure that's it? Cause I feel like you're asking for a different reason, and not for San in particular." He tilts his head to the side, and you're afraid he's reading into your mind. He's good at that shit, and you hate it. Because no, that's not it. He must know, that's why he's looking into your soul, patiently waiting for the truth to come out. "Y/N, I think—"

Seonghwa is why. He is the reason why you can't find yourself moving anywhere with San.

"I'm done! Let's go!" Charli runs up to Hwa's legs, interrupting the staring contest you two had going on just as he was about to carry on. You clear your throat and step away from him, focusing your attention on Charli.

"Wanna see all the bugs and snakes, pea? They're down there in that small section." You point down the hall and she grabs your hand.

"Yes! Let's go, let's go!" She repeatedly yells. "Uncle Hwa, come on! Slow poke!" He chuckles to himself, following the both of you into the insects exhibit.

As you, Charli and Seonghwa continue to go through the rest of the aquarium, you find yourself focusing on how well Seonghwa takes care of Charli. He continues to keep her smiling; throwing giggle fits when he swoops her into his arms and blows raspberries against her tummy. He patiently walks through every exhibit with her hand in his, pointing at the animals while giving her a fun fact or two. You rarely have to lift a finger because Seonghwa continues to keep her occupied, while also keeping you happy.

You don't have to ask for anything, and Seonghwa continues to deliver.

Towards the end, Charli asks for Seonghwa to take her into the gift shop. You find yourself wandering around, eyes fixed on the cute octopus plush they have on display. You set it down, convincing yourself you don't really need the damn thing [but it'd be nice]. By the time you've made your way around the store, you catch Seonghwa and Charli at the register— the same octopus plush in his hands. For a minute, you think it's for Chacha until you realize she already has a turtle plush she's hugging close to her chest. It isn't until Seonghwa turns towards you with a small smile, digging his wallet back into his pocket.

"Here."

"What, this is mine?"

"I wasn't the one looking at it." Seonghwa chuckles a bit. "Take it before I regret it."

"Hwa." You whine a bit, bottom lip poking out into a pout. "You didn't have to."

"You looked like you were having trouble putting it down so yeah, I guess I kinda had to."

"You paid for everything today." He shrugs.

"It's fine. I don't always find myself here, anyway." You hug him tightly, taking everything in while he pretends to be disgusted by the affection. "Please."

"You love me."

"I was forced to." You playfully punch him as you pull away, causing him to let out a small 'ow.'

"By the way, were you gonna say something earlier before Chacha dragged us to the insects?" Seonghwa pauses and he wants to yes. He does want to say something. He knows you weren’t talking about San. He wants you to know you’re all he wants. He wants to say he loves you, and adores you, and wants to take care of you if you'd just let him.

"Nah. It wasn't anything."

"You sure?"

"Mhm." You look at him and subtly frown at the way he looks conflicted, puzzled. But, he brushes off quick cause he knows you'll read into him, too.

"Mmkay then. Are you going to stay at my place for a bit or just drop us off?"

"I'll hang out for a bit. Ready?" He looks down at Charli, who has been entirely smitten over her turtle plush these past few minutes. She's completely oblivious to you two, barely paying any attention now that she has a new toy in hand.

"Yeah, let's get out of here." He nods in agreement, crouching down to Charli's level. "Ready to go, Chacha?"

"Yes please." She nods, letting Seonghwa hold her hand.

"You tired? Did you have fun at least?"

"I did." Is all Charli says as you make your way out of the now very busy aquarium. She yawns as she holds her turtle plush tight against her chest. Seonghwa pauses in his steps and waits for you to walk alongside of him, never wanting you to get left behind or lose sight of you. Once you finally catch up, you hold onto his arm while navigating through the crowded streets. Eventually, Seonghwa has to carry Charli and hold your hand in order to breeze through the rest of the crowd.

"Are you guys hungry for anything? Need anything before we go home?" The question slips from Seonghwa's lips so naturally, it almost seems like this is a normal, daily routine for you two. You nod though, remembering you do have a few groceries you'd like to grab.

Seonghwa doesn't complain.

He takes you to the market to give you some time to grab your groceries, staying in the car while Charli naps in her carseat. You're in and out, gently setting your bags on the floor in the backseat before settling into the passenger's seat. You and Seonghwa don't talk much on the way back home for the sake of Charli, only chiming in when you or Seonghwa have a pressing question to ask the other.

When you finally touch base at home, Charli wakes up in Seonghwa's arms while he carries her into your suite. You usher her into the bathroom for a quick bath before slipping her into some comfy pajamas. Seonghwa is relaxing on the couch, randomly watching Loki while waiting for you two to be finished.

"What're you gonna cook for dinner later?"

"Not sure. I might see what Yaya has. I'm too lazy." He chuckles.

"Put those groceries to use." He stands and heads to the kitchen. "I can make something, but it'll sit out for awhile until dinner."

"It's fine." You brush Charli's wet hair before sitting her in between your lap to dry her hair. "What're you doing later anyway?"

"Nothing."

"Why don't you just hang out and stay or something?"

"You want me to?"

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"Don't wanna invade your space or whatever you say." You laugh.

"I'm telling you to stay."

"Alright then."

"Don't sound too excited, jeez." He laughs.

"What do you want me to say?" Seonghwa smiles and gently tickles at Charli's stomach. "At least I'll be with Chacha!" She giggles as you continue to dry her hair. "Gonna wash up." He heads to your closet to go through the random assortment of bottoms and tops that you've borrowed [kept].

Throughout the rest of the afternoon and early evening, Seonghwa indulges in Charli's antics and plays along with her— giving you some time to clean around the suite and help Yaya with a few things in the house. As night time falls, Seonghwa is quick to make dinner for you and Chacha, putting all of the cooked dishes in front of you on the coffee table while you watch a movie with Charli. Once he's satisfied and cleans up after himself in the kitchen, he settles on the opposite side of Charli and indulges in Encanto playing loudly on the screen.

After dinner, you help Seonghwa clean up before you're getting Charli ready for bed and tucking her in. Seonghwa has made a little bed in your tiny living room area floor— pushing the coffee table up so that you three can lay comfortably. When Monsters University comes on, you find that Seonghwa is invested but.. isn't? He's constantly checking his phone, and you shouldn't be annoyed because it's probably the boys.

But, you are.

It's probably the boys.

Right?

Why does it matter?

"Are you watching?" You squint at him and he quickly finishes his text before he plops the phone down on his chest and looks at you.

"Yeah?"

"No, you're not." You give him a look. "Are you texting the boys?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He teases and you roll your eyes. "I'm kidding. Yes, and someone I met a couple of days ago."

"What? You never told me about that."

"I didn't tell you because it's just that. We met and we're just casually talking about things."

"A girl?" He nods.

"Uh huh. Her cousin plays for the football team and she was visiting during training."

"Oh, interesting. Are you like.. interested in her?" You divert your attention to the movie.

"Uh." Seonghwa pauses and shrugs, even if you aren't looking at him. "I'm just seeing where things go? Do I need to have a reason right now?"

"No. I'm just wondering." He picks up his phone again when it dings.

"But Uncle Hwa, I thought Titi Y/N was y-your girlfriend." She stutters as she keeps her eyes on the movie.

"Mm, she is my friend who is a girl, Chacha. My bestfriend."

"But, my mommy said—"

"Okay, let's watch the movie, pea." You cut her off and she happily obliges. "You too, Uncle Hwa." You glare at him once more before smacking him on the bicep.

"Ouch, stop. I'm watching." He whispers harshly, yet continues to text.

"Pichu." You whine "You stop." He grabs your hand before you could land your next hit. He chuckles as he holds onto it, not wanting to let go but to also make his point that you aren't winning this fight. "Hwa." You whine even more.

"I win."

"Fine." You pout and he pinches your cheek.

"Loser." He smiles. "I'm watching, okay? I'm done." He sets his phone to the side and gives you a look. "See?"

"Mhm. What else could possibly be more important than us?"

"Drama." He laughs. "Why does it matter anyway, you're gonna fall asleep in two—"

"Uncle Hwa, Titi Y/N. Movie." Charli says looking at the both of you before shifting her attention back to the TV. You pinch Seonghwa on the shoulder, causing him to silently wince in pain before the both of you finally pay attention to the movie.

It's not long before you feel your eyes getting heavy, and you hate to admit that Seonghwa knows you so well. Charli hadn't fallen asleep too long ago, sandwiched in between you and Seonghwa— her hair a mess on the pillow. She's letting out some soft snores, her hand resting lazily on her chest.

She must've had a long, but good and fun day.

Seeing her this comfortable and content makes you even more sleepy. So much more sleepy that within the next scene, you're fast asleep with your head resting against Chacha's. Seonghwa figures it's a bit too quiet— too quiet especially for someone like you, who is the main yapper between the two of you.

He looks at you and smiles softly to himself.

His heart does a thing; it always does a thing, but in these moments it feels too intense for him to register. He just wants this.

And it's so hard for him to fight it off when there's that glimmer of hope saying you feel the same way.

That you want this, too.

Especially after today. Because he knows you well, so well, and he knows there are things you meant to say but you couldn't. He understands, though. He wants to say a lot, he's just not sure how. But god, does he hope he's right for once.

He hopes that you are looking at him in a different light, he hopes that you've realized he'd been here all along.

"If only you knew." He whispers. "Night, Y/N." He says softly before pulling the blanket up to cover you perfectly, brushing the hair away from your face before shutting off the TV and laying on his back to stare at the ceiling.

He just hopes for you, and you only.

♡ taglist: @hwasbabygirl @fairyofhueningkai @chngbnwf @tinyteezer @everyonewooeverywhere @pearbunny @mxnsxngie @starhwahwa @woosmaid @yeosangsbbg @jycas @lyracarvahall @huachengsbestie01 @asjkdk @bintificreads @interweab @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs

#seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa series #park seonghwa series #park seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa #ateez #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez series #seonghwa smut #seongwha fluff #seonghwa angst #park seonghwa smut #park seonghwa fluff #park seonghwa angst #hwaslayer: love you in slow motion

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