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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 3 months ago

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I’ll Be Yours For The Weekend

WC: 2K

Summary: Highschool sweethearts Connor and Y/n reunite in their hometown for thanksgiving where their breakup after graduation happened and their reaction to seeing each other was to call each other babe for the weekend inevitably creating two different f reactions when returning to their separate lives across the country.

Warnings: None but ANGSTY ANGST ANGST

Connor Bedard stepped off the plane, the cold autumn air of Canada wrapping around him like an old, familiar blanket. It felt surreal to be back in the hometown that had shaped so much of who he was, yet everything felt heavier than he remembered. Months had passed since he was drafted by the Chicago Blackhawks, and now he stood on the cusp of a new life—one filled with expectations, pressure, and a dream he had long chased. But despite the excitement, an emptiness gnawed at him.

His thoughts drifted to Y/N, the girl he had loved for three years. The one who had stood by him through countless late-night practices, who had cheered him on from the stands, and whose laughter had filled his world with joy. Breaking up before the draft had been a decision they both had agonized over, but the weight of their separate futures had felt insurmountable. Now, as he drove through familiar streets, he couldn’t escape the memories. The school they attended together, the coffee shop where they spent endless afternoons, the park where they shared secrets, her parents house—it all felt achingly close yet impossibly distant.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Y/N stared out the window of her Los Angeles dorm. The palm trees swayed lazily in the warm breeze, but she felt frozen in time. She had thrown herself into her studies, trying to push the aside the remaining gaping void Connor had left behind. She followed his journey from afar through screens, proud yet heartbroken, knowing their love was now just a bittersweet memory. Thanksgiving was approaching, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to go home, despite the ache that came with it.

When she arrived back in their hometown, Y/N felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over her. Every corner of the town whispered Connor’s name, from the diner they had frequented to the bench where they’d carved their initials. It felt like a time capsule, preserving their shared moments, while the reality of their separation weighed heavily on her heart.

The day before Thanksgiving, she found herself at the local grocery store, running errands her mother sent her to do before the feast. The store buzzed with activity, filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, but Y/N felt isolated, her mind still wandering back to Connor. Suddenly, as she turned a corner, she collided with someone. The familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

“Y/N?”

Time stood still as she looked up into Connor’s eyes. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them back together. They both wore expressions of shock, disbelief washing over them like a tidal wave.

“Connor-” she managed to breathe, a mix of surprise and warmth flooding her heart.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, a smile breaking through the initial surprise.

They stood in the aisle, surrounded by shelves filled with holiday treats, but all they could see was each other. After a brief moment of hesitation, they fell into an easy conversation, sharing updates about their lives. The chemistry between them felt electric, as if no time had passed since their last encounter.

“Do you remember that time we got lost on our way to the lake?” Connor asked, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her.

“Of course! We ended up at that diner and ordered way too many fries,” Y/N replied, her smile genuine, igniting memories that warmed her heart.

As they continued to talk, the hurt of their breakup began to fade, replaced by a sense of comfort and familiarity. It was as if the months apart had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. They spent nearly an hour wandering the aisles, the grocery store fading into the background as they rediscovered each other.

“Hey,” Y/N said softly, the words barely escaping her lips. “What if we drove around town this weekend? Like old times?”

“Like old times?” Connor replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah,” she said, her heart racing at the prospect of reclaiming a piece of their past.

The next day, they met again, the air crisp and fresh as they set off in Connor’s car. As they drove through familiar roads, every turn brought a rush of memories—each place was a snapshot of their past, a reminder of the love they had shared. Connor played their favorite songs, and they sang along, the laughter spilling out of the windows and into the crisp autumn air.

The first stop was the park where they had spent countless afternoons. They parked and stepped out, taking a moment to breathe in the nostalgia. The leaves crunched under their feet as they walked along the path, the same path they had walked as teenagers, hand in hand.

“Remember when we used to come here every weekend after school and just sat on that swing set?” Y/N asked, pointing to the rusting swings in the distance.

Connor chuckled, “And that day you pushed me so hard I flew off!”

“Hey there was in no way that was my fault! You leaned over!” she teased, nudging him playfully.

They made their way to the swings, their laughter echoing through the park. Y/N settled onto one swing while Connor took the one beside her. They began to swing gently, the rhythmic motion stirring memories of simpler times.

“Do you ever think about us?” Y/N asked, her voice softening.

“Every day,” Connor admitted, his gaze fixed on the ground. “It’s hard not to. You were such a huge part of my life.”

“I miss you,” she confessed, the weight of her words hanging between them.

“I miss you too,” he replied, the honesty in his voice wrapping around her like a warm hug. “But what do we do about it?”

The question lingered in the air, unanswered. They swung in silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts. The connection they shared felt as real as ever, yet the reality of their separate lives loomed large.

After leaving the park, they drove past their old high school. Connor slowed down, memories flooding back. “Can you believe we actually graduated?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, and now look at us,” Y/N said with a hint of irony. “You’re an NHL player, and I’m… well, trying to figure out college.”

“Hey, you’re doing amazing,” he reassured her. “You’ve always been the smart one.”

As they reminisced, the hurt from their breakup felt like a distant memory. They were just two teenagers again, laughing and teasing one another. The conversation flowed easily, the comfort of their shared history creating a safe space to explore the unspoken tension.

Eventually, they found themselves at the local diner, a spot they had frequented during their high school years after discovering it instead of the lake. They settled into a booth, and as they browsed the menu, Connor glanced around, taking in the familiar sights.

“I can’t believe this place hasn’t changed at all,” he said, grinning. “Still serving the best milkshakes in town.”

Y/N laughed. “And the greasiest fries! Some things never change.”

They placed their orders and continued to chat, the conversation flowing seamlessly. With every laugh and shared memory, the walls they had built around themselves began to crumble. It felt natural, as if they were slipping back into their old rhythm.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said before,” Connor said suddenly, his tone shifting. “About driving around town. I mean, we’re here now. Why not make the most of it?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s do everything we used to do,” he proposed, excitement sparking in his eyes. “Let’s revisit all our favorite spots.”

“Haven’t we been basically doing that?” she asked, her heart racing at the thought.

“I guess, but I mean for the whole weekend. Let’s call this weekend ours… Please?” he said, a pleading grin spreading across his face.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay, but I’m in charge of the playlist!”

They left the diner, laughter bubbling between them as they jumped back into the car. Connor cranked up the music, the familiar tunes flooding their senses, and for a moment, everything felt right.

They visited the arcade where they had spent many Friday nights, laughing over games and sharing fries. They drove down the streets where they had cruised in Connor’s old car, the wind whipping through their hair as they sang along to their favorite songs. Each stop brought a rush of emotions, a mix of happiness and melancholy that only deepened their connection.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, they found themselves back at the park. The air was cooler now, but the warmth between them was undeniable. They wandered to the same bench where they had spent countless afternoons, lost in conversation.

“I can’t believe how easy this feels,” Y/N said, leaning back against the bench, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah, it’s like no time has passed,” Connor agreed, his gaze drifting to her. “It’s just us again.”

“Do you think we could… I don’t know, make this work?” she asked cautiously, the vulnerability in her voice palpable.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he replied, the seriousness in his tone cutting through the lightness of the moment. “I want to. But everything is different now. You’re in L.A., I’m in Chicago…”

“But what if we tried?” she urged, her heart racing at the thought of losing him again.

Connor took a deep breath, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I don’t want to hurt you again. We’ve come so far.”

“I know,” she said softly, her heart aching.

“But we’re happy now. Can’t we just enjoy this?”

She looked at him, and for a moment, it felt like the world faded away. “Yeah, let’s just enjoy this.”

As the weekend unfolded, their connection deepened

As the weekend drew to a close, the once bright spark of excitement began to dim, leaving behind a lingering sense of melancholy. Y/N and Connor spent their final hours together in quiet reflection, driving through the small town that had witnessed their shared history. It had been a weekend filled with laughter and warmth, but the uncertainty about their future remained.

The day they had to say goodbye arrived too soon. Connor was scheduled to fly back to Chicago, and Y/N had a flight back to Los Angeles the next morning. They stood in the driveway of her house, the chill of the autumn air pressing in on them.

“This feels harder than I thought it would be,” Connor said, his voice low as he looked down at Y/N.

“I know,” she replied softly, wrapping her arms around herself, as if the cold wasn’t just from the air, but from the inevitable goodbye.

Connor reached out and took her hand. “We’ve always had something special. But with you in L.A. and me in Chicago… I don’t know if I can handle the distance. I don’t want to keep dragging this out just to end up hurting each other.”

Y/N nodded, though her heart twisted painfully. She knew what he was saying was logical, but the emotions they had shared over the weekend had reignited something in her she wasn’t ready to let go of.

“I get it, Connor. But I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I wish we could try.”

His hand tightened around hers, his eyes softening with regret. “I do too. But we agreed to just enjoy the moment, right? And that’s what we did.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears, but she forced a smile. “Yeah, let’s leave it at that.”

They hugged for a long moment, neither one wanting to let go. But eventually, Connor pulled away, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“You too, Connor.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Back in Los Angeles, Y/N threw herself into her studies again. The first few days were tough—she found herself replaying every conversation, every moment she and Connor had shared. She kept telling herself that she had made peace with their goodbye, but the quiet moments between her busy schedule reminded her otherwise.

But as time passed, she started to heal. University life picked up pace, and she found herself surrounded by friends and new experiences. Slowly, the ache of their goodbye lessened.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, Connor felt the opposite. Life in the NHL had been his dream for as long as he could remember, and playing for the Blackhawks was everything he had worked for. But the high of being in the league didn’t fill the emptiness inside him. He found himself thinking about Y/N constantly—about how she had looked at him with such hope in her eyes that weekend, and how he had let her go. He had told himself it was the right thing to do, but each day, the weight of that decision felt heavier.

Despite the distance, they hadn’t completely severed their connection. A few weeks after their goodbye, Connor followed Y/N on social media again, and she followed him back. It was a small gesture, but one that kept them tethered. Small texts started to trickle in—wishing each other good luck during games, asking how school was going, commenting on random things they saw online. It was casual, almost like two old friends who had drifted apart but still cared about each other.

For Y/N, these texts became easier as the months passed. She no longer felt the pang of loss every time she saw Connor’s name pop up on her screen. She had started dating again, nothing serious, but enough to remind her that life went on. She was healing, slowly but surely.

But for Connor, each message was a reminder of what he had walked away from. His teammates noticed he wasn’t quite himself—he was playing well, but there was a distance in his demeanor. Every time he texted Y/N, a part of him wished he could say more. He missed her, missed the way she understood him, missed the way she made him laugh. The loneliness gnawed at him, growing more unbearable with each passing day.

One night, after a particularly tough game, Connor found himself scrolling through his messages with Y/N, rereading their short exchanges. He stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to reach out, to tell her he’d made a mistake. That he was willing to try long distance, that he didn’t care about the miles between them, that he’d wait for her—however long it took.

With a deep breath, Connor typed out a message: Hey, can we talk? I’ve been thinking a lot, and I miss you. I want us to try again, and I’m okay with long distance if you are. I just need you to know that I’ll wait for you.

Just as he was about to hit send, he hesitated. His thumb hovered over the send button, but something stopped him. Instead, he opened her Instagram, a habit he had picked up over the last few weeks. He scrolled through her recent posts, his heart aching as he saw her smiling, surrounded by friends, seemingly happy. And then he froze.

There was a new post—a picture of Y/N and a guy. They were sitting close together on a bench, the sun setting behind them, casting a warm glow over their faces. The guy had his arm around her, and though it wasn’t an overly intimate photo, the look in Y/N’s eyes as she smiled up at him said everything.

Connor’s stomach dropped. His hand clenched around his phone, his heart pounding in his chest. The words he had just typed out seemed suddenly foolish, pointless. She was moving on. She was happy. And he had no right to disrupt that, not after he had been the one to let her go.

Without another thought, he deleted the message, staring at the blank screen as the reality of his decision came crashing down on him.

Connor shut his phone off and leaned back on his couch, closing his eyes as regret washed over him. He had made a choice, and now he had to live with it. But in the back of his mind, the thought that maybe—just maybe—he had lost the one person who truly understood him, refused to go away.

#connor bedard #connor bedard x reader #jack hughes x reader #trevor zegras x reader #quinn hughes x reader #connor bedard imagine #luke hughes #umich boys #chicago blackhawks #nhl x reader #chicago #luke hughes x reader #umich hockey #nhl imagine

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mavrintarou · 11 months ago

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[11:16 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi

It's been a while since I last posted about Omi-Omi. Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

Warning: mild angst but reconciled and happy smut (18+)

Kiyoomi set his gym bag in the usual spot of his apartment. Tonight, his home felt unusually cold and empty.

Switching the lights on, he is met with two floating balloons and a bag with red and pink hearts printed all over it.

He let out a chuckle and grabbed the bag, pulling out the tissue paper that was stuffed inside. He found all sorts of chocolate inside, his favorite chocolates.

Happy Valentine’s Day, jerk.

Y/n

Kiyoomi released a deep sigh. He and Y/n had gotten into an argument two nights ago, he couldn’t even remember what it was about. But it was 48 hours of silence from Y/n, 48 hours of emptiness.

The phone line rang repeatedly until it went to her voicemail.

He’s sent her three texts and they were left unread.

“C’mon…” he whispered, pacing around his place. “Pick up, please…”

A click came from the other line and he exhaled, “Y/n, thank goodness, where – “

“Hi, this isn’t Y/n but I’m her coworker!”

Kiyoomi frowned, and growled, “where is Y/n?”

“We are at a company dinner and she’s here… a little intoxicated…”

Kiyoomi could hear mumblings in the background, “… who is it…”

“Where are you guys?” he asked, heading to the shoe rack to put his shoes on.

He heard muffling but couldn’t hear clearly.

“… don’t tell him where I am…”

“… he’s mean and I don’t – I don’t wanna see him right now…”

His heart dropped.

“Hi, hello? Are you still there? Omi? Is this Omi with a white heart emoji next to your name? The Omi that is mean?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi answered defeatedly, “this is Omi.”

“Look,” whoever this person on the other line whispered, “she keeps saying you are mean and she doesn’t want to see you but I secretly know she does, women to women, she wants to see you… we’re… we’re at the XXXX restaurant.” She paused before whispering loudly, “come get your girl!”

Kiyoomi’s strides were only half their usual length, and he inserted a two-second pause between each step. Y/n, with a gloomy mood, followed four feet behind him.

Arriving at the restaurant, he discovered her sitting sadly at the end of the table, all alone. Her colleagues were accompanied by their partners, but Y/n was left by herself. Kiyoomi felt a lump of guilt in his throat; he should have been there with her.

Their most recent argument stemmed from this issue. Y/n had requested him to cut short his training if possible for one night, but he declined, emphasizing the priority of his training.

“I’m simply asking if you could leave an hour earlier, or even thirty minutes early to make it to dinner, if it’s feasible. Can you not even manage that?” Her voice was tinged with angst.

“No, you understand how important my training is. I can’t simply leave early for something like this.”

Something like this…

Now, he felt the full weight of guilt engulfing him.

He halted and glanced back, noticing that Y/n had also come to a stop, gazing into the distance. Following her gaze, he spotted a small shop with claw and capsule machines.

He is reminded of his snarky comment about her liking such stupid things.

Walking up to her, he waited until she looked at him. “Let’s go,” he said jerking his head towards the shop.

Her cheeks were still rosy from the alcohol, her eyes weren’t as lively as they should be. “No,” she grumbles, looking away with a pout. “It’s just stupid stuff,” she attempted to walk around him when he caught her wrist and began tugging her towards the store. “What are you doing?”

He ignores her question and tugs her gently along until they get to the change machine. Stuffing a few bills inside to exchange for tokens. “What would you like?”

She looked at the handful of tokens and then his eyes, and with a weary tone she asked, “why are you doing this?”

“Because you like it and it makes you happy,” his tone is gentle and careful, “and I want to see you happy.” He puts a handful of tokens in her palm. “Go, show me what makes you happy.”

Still pouty, she closed her fingers around the token and walked around him.

Kiyoomi smiled to himself, knowing deep down she was excited.

“Are you satisfied with your wins?” He stared at the bag full of plushies and capsule toys.

Y/n nodded, restraining a bright smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Seizing the opportunity, Kiyoomi extended his left hand, asking, “can you hold my hand?” He let out a quite breath when she placed her palm in his. They walked side by side in silence.

“Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

“Let’s go grab some junk food at 7/11 and... my place?” He prayed she would come over but instead, she looked at him as if he had two heads. Chuckling, he knew why she was looking at him weirdly. He was completely against eating any junk food, let alone anything from a convenience store. “A little junk food won’t kill me.”

“It might make you sick though?”

“Shh, don’t jinx me like that.”

Sure enough, it did make him feel sick.

All he ate was a cup of instant ramen, and within less than an hour, he started experiencing stomach churning.

“I told you,” Y/n scolded, yet concern was written all over her face. She quickly ushered him to lie down on the couch.

If it meant for Y/n to nurse him and show him affection again, the stomach ache was worth it.

He groaned, “it hurts…”

Digging through her purse, she tried to look for her pill box. “Here, take this medication. It’ll help with the tummy ache.”

He accepted the small pill and popped it into his mouth, taking it down with water. He grabbed her hand, “rub my tummy like you did that one time.”

Y/n hesitated, staring at him suspiciously before reaching to push his shirt up to reveal his abdomen. She ignored the ripples of muscles and put pressure on a certain area of his body.

Kiyoomi groaned, feeling instant relief.

She reached for his hand and placed it with hers, “when you have a tummy ache, always press this pressure point.”

She was about to stand up when he stopped her. Panicking he asked, “wait, where are you going?”

“I’m just going to make you some rice soup.”

He still pouted, watching her walk away to his kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with a bowl of steaming contents. “Bland, just the way you like it,” she mentioned, taking a seat on the edge of the couch. “How is your stomach feeling?”

“It’ll feel a lot better if you do it…”

Y/n scoffed and slapped his hand away, “you’re such a baby.”

“Correction, I’m your baby…”

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him, “who are you and what have you done to Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s lips turned downwards. “Omi…” he corrected quietly. When she doesn’t respond he bites his lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”

Her brow raised, and she looked at him as if she didn’t comprehend what he was saying.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, louder this time. “I have been a jerk and insensitive to you… I have not been compromising and mean to you and I’m sorry,” he bowed his head. “I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I’ll do better, I promise. Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracked at his last part of his sentence.

“Leave you? Who said I was leaving you?”

“But you didn’t want to see me?”

Y/n frowned, confused. “When did I say that?”

“Earlier on the phone, I heard you telling your coworker that you didn’t want to see me…” very quietly he added, “that hurt my feelings.” He felt childish but he wanted to be honest.

“I didn’t want to see you is very different from I’m leaving you,” Y/n clarified. She sighed, running a hand through her hair before reaching for the bowl of soup. She blew to cool the spoonful of soup before bringing it to his mouth. “I said that I didn’t want to see you because I knew I would give in and forgive you.”

He swallows the soup before asking, “please forgive me?”

“I saw your face so I already forgave you.”

He couldn’t ignore the cheering in his mind. “Do you really mean it? You forgive me for being a jerk?”

“Yes, you jerk.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you called yourself that too?” Y/n countered, shoving a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Eat and feel better.”

Kiyoomi smiles, “… kiss me, that would really make me feel better.”

The corner of her lips tugged upward, “you sly jerk…”

He sits up, bringing his face close to hers. “Please, a kiss?”

She pecks his lips.

He pouted, “that’s not a kiss.”

“Yes it is, my lips touched yours.”

He blinked and then frowned, “that was hardly a kiss…”

Y/n raised a brow, challenging him, “then what’s a kiss to you then?”

And he showed her.

He cupped her face, tilting it before pressing his lips against hers. As soon as she gasped, he slipped his tongue in, meeting hers in a tango.

“Omi…” Y/n breathed, pushing him away to catch a breath.

His lips continued to her jaw and down her neck. “Please Y/n…” he begged, tugging at her tucked-in dress shirt. He pulls away and looks at her with dark pupils, waiting for her consent.

She launched at him, knocking him onto his back once more. Her mouth moved hungrily against his as she tugged at his clothes.

“I’m not going anywhere…” he chuckled.

“You will be if you don’t take help take our clothes off…”

Their clothes lay carelessly on the ground seconds later.

Y/n raised herself and straddled his lap. She rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the length of his cock.

Kiyoomi hissed loudly as his hands gripped her hip tightly, nails digging into her hip bone. “Don’t –“ he choked, “don’t tease me…” He didn’t miss the smirk on her lips.

Having enough of not being inside of her already, Kiyoomi flipped them and shifted her underneath him. His hand found one of hers and threaded their fingers together, clasping tightly. He searched her eyes and she answered by lifting her hips.

“Haa, you’re going to be the death of me,” he sank his cock into her sweet pussy.

He waited a few seconds, savoring the intimate bond. Kiyoomi peers down at her before pressing his forehead against hers and without breaking eye contact, he whispers, “I love you.”

He doesn’t express those three words as frequently as he ought to, but he can observe the way her eyes illuminate when he does. “I love you, Y/n…” he repeated, rocking his hips slowly but deeply. “I know I don’t say it often enough for you but you are my everything… and I never want to be without you again…”

Y/n released a soft whimper and cupped his face, connecting their lips. “I love you too, Omi…”

It was soft lovemaking.

Each rock of his hips was gentle with care, with love.

“Let’s cum together?”

Y/n nodded, tightening her arms around his shoulders and soon their bodies trembled in release.

Kiyoomi pulls Y/n up and they sit down, still connected very intimately. He reached for the bag of chocolate, took a piece, and unwrapped it before placing it into her mouth. Then, he helped himself to a piece as well.

“Thank you for the chocolate,” he murmurs.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Omi.”

. . .

E/n: Going back to Teo now...

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

#haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa fluff #sakusa angst #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x reader #haikyuu sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi

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selarina · 7 months ago

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Bleeding Heart Dove (Part 2)

-> Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: It’s been a year since Nanami proposed taking the trip. He tried, he really did, but something always came up — a dinner party, a missing kid, his niece’s birthday, a fucking recession — always something.

Tags: angst, slow burn, marriage au, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, second chance au, suggestive, mild language, beach episode, reader wears a dress, unresolved tension (they need to fuck nasty), hint of suicidal ideation (mainly mentioned in hyperbole form), themes of infidelity (no cheating though), unedited

Word Count: 3.4k words

Author's Note: can be read as a one shot — anyway, look at my sweet burnt out babies!!

Read on AO3 | Part 1

It’s been a year since Nanami proposed taking the trip.

He tried, he really did, but something always came up — a dinner party, a missing kid, his niece’s birthday, a fucking recession — always something. One would argue these were mere excuses, but they weren’t there. It was life or death, sometimes.

You don’t blame him in the least, really. You were swamped too. And most frankly, the idea of a trip had started to position itself more as a chore rather than a respite. So, eventually, the two of you, as though in silent agreement, gave up. But there was this underlying feeling within you — that if you didn’t change something you would end up sticking a knife into your chest just to feel something.

—

Nanami woke up this morning from no dreams. It had been years since he dreamt a dream.

He found himself sprawled on his stomach, eyes opening to the muted gray of an overcast sky right outside the window. It was raining, he could see the raindrops hitting themselves against the metal window ledge. He thought, maybe if he willed himself to do it — he would be able to fall back asleep to the patterned sound of the raindrops and forget about the office for a day. But he couldn’t bring himself to— today was important. He’d get that promotion and then— well.

More pay? For sure. But he earns enough, and it seemed to have lost its weight; he felt he was barely making a dent with this new promotion.

But he’d get the promotion, and that’s huge. This promotion. This damned promotion that he worked for the past year? It’s huge.

He pushed himself up, stretching his neck side to side, up and down, side to side, before making his way towards the shower.

—

“Morning,” you said, as you sat by the balcony — the doors only slightly open today, unlike other days. The balcony is located right by the living room, and the space there isn’t much, but you had always managed to squeeze your way through, promptly, every morning before work.

“Morning,” he replied, making a beeline for the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

You were never one to cook, not with him around at least. He liked cooking, the routine of it all — it was soothing. Lately, he has been wanting to cook a lot more than is needed. He figures it’s just something to give his hands to do.

You peered at him from your place by the balcony, sipping your cold cold glass of tea. The morning air seemed chill from what little you could feel of it from the cracked door. It made you want to go back and find the warmth within your bed, but instead, you made a mental note to carry an umbrella and your thick black coat to work.

"So, big day today," you said, more statement than a question, breaking the silence. You already knew the answer.

"Yeah," he replied, not turning from his task as he opened the capsule and poured some olive oil into the pan. "The promotion."

You nodded, though he couldn't see you.

"Well, good luck," you said moments later, meaning it.

He glanced back at you, only catching the back of your head as you gazed out at the absurdly vast sky. A soft smile touched his lips. "Thank you," he said.

—

He got back early tonight, and he wanted to ask you out for dinner.

Due to the promotion. Celebration. Joyous event that apparently incited every coworker of his to assume that he was celebrating big with the missus.

But he hadn't discussed anything with you. You would be home soon, and he surmised you’d agree, if not out of genuine happiness, then at least out of sheer politeness. So, he called a restaurant — one you’ve both been to, one you liked.

“Thank you for calling Purple Velvet and Co.,” came the smooth, professional voice on the other end.

“Hi,” Nanami spoke up, clearing his throat. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” came the immediate, machine-like response.

“I would like to make a reservation for two tonight, around 9 PM,” Nanami said.

“Certainly, sir. May I have your name?”

“Nanami Kento.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kento. Your reservation for two at 9 PM is confirmed. We look forward to serving you.” Three seconds of silence and Nanami almost cuts the call. “Oh, and sir— I will be sending you a link to this number to confirm your registration. It will require your card details, as per our policy.”

Nanami scrunched his brows up, “What for?”

“Sir, it is restaurant policy that failure to show up will result in a deduction of 20.”

“That’s… a strange policy.”

“Sir, all high-end restaurants employ this policy. Especially so, on a Friday night.”

“Alright,” he muttered, resigning to the absurdity of modern restaurant policies.

And so he waited for you to return. You must have come home sometime between the two naps he took on the couch, for he woke up to find you dressed up, hair done, and coat on as if he had sleep-talked and invited you to dinner, or simply forgotten.

“Oh,” you said, as you looked up while fastening your earring. “You’re up.”

“Yes,” he said.

“So, did you get it?”

“Yes, I did.”

A genuine smile spread across your face. “Congratulations,” you said.

“Thank you,” he mirrored your smile.

“I’m heading for dinner,” you said. “If you’re up when I’m back — I’ll bring some wine back for us to split.” You maintained your smile, and Nanami felt himself reconsidering the whole situation at hand. The dedication from the restaurant. The useless promotion. Your green dress. Your fucking green dress — where are you going anyway? He hadn’t asked you about your outings in years, so why would he start now? It would be strange, wouldn’t it?

So, he smiled and willed himself to keep it within him. At least until after you left.

And then he would—

Well, and then he did nothing. He plopped himself on the couch and did nothing but stare at the space outside. The twinkling stars, and the still night sky. It would’ve been lovely for dinner.

He thinks he could go out for dinner, by himself. Or invite a lifeless friend or two. But what would be the point?

And so, he waited. Was he waiting for you? He couldn’t tell — all he could tell was that he felt attached to the couch, unable to move. At some point through the night, his phone lit up — the notification of a deduction being made.

He sighed and bent down to look at the table before him and picked up a book, and engrossed himself in it. It’s one of yours and he’s almost halfway through. It’s a dreary gothic love story. Tragedy. Desire. More tragedy. He wasn’t sure you were into this genre. Last he checked, you were amidst an interest in science fiction.

The sound of the door knob rattling had Nanami perking up. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but groggily, he sits up from the couch, blinking away the bleariness in his eye. When the door cracks open, he sees you, your features are shrouded by your hair, as you slipped in as though you were a thief.

“Oh—” You looked at him, shocked as you chuckled. “You’re still up.”

“Yes,” he replied. His throat was dry like sandpaper.

“It’s pretty late,” you say.

“What’s the time?” he inquired, a note of urgency creeping into his tone

You deposited your unused umbrella beside the shoe cabinet. “Close to 2 in the morning,” you answered. “You should’ve slept.”

And he swears he’s a patient man. He is. But something snaps within him. All rationale leaving his brain as he gets up, restrained yet annoyed, “Why are you home so late?”

And as though he had asked for something far more offensive, you looked up at him, shocked but more irritated, a perfect mirror of his state. “What?”

His eyes flicker up to the clock in the middle of the living room, hung up just above the TV, “It’s 2 am,” he says.

You chuckle, as though in slight disbelief, still unsure what to make of his tone but you offer him an answer, despite your annoyance, despite your answer — “Saeneya’s birthday,” you answered, plainly.

He nods then, a few beats later, feeling ashamed, feeling undeserving of this information you have given him. But he had to admit, there was an ease in his chest, like a stone that had been lodged had been removed but he still feels like he needs to explain. Which is strange — you are his wife, should you not just know? He supposes not.

"You should’ve told me,” he says, softly. “I was worried."

"Worried," you say, a sort of incredulity etching itself across your face. Discarding your coat carelessly onto the rack, you spoke up, "I am a grown woman. Don't make me laugh, Nanami."

And that’s when he saw you — he had missed your outfit when you were leaving, and he missed seeing the long green dress that sat on your figure beneath the coat. And he inched closer, with irritation, but with questions mostly.

“I wanted—” He starts, his tone still harsh, his voice still loud. Until he got close enough to you. Now, merely a few inches away from you, his voice steadies, and he has always sworn, up and down, that he’s a patient man, and this is one of the many times he lived up to it. He wonders if this is the last of the many times he loses his patience. “I wanted to ask you out for dinner. To celebrate,” he says.

Your brows raised in — Pity? Sadness? Shock?

“But you—” He inched closer, his hand brushing against the fabric of your dress, taking a bit of it as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “But you were out — looking like this…”

“I—” Your eyes widen as words barely manage to leave your mouth.

And then let go of your dress, smoothing it down at your thighs as he looked up at you. “You look nice. I should’ve told you that,” he said.

You swallow like you were gulping water. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about being harsh,” he attempted. “I'm tired. I don't know what came over me.”

Just as he turned to leave, you spoke up — “Let’s take the trip, Nanami. We deserve it.”

“The trip?”

"This weekend. We both have time off," you urged. "We should go."

He merely nodded again, feeling a bit dazed. He walks to the bedroom, to prepare for bed, knowing he will not be finding any sleep tonight.

—

The town definitely seemed to be bustling with activity today as you walked beside Nanami. The sky was a perfect shade of spruce blue, and you couldn't help but tilt your chin back every now and then to admire it in all its gloomy glory.

A kid squishes past you, running like his life depended on it. And just as you started concern started to prickle at the edges of your thoughts— you hear a laughter ripple off behind you. You turn, and notice it belonging to a middle-aged man—you assume, his father—jogging up, breathless and beaming, as he fathers the child into his arms as though he was a mere bouquet of flowers.

You smiled.

To your left, a vendor, an aged woman with ashy brown hair was selling paintings hoisted on easels with blank canvases. You figured you should buy one for your cousin. Her birthday was approaching in a week, and you hadn't picked out anything. But the idea of holding it all the way to the beach and back seemed daunting to you.

"Do you want to get the canvas?" Nanami asked beside you.

You turned to him, "Maybe later," you said, without any explanation.

He didn't press further. He never does, he simply nodded.

You kept your gaze fixed on the cobblestone path that lay ahead but would find yourself scanning Nanami peripherally as the two of you kept your pace. It was strange seeing him like this, clad in vacation attire — wearing pink, and green, and yellow and colours that seemed misplaced on his body. It was strange but not unbecoming. Not at all unbecoming, he looked quite nice like this.

The two of you soon found yourselves walking into a thrift shop. You want to admit it was the clothes that drew you in, but in all honesty, the walk was far too much for you to handle. It wasn't even particularly hot out, but you had been far too accustomed to the air-conditioned office that being outside, on your feet, took you out. It took you a bit getting used to. Times like this you wish you had Nanami's routine, a quick jog in the morning, followed by a whole session of working out.

There was an array of clothes, some pretty and bright, some ugly, some so horrendous, you knew it would eat dust for the rest of its life. But then, you saw Nanami, leaning forward ever so slightly, his gaze fixed on a white sweater—a cardigan with buttons neatly aligned down the center. His expression was inscrutable, lips pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed in either concentration or awe; it was hard to decipher. His eye twitched, and you had to bite down on your lip to suppress a smile. You reached into the aisle, to yank out the sweater by its hanger.

Wordlessly, you handed it to him.

“What?” he asked, he inquired, holding the garment in his arms and studying it. "Do you want it?"

“No,” you reply. "I think you should try it."

“It's not something I'd ever wear.”

“I think it looks pretty.”

“I'll try it.”

And then you waited, by the door as he changed. Feet tapping as you put on a hat that looked comically large and silly on your head. Something made you want to keep it. You wouldn't ever wear it, you don't think but you felt an urge to take it back home. You were like this a lot, you liked holding onto memories through trinkets, through photos. They're all too fleeting after all.

You hear shuffling, and then he steps out. His body was properly concave, as though he was trying to swallow himself whole. But he looked— cute. He did. And white, you realized might be one of the many colors that looked good on him. You wonder if there's a color that doesn't suit him.

A wide smile spread across your face. "I like it," you declared.

"I'd never wear it," he said, turning to inspect himself in the adjacent mirror.

"You should," you said. "You don't wear a lot of white."

"You like it?" He asked, his brows twitching upward, like he's an insecure teenage girl, gaining consciousness for the first time.

"I do," you reply.

He huffs.

"I'll get it for you," you offer.

He huffs again, nodding as he disappears back into the changing room.

—

Next, the two of you made your way down to the beach. With a tote bag swung over his shoulder and a dull red blanket draped over your forearm, you and Nanami arrived at the beach.

The sky was merely a heavy slab of gray today. It hung low and oppressive. The beach stretched out like an empty canvas of sheer blue and brown, save for a few scattered clusters of families and couples, that sat amidst the sand.

You take your time admiring the view. It has been a long time since you’ve seen the ocean— it’s strange to think that the majority of Nanami’s early life was spent around a beach.

The two of you scout to find the perfect spot, just enough away from the tide. You find it right beside a couple too engaged in the view to even acknowledge the two of you, and you puff the blanket out onto the small mountain of sand.

Nanami like the courteous gentleman he is, took the blanket from you and laid it down, as he held out his hand to guide you to take a seat.

You reach into the drab, white tote bag and take out your lunch — two store-bought burgers, both meticulously packed in wrappers. You smile, relieved to find no spills in your bag.

Taking a bite, however, your face twisted in disgust. “Blergh,” you grimace, unable to contain your reaction.

"What's wrong?" Nanami asked, his attention diverting from his half-opened burger to you.

“Pickle,” you said, making a face of disgust. “Want it?”

Truthfully, he was never a fan but Nanami wasn't a picky eater. He would swallow it down when it appeared on his plate but he would never seek it out. Though since meeting you, he had become a pickle eater. He still wasn’t fond of the taste, but it had become a habit. He enjoyed the ritual—your offering of the pickle, his consumption of it. He likes that he can help you avoid the sadness of wasting food. You had a tendency to force food down your throat, belching out in fullness and disgust, just to avoid wasting any.

You’ve both finished eating your burgers. The wrappers were neatly folded and discarded into a nearby trashcan. And now you’re feeling a little light and heavy, a little lazy as you gaze up at the scrappy sunny sky. The distant clouds amusing you with their little formations, with their little dances.

"I’m sorry?" You turned to Nanami, having only caught bits of his mutter.

Truthfully, he wants to ask you a lot of things. But instead, he settles on a simpler inquiry, “Are you happy that we’re here?”

You smiled then, feeling dreamy and loopy. “Yeah, I am. Thank you for planning this.”

“You’re welcome.”

And then silence. There was a time when you enjoyed the silence. Even now, it brings a certain comfort, for it would be a hard life if you didn’t. But there was a time it was welcomed, cherished — when you could simply exist beside Nanami, engaging in your activities side by side, without the need for words, because the love was there. Now there are only sounds — the distant sea, the child coughing, the chattering couple, the moving cars — but there is no harmony, no love — just disjointed sounds. It’s different. You hate it.

“Why do you think we’re like this?” You ask, as your eyes find him. He’s looking away from you, his shirt ruffling against his body as he stares at the distant sea.

“Like this?” He seeks out a clarification.

“Yeah. Boring. Broken?”

“I’m not sure,” he replies, knowing that to be the only true answer he had been able to conclude with. He’s thought about it far too much, his answer is sure and definite, and tragically indefinite.

“Did I do something?”

“Of course not.”

“I guess not,” you sighed, eyes cast downward to your lap, your eyes focusing on your fluttering material of your pants. “I guess it would’ve been easier though — if there was something. If you cheated on me, or if— ”

"I would never," he interjected sharply, perhaps too loudly. You wonder if people around you caught it.

You chuckle softly, “I know, Nanami.”

He would never. He truly would never. Not even in his thoughts. There was a day at the office when his eyes found itself fixated on a woman’s breasts — he didn’t realize he was staring. He was far too lost in thought, trying to dig out the last time he’d seen yours. It had been far too long — his memories were blurry, stale, and unfresh. That night he couldn’t sleep too well — for the thought of having started at another woman’s boobs haunted him.

You, on the other hand, were a bit different. You thought about other men all the time — for some reason the thought of fantasizing about your own husband made you as sad as it made you horny, so you relied on other men — unreal, morbidly fictional men to help you find your pleasure.

"I just mean," you clarified softly. “It would’ve been simpler if there was a reason.”

It would, Nanami thinks. But neither of you committed any detrimental grievous act. One day it got boring, it got tedious and you both gave up, and the light just died. And he realised it would take a bigger matchstick to light it back.

#jjk drabbles #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #nanami kento x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst

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biscuitbox23 · 1 year ago

Text

Dead weight.

summary: you run into the woods to get away from the group, you were reaching the end of your life as you suffer from aplastic anemia, only to get stopped by Rick.

A/n: I’m not a medical expert, i have no familiarity with the field of medicine I am just an idiot who is a sucker for terribly made sad stories. This may be a very long opening to the actual climax so im sorry for that :( please do DM me for advice on how i can make my fanfictions better!

Warnings: inaccurate depictions of the illness, non-established relationship (rick and reader), mentions of death, angst, cursing. (Not much due to me being a minor.) somewhat bad grammar since English isn’t my second language.

words: 1.3K

It has been a while, well, a while since you had a good stock of medicine. You had been in an abandoned cabin a few months after the outbreak. During it, you got stuck in a pharmacy in Atlanta. The law was gone now, so you hoarded a ton of antibiotics, capsules, injections, and anything you could get your grubby hands on.

When Rick and Daryl saved you from a trio of men who were trying to take advantage of you, you joined them and did not stay inside forever, especially when blood stained the floors of your shelter. It was a mistake.

You wanted to stay with yourself, isolated from the horrors and sacrifices that the world has offered now. It was harder to find medication now that most stores were stripped clean. It was easier for you to catch minor fevers, and you tended to have more rest than the others in the group. The only reason you were there is because you knew how to survive.

In the woods, in the apocalypse, no problem. Whatever your dad knew your dad would teach you, he was an outdoor person and loved to forage different shrooms and plants. God knows what happened to him.

You grew closer to the group, helping them find food and clean water, scavenging what you can find in abandoned retail stores (even if it does not have much importance.)

Now you find yourself walking out of Alexandria by attempting to climb the steel borders to the outside of the wall, your head spinning as drowsiness has consumed you to your very core, yet you still have the urge to continue. Or else you are just dead weight. You had a few foot slips —you swear, Enid makes it look easy— but managed to get out. You can sense your muscles aching as if you did not even have the strength to pull yourself up despite climbing trees more than a million times when you were a teen. You needed to disappear

from the people, the group. Rick.

Rick was a leader, for sure. He had all the correct morals and cunningness and looked up to him for it. You were no longer the person of any use to him and his group. You could not even defend yourself without stumbling down to the ground.

You were around when T-dog and Lori passed away. You

remembered falling for Rick when you first saw him, only to discover he had a pregnant wife and a kid. It started like a rocky road. You were so used to the isolation that it took a lot of convincing to get you to come with them to the prison.

You took a liking to his daughter Judith. You loved babies. It was a surprise. You thought that you would never find a baby in this world again. Carl was the closest to you. You tell him stories about your life and would do the same, reminiscing about the world that used to be. He praised his father a lot and got a good idea of what Rick was like as a father. Hershel would check up on your health while Rick would stand beside the old sport as Hershel examines you.

Making your way into the woods, you stopped by a tree to take a breather. Your hands were on your knees as you stared down to the ground, crinkles of the leaves crushing on the bottom of your shoes. The night was cold and airy. The chill on the tip of your nose was evident as you took one more glance at the haven that shielded the real outside world from its inhabitants. The sour stench of rotting meat was not detectable and gave some fresh air — It is not like you cannot get fresh air in Alexandria. You want to be alone most of the time.

“thought I'd find you here." A voice called out, the voice echoing in your ears sounding familiar as the crunching of leaves has gotten closer and closer.

“fuck” you curse under your breath, “how did you find me?”

“Carl saw you tryin’ to climb the walls.”

“huh,” you playfully scoffed but was met with a chill and a cough, “thought I was being sneaky…”

“what're you doin’ out here?” Rick asks out of the blue, staring you up and down as you lean back into the tree.

“Rick," you sighed heavily, “go back.”

“I'm not goin’ back till you tell me what happened, y‘know that, don’t you?” Rick asked with a twinge of concern mixed with his southern drawl.

You paused.

“I'm leaving, Alexandria,” You rubbed your forehead as your stomach grumbled. Sliding down to sit as your back leaned onto the tree further.

“If this is about your illness we can make—“Before Rick could finish his sentence you interrupted.

“Make it work? Yeah, I don’t think so…” You retorted, “You don’t understand, Rick. I have a condition where my bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells, and I have no meds to help me, what are the chances of finding a pharmacy? A pharmacy where it has all the things I need to survive?” You spat, frustration filling your mind like hot liquid.

“Denise can help you, Y/n, you have seen her efforts in helping you,” You can sense Rick’s desperation to get you back to Alexandria’s infirmary. His voice remained gentle but firm.

“Why, Rick?” Your eyes stared into Rick's ocean blue orbs, frustration, and confusion, “I’m not strong, anymore. I can’t go on runs, anymore. I can’t protect anyone.”

“Because we still need you—“

“Maybe it’s you who still needs me, Rick…” You spat, leaning your head on the wood as you got the strength to finally stand up, with the support of the tree, of course.

“Y/n we can discuss this once we get back,” Rick sighed, coming closer to you as he held both your arms gently.

A rush of adrenaline painfully scours into your veins as you push him away with all the remaining strength you have.

“GODDAMNIT RICK, WHY CANT YOU JUST LET ME DIE OUT THERE!” You yelled at him. “YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO BE A BURDEN AND YOU SAW HOW MANY PILLS I HAD ON THE TABLE!”

Rick scoffed, “You're giving up now? After all that has happened? The prison, terminus… and you decide to end it all here? Where we’re finally safe?” His tone wasn’t as gentle but it was now harsher, deeper.

“if you think more treatments, will change anything, it won’t. I'm done and I won't let you guilt me into continuing this charade.”

“then what’re you gon’ tell Carl, hm? That you’re sick of bein’ alive so now you’re gonna leave?”

“This isn’t about Carl, Rick it’s about you keeping me to fill in the gap of what Lori gave you,” you glare with poison in your very eyes. “Leaving you to care for a child that was never yours.”

Rick went quiet, as you realized what you had said, “i-I’m sorry… Rick…” you pleaded, holding his hands.

Rick sighed, “Maybe you're right."

You nodded, your breath becoming shorter as your legs finally give in. You feel your body starting to shut down. Rick helped you sit down comfortably on the ground. You were paler and had many bruises on your arms and legs. You were heating up again.

“I'm sorry, Rick,” you breathed heavily, clutching the hand he gave you.

“It’s okay, Y/n,” Rick comforted you, kissing her knuckles as her legs trembled. Rick’s voice was shaky, almost labored.

“I don’t wanna turn, you can ask Daryl to keep my gun, you’ll need it,” You softly chuckled. Rick looked at you, taking his revolver from his holster.

“Get back to Alexandria, to Judith…” you smiled as you felt bile in your throat, blocking your airway and your heartbeat becoming more abnormal.

Rick gives you a final kiss on the head as an act of kindness and comfort on the edge of a quick and painless death.

—————————————————————

a/n: Hello everyone! This is my very first Fanfic and I thought about it on the spot 😭 Reading it for me makes me kinda cringe but don’t we all? Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it (cuz I didn’t but I’m a sucker for tragic love)

#rick grimes #the walking dead #twd #twd x reader #rick grimes x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #andrew lincoln #first fanfic #the walking dead universe #BiscuitWrites #twd oneshot

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lethalhades · 2 months ago

Text

The love of an tyrant and a warrior

chapter 2: the shadow of defeat

(guess who wrote a second chapterrr, thought this song fit the chapter a little. hope you guys enjoy it<3)

“I didn’t sign up for this,” the warrior muttered, standing amidst his friends. Goku, Bulma, Krillin, Piccolo, and Tien had all gathered to discuss an idea Krillin had come up with—one that had the potential to be brilliant but could just as easily backfire.

"Look," Krillin said, his tone thoughtful, "Frieza seemed… amused by you. He didn't try to kill you on sight, which means there’s maybe a tiny chance he sees you as harmless, and we could use that."

Bulma nodded in agreement, glancing between Goku and Yamcha. “Krillin’s right. Maybe you can keep him occupied, at least long enough for Goku to come up with a more permanent solution.” She flashed him a supportive, if not slightly worried, smile.

Yamcha sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I get what you’re saying, but… we’re talking about Frieza here. This guy destroys planets as a hobby. All he’d need is one second of annoyance, and poof—there goes Yamcha.” He caught their gazes and saw their confidence falter a bit. It was true.

Frieza’s strength wasn’t just terrifying; it was devastating, impossible to counter if he truly lost his patience. The weight of their plan settled on them like a heavy cloud.

“Don’t worry, Yamcha. I’ve got your back,” Goku reassured him with a confident grin. “I’ll sense his ki the second he tries anything, so he won’t get the chance to hurt you.”

Yamcha recognized that look on Goku’s face, the look of a promise he knew Goku would keep. Letting out a long, reluctant sigh, he groaned, “Fine! But I just know this isn’t going to end well. I have a bad feeling about it.” He looked around at the others, only to be met with Goku’s reassuring smile.

“I knew I could count on you!” Goku said, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yamcha muttered, rolling his eyes. “So what exactly am I supposed to do to keep Frieza in line or at least keep him away from you and Vegeta?”

Bulma adjusted her lab coat, casting him a serious look. “Whatever it takes, Yamcha. Just… try to keep him from wanting to fight with Goku or Vegeta, and try not to get yourself killed.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Later, as he and Goku soared through the sky toward Frieza’s temporary confinement, Yamcha felt his stomach knot. They were nearing the secure capsule house Bulma had set up at Goku’s request, a high-tech fortress equipped with security cameras and alarms.

It wasn’t a prison, but it was as close as you could get without the planet being at risk

They touched down in front of the door, and Goku turned to Yamcha with a grin. "Frieza actually likes sparring, so maybe you could start with that. Or if you’re really desperate, just listen to him rant about how much he hates the Saiyan race. That should keep him entertained,” Goku jokes, chuckling as he clapped Yamcha on the back.

Yamcha forced a laugh, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in. “Yeah, sounds… fun,” he replied, masking his apprehension with a grin. Taking a deep breath, he watched as Goku knocked on the door, both of them waiting for the inevitable reaction of the tyrant inside.

The door opened automatically, revealing Frieza standing in the entryway, his brows furrowed in annoyance. Before Yamcha could say a word, Frieza swung a fist at Goku, aiming directly for his face. Goku reacted instantly, catching Frieza’s punch with ease. The impact created a powerful gust that blew Yamcha’s hair back, uncovering his forehead and revealing his thick brows and ruggedly handsome face.

Frieza’s eyes flickered over to Yamcha for a brief moment before he withdrew his fist, folding his hands behind his back in his usual haughty stance.

"So, you brought the human," Frieza said, his tone dripping with disdain.

Yamcha gulped, feeling a shiver of nerves. “H-hello, Lord Frieza,” he managed, stammering slightly in the presence of the tyrant. “I... didn’t expect to see you again.”

Frieza’s gaze lingered on him, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Yamcha could feel the weight of Frieza’s power in that single punch, an attack that had it connected with anyone else, would’ve been devastating. For a moment, Yamcha wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake agreeing to this, but he steeled himself, hoping he could somehow manage to keep Frieza entertained without becoming his next target.

“This is Yamcha, a great friend of mine. He was looking for you, so I thought I'd bring him straight here,” Goku announced cheerfully. Yamcha nearly choked on his own spit, trying to protest, but Goku just grinned. “You two have fun, okay? And, uh, Frieza—please don’t kill my friend. Bye!” Goku’s voice trailed off as he took off into the sky, heading back to where Bulma and Vegeta were waiting.

Just like that, Yamcha was left alone, standing in shock, goku’s number one enemy, frieza. His words echoed in his mind, claiming that he’d been looking for Frieza, as if he’d willingly volunteered for this. The truth was, he hadn’t had much choice; his friends were convinced he could handle the tyrant, so here he was.

Frieza’s cold gaze settled on him, and his tail grazed the ground in mild irritation. “Are you here to apologize for yesterday’s incident, or are you just going to stand there like the small-minded creature you are?” Frieza’s voice dripped with condescension as he turned his back on Yamcha, casually walking inside.

Yamcha stood frozen for a moment, processing both the insult and the reality of the situation. This felt like a nightmare with no end in sight. Swallowing his frustration, he followed Frieza inside, reminding himself that he’d promised to keep his composure, no matter how difficult it would be.

As Yamcha stood in the center of the capsule home, he felt the heavy weight of Frieza’s presence even with the emperor’s back turned.

He couldn’t help the nervous energy bubbling within him as he racked his mind, trying to come up with something, anything, to keep Frieza from deciding that he was simply wasting his time—something Yamcha knew could quickly mean the end of him.

Clearing his throat, Yamcha spoke up, his voice unsteady. “I’ve, uh… planned out the whole day for you, Lord Frieza.”

The only response was silence, punctuated by a faint hum of interest as Frieza continued to face away, apparently unconcerned. Frieza didn’t even glance over his shoulder, making it clear just how far beneath him he considered Yamcha to be. But when Yamcha didn’t immediately continue, Frieza finally acknowledged him with a mildly curious, “Do you, human?”

Yamcha swallowed. He didn’t want to be here, not one bit, but the idea struck him that if he could spar with Frieza, perhaps he’d earn a small measure of respect from the emperor—or at least hold his attention. His gaze flicked nervously over Frieza’s form as he steeled himself to speak, but the emperor had already turned, eyeing him with a mixture of impatience and faint amusement.

“Well?” Frieza’s face tightened with barely restrained irritation. “Do you intend to stand there all day, gawking, or do you actually have something of value to offer?”

Yamcha felt his heart hammer in his chest, but he forced himself to keep his ground. “We could… spar.” he ventured, his voice almost cracking.

At this, Frieza’s lips curved into a dangerous smile, and a low, mocking laugh escaped him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, human?” Frieza’s words were chillingly casual, yet his expression held a glint of interest that hadn’t been there before. “If so, I’d be more than happy to indulge. My patience has worn thin from being caged here because of those miserable Saiyans.”

The emperor cracked his knuckles slowly, each pop echoing in the quiet room, his eyes dark and hungry.

Yamcha could see the restrained power in every tense movement, the hint of excitement in the way Frieza’s tail flicked behind him. Whatever restraint Frieza might’ve shown in captivity, Yamcha could tell it was unraveling, leaving behind a raw eagerness to unleash his fury on something or someone.

Yamcha hesitated, feeling the weight of his decision, knowing full well how outmatched he was. But he also sensed that this was Frieza’s own kind of test, a small flicker of opportunity buried within the emperor’s cruelty.

He’d just have to tread carefully, finding a balance between keeping Frieza entertained and staying alive. Steeling himself, he took a slow breath and met Frieza’s gaze, hoping his courage would last.

Yamcha took a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders as he faced the towering tyrant. “Yes! Sparring. I might not be a Saiyan, but I’m stronger than you think,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly to meet Frieza’s unblinking, crimson gaze. A chill ran down his spine, a reminder of who he was talking to, but he held his ground, refusing to back down.

Frieza let out a cruel laugh, his eyes glinting. “you? Don’t flatter yourself.” With a flick of his wrist, Frieza lashed out, his hand colliding with Yamcha’s chest and sending him flying back. Yamcha crashed into the wall, and into a boulder. feeling his entire body rattle with the impact as he struggled to push himself upright.

Frieza hadn’t even broken a sweat.

approaching Yamcha with slow, deliberate steps. His tail swayed behind him, his lips curling into a smirk as he watched Yamcha force himself back to his feet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Do you know how many like you I’ve crushed in my lifetime? You’re less than nothing.”

Yamcha winced but met Frieza’s gaze, his breathing ragged. “Maybe I’m not as strong as you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not afraid to face you, either.”

Frieza’s smirk faded, his expression hardening with icy irritation. “Not afraid?” he sneered, his voice laced with malice. “Then allow me to show you what real fear feels like, human.” In a swift, deadly movement, Frieza’s tail coiled around Yamcha’s neck, lifting him off the ground. The crushing pressure made Yamcha’s vision blur as he struggled to breathe.

Frieza watched Yamcha gasp with cold amusement. “This is the fate of those who dare defy me,” he whispered, drawing Yamcha close enough to feel his breath, sharp and chilling. “Do you understand now, or shall I make it even clearer?”

With a surge of desperation, Yamcha managed to raise his hand, charging a small ki blast aimed directly at Frieza’s face. He fired, the energy burst momentarily obscuring Frieza in a cloud of smoke. But as the smoke cleared, Yamcha was met with Frieza’s cold, unscathed stare, now tinged with annoyance.

Frieza’s grip tightened momentarily before he whipped Yamcha to the ground, releasing him in one swift, dismissive motion.

Hovering above, Frieza watched Yamcha’s battered form sprawled against the earth. A victorious grin played across his lips, certain he’d crushed the fighter's spirit. But then, to his surprise, he saw Yamcha’s fingers twitch, his eyes slowly cracking open as he forced himself upright, his body aching but his resolve undeterred.

As their eyes met, Frieza’s smug expression faltered. In the defiant gaze of the battered warrior, he saw something he hadn’t expected—unyielding determination, an unwillingness to break, even against overwhelming power.

Yamcha steadied himself, meeting Frieza’s cold stare. “I’m ready for your next move, Lord Frieza.”

(thank you for reading<3)

#dragon ball #frieza #yamcha x frieza #dragon ball z #yamcha #we love to see it #son goku #bulma briefs #krillin #tien shinhan #dbz #boy love #enemies to lovers #Spotify

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hils79 · 6 months ago

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Hils Watches Lovely Runner - Ep 8

I knew he dug up the time capsule before they got rid of the tree!

Look at him rehearsing how to look chill. I love him

OH SHIIIIII! The serial killer is out of jail! Wait, how is he out of jail? And why is no one keeping tabs on him to make sure he doesn't go after Im Sol again?

Sometimes I forget that Korea is a very conservative country until a woman freaks out at the prospect of being alone in a hotel with a man. Can't possibly have sex when we're not married or even dating!

LMAO she gave this whole big speech that she has nothing against people who have casual sex but she has more traditional values and he let say all that and was like 'we're just going to the bar to have a drink'. I love them they are both so ridiculous.

So much for those conservative values 😂

I mean how bad can a gift from a gaming company be?

HAHA! I mean it could definitely be worse than a carboard cutout sexy video game girl

NOOOO! Don't hide it in your bed! Hide it under the bed! Or in the closet! Dude! This is not going to end well for you I can see it coming.

He thought it was funny when she was very insistent that she didn't want to have sex with him. Now he thinks she wants to and he's scandalised. Shoe's on the other foot now :D

Sunjae. Sunjae, that magazine you are pretending to casually read is upside down. Sunjae...

I'm not an idol who has to watch their weight so I'll just eat in front of you

Now he thinks she has legit prophetic dreams because when they were at school she told him she had a dream he got hurt and couldn't swim anymore, which then happened.

How did she manage to spill this much ramen all over her sweater and jeans. The bowl was pretty much empty when they showed it a couple of minutes ago

She is a tiny girl and you are a very tall man. I think it will definitely be too big

Not sure why he let her change in his bedroom after they made a big fuss about how it wasn't appropriate for her to be in a man's bedroom earlier. But also, LMAO, the time capsule he denied going to get because he was trying to be cool is right there on the table.

I AM WHEEZING! Dude, why did you use your entire duvet to cover the time capsule? Like what was the plan after that? Anyway, now his secret video game girl fetish has been exposed. They are both such disasters I love them so much.

I am such a sucker for 'accidentally falling on top of each other'. Even more if they accidentally fall into a kiss. It's so stupid but I never get tired of seeing it.

Oops. Busted.

Ah, so that's why she stopped seeing him. I totally get it she went through something incredibly traumatic. It's just sad that the person she loves and who loves her reminds her of that time.

Come on you need to tell him that you went too. You just arrived a bit late and missed him.

YAY!

I legit keep forgetting about this dude

This is very random but it's nice to see someone working in a well lit office. So many kdramas have people working with just a tiny little desk lamp to see by and all the main lights are off for no reason

I'm assuming the sasaeng that Im Sol got mistaken for is going to become plot relevant at some point. God, is she going to try and kill Im Sol? Like she doesn't have enough problems with a serial killer already after her

Wait, am I supposed to know who this is? Im Sol looked really shocked when she saw her face

Why have you taken her out for dinner instead of calling the cops? Is it just because of how young she is?

OH SHIT!!

OMG was he after Sunjae this whole time?

#hils watches #hils watches lovely runner #hils watches kdramas #lovely runner #kdrama

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daydreamgoddess14 · 2 years ago

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Gala pt. 1

MASTERLIST

‘Reader insert’ – They haven’t heard Ted swear before or raise his voice, when they get dressed up for a gala the first word out of Ted’s mouth is “Fuck.” - for @dadbodfanatic-x . AFAB!Reader.

No warnings other than language, possibly a smutty followup though? 👀

The dress mentioned is Blake Lively's 2014 MET rose gold Gucci gown https://www.etonline.com/gallery/blake-livelys-met-gala-looks-over-the-years-183153/2014-86342

Chapter 1

You didn't get the chance to dress up very often. Workwear was usually sweatpants and a Richmond branded t-shirt, occasionally yoga pants if you'd managed to convince enough of the team to do a short session with you after training or a Richmond vest if it was a hot day. Always sneakers. You knew you'd signed up to a very capsule wardrobe when you'd gone into Sports Massage Therapy. In your younger days when a night out was a night out out, you'd dress up to the nines. Now though, nights out were usually a night in the Crown and Anchor. Hardly a red carpet event. And yet here you were - an actual red carpet event on your horizon, the 12th Annual Benefit for Underprivileged Children. You'd started at Richmond shortly after the 11th gala, you'd heard all the commotion about the 10th gala where Rupert Mannion had turned up unannounced.

You had your mind well and truly in your wardrobe rather than on the task at hand, so when Sam let out a little yelp as your elbow dug into the soft spot between his neck and shoulder, you nearly leapt out of your skin.

"Shit, sorry Sam." You replaced your elbow with your hand to ease the sharp pain. "OK, you're all done."

"Thanks. Hey, Simi said thank you for the yoga class you did on the Green the other morning, she loved it."

"I'm glad. I was going to go and see if anyone fancied a short session now actually?"

"I would, bet Jamie would as well."

"Jamie just wants a nap!" You teased as Sam dragged his training jersey over his head, you followed him out to the team gym. The small window into the Coach's office was open, but you hadn't seen any of them during the morning other than Roy. "Afternoon lads. How was training?"

"Good thanks darls." Isaac grinned, "You got some pain to put anyone through today?"

"Ahh, not today, sadly. I do love making you boys whimper for me, though. " You tease, making the Captain blush, "Was going to see if you fancied some yoga stretches?" Jamie stood up, reaching his arms into the air and making his back crack.

"Yeah, fair one. I need a stretch and a sleep."

"Long as you don't snore Jamie Shark, I don't care. See you in the locker room in 10?" A few nods and hands went up so you left them to finish off their weight sets and get changed yourself.

"I am never more surprised than when you can make our fearless Captain blush - how do you do it?" A singsong Midwestern lilt cut through your thoughts.

"Coach Lasso, I don't do it on purpose. They're boys, they don't know what to do when they're not the ones in charge." You smiled. Ted and the other coaches had welcomed you happily into the support staff. They valued your opinions in a way you hadn't expected, if you said someone couldn't play - your word was gospel. You managed to catch Ted off guard occasionally with your sharp retorts, sometimes it seemed only Roy and Beard were able to laugh you off. This was another classic example, one tiny mention of being in charge and the tips of Ted's ears had gone pink. You'd never, in 11 months heard him raise his voice, in fact, you'd never heard him swear either. Those Midwestern manners were famous, and he had good manners by the bucket load. "I'm about to do a yoga session if you'd like to join us?"

"Ahh no thanks, I've got some paperwork to get on with."

"11 months and I've still not convinced you. That's a shame, you'd be settling an excellent example."

"As is keepin' their files up to date." He gave a little salute and turned into his office while you went to yours. When you got back a few minutes later, yoga mat under your arm, a handful of players were milling around getting ready. It was a lovely spring day, warm - as summer could almost be round the corner. You'd ditched the sweatpants and changed into yoga pants and a vest instead. You rolled your mat out in front of the Coach's office window, leaving space for Beard or Roy to get to the door if they needed to.

"Sit down boys. We'll begin sitting with our legs crossed, rest your palms on your knees, back straight. Push your bum right into the mat and extend your spine, shoulders down. And close your eyes." You led them through a series of poses, you were no Yogi but you knew a handful of relaxing stretches you knew worked to loosen you up, it was nice to be able to share those with the players. Roy came in halfway through to see you with one leg outstretched, the other foot tucked into your thigh and leaning forwards to stretch out the inner thighs. He dropped down onto the bare floor to take up the same pose,

"My knee is fucking killing me." He muttered. You talked him through a couple of adjustments to help him find the best position to help with his pain. On hearing Roy, Ted had come out of the office. Not only had he refused to attend any sessions, he usually stayed in his office during them. The shock of seeing him come into the doorway nearly had you lose balance and fall flat on your face. He didn't say anything, just observed the group and went back to his desk. "Thanks love, " Roy said gratefully once you'd wrapped up the session, "I know I should make time for more of that shit, I know it helps."

"You also need a massage, Roy, your posture is awful from compensating for the pain in your knee. If you won't let me do it, I'll give Keeley some pointers later."

"She's takin' you shopping ain't she? Cinders finally gets to go to the ball!"

"I know, I'm looking forward to it. I think I've forgotten that clothing other than sport wear exists."

"Have fun, don't let her bully you into something you don't want to wear, she tries it with me all the time." Your head followed him into the Coach's office, looking in just to say goodbye around the small room.

"See you all tomorrow, fellas."

~~~~~~~~

"I don't know Keeley, it's a bit… much?"

"It's a gala. It's black tie and incredible dresses. You don't want to go all plain and simple when you have the chance to go full on spectacular!" The dress was spectacular. You had absolutely no idea that you could hire a designer gown rather than breaking the bank on trying to buy one. Keeley had suggested the most divine rose gold Gucci dress with the most daring neckline you'd ever tried on. "You have the perfect boobs to fill this dress, you sound go for it!"

"It's not too tight on my hips?"

"Babe, you look like an awards statue. You look hot, trust me. A certain coach will lose his mind, vocabulary and breath when he sees you wearing the shit out of that."

"I have no idea what you mean. Coach Beard has a girlfriend." You replied with a laugh. Keeley threw a balled up t-shirt at you in response. The dress did feel like liquid gold on your skin, it clung to every curve and made you feel invincible. The gala was only a few days away, it wasn't like you had all the time in the world to decide. You made a snap decision and handed the dress to the store assistant. Keeley’s comments rang in your mind in the days running up to the gala. You weren't out to impress Ted. Not specifically, anyway. But if it happened to be a happy accident, then so be it. You were far too shy to actively approach him and ask him out. After 11 months of watching those soulful eyes, talking to him, and becoming friends, it was getting harder to subdue and mask your feelings. You had no idea what he really thought of you, and that was the scary part. After putting poor Jan through various stages of hell as you pummelled his back without really concentrating, you decided to call it a day. Keeley had offered you the use of her makeup artist and you figured there was no harm in accepting. With your glad rags on, you hopped out of Roy's car and went to join the red carpet queue. Up ahead you could see Rebecca who looked incredible in a deep emerald gown. Beard and Jane were next on the carpet, followed by a few players. You were next, slotting in between Colin and Michael and Roy and Keeley. You heard her voice in your head reminding you how to pose, but god your hands were shaking. You hadn't noticed Ted arrive directly behind Keeley, but you couldn't miss him when you heard his voice as you stepped in front of the cameras.

"Fuck." You heard, wondering for a second what on earth he was swearing at, and whether he intended to do it so loudly. That you'd never heard anything like it from him before distracted you from the task at hand. It was Keeley pulling you back to reality which helped propel you down the red carpet, Ted’s voice still ringing in your ears.

~~~~~~~

#ted lasso #tedlassoedit #ted x reader #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic

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