#death left you on delivery
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Just more progress on my lil silly OC, dunno, more using this account as a dump on progress ig
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You could post cute pics and get validation from strangers on the internet while you wait.
Fr tho I hope you're doing okay â€ïž
What do you think Iâve been doing đđ
#havenât posted in literal ages#and then I post multiple things in the past day or two l o l#your girl wants attention and validation all the damn time!!!#was trying to reblog old content but yall have seen that too much and donât have the same reaction#I want your mouth to drop and you canât help but drool from looking at me#thatâs my goal đ#but seriously Iâve been looking at a lot of my rosie content and deciding whatâs good enough to post#looking for someone to go through all my content and tell me what are the true gems#so I can post those#itâs actually insane how much content I have#and most of it has never been seen before lol#have this school girl post Iâm working on đ#just working on the cute tags hehe#if you guys are ever bored and looking for something to do#give me attention#and praise#and worship me#pretty please đ„șđ„șđ„șđ„șđ„ș#on a real note I should be fine? I hope.#every day is different⊠today Iâm doing my ehhh alright?#but I canât complain cause some days I feel like death#Iâm also lucky I have weed to use as my crutch#Iâm just in between jobs right now cause I was trying to get into this dumb program#but now that Iâm on a waitlist Iâm gonna have to find some sort of income#I saved up some from my last job but that is slowly dwindling away#maybe Iâll do some sort of driving/delivery job#Iâm just so sick of working when I know it doesnât make a difference#Iâm going to be poor and broke the rest of my life so who cares#welp getting sad and donât wanna do thaaaaaatâŠ.. also running out of space lol. so gonna smoke the little weed I have left and ignore ignore#ask
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âą Life âą
Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.
CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)
Characters: Sukuna x Reader
AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic
  Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.
And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.
To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.
The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.
Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.
Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.
Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.
"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.
"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.
"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.
"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.
Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.
Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.
But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.
"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.
"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.
"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.
That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.
His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.
"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.
#jjk x reader#sukuna x reader#dad!sukuna#jjk#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x you#no use of y/n#true form sukuna#dad sukuna#jujutsu kaisen x reader#sukuna jjk
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I actually kinda like the accidental pregnancy trope idk just two characters learning to coparent and then eventually falling in love is kinda cute đ„č Iâd love to see what you write for gojo I feel like heâd be scared but end being such an amazing dad
gojo x reader | accidental pregnancy trope [drabble]
little miracle. a gojo x reader story
a/n. ok anon i basically started answering this ask very minimally but i couldn't stop myself from writing and it basically became an entire story so enjoy i guess?? LOL my bad <3 warnings/tags. domestic fluff, angst, mentions of sick parent, mentions of death, pregnancy symptoms. there is happy ending!! word count. 2.2k
gojo and you are in your mid twenties but you're both just barely getting by, you're a new writer living in a tiny apartment in a big city and gojo is the cute waiter at your favorite diner who's just saving up some money because he wants to go back to school and you're both kindaaa crushing on each other, flirting w one another. the restaurant gojo works at ends up starting meal delivery option, and you order some pizza to your apartment just so that you can see him on a weekday and he's soooo super cheeky with it leaning in the doorframe entryway of your apartment with the pizza in his hand like "it says here someone ordered a hot guy in some super sexy black jeans, well he's here now" and you're like "you're such a fuckin idiot" and you abandon said pizza to fuck him on your facebook marketplace couch.
fast forward the next day n you wake up, but he's not there anymore. he left you a little note that says he's going away for a month since his mom is sick and he needs to be w her. you're confused by the note, and you wish he left his phone number because you realize you have no way of contacting him. but that's ok, he'll be back soon, right?
in the couple weeks following the night you both hooked up, you're feeling like shit in the mornings, nauseous, you realize you've missed your period but you shrug it off because it was never really normal anyways. but one morning you throw up, confused as hell, wondering if you got food poisoning. but as you swing your legs back and forth in your paper gown, sitting high up on your primary care doctor's examination room bed, they tell you that you're pregnant and you act like you've never even heard the word before.
there's no doubt gojo is the father, you haven't slept w anyone except him in months. and a baby was just...you can barely afford to pay your bills, you're already living paycheck to paycheck since your book isn't even out yet and you're just surviving w the advance from your old job. what the hell were you going to do? and you can't even tell him that you're pregnant, because he's god knows where, stranding you with no phone number to contact him and you feel so left behind and alone.
the first person he comes to see when he gets back into the city is you. he looks tired, probably from his travels, or possibly from what he saw back home w his mom laying sick in bed. but he's still so happy to see you, and he kisses you and tells you he missed you and you stop him to tell him that you need to talk. for him, there was life before you told him you were pregnant, and then there was life after. and now he was living in the after. standing still in the tiny living room of your apartment when you tell him he's the father, and the words that leave your mouth afterwards are drowned out in his head because he can only focus on that one thought at once.
father. he's going to be a father? whatever heaviness he finds in his chest from the word is replaced with adoration when he looks at you.
keeping it, was what you had told him next.
it was tough at first, because of the morning sickness and the hormones and the yelling at him for not bringing you the kfc you craved so badly a minute before he did, and then the crying that follows suit when you realize you're being mean to him. but he does everything you want, everything he knows how, because he doesn't know how to be a dad, and he figures the least he can do right now is know what to do for you. and the thought scares him, to death every day. as he's driving you to your doctor's appointments, he's praying under his breath that you and baby are ok and healthy. while he's waiting tables at work, he puts on his best smile for an extra tip because it's extra money for the baby, because she isn't even here yet and he already wants to give her everything she's ever wanted.
yes, she. a baby girl. you were having a baby girl. you cried when your ob/gyn slipped and told you the gender, because you asked for it to be kept secret, but what hurt even more was that you told gojo he didn't need to come to this appointment. just a routine little check up, not a big deal. i'll just have my friend drop me off, you said. little did you know it was the one where you would find out you two were having a little girl.
oh, gojo knows nothing about girls. would it be different from raising a boy? can he play wrestle w her when she's a little older, or would he have to be gentle with her? would he learn how to make flower crowns for her with daisies from the field just to see a smile on her tiny face? how will he ever be able to deny her anything, especially if she looks just like you?
the second trimester, you two felt like a young married couple, and for once it felt like things were bright. like you two knew what you were doing. like it wasn't a mistake, but a blessing. you wanted him, desired him, and he'd never desired anything more than he desired you. it took you a while to come around to having sex again, it felt wrong, because that was what got you two into this mess in the first place. but those feelings melted away when you two moved into his little ranch together on the outskirts of town and you knew what it felt like to be hugged by him in the mornings, his sleepy voice drawling in your ear about how much more beautiful you look with every passing day. in those moments, all the regret melts away.
it all comes crashing down in third trimester. you're angry, he's tired, you're sad, he swears he's trying his best but he just can't seem to understand what you need from him. you say you wished this never happened, he says he didn't ask for any of this, and you're sobbing on the kitchen floor with your head in your hands because it all just feels like some cruel twisted joke. like a dream you should be waking up from any second from now. he sits down on the cold tile beside you, solemn in the face. he already looks so much older than the bright eyed boy he used to be, twirling a pizza box around on his finger in the doorframe of your apartment. his cheeks have sunk in, and you realize we all die someday. his hand reaches out to hold yours, and he kisses the back of it, and he says he'll never leave. not like how he left all those months ago, with nothing but a note. no matter what it comes to, one thing he can always promise you, is that he'll never leave like that ever again.
when your baby girl was born, nothing else mattered. it's like all the turmoil you faced in the past eight months was not even worth paying a moment's care towards when you cradle her in your arms. gojo had been fighting back tears the entire time, mostly provoked by how difficult childbirth had been for you as he watched feeling helpless, but the moment he held his little girl in his arms, he couldn't fight back the tears anymore. and he cried, and he cried, and he cried. few fathers could treasure their daughters as much as gojo did, and he knows it's a promise every parent makes to their child, but he vowed he'll never let anything hurt her. never let anyone upset her. for as long as he lives, he'll keep all the cruelty away from her, and keep her safe forever. you both named her yuki, for snow drifting outside of the hospital window when she opens her eyes for the first time.
you two make the tough decision that it's best for gojo to go back to school like he originally planned while you take care of the baby at home. it's hard having him away, and it's torture for him too, since he seems to breathe and live just to make yuki giggle and smile. but it's what made fiscal sense, since you knew what it was like to grow up in a household with little money to feed or fend, and the two of you wanted more than that for your daughter.
gojo's mother succumbed to the very illness that had been haunting her since he visited her for a month over a year ago, and he cried to sleep when he realized she only got to hold her granddaughter once before she passed away. and for the first time in his life, gojo learned what it really meant to be a parent, and it was only found in losing his own. there was no time to grieve in the capacity that he wanted to, because he needed to be there for you and his little girl. a year ago, he would've been broken, beaten, and bruised, but now he bleeds only in his dreams, then buries and braves the seasons for the sake of you two. as he slips his shoes off at the front door after a long day, then walks into the dark of the house, turning the corner into your shared room, he sees you humming peacefully while rocking his daughter to sleep. and he realizes his entire world is sitting in that chair.
gojo graduates from his two year engineering program, and lands a job in the city. the same city you left to go live with him when you were pregnant. it was tough to come back to the same city you fled, because all you remember of it now is morning sickness and fear of your career and falling in love with a boy that had a boyish charming smile you knew would ruin you one day. and now he's taken you back, moving the little family you've made together into a house. a house! he bought you a house. it was a little one, with no more than two bedrooms, but there was enough room in your hearts to raise your daughter with love, and that was all she'd ever need. she can walk now, mumble words. she said dada first, and gojo never stops teasing you about it. and when she finally says mama, you felt like your whole heart would burst.
he proposes to you on the waterline of the city's park, at the top of golden hour while the wind is subtle and tame but still ruffles the fabric of your dress. waiter boy, on one knee in front of you, years of waiting tables but he cannot even bare to wait one more second to hear your answer to the most important question he'll ever ask anyone in his entire life.
and you say yes. and he promises he'll love you for the rest of his life.
the wedding is small, because you two decided not to invite all of the family that had become estranged ever since you told them that you were pregnant with a man's child who you weren't even so much as dating. his family became yours after that, with his aunts and uncles congratulating you and yuki's cousins playing with her before she was to skip down the aisle as flower girl. it was sad to see your side of the church so empty, but you could never truly feel empty in this world anymore. not with what all that you've gained in the process.
there is fear in love, and in life. there was fear in gojo's heart when he learned he was going to be a father when he barely even knew right from wrong. there was fear in learning you were going to be a mother when you knew you cannot protect your child from the same hurt that has haunted you for a lifetime. but there was joy too. joy in seeing your baby bump for the first time, joy in holding your daughter in your arms for the first time, joy in seeing a sparkling stone in a tiny box presented to you on a sunday by the boy who still made your heart skip a beat just by looking at him, and there was so much joy in marrying him too.
but you find the real joy comes in the moments that you expect nothing from at all, but they happily surprise you with the feeling nonetheless. like now, as you sit on a picnic blanket at the park and you watch your husband running across fluttering grass in the wind, chasing after your daughter whose giggles and shrieks fill the summer air. he catches her, throwing her up into the air before spinning her around in his arms, and you tuck your hair behind your ear as you watch it happen. you expected nothing from anything life had given you in the past four years, and yet it gave you all the joy in the world. where you could've expected sorrow and sadness, it gave you something beautiful instead. you never would've thought that the boy you locked eyes with through a shy flutter of your lashes underneath warm restaurant lighting, the one that winked at you with no shame despite you being surrounded by all of your friends, you never could've imagined he'd be who he is to you today. but for certain, now, you believe in it. you believe in little miracles.
.
.
.
[the end]
a/n. what the flying fuck. i'm gonna go cry now lmfao.
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader angst#gojo smut#jjk gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru fluff#smut#fluff#angst#accidental pregnancy#gojo satoru fanfiction#gojo x you#jjk fanfiction#jjk series#romance#humor#drabble#jujutsu kaisen drabble#jjk drabble#gojo x reader drabble
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{overview} You put your omega instincts to good use. Itâs time to face John
{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, slight gore, cursing, mentions of death, slight panic attacks, injuries
Chapter 27 <- Chapter 28 -> Chapter 29
You were thankful Johnny knew what to do. You were nothing but a thorn in the side. Your hands gripped onto the back of his T-shirt as he led you around. Anais happily agreed to watch Vernie, squeezing you tightly in assurance.
Your heart sank when he stopped in front of a helicopter.
âMac, please tell me what's happening,â you pleaded, keeping your voice strong.
âJust need you to be a good omega for me and follow what I say,â he reasoned back. His hand hadn't left the waistband of your pants, and you were beginning to feel sick from the way he moved you around. âUp you go,â he urged, basically lifting you onto the helicopter with one arm.
You needed to get out of your funk. This is what gave omegas a bad name. The inability to respond quickly when in an unknown situation. You would just have to be strong. Interestingly enough your brain repeated Simon's words like a mantra.
âYouâre just as brave and stupid as the rest of us.â
Hopefully, you could avoid the stupid. Yet the sentiment didn't go unnoticed. It was just another way Simon was affirming you were a part of the pack. Their pack. You were chosen for a reason.
You were a part of their pack. It was time you started to act like it.
You grabbed the straps yourself before Johnny could buckle you in, strapping yourself in as tight as you could. It caught him a bit off guard, his hands stalling for a moment, before taking his own seat as close to you as he could.
âItâs Kyle isn't it?â you pressed. You had to yell for him to hear you.
âIt is,â Johnny affirmed. âHeâll be fine. Nothinâ a little you can't fix,â Johnny soothed.
âYouâre getting cocky, Gaz,â John spoke, making Kyleâs lips quirk up into a smirk.
âYou find a reason for me not to be, sir?â He shot back. His dress shoes were quiet against the tile floor. If it wasnât for his voice you wouldnât even know he was there.
âEnough with the banter, boys,â Laswell sighed. âYou two should be home already,â she adde. It caught them both off guard, their bodies tensing and stomach turning. Your face popped into their head. Kyleâs face scrunched as a pang shot through him. âSorry,â Laswell added, feeling their mood shift. Ever since you, home has been a touchy subject. Sometimes home wasnât always four walls.
âSâalright,â John spoke, clearing his throat. It had been especially hard for the alpha leaving after what had transpired. While he had made slight amends with you, it was hard to get back into your good graces halfway across the world. John shut his eyes tightly from his spot on the roof. He took a deep breath nearly able to smell the fresh peaches and warm vanilla. He could feel your hands gripping his shoulders and the way your skin molded perfectly against his. He could feel your cheek against his and the giggle that brushed across his ear when his beard would tickle you. He growled low in his throat, his eyes fluttering open.
They needed to get home.
âGot eyes on them?â He spoke, his voice rumbling through the comms. Kyle didnât say a word. They were close. âLead them out the back alley if you can,â he kept his voice low.
As if on cue the backdoor opened, two tall men wearing black suits walked out, with two more behind them dressed in perfectly tailored blue suits. John rolled his eyes. Could they be anymore obvious? A woman turned down the alley making John curse. Would be hard to shoot four people with a witness.
âThereâs a woman. See if you can steer her away,â John mumbled, eyeing them through the scope. Kyle entered the alley, dressed as a waiter, pointing for the woman to turn around.
âSorry miss, but we have a delivery truck cominâ in. Youâll be trapped,â He explained, waving his hand.
âThatâs alright,â She smiled. Kyle immediately felt his stomach drop his hands moving on instinct as her hand reached to her side. He dodged her, his hand able to get a good grip on the back of her sweater tossing her towards the men. The knife clattered from her hand against the ground. Kyle didn't bother to go for it, the gun tucked into his coat getting the job done quicker. Kyle took out three of them, John taking out the other two.
âGood work,â John praised. Kyle exhaled, ready to begin his trek down the alley before something caught his eye. It was the woman, lying face down against the street.
Her hair matched yours.
She had a similar build. You even had a sweater that same color. It made his stomach turn, his mind easily replacing her with you.
âKyle?â It was commanding and concerned. âYou need to get out of there,â John pressed. Kyleâs body erupted in goosebumps, his feet finally catching up with his brain. He began to walk forward, the urge to look back one last time irrefutable.
âCan't just leave her here,â Kyle said finally. He opened his mouth to continue, but the sight had made him sick. He turned his head towards the trash can, bile rising up his throat. John opened his mouth ready to rip him a new one, yet his words got caught as well. It was like he had forgotten where he was, his brows furrowing at the idea of you being there.
Why were you in the street? He winced, the reasoning behind Kyleâs actions as clear as day.
âSheâs at home safe,â John reasoned. He could see Kyle wipe his face with his sleeve and nod.
âI know,â he sighed. âI know.â
âGet out of there,â John repeated. Kyle agreed silently, heading back into the restaurant.
âFuckinâ over this shit,â Kyle growled, pacing back and forth in front of the alpha. âAnother bloody week?â he continued. The alphaâs hands reached out, gripping the back of Kyleâs shoulders.
âThe timeline isn't definite,â John reminded, pulling the fired-up man against him. John felt heated against him- a true sign of how equally upset he was. âThe more we keep our heads on the quicker we can get home.â
Sometimes home wasn't always four walls.
âDefinite? Could be longer then,â Kyle snarled, rolling his shoulders out of Johnâs grasp.
âWhat do they expect anyway? They constantly push for every pack to have an omega and then don't make proper adjustments for it. What will we do when she's marked and she marks us? I won't be able to be away from her longer than a month and youâll only be able to last around two weeks.â Kyle ranted. They had been gone two weeks- now they were expected to be gone for another whole week. It felt longer than that. Each day dragging on like an anchor in the sand.
âThey make pills for things like that now,â John sighed, running a hand over his face. His beta was justified in his anger, but it would just be easier to push feelings aside and get the job done. âSheâs not home alone either. Johnnyâs keepinâ her safe,â he added.
Johnâs phone went off. He grumbled, digging in his pocket moving towards the door. He acknowledged something, hanging up in one motion. âGet your vest on. We are leaving,â He commanded.
Every minute felt like an hour, every hour felt like a lifetime. You had finally landed in a hospital just outside of Kavala. The helicopter ride hadnât lasted long and you and Johnny had to hop onto a passenger airplane. It was early afternoon when you had arrived.
At least it was warm. Kyle would appreciate that.
âGarrick, Kyle,â Johnny spoke. The woman at the desk clacked against her computer.
âNot ready yet,â she replied bluntly. âHe needs more time,â she explained.
âHeâs my beta,â you growled before you could stop yourself.
âMarked him?â She questioned. Your face curled. You could be bonded without marking him.
âShe did,â Johnny lied. The woman eyed you both before pushing her rolling chair against one of her coworkers. They whispered to each other looking between the two of you.
âFollow,â she commanded, getting up from her chair. You breathed out, your hand giving Johnnyâs a squeeze. The hospital was nice. Not as sterile and cold as the one on base.
You were hot on her heels as she weaved her way through the halls, an evil sounding whine leaving you when she would stop and chat to a coworker. Some people just couldnât read the room.
She stopped in front of a door and you gripped the handle without permission, nearly pushing her out of the way. You didnât even notice John sitting in the hallway. You walked into the room, your hand gripping the curtain around the bed.
âNext one,â the nurse corrected harshly. You couldnât blame her for her tone. He was in the bed closest to the window. A whimper left you as you pulled the curtain back.
âKyky,â you mumbled, already clawing at your eyes. The blanket was pulled above his shoulders, the skin that was exposed wet and feverish. His face looked the same, besides a scrape against his jaw.
You got to work.
You could already tell his leg was in a cast. You pulled the blanket to his waist. His whole torso was covered in red spotted bandages, his arm in a sling against his chest. You pulled both the room and window curtain back, so he could feel the sun against his skin. That would make him feel better. You went over to a cabinet pulling out the smallest towel you could find, using the water fountain in the hallway to wet it. You still hadnât noticed the distraught alpha in the hallway. Your distraught alpha. John watched you carefully, the ache in his chest crippling as you went about your business without so much as a glance. He pushed that away. All that mattered was that Kyle got the care he needed. John let himself sink against Johnny as they sat in the hallway. The Scotâs soft blue eyes understanding and assuring.
âI missed you two,â John said finally.
âWe missed you,â Johnny affirmed. âSheâs been havinâ a hard time sleepinâ. Been hard on her, having both her alphas gone,â Johnny sighed.
âYouâve done a good job takinâ care of her,â John said, his throat tightening. âIs she stillâŠ.â John trailed off. Johnny knew what he was referring to. The Scot pressed his lips against the alpha stiff shoulder.
âI think she still thinks about it. Especially with everyone being away itâs easy to let her mind wander. Being close to you- being reminded of how much you love her will shake any doubts she might have,â Johnny explained. John relaxed. That is exactly what he needed to hear. A lone tear fled from his eye and he rubbed it away with his thumb. One of the most common misconceptions about Johnny was that emotions flew over his head. Whilst the man was brash and impulsive, he felt everything so deeply and he always knew what to say in the aide of others.
You washed as much of Kyle as you could without disrupting him.
He knew you were there.
You could feel it. His muscles twitched, despite the medicine in his system, like something inside him was trying to claw its way out to get to you. You could hear the clatter of shoes against the floor, not paying much mind until then entered the room. It was a nurse, one that you could already tell knew what she was doing. She was an alpha. You could tell by her square shoulders and frown lines.
âYou got here fast. That is good,â her accent was strong, but her pronunciation was perfect. She eyed the curtains that had been pulled back and the wet cloth on your hands. âYou have strong instincts. That is good, knowing what your beta needs to get better,â she praised. âHe has a fractured leg, an overstretched ligament in his shoulder, and multiple lacerations across his abdomen,â she explained.
âHow long will he be asleep?â you questioned. While you had heard the information it was like your brain rejected it. You didn't want to hear what had happened, just how you could fix him. Asking how long he would be asleep felt manageable. Something you could prepare for.
âWhenever the anesthesia wears off,â She responded curtly. âFor these types of injuries, we recommend keeping as close as possible to him. He needs to know you are here,â she spoke, brushing past you. She pushed down the rail of the side of the bed and pushed a button on the headboard. The bed expanded on the left side and you took a few steps back to allow it some room. âYou can sleep here,â she patted the newly extended portion. âI suggest skin-on-skin contact. That may be a little hard due to injuries but it can be something as small as resting your hand here,â she pointed to his rising chest. âThere are blankets in the cabinet. You might be tempted to get some softer blankets from the store around the corner, but it'll be best if youâre a little uncomfortable. Your discomfort will heighten his instincts and spur on the healing process,â she reminded, opening the cabinet you had just dug through. âIâll be back when he wakes up,â she said, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
âThank you!â you called after her. You sighed, heading for the papery thin sheet from the cabinet. You crawled onto the bed, using it to cover both you and Kyle. You pressed your cheek against his bare shoulder, inhaling deeply. Fresh linen, mixed with a slight salty breeze from his sweat. âI love you,â you mumbled against him. Your fingers brushed against his side and you resisted the urge to throw yourself against him and bury yourself as far into him as you could. You settled for wrapping around his good arm, resting it between your thighs just like he always slept.
It wasn't long before you drifted off to sleep.
John and Johnny entered shortly after, wanting to make sure you had enough time to get settled. John growled at the state of you. Your tired form shaking from nerves and low temperature. Your eyes rubbed raw, and your hair knotted and unkempt. Your cheeks heated from a slight fever. You always got fevers when you were upset. You've probably had one for weeks. He dug into the bag Johnny had brought with him, pulling out one of the blankets he had packed you.
âYa heard what the nurse saiâ-
âKyle would murder us if he found out we let her suffer at his expense,â John cut him off. âBesides after what he's been through heâll want to wake up to her being as comfortable as possible.â John tucked you in, making sure the blanket was rolled up to your neck and chin.
âHer jellyfish is next to her socks,â Johnny added. John dug into the bag again, tucking it under the covers with you.
âWhat happened?â Johnny worked up the nerve to press.
John sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His knuckles brushed up and down your side, adjusting the blanket again.
âCar crash,â John sighed. âHe was in a car that was headinâ towards a warehouse. It was intercepted,â He explained through gritted teeth. Johnny grumbled under his breath, adjusting in his seat.
âWe know by who?â He pressed. John hummed in agreement.
âI was in the car behind âem. It's been handled,â He assured. Johnny stood, gripping the back of the alphaâs neck pulling him against him. John rested his head against Johnnyâs stomach, his hand gripping his shirt. Johnny's hands ran up and down his back, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles.
âYouâre exhausted. Need to sleep,â Johnny reasoned. He pulled away from him, setting up a small area on the floor for them to sleep. They've slept on worse.
You woke up slowly. The room was dark. Too dark. You whimpered quietly, causing shuffling in the corner.
âYou alright?â John rasped. A purr echoed through your body before you could stop it, the sound pure instinct. âSweet girl,â he groaned, more to himself than anything. A hand rested on the top of your head, dragging down your back, dipping under the familiar softness of your blanket. You tried to remind yourself you were still hurt by him, yet the addicting warmth of his hand against your skin had you melting into the bed. âMissed you, sweetheart,â he mumbled, leaning forward, his lips pressed against your hairline. âBoth did,â he added, pressing you closer to Kyle. You whimpered out, your hands finding their way to his face, his beard tickling against your skin just like how you remembered. His chest rumbled with a sad sound, his face making a beeline straight to your neck, pressing his way between your shoulder and jaw. âIâm sorry I had to leave when I did,â he said softly. His teeth ached being so close to your neck. All he had to do was bite down and you would be his forever. Connected and bound together. He was tempted to do it while you were letting him be so close to you.
âJohn?â you whispered, your nails digging into his biceps. A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. God, he missed you. He hummed in response, his cheek pressed against yours. âYou don't wish I was someone elseâŠ.do you?â you asked softly. His heart fell into his stomach, a familiar uneasiness falling over him. How could you even think that? âI just don't want you to wish you had picked someone different thâ-
A sharp growl cuts you off, your body being pressed further into the mattress.
âPull your head out of your arse, pretty,â he growled against your cheek. Your eyes widened and you tried to move your head to look at him. âRemember the first time we met? You walked in and the door blew your scent right in my face. Wanted to make you mine right there. One scent, one look, one word and I knew you were mine. Nothinâll waver that,â his tone was passionate and slightly desperate, offering you no room for disagreement. He had never shown you he had wanted someone else or that he was unhappy with you in any way.
You just needed to hear it from him.
Sorry for the late update! Chapter 29 will be posted in three days! đ§Ąđ
#novemberheart#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#ghost x reader#poly141#price x reader#simon ghost riley#soap x reader#johnny soap mactavish#captain john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#johnny soap mactavish x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#a/b/o dynamics#a/b/o#fem reader#poly141 x fem reader#poly 141#poly141 x reader#as needed
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So, Scary Villain (you are absolutely amazing at writing those btw chefs kiss) but vs someone who is Into That (hero or civilian) and so this scary big bad who thought they were being intimidating and downright terrifying (which they were... for a normal person) is just like ":D?!?"
I just love the slight inherit goofiness of an intimidation/scare tactic producing a VERY different result than intended towards the receiver.
(Hope you have a lovely day/night btw)
"Are you enjoying this?"
The villain stood with one hand outstretched as their telekinetic abilities wound around the hero's limbs and splayed them against the wall like a specimen beneath a microscope.
"Enjoying is...a word," the hero replied. "They said you'd be able to see me, or sense me or whatever, but man. I was sure that was bullshit."
Invisibility was a useful gift in many a situation. It didn't matter how strong or fast their opponent was when they could never see the hero coming. It didn't matter how many enemies there were when the hero could sneak past them with minimal effort and the right pair of shoes.
They'd been doing their usual, sneaking past the villain too, when the villain's hand lashed out. They hadn't bothered to even look up. The hero had gone flying as surely as if they were wearing a neon sign that screamed 'here I am!' at regular intervals.
"You might as well show yourself," the villain had drawled. "Unless you'd prefer I make an abstract painting of your organs against the ceiling."
The hero had let their invisibility drop, heart pounding.
The villain had rose, slow and predatory, to their feet. The hero hadn't been able to take their eyes off them.
The villain's head tilted at the hero's words. They took several steps closer, and all the hero could do was twitch their fingers uselessly against the wall. There was no hiding. No slipping away. The hero's breath hitched as the villain stopped less than a metre away, close enough to touch, though they didn't. Their gaze raked over the hero like a physical thing, leaving no detail spared.
"Because I can see you?" the villain asked. "Even when you don't want to be seen? Must be a novelty for someone like you."
"Because that thing you just did hurling me against a wall was bloody hot."
The villain blinked. Startled. Their eyes turned dark and molten. Their head tilted the other way.
The hero swallowed.
"But, I mean, we can call it being seen," the hero said. "Probably more professional."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Duh."
"But you are not frightened?"
"I have a peculiar reaction to danger."
"Indeed." The villain curled their finger and the pressure at the hero's throat tightened and left them choking. The villain watched it all. They might have seemed dispassionate, except...
"Enjoying yourself?" the hero rasped.
"You're a delightful surprise. Stupid, but delightful. New?"
"It's one of my many charms."
"The other being how pretty you'd look writhing and bloody with tears in your eyes? What are you doing in my lab?"
"Spelunking."
"Excellent hobby for a budding danger addict."
"I know, right?!"
The villain snorted. They loosened their telekinetic grip on the hero's throat, before they could get too dizzy. "What are you doing in my lab?"
"I was curious about you."
"Have I satisfied your morbid curiosity?"
"Morbid?" The hero wet their dry lips, but held the villain's gaze. "You haven't killed me yet. Wouldn't be as fun without the screaming and sobbing, would it?"
"There's still time." The villain paused, clocking the hero's reaction to that. "Oh, you weren't kidding. You really are a little freak, aren't you?"
"It's all in the line delivery. Do you practice?"
"No. Would you like me to practice on you?"
"I mean, I should point out I don't actually have a death wish."
"You broke into my lab."
"And for all you know I could have a cunning escape planned!"
The villain flicked their hand and the hero dropped down off the wall with a thump, landing on their knees, hands twisted behind their back. Chin tilted up by an unseen force.
"Then escape," the villain said. "Or I'll assume you want to stay like this for me."
"Most people buy me dinner first."
"We're not most people."
The hero considered them a moment, before they switched their invisibility on and then some again. Focusing. Phasing from the villain's grip.
The villain's eyes grew impossibly darker.
The hero straightened, giving a little bow.
A smirk curled the villain's lips. "I know how to keep people alive when I want to. I think I want to right now."
"Dinner? Tonight?"
"You can break in at seven."
It was the start of a beautiful new...not friendship. But they both enjoyed themselves very much.
#hero x villain#villain x hero#heroes and villains#villains and heroes#hero#villain#hero and villain#villain and hero#writing#story snippet#writing snippet#ficlet
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BOSSâS WIFE
à»ê°àŸàœČăŁË -ïœĄê±àŸàœČ১ âââ đđđđđđ!đđđ w fem!reader whoâs his bossâ, Mikeyâs, wife. warning(s) -> angst. nsfw. mdni. ran x reader + mikey x reader. infidelity obvly. a lil bit apathetic reader. dark themes(prostitution mention, drugs, murder). hints of lovesick ran. unrequited love from ran to reader. one-night stand vibes. near death experience. cheater!reader ig. alleged cheater!mikey. thereâs some slowburn cs youâre stubborn. miscommunication between mikey and reader. endearments (darling, princess, etc.). car sex. praise. a lot of plot. i dont condone cheating whatsoever. not proofread. wc is 4.5k
authorâs comment. mmyyeaahh so i def have a fav haitani now + urghhh not too happy w this BUT i liked exploring the idea
It was hours past midnight, the city cold and humid from recent rain that had stopped minutes ago. You sat beside your husband, Manjiro âMikeyâ Sano, on the couch of the isolated jazz club that he owned. He was talking business with some other yakuza men, something about delivery and drugs, perhaps a brief topic of prostitution exchange.
The unsettling environment wasnât out of the ordinary for you anymore, not since youâve known Mikey. Youâve stuck to him since middle schoolâmore like he made you stick to him. But you never really made an effort to leave.
He satisfied you enough, your needs, emotionally and physically. Nothing made you feel better than the feeling of being needed, and your husband was the same. He needed an anchor, a reason to be. Coincidentally, you were willing to be both.
âYou donât have to stay here if youâre getting bored, baby. âCould always walk around the building or take a smoke outside. Iâll have someone guard you,â you heard your husband speak, snapping you out of your trance. Mikey held an arm around your shoulder, fingers rubbing up and down your arm comfortinglyâthe complete contrast of the look he had in his eyes. His dark depths gazing at you as if he couldnât give a fuck if you lived or died the next few seconds. But Mikey never acted like that, of course. He was a great husband considering the lifestyle he led.
âAlright, Iâll do that then,â you nodded obediently, not finding the harm in accepting the given opportunity to leave the monotonous conversation. So you got up after leaving Mikey a quick kiss to his cheek, walking away from the table and walking over to the backdoor exit of the building.
As you did so, you walked past one of Mikeyâs men, a familiar tall purple haired man. You recognised him from the corner of your eye, your peripheral vision doing you a favour by informing you who your guard for the night was. It wasnât a surprise he followed you without having to be ordered, always doing such things involving you voluntarily.
âShouldnât stray too far from the building, darling,â you heard him call out to you, most likely, from behind as you stepped out into the window streets, road pretty empty save for the occasional passing cabs.
Your lips strained downward for a split second.
âYouâll be here to lead me back, Ran,â a breathy sigh left your lips, faint smoke leaving your lips from the cold. Your hands tugged on the white faux fur coat you had on, a vain attempt to keeping your tense torso warm. With a confident stride, you kept on walking ahead, paying no regard to the man who tagged behind you like it was his personal wish rather than a dull order from his boss.
âThat doesnât guarantee that Iâll lead you back healthy. Youâll definitely get a cold if you keep walking out here like this,â he retorted without much effort, his tone slight frustrated despite his matter-of-factly manner of answering you. It made your brow twitch, your lips pressed to a thin straight line.
You didnât add another word to the exchange, letting it hang. Cars proceeded to drive past the road beside you, your legs bringing you further and further away from the jazz club you recently left. It was almost like you were running away. And you were almost determined to do so, though you long knew that was never an option anymore.
Ran noticed every change of your body language even though he only had the view of your back. The subtly tremble of your legs were enough to alarm him, narrowing his lilac eyes and fueling his resolve to keep an eye on you, not for his bossâs sakeâfor your sake.
Subtly splashes of water from the passing cars filled the atmosphere, faint engines and dim city building lights and with lamp lights setting the perfect atmosphere for you to envision your escape. Everything seemed so perfect, so staged, too good to be true. You were so focused on getting ahead, on heading away miles away from wherever Mikey wasâuntil you were pulled out of it.
A sharp car screech filled the previously silent noise. Suddenly your ears were ringing, all the noise you cancelled out returning to you again. You turned your head, heels backtracking from shock. Ranâs hand held a nearly painful grip on your upper arm, pulling you back with reasinably strength.
âAre you trying to get yourself killed? If thatâs what it is then I got a gun with silencer on it for ya to use, for fuckâs sake!â Ran was practically yelling, his voice raised and his expression contorted to one of anger and worry. His brows were furrowed deeply, vein on his forehead and neck practically bulging as he pulled back a bit more before finally releasing you.
âW-what?â was all you could utter, blinking up at him with wide eyes, a bit dumbfounded about the situation.
âYou almost got yourself run over by a car, whatâs gotten into you? Ya need sleep, or something?â Ran seemed to answer your confusion without hesitation, the realisation that you almost died making you turn around and take in your surroundings.
Shit.
A sports car was practically swerved over to the sidewalk, thankfully not crashing into a post light. The driver drove off after yelling crazy bitch out his window. The insult made Ran grit his teeth, head tilted in further annoyance. You stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could do anything, stealing his attention quite quickly.
âIâm fine. Really. Just tired, like you said,â you muttered with a soft sigh after, lowering your head to gather yourself. All the while you had your lids closed shut, you felt a warm arm circle your shoulders.
âCâmon, letâs get you back,â he murmured, almost trying to comfort you. And in a way it did, he didâhis warmth did. You followed him silently, letting him guide you back to the jazz club where Mikey was again.
While you were mostly silent throughout the walk, you eventually spoke up when you realised you were gonna have to face Mikey again. You felt a bit guilty for feeling like this, for wanting to avoid your own husband. But it wasnât your fault you needed some space, some air to breath away from the heavy atmosphere and tension that was always there with him.
âI donât wanna go back yet,â you objected, halting your steps abruptly.
Surprisingly, or not, Ran doesnât scold you. Instead, he stops with you, arm never loosening around you. He merely looks down at you, taking in every detail on your expression at that moment and taking a moment to think about where he could possibly whisk you away to.
âFine. My car. Then we head back, you hear me?â Ran conceded with a soft huff, centre of his brows still slightly creased from his frowning. He exhaled a quiet okay when you nodded in agreement, hand squeezing your upper arm gently to urge you to keep on walking.
It didnât take too long for him to find your way to his car parked a few buildings away from the jazz club where Mikey was still in probably. Ran unlocked the car, opening the door of the backseat before gently nudging you in, following suit right after you.
Ran didnât bother moving to start the engine, knowing the last thing you needed was the AC making you colder than you already were. Speaking of which, Ran couldnât help but notice your shivering self that quivered against him, the sight of you leaning into him so desperately making him feeling a heavy pang of affection, worry, and a whole bundle of emotions he knew he shouldnât have, things that he kept buried in the depths of his heart. And yet being in your presence for a few minutes was enough to unravel all of it, every dark detail of it.
âYouâre actually chittering, princess,â he muttered, leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto the top of your head, a soft chuckle leaving his lips too in an effort to lighten the mood.
âAnd youâre actually annoying,â you refuted, voice small yet breathy as you shifted yourself on the leather seats, nuzzling under his arm and into his chest. Your arms were folded over your chest, holding your fur coat close to you. âHmph, so mean,â you heard him whisper back, sarcasm lacing every syllable.
You more focused on warming yourself up at the moment, but that didnât mean you didnât notice how touchy and warm Ran was being. All the questions popped up in your mind about him, until you started questioning yourself, your own actions. You allowed him to do everything he did. You followed him back and forth, allowed him to bring you close to him, hell you even agreed to get in his car when you couldâve suggested some random alleyway to get a breather.
At some point, your shivering stopped. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, eyes staring mindlessly at his lap with your expression awfully neutralâthe opposite of your mind that spiralled.
But a few breathers was all it took for you to forget. To dismiss everything. It wasnât unlike Mikey had done the same anyway, entertaining other people like you were. For all you know, heâs probably done worse considering the amount of clubs heâs went to without you.
Now youâve somewhat rationalised your actions, you lifted your head from Ranâs chest, tilting your head up to look at him. It seemed like he was staring at you already with how your gazes locked immediately.
âWhat is it, princess?â He broke the silence with that hoarse yet gentle voice of his, smiling faintly at you as if you were a stray cat he was trying to coax closer. As much as he loved staring into your beautiful eyes, he knew if he allowed to moment to stretch any longer his lips would end up pressed against yoursâand just maybe more.
âJust wondering why you give a fuck about me in the first place.â
Ran could feel his smile fade from his face, his violet eyes no longer making an effort to look lighthearted for you. Those downturned eyes of his shifted to a stern gaze, almost determined.
If you thought your mind spiralled, his was a whole damn hurricane now.
âThatâs an easy question. Though the answerâs probably something you donât wanna know,â he answered cryptically, hand on your shoulder squeezing you once.
âYouâd wish you never knew,â you heard him add, voice low yet barely above a whisper. You felt your breath hitch in throat, eyes fixated on him still. You felt your mouth dry up and closed your lips, brows furrowing slight as you turned away from him.
âI want to know. I donât care about some creepy consequence youâre so worried about, Ran. All Iâm asking about is why you act so nice wâ,â you were stopped between your rant, your attempt to persuade him to be honest with you backfiring.
In a blink of an eye, he had his hand push you back against the seat, lips parted from his persistent tongue. You mumbled something but the kiss muffled your words, previously widened eyes now turning half-lidded from his warmth and shortness of breath.
âR-Ran, get a hold of yourself,â you panted once he broke the kiss, your hands reaching up to his chest and shoulder, failing to push him off of you. He kept you corner between the small space of him and the backrest behind you, face inches away from yours still.
You caught your breath, hands pushing him growing weaker until you decided to let up. Your eyes flickered from your lap up to his face, the resolve in his gaze unwavering.
âWhat does this mean?â You whispered, quizzically looking at him. The confusion on you towards his actions almost made Ran smile, but all he could manage was a faint laugh.
âMeans that I love you.â
The crease between your brows deepened at his confession.
You werenât exactly pleased per se, but it did make sense. It made a lot of sense. Made his demeanour towards you logical.
You suspected his feelings for you before, though you never entertained the thought. Ran was busy beyond words being Mikeyâs executive, and you on the other hand were married. Yet it seems like that didnât seem to bother Ran much.
âHow exactly am I supposed to respond to that, Ran?â You sighed, almost pleading, beautiful orbs of yours falling to your lap once more.
âThatâs the thing. You donât.â
Huh?
Before you could open your mouth, he sealed your lips in another kiss, needier this time. He wanted to shut you up, to take your mind off thingsâeverything. Youâd be lying if you said it wasnât working.
How could you possibly think about anything else when Ran had a hand on your thigh, running up the thin pantyhose you wore under that dark red leather miniskirt. The force of his greedy kisses made you slump up the plush seat behind you, making you lean over to the side until your back was against the window of the car door. Ran had another hand on your waist, skimming under your coat to cup the flesh your side.
âYou donât have to say a wordâI donât want an answer from you. Just want you, baby,â the man grunted into your mouth, tongue swiping against yours and teeth tugging on your lower lip. His breath was as heavy, much like yours.
It was hard for you not to reciprocate his kisses, his touch, not when he had you cornered with little to no space to move or focus on anything but him. And that was exactly what he wantedâyour undivided attention, even if it was just for the moment.
Ran was tired of just admiring you from afar, exhausted from having to settle with the women that kept throwing themselves at him in the clubs he went to after work.
What he hated most was having to imagine you and your stunning figure beneath him whenever he was fucking those girls, having to wish he could see you every day after work like his boss could. Ran wanted the real thing so badly, he fucking craved it. But he hid those desires so well that it would leave anyone in Bonten in shock if they knew he had the fattest, more ridiculous crush on you.
Like a student to his teacher. It was humiliating, yet so fucking thrilling. And that was just it with Ran. Nothing had him more addicted to something other than the excitement.
So while Ran had his hands all over you, lips kissing you everywhere, he made sure to savour it. To take his time suckling on your red tongue, nibbling and marking on your swollen bottom lips that he had damp with saliva. Ran had to make sure you enjoyed it tooââcause fuck if you didnât want him as much he wanted youâ
âWrap your legs around me, sweetheart,â he whispered through bated breath, shifting himself and grabbing one of your legs to lift on the car seat, wanting to be between your legs.
His demands were almost impossible to deny anymore. Heâs made your mind hazy from the lewd, sloppy kisses heâs given you. The cold air only made it worse since it only made you crave warmth more than you shouldâhis warmth.
âGood girl, thatâs it,â you heard him praise you, his slender fingers running over the waistband of your leather skirt, unfastening the metal button and pulling down the zip. His violet eyes were sickeningly fixated on your lower-half, as if in anticipation to see your most intimate partsâmore like anticipating what kind of panties you were wearing, what kind of lingerie you preferred.
You whined softly, still unsure what he was praising you for exactly. Was it for your cooperation? If so then heâll have to keep on praising you for the next few minutes âcause youâd seriously consider acting up if he stopped. What kind of woman were you if you asked him to stop now? Sure, a woman with a moral compass. However, such a thing was discarded by you the first few seconds you entered his car.
Married or not, you didnât know if there was any kind of woman out there that would resist Ran when he was like thisâso attentive, so careful with touching you but gazing at you with predatory-like eyes. You almost felt naked under him even when you werenât. It was like he saw all of you, inside and out.
And that was when you were beginning to truly be naked under him. Decisive fingers peeling off your leather miniskirt, then hooking under the waistband of your pantyhose to pull it down to your knees.
âDo you trust me?â The question threw you off for a moment, watching him move to sit on his knees on the carseat horizontally and carrying your legs over his shoulders, nearly folding you against the small corner he drove you in.
Your head was practically forced up against the window, back bent forward and legs held by Ran. Your lips quivered subtly, the discomfort adding to your anxiousness. Yet that question of his seemed to stem from that exactly.
With a meek nod, you mumbled a soft yes to assure him. Not a second later he slid his hand down your lifted thighs, rubbing and gently squeezing the inner flesh, cold fingers dangerously close to the apex of your legs. You followed his every move as best as you could, swallowing the lump of nervousness in your throat.
It was almost tantalising, the way he navigated his way down and up your body with such ease, such adoration. If you looked closely enough, you could have seen the gleams of mesmerisation in his violet eyes. And holy fuck, did that turn you on even more, thighs twitching close together with the wet patch on your panties growing bigger.
You could feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of Ranâs lips curling to a smirk. He clearly noticed your arousal, especially so with the view he had of you from that position.
âAh-ah.. you donât get to be shy,â Ran warned, hand gripping your thigh tighter to peel them away from each other when you subconsciously started to cross them to hide yourself.
âIâve been so long for this, darling. So fuckinâ long,â he breathed, impatience evident in the way his gaze alternated between your heaving chest and your fat folds covered by the thing fabric of your panties. Without wasting a moment more, he moved a hand down to your pussy, slipping the long index between your folds, middle finger joining to find your clit with ease, rubbing the sensitive nub up and down in slow motions. You gasped sharply at the sudden pleasure, legs on his shoulders quaking from the stimulation alone.
âSo damn soaked for me, baby. Did ya wait for me too?â He cooed, shifting the focus of his slender fingers to your aching slit, gently digging inside through your panties to give you a taste of what was to come.
The soft moans from you was enough to spur him on, half-heartedly fucking you with his fingers through the clothes. It reached a point where the tip of his fingers were soaked in your nectar, all sticky and lubed up to fuck you for real.
Low groans rumbled in his chest with every move he made on your cunt, dipping down your panties until he could feel your walls flutter around with need.
âNeed me to fuck you, donât you darling? Need me balls deep inside you,â you heard him grunt, fingers probing your wet pussy until he wasnât. He withdrew his fingers, hand moving to his belt instead, unbuckling it to unbutton and unzip his pants with ease.
Ran found it adorable how engrossed you were in the scene of him tugging his pants and boxers downwards to pull out his cock, already hard and throbbing for you.
Bending down to you, Ran had your legs pushed up not from your chest, threatening to squash your tits for the soft jiggle effect heâd drool over.
âGonna have to relax a bit more, darlinâ. I gotta fuck you in the best angle,â he drawled, fastening your legs to his neck and snug on his shoulders. His cologne was borderline intoxicating, the intense scent inducing your lightheadedness.
ââM not that flexible,â you grumbled, trying to relax your limbs like he said regardless. When you did, he folded your limbs further, adding a little bit of force to reach his desired position. âThere ya go, angel,â he murmured just for your ears, earning himself a soft whimper from you.
Not a second later, Ran aligned his cock right up your entrance, the head leaking beads of precum smearing up your folds, pushing his hips forward until he slid up past your entrance. He had you reach up to cling onto his suit jacket, clenching your fingers around his arms while he dug his dick into your depths to the hilt, breath stuck in his throat as if you were choking his throat instead of his cock.
âHoly fuckâfeels so fuckinâ good, you feel so good,â he crooned, staying still for a while to let you adjust to the intrusion before he started moving again, pacing it slow at first and subtly progressing to frenzied tempo, hips rocking uncontrollably.
Your lips hung open, eyes darting from Ranâs face to the mess that was your squelching cunt, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the car along with.
âRanâ! Want you cum, cum for me,â you whine, heart hammering in your chest in sync with the seconds he drove his pulsating cock in and out of your gummy walls, the hold he had on your thighs turning desperate as he chased his orgasm, and yours. âCareful what youâfuck-wish for,â Ran stuttered, his arousal amplified with your constant moans and begging, the cramped space thickening the air and tension around your sweat sheened bodies.
âCum for me, darlingâfuck-ngh, cum with me,â he groaned with heavy pants, jaw clenched at the slick feeling of your juices dripped down his shaft to his tense balls, feeling it tighten along with the knot in his lower belly. A few short, frenzied thrusts was all it took for him to finally come undone along with you, your sopping wet pussy clamping down on his heavy cock triggering his orgasm.
Your features scrunched up in pleasure along with Ran, your legs quaking around his shoulders and your toes curled from the feeling of his semen spilling inside you in thick ropes. Ran stayed inside you even after your orgasm, basking in the afterglow with shared breaths and groans.
âI.. hate you,â was all you could breath out at the moment, eyes fluttering and threatening to close with your head rested on the mirror of the car door. Slowly, Ran withdrew his cock from your well-filled cunt, leaving a string of your mixed juices that soon broke to stain your inner thigh.
âCanât say the same for you, princess..,â Ran chuckled half-heartedly, pulling away and shrugging your legs off his shoulders to lay carelessly on the carseat as he grabbed a tissue to wipe the mess on lingering on your skin.
Your eyes followed the movement of Ranâs hand, watching him clean you up so carefully unlike the roughness he had when he was fucking you earlier. Didnât even need to glance at your thighs, you knew there were red welts everywhere on them from how much he was clawing onto your flesh desperately.
Silence filled the car for a moment, unspoken words kept deep within yourself as he helped dress you up again, sitting you up properly on the seat and asking if he went too rough on you anywhere.
It wasnât like he was doting you either. Not too much anyway. He gave you space as much as he gave you his concern, probably aware he crossed some lines that he shouldnât have. Despite that, Ran being Ran, he wasnât ashamed, nor did he feel guilty for any of it.
âYou know heâll kill you, right?â your hoarse voice whispered to break the silence, illuminated only by the dim street lights around you.
âOnly if he knows.â
âHeâs definitely gonna fucking know.â
âHe wonât really kill me,â Ran shrugged, stuffing a hand into his pocket to take out a packet of cigarettes, wanting to light one up to take a smoke as if none of it bothered him. And in a way, it really didnât.
âRan,â you warned, furrowing your brows and glaring at him in a sideway glance. Your arms folded on chest, head leaning back against the headrest as you turned away and sighed.
âDoesnât matter. I got the fuck the love of my lifeâso if he kills me, Iâm gonna die with a fucking smile, you hear me?â Ran spoke, his tone of voice clearly set as if he made up his mind when he turned to you, lit up cigarette held between the fingers of his right hand.
âBesides. You sure as hell enjoyed it, hm? Bet you havenât had an orgasm like that in a while, have you?â he added, hints of teasing lacing his voice with his free hand reaching out to cup your face.
That playful mood of his was short lived when he felt you lean into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. He felt his heart being tugged on.
âYou poor thing,â was all you heard him whisper lowly a moment after his lighthearted remark, hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to pull you into him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A click echoed in the room and the beeping stopped.
âWe got this from the bug we planted in executive Ranâs car, sir.â
A pathetic scoff left Mikeyâs lips, his lips curling to a faint smirk before it faded to a straight line again.
The white haired man stared at the voice recording the device laid on the table by one of his men, hands curling to fists as he tried to quell the urge to destroy itâto destroy something.
Except he didnât. Patience. That was what you taught him.
You taught him patience like it was the best thing in the world, calmness, since he always killed people on sight without hesitation. Mikey tried, for your sake. He worked on more negotiations rather than ordering his executives to go on murder sprees, and one of those negotiations happened tonight at the jazz club.
He thought maybe by now, that heâs got the hang of it. But Mikey doesnât know if âpatienceâ was good anymore. How was it as âgoodâ as you said, when because of patience, he lost you.
Mikey waited, and waited, and waited for his chance to get closer to you. To open up to you more than the surface level relationship you two had. He wanted to be a real husband to you, to be your lover.
Maybe calmness wasnât something he should practice anymore. Since you succumbed so easily to what Ran forced on you.
Well, at least you knew heâll kill Ran.
#Never putting this much effort in a fic ever again#Ran x reader#Ran x reader smut#Ran smut#Ran haitani smut#Ran x you#Ran x y/n#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo rev smut#tokyo rev x y/n#tokyo rev x you#tokroy rev ran#Mikey x reader#manjiro sano x reader#mikey smut#sano manjiro#manjiro sano smut#mikey x reader smut#manjiro sano x reader smut#tokyorev angst#Tokyo revengers angst#Ran angst#Ran haitani angst#Tokyorev x reader angst#Ran x reader angst#mikey angst
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the story ends
âźâ logan x f!reader (set in xmen days of future past)
âźâ summary: the day that logan lost you
âźâ a/n: again, only my second time writing for logan so be gentle pls, i specialise in angst but this isnât my best </3 (also, could be connected to all coming back to me â my first logan fic. no reading order!)
âźâ warnings: probably ooc! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, depictions of dying, itâs set in the original timeline so it is sad, talk of loss and death, one (1) moment of affection, major angst, guilt, sentinels, canon typical violence, & gore (ish, but to be safe), BLOOD, pronoun âsheâ used, unspecified mutant reader, lmk if theres more!
MASTERLIST
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There are so many things you had lived to regret in your life, so many things that you had dwindled on instead of simply moving forwards. And in the end, none of it had ever mattered. No matter what you had or hadnât done, life had led you here â to the very end of the world.
You hadnât fought in wars like Logan had, werenât used to the brutality of it all. Fighting, and battles, all of that you were familiar with. But not this. This was on another level.
The X-Men had been helpless to fight against this, unable to resist such a tidal wave of hatred and murder. The Sentinels had destroyed so many of your kind already, that there were barely any of you left to fight anyway. And those of you who had lived through the initial slaughters had been scattered across the globe, made to search for one another while constantly trying to evade those seeking n you out to kill you.
It was exhausting. All of it. And it wasnât only you who felt that way â those remaining were all tired. Tired of the constant movement, tired of the constant loss, tired of the neverending chase. You could see it on everyoneâs faces â Charles looked as bad as you had ever seen him, struggling to cope with the loss of almost all of his students. And Ororo, you could tell, was fighting to hold herself together. She had lost too many people, too many friends. Magneto was no stranger to loss, especially like this, but it was written all over him, too.
And there was Logan.
Logan who, in all the time you had known him, had never stopped fighting. For all of that to be in vain was clawing at him, tearing him down. There was a new age to him, and you werenât talking about the grey hairs that seeped from his temples. He seemed far too old to still be fighting, to still spend every living moment trying to stay alive, trying to keep those he cared about safe. Everyone had lost so much since the Sentinels appeared.
âHow much longer do you think we can stay here?â You asked Storm, gazing out at the sky ahead of you, glancing back towards the jet that was stood on the makeshift runway. She stayed quiet long enough for you to grow concerned and look her way, and you saw the unease to her stance. âWe need to leave, donât we?â
âItâs not safe.â She replied distantly, looking out towards the cloudy sky. Your brows furrowed instantly, and you turned to look at the clouds once more.
âNowhere is safe, Ororo.â You stated firmly, trying not to let the emotion betray you in your voice. She seemed to come back to herself at your words, and you just about registered her turning to look at you. You hadnât said anything that she didnât already know to be true, but still, the delivery of the fact left her with a stinging feeling in her chest. An aching sort of pain, a longing for a home that none of you could ever return to.
She thought of the mansion, and tried to force her way past the memories of it torn apart, destroyed. It was easy to forget, in times like these, exactly how things had been before. But Storm could practically envision it all in her mind, the bustling halls between classes, the crackle of fire as the adults shared a drink after a rough battle, the constant noise of mutants embracing their powers.
That was meant to be a mutant safe haven, and it was gone. She knew you were right â nowhere was safe for your kind, not anymore.
âI know.â
You let her words settle, and chose to linger and look at the view, even as Storm turned and made her way back to the plane.
Admittedly, the view wasnât much, but it was nice to see the sky without a plane of glass in the way. All of you spent so much time inside the jet now, barely able to land without Sentinels descending upon you. It was somewhat safer in the sky, although there had been some close calls.
The wind whistled in your ears, a welcome breath against your skin, and you easily preferred this to the way it usually whipped against the side of the jet.
You heard the shuffle of feet in your direction before you felt his presence, a warm hand coming to rest on the small of your back. It was soothing, warming you up as you let the cold breeze surround you.
ââS almost time to go,â Logan told you, speaking quietly. His gruff voice still sent shivers down your spine, despite his warm hand on your back. He turned to look down at you after a second, eyes scanning over the entirety of you, analysing. âYou ready?â He asked after another moment, knowing you always tried to take in as much of the fresh air as you could.
âIâll just be a sec.â You responded calmly, breathing in deeply, finding comfort in the way his palm moved with your body. When he didnât move, you turned to look at him, finding him still watching you. Despite everything, you couldnât help but smile at his loving gaze, albeit somewhat weakly. You placed a hand on the side of his face, brows creasing. âEverything okay, Logan?â You asked, concerned, because he seemed off, even though everything in the world was off. It was something more than that.
He nodded as your thumb stroked his cheekbone, trying to provide some amount of comfort in a world where comfort didnât exist.
âIâll wait with you.â
You smiled, trailing your hand down from his face until you reached his own palm, which you gripped tightly.
Slowly, you noticed the sun beginning to shine on the horizon. You knew you needed to be gone before it had risen fully. âDonât worry, Iâm right behind you.â You said reassuringly, tilting your head and squeezing his palm tightly at his uncertain look. âPromise.â You added, and he hesitated for a moment longer, before turning away, squeezing your hand once in return before he let it go fully.
He seemed reluctant to leave your side, even as he walked away. You shook your head, grinning softly, glad for the few good things you had left in your life. Logan was everything to you â he had been for more than a few years.
You took one more glance at the rising sun, before turning away, ready to head after Logan. But then your head tilted, brows furrowing in confusion. There was a buzzing feeling in your hands, your heart speeding up its pace, and you looked around in concern.
That was when you saw it â the Sentinel heading straight for the jet on the right.
Ororo was closest, and she hadnât seen it yet.
âStorm! On your right!â You yelled, desperation leaking into your voice as you watched her spin, finally noticing the murder bot creeping up on her. Even from this distance, you could see the way her eyes went white, lighting up as the wind picked up suddenly, rain slowly starting to leech from the clouds above that were quickly multiplying with the force of Stormâs power.
You couldnât breathe a sigh of relief as she struck it with lightning, summoning winds to throw it over the edge of the cliff side, because you knew it wasnât over â more were coming, if they werenât already here.
Starting towards Logan, you only just registered the way his eyes widened and he moved towards you before it dawned on you.
You hadnât checked your six.
Before you could even turn, you felt it.
When you looked down, you saw the Sentinel spearing you through the stomach, the wound far too big to comprehend.
Blood was tickling the back of your throat, and you couldnât even swallow around it. It was too late, you noticed distantly, as you looked towards where Logan was trying to get to you, seeming as though he was moving in slow motion.
The Sentinel ripped its limb from your body, and your knees buckled, sending you to the ground.
It was a very far away realisation, the fact that you would die here, in mere moments. Instead, your main focus was Logan, watching the anguish and denial plaster his face. You barely heard the other Sentinels rising from the cliff side behind you, but you knew they were there.
And you knew that the others knew it too.
Storm had made her way towards Logan, and you hadnât even noticed how close she was to him before then. She mustâve noticed the Sentinel approaching you at the same time he had. Her face was painted with grief, evident in every crease of her expression, in the very way she moved. She placed her palms against Loganâs chest, and pushed.
âLogan, itâs too late. Please. Itâs too late. We need to go.â Ororo begged, her voice shaking with every word that left her mouth. She couldnât bring herself to look at you, to see the blood that had started trickling from the corners of your mouth, painting your skin. She didnât want to see the life leave your eyes.
âLogan!â Charlesâ voice raised, trying to be heard over Stormâs power. Logan hadnât even heard his wheelchair in the jet, too focused on the way you looked at him, your eyes dimming with every moment he couldnât get to you.
He felt Erik before he had even realised the man had descended the ramp, felt the pull of his powers. The way he forced Loganâs skeleton to bend to his will, to step away from you. From the love of his life. The only thing he had managed to keep hold of in this apocalyptic world.
âNo, no, no, no,â Logan begged, yelling for you, waiting for you to snap out of it, to just get up. âCâmon! Câmon, get up!â He yelled, trying to push against Erikâs power, but finding he couldnât even take another step towards you. He felt Storm push harder on his chest, but he didnât notice, too busy watching the way your head tilted, your eyes glassy, the way your lips lifted at the edges, showing just a flash of bloody teeth. You smiled at him.
âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â Storm said, as Erik finally managed to pull Logan some steps back, going up the ramp.
It was the hardest Logan had ever fought against his power, which made lifting the plane simultaneously all the more difficult. But Erik focused his mind, pulling the plane from the ground as Storm finally released Logan to press the button to lift the ramp.
âSheâs gone, Logan.â Charles said sadly, feeling the way your consciousness drifted from his grasp.
Logan just caught the slump of your body to the ground through the swarm of Sentinels as the ramp closed fully. Erik allowed him to fall to his knees when he realised he had stopped fighting, but kept a loose grip on the adamantium in his skeleton out of fear that he might tear apart the plane to get to your body.
A sullen silence took over the jet, everybody resigned to loss by now, but for Logan this was different. He stared at the ramp, unable to get the image of your empty eyes out of his mind. Your body, slumped on the ground, left there to rot.
And all he could think was that if he had only stayed with you, you might still be here. If it werenât for him, you might be alive.
#heartlogan writes#logan howlett angst#logan howlett x f!reader#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett fic#logan howlett one shot#logan howlett imagine#logan x reader#logan x you#wolverine x you#wolverine x fem!reader#wolverine x f!reader#wolverine x reader#wolverine fic#wolverine angst#wolverine one shot#wolverine imagine#hugh jackman wolverine#xmen days of future past fic#xmen angst#xmen one shot#xmen fic#xmen imagine
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Give me your attention, please â
My campaign has stagnatedđ
I am like you, exactly like you.
I was a successful person in my life; I have always been proud of myself, and my family was proud of me too. I had a life, dreams, and ambitions that I was striving for. My life was full of lectures, volunteering, teaching students, and adventures, but for more thahn 414 days, all of this stopped completely! Can you feel my broken heart? Can you imagine how I feel at this moment? Tell me what I can write for you to feel me and offer help to me and my family by donating and sharing?!
Hello, my name is Amal Ghilan, I am 25 years old, a mother of three children (Abdullah 8 years old, Salwa 6 years old, and the youngest is Nour 9 months old). We were living in a beautiful house full of happiness until this war of extermination came, our house was bombed on the third day of the war (and I was eight months pregnant at the time), our house and car were destroyed đ
my father-in-law and my husbandâs sister were killed, and we lost our only source of income, so we were displaced from one place to another more than once, and I suffered from severe malnutrition during my pregnancy due to the lack of bread until the time came for my delivery, so I did not have a warm crib or even clothes to protect my little girl from the cold of winter đą, and we were in December, where the journey of childbirth is difficult without medical care, so I left the hospital with my little girl to that damned tent that was eating our bodies from the severity of the cold, as my children did not have warm clothes to relieve them from the bitter cold, and suddenly we saw death with our own eyes from the occupation tanks, so we were forced to move again to Rafah, despite the difficulty of displacement, it is very expensive in addition to the high price All the goods were crazy and we had no source of income which made my children suffer from severe malnutrition. đ
Then in May we were forced to leave Rafah and go to a shelter school in Al-Maghazi where we lived with 6 families in one classroom. Suddenly the school was bombed and we escaped certain death, so we were forced to move to a tent in the Mawasi area of ââKhan Yunis where the sunâs rays began to burn our skin and melt our bodies. My children were afflicted with skin diseases and amoebiasis due to the scarcity and scarcity of water and the difficulty of bringing and carrying it from long distances under the scorching sun. And here we are suffering daily inside this hateful tent that does not protect from the heat of the sun or the cold of winter. I hope that you will help me save my children by evacuating them outside of Gaza before it is too late.
Verifeid by : @dlxxv-vetted-donations
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[DESIGNS HERE ARE NOT FINAL, ALL DIFFERENT VERSI0NS] !!!! [STILL EXPERIMENTING AND ALL WIPS]
In day 1 of posting in this account, I talked about making this character named "Roberto del Muerto" who's a half-dead man who grave robs and takes body parts to deliver them to the undead in his afterlife who needed it.
This is honestly the most complex character I've ever created in both personality and design. I'm starting to settle a bit more on this extremely angular and shapey look and him having a full mask instead of a half-mask to make him look as intimadating as he is meant to be to normal humans.
:33333 Lol I'll see what happens though
#death left you on delivery#roberto del muerto#oc#undead oc#original character#wip#art development#character development
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big game
ghost x f! reader | ~5k words cw: simon lies, mean simon, red flags? what red flags, hunting, animal death (discussed), predator/prey, knives, bad restraints, bad suspension, rough (arguably bad) sex, clothed man & naked woman, blood, murder, italic abuse. please tell me if you need something tagged. a/n: a cross between this post and this post. banner by @/cafekitsune. đȘ
Simon lets slip that he owns a cabin nearly a year into the relationship. Itâs the kind of thing where you could and maybe should be upset, but you play it off as no big deal. You have to. This is Simon. The man didnât show his entire face until the sixth or seventh date.
(He joked about it, too, that first timeâBreathe a word about this mug, and Iâll have to kill ya. You laughed, delirious as he split you in two. He didnât.)
Itâs a few hours away from the city, on the far edge of the boonies. Itâs long beyond the truck stops and hog refineries that dot this part of the country. Far from delivery and traffic lights. Deep in an unincorporated village, in an unincorporated area. Its remoteness would make one wonder how a foreign ex-soldier found such a location, but again. This is Simon. Ages ago, you learned questions earn neither his favor nor answer.
The property is impressive for its locale. Two bedrooms. A decent kitchen. Heating and cooling. A garage and a shed. Renovated within the last decade and upgraded piecemeal when Simon has time. It sits on a lake shared by only two other cabins, both residing around a reedy bend and well out of sight.
Upon arrival, Simon doesnât offer a tour, telling you to poke around as he unpacks the car. Well, a jerk of his head and a gruff, âGo on in.â Since you started seeing each other officially, he doesnât often let you burden yourself with chores. No lifting a finger if heâs available.
The place is sparse. Occupied but not lived in. While stocking a cupboard, Simon explains the previous owner, an older gentleman with cheap taste, left behind what decoration remains. A few tacky fishing signs hang on the walls, intermixed with sun-bleached squares on the wood paneling. A curio box collection of novelty keychains in the hall to the bedrooms, full of states and a couple of names. The lumpy pillows on the sofa pouf tobacco-scented dust when you test its cushions.
Tiptoeing into the main bedroom, you imagine how you might spruce up the austere space. Considering he moved into your apartment after three months, you assume itâs a matter of time until this becomes your cabin, too.Â
(It was incredibly romanticâthe move. Near sunset, Simon appeared like a specter in the pouring rain, with his few worldly belongings in tow. Kissed you hard and fast, told you he couldnât stay at his place anymore. That he needed you. You. All your effort paid off.)
The memory brings a smile to your face.
Youâll turn the cabin into a cozy love nest like your apartment. Blankets, candles, a rug or two. Though heâll never admit it, Simon must desire comfort like anyone else. The first night he burrowed into your duvet, luxuriating in the cotton and silk, he fell asleep like an old hound freshly sprung from a shelter. He tossed most of his stuff the next dayâsaid you had everything he needed.
Looking around, you realize you have your work cut out for you. The austere room more a cave than a refuge. The man's bed doesn't even have a frame. Just a neatly made mattress with tucked sheets and two flat pillows. A secondhand dresser and a stack of plastic drawers for extra storage. On the bright side, the adjacent bathroom is spotlessly clean, with a caddy holding melamine sponges, bleach, and other supplies on a shelf. He's always been tidy, likely a military thing.
From the living room, you're greeted with a scenic view of the lake and the adjoining deck through the glass door. A pair of wooden chairs sit side-by-side in front of a fire pit, one of Simon's old welding projects. Down the gentle slope to the shore, a small dinghy rests in the water, tied off at the aluminum dock. A smattering of yellow and white water lily pads hug the bank.
Peaceful. Picturesque. Private.Â
But your eyes hitch on a strange beam.
Bolted between two mature trees, a hefty piece of timber sits within plain sight of the deck. A series of evenly spaced, fixed eyelet hooks and two pulleys catch the light when the breeze shifts the canopy of the bur oak overhead.
Simon joins you on the deck, the planks creaking beneath his bulk. A cracked beer dwarfed in his hand.
âDid the former owner have kids?â You ask as he sips.
âKids?â
You point at the curious installation. âIsnât that for a tire swing? Seems like the perfect spot.â
Simon stares, narrowing his eyes slightly with a chuckle. The tone of it pricklesâthe same snide laugh he makes at his own awful jokes. When heâs in on the punchline, and youâre not. One of the few things that sour his image.
âKids? Fuck no,â He shakes his head. âThatâs where I âang deer and the like out to bleed.â
You bristle and duck the arm he means to drape around your shoulders, ignoring how he huffs baby and câmon, donât be like that between snickers.Â
He finds you in the bedroom, sorting the clothes you packed with punchy aggression, fuming and embarrassed by his teasing. Stupid and naive, thatâs how you feel, for all your care and commitment. Youâre just so silly, such a townie, for not recognizing a piece of lumber as a barbaric vehicle for slaughter.
Two wide mitts glide over your sides as you try your best to ignore the behemoth behind you. You are by no means small, but Simon. Fuck, Simon, you whisper, half-exasperated when he nuzzles into the crook of your neckâheâsâfuck, he is big.
Itâs an hour before your clothes are finally put away, and youâre already down a pair of underwear for the weekend. Simon leaves you sated and dozing, a tactile apology accepted, and retrieves you to fix supper when heâs hungry. Later, parked in the chairs in the yard, watching the end of the sunâs march to the horizon, you broach the topic again.
âWill you take it down?â
âSweetheart, what do ya think I do on the weekends you work?â
You shiver. Ten seconds ago, youâdâve said read or weld or fish. Itâs ridiculous how your mind cannot wrap around the idea of Simon out in the woods, stalking through the trees and underbrush, hunting. Decked out in blaze orange and realtree, rifle cradled in his hands. You know his history and what heâs capable of. What heâs done.
But this is different from his military career. Simon said he didnât want to do any of that. Enlisting was how he escaped a lousy home life; he didnât plan to get stuck in it for as long as he did. He confessed once, after a silly tiff over your job, that the day he was discharged was the best day of his life, second only to the day you met. Thatâs where the disconnect lies. Hunting and killing for sport, thatâs not the Simon you know.
You tell him as much.
âThat so?â His smirk matches the rising moon. A waxing crescent.
You insist.
Simon cracks his neck. âTell you what, Iâll make you a deal,â he starts, fingers flexing around the neck of the beer bottle. âIâll quit, if I can bag one last trophy.â
The thought of burning the beam distracts you from the flicker in his eyes. The ugly thing is the only hiccup keeping the cabin from textbook perfection. You donât want to think of Bambiâs poor mother dangling like some macabre ornament whenever you look outside.
âFine. Whatâs the trophy?â
Simon grins.
~~
âI better win a fucking award for this. Itâs freezing.â Youâd said, tugging on your sneakers.
He laughed wickedly. The sound burned right up your spine.
âYouâll get a fucking award, alright.â
Simon sent you off a half hour ago if the time on his watchâs dull, glowing face is correct. He buckled it around your wrist before you darted into the woods, tightening it as far as it would go. It spins loose around the bone anyway. He warned you to watch your footing, pressed bear mace into your palm, and then gave you five minutes to make yourself scarce. Inwardly, you preen. To go undiscovered for this longâyouâve surpassed your own expectations.
However, squatting with your back to a distressingly damp tree trunk, regret eclipses pride and buzzes under your skin. Hopefully, it's not a parasite from one of the puddles you stomped through. It's out of devotion, you tell yourself, itching under a wet sock, that you agreed to this game. Out of love. There isn't much you wouldn't do for Simon. From the moment you met him, it's been magnetic. Poetic.
And that first date? Cinematic. You went out with one man and returned home with another. Your date caught Simon staring from across the joint, a mean set of eyes in a ski mask eating you alive. What kind of man lets another steal his âbirdâ? Thatâs what he called youâbirdie. Need some company, birdie? Complete disregard for the flop-haired man across the table. Cupped a hand to your dateâs ear, said a few words, and Mike or Matt or whatever his name was vacated his seat, leaving the big Brit to take his place.
Bringing him home was a foregone conclusion, the decision finalized as you watched him, absolutely rapt, stab the meat of your entree and claim it as his own. Rolled up his balaclava just enough to take a bite with a row of crooked teeth. Breath hitching at the scars, the pale white lines stretching over his chin. You didnât even know his name when you blurted out the question. And itâs with fondness you recall the flash of surprise in his eyes at your resolute zeal. Didn't make him work for it, offered yourself up on a silver platter.
('Course, afterward, you had to convince him not to fuck you in the parking lot, promising breakfast in the morning if he slept over. He did. For two days. He kept turning up after that.)
You may be hiding in the woods, but he's the animal. Yes. A neglected stray you dedicated the better part of a year into domesticating. Lured him with food, a warm bed, and sex. Assiduously filing down his sharp teeth and rough edges with your body. Introducing him to creature comforts, to living versus mere survival.
Which, again, prompts the questionâwhy hunting? Didnât you take care of him? If he needed more, all he had to do was ask. Take. Prying a burr off of a sleeve, you wonder if it's like the old saying goes: you can't teach an old dog new tricks. Maybe he needs to chase or track, and youâre another soft-handed city slicker keeping a working dog cooped up in an apartment.
If you still saw your therapist, sheâd probably suggest you dissect that. But you donât, and youâre not inclined to schedule a session. Besides, Simon said all shrinks areâ
A twig snaps. It shocks you how quickly you push to your feet.
Twenty feet or so dead ahead, a hulking mass moves through a thin shaft of moonlight.
You run.
Huffing and puffing, you charge clumsily through the trees, miraculously avoiding clusters of roots and shielding your face with your hands. Feels unnatural to run from him. The blood rush in your ears drowns out the heavy thuds on the ground behind you, Simon pursuing, shirking stealth for speed.
Inevitably, he overtakes you. An iron grip latches onto your shirt, and a kick sweeps your legs. The bear mace flies from your hand into the brush, clanging off a tree. You dangle for a spine-tingling second, suspended, heart lurching into your throat. He leverages your tumbling momentum to swing you to the ground at his feet through strength alone. Landing on the cold floor of the woods expels a gasp, a second following as a boot presses between your shoulders. No force behind it; its presence alone enough to keep you down. Despite the dirt and twigs surely sticking to your front and the borderline painful thunder of your heart, you smile in relief. Itâs over. His last hunt. The boot lifts.
âNice work, big guy,â You cough, breathing hard. âCan weâSimon?â
Before you can move, Simon nudges the toe of a boot into your ribs, compelling you to roll over. You startle at the sight looming above, a strangled, incoherent string of mouth noises trickling out of shock. A pair of brown eyes peer through the orbits of a skull attached to a mask. They trail from your face to your stomach, where he takes advantage of your stupefied babbling, binding your hands with cord. You meet his gaze, heat creeping up your neck, and his eyes crinkle.
About a dozen questions surface on the return march to the cabin. None survive the swirling vortex of your head, unwilling to risk appearing perfidious.Â
Simon flexes his grip over your bound hands. âGonna have some fun.â
Your faith does not lapse, though fear simmers low in your belly when he doesnât lead you to the cabin but toward the beam. A fluorescent nylon rope now feeds through the hooks and pulleys, and an oxidized steel, wide-based triangle sways freely. Beckoning. A humiliating whimper escapes as he positions you on a circle of dead grass, hands of a hangman on your hips.
âSaid you wanted a fucking award.â
A fucking award. A fucking award.
Simon reclaims his watch and then methodically changes your bindings. A hand to each vertice, he fastens you to the gambrel and kisses away a rogue tear. He tugs and tests the rope. It shouldnât induce a flood, and yet.
âIs itâCan it hold me?â
âBirdie, this is built for stags and boars. It can hold me.â He strokes your cheek, tapping the bone with a knuckle, then breaks away. âStay put.â
As if you have a choice.
Leaving you with the frogs and crickets, you watch Simon retreat indoors. A breeze carries a cool rush of air from the lake, your thin top a poor barrier to the slight chill. You take deep, rattling breaths to slow your heartbeat, still racing from the pursuit.
A distant click breaks the quiet, followed by a low, electrical buzz and the sudden, blinding intensity of light. It sears your vision before you can screw your eyes shut, blinking away the phosphenes with a noise of displeasure. The sensationâs almost enough to knock you off your feet. You squint, sight adjusting, and track the source to a previously unseen flood lamp affixed to the oak tree some distance away.
Simon returns shortly after you regain your bearings, his imposing silhouette accentuating his mass. Closer, heâs stripped down to a fraying and stained white t-shirt, but your eyes hone in on the rig fastened around a thick thigh. The cut of the strap guides your eye to the straining denim, and the image of his dick flashes in your mind, scorching like the flood lamp.
He extracts a knife from the sheath, steel reflecting light like a mirror. You squirm, a cross between impatient and uncomfortable. Is he cutting you down already? What was the pointâ
He pulls the front of your shirt, setting the knife edge to the hem.
âSimon,â your voice jumps high in your throat. âDonât you dare.â
A steady upward glide answers the warning, cleaving the material in two open drapes. The breeze hits your sweat, the band of your bra suddenly chilled and sticking, though that doesnât last long as he slices through it, too.
âSomeone could see!â you stammer, nipples tightening in the night air.
âYouâre frettinâ over nothinâ, sweetheart. Nobodyâs out here. Open.â Simon demands, pressing the hilt to your lips. âGood girl.â he praises when you relent to bite the compressed leather between your teeth, catching a whiff of polish. He rips off the remnants of your top and bra, dropping them to the ground in scraps. A big hand fondles and weighs a tit in its palm as if he hasnât played with it before. Thereâs a deep inhale from behind the mask as he swipes a thumb beneath its mass, then a chuckle. âWork up a sweat?â
The hand with the knife carefully discards the mask, revealing smears of eyeblack, and he pops his thumb into his mouth to suck it clean. A gasp slips out when he steps closer, hand engulfing the tissue again, pushing it up to glide his nose along the underside, tongue trailing. He nips, soothing after you yelp.
You mourn your expensive leggings when he shreds them next, reducing them to ribbonsâanother deep breath and a throaty laugh, selfish and all too pleased.
âKnew I smelled ya in the woods.â
âYou ruinedâyou tore themââ
âThought youâd get lucky tonight?â Scarred knuckles drag from your ribs to your thigh, squeezing, his thumb rubbing sweet circles over old stretch marks. Your wires cross, his blatant rewrite of the afternoon makes your lips purse, but his hand, Christ, your toes curl in your sneakers. âA quick screw in the woods?â He sheathes his knife to trace a finger along the crease of your thigh.
Air whistles through your teeth in a sharp inhale. He skims, dipping to gather some of your wetness, licking his fingers clean again. He hums appreciatively. âGet off on being chased? Fuckinâ dripping, birdie.â
Your hole twitches at his teasing, and you know he must see it with the sneer he gives you alongside the abrupt plunge of two fingers. The hand on your thigh migrates to your ass, pulling you snug to the webbing.Â
âSimon!â A curse hisses out as he burrows his fingers in as deep as theyâll go, curlingânot for your pleasure, no, but to keep you there, a crude hook. The rope strains as you squirm, impaled, and stretched too tight on his hand, clenching uncontrollably as if your cunt canât make up its mind. A flurry of sensations meets head-on with reason, and logicâs never been your strong suit. Reduced to need and want in equal measure, a single twist of his fingers confirms youâre as desperate as the night you met him.
You donât notice his other hand abandoning your backside for the rope. What squeaks first, you or the pulleys? Itâs sudden, the way you slide off his fingers with a lewd pop, feet leaving the ground. He hoists you up and up, the movement practiced, tying you off like the boat secured around a cleat hook.Â
Some feet off the ground, naked and shivering in the dark, exposedâyou should feel fear, but the other shoe, instinct or intuition, doesnât drop. All the vulnerability does instead is send a white-hot pulse to your clit. A plea leaves your mouth before your brain considers anything else. Pelvis tilting. He awards your eagerness with a grind of a zipper and a gratified grunt. Simon tugs his jeans and boxers down, then bends slightly to hitch your legs.
Your legs settle around him, and though he huffs when you squeeze, trying to ease the pressure off your wrists, you think he likes it. The ropes above slack little, raised higher than heâs tied you. With a massive hand back on your hip, he uses the other to feed his cock into you, bringing the line taut once more as he pulls you down.
The steady shove and fullness push a low whine from your mouth, which Simon smothers with a toothy kiss. It stings someâyouâre not nearly wet enough, only quieting with the faith heâll make it better. However, the fact that he doesnât give you time to adjust isnât promising.
He ruts. Barges in. Takes what he needs in full strokes. Builds a pace that rattles the hardware and your insides. The pain steadily stressing your wrists and lower back is secondary. Third, probably, to pleasure and heat, though the former isnât building as fast as the latter. Sweat beads in your hairline and neck, collecting under your breasts and in the creases of your belly. Makes your calves slick where they press into his sides, the cotton of his shirt sticking to his and your muscles.
âSimon, I canâtââ The words eke out, abdomen and thighs burning, friction in the wrong places.
His arms flex, boots shuffling over dirt and grass to further beneath you, cock dragging along your walls at a drastic angle, head jabbing into your cervix. More support, less comfort. A bitter trade-off, exchanging one hurt for another. The pinch of his brow makes the bursting stars at the edges of your vision worth it.
Each thrust shakes you in the rope, pulleys whining in solidarity. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes across the cabinâs yard, coupling with your gasps and Simonâs ragged breaths. After a particularly harsh snap of his hips, laughter, deep and gular, trickles out of his mouth. "You feelinâ alright, sweetheart?" he drawls, voice oozing sangfroid. âYâlike your award?â
That has you shuddering. His hands settle on your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh in a way thatâs sure to leave marks. âLook at you, strung up so prettily. Pretty fucking ornament.â
Bambiâs poor mother.
Simon's voice and the image of a dangling deer carcass collide, punctuated with a thrust like a battering ram. It forces another string of needy sounds. Discomfort and desire coil in your stomach, twisting into a warm mass with a life of its own. You feel every inch as he withdraws and shoves in. The heat of him, the hardness. Nylon chafes your skin, each buck a reminder of your helplessness. Restraints are nothing new, but this isâ
The air leaves your lungs in one big whoosh as Simon hits a sweet spot.
You slump a bit, legs close to jelly from bracing.Â
Finally, an adjustment. Simon slows to meld himself further into you, and itâs then, sucking in deep breaths, you marvel at how perfectly level you are to be fucked like this. He bands a single thick arm beneath your ass in a casual display of strength, the other snaking between you. Chin to chest, he spits, the glob hitting your clit like a bullseye. Youâd cringe if his thumb didnât chase after it, spreading his saliva. The sudden break, coupled with his attention, makes you quiver. Anticipation gaining on torment. His thumbâs rhythm quickens, alleviating the aches. Youâll be sore as hell come morning, but as you have before, youâll forgive again.
With a new, albeit haphazard, focus on your clit, he rolls his hips at a more languid pace. The shift is a knifeâs edge between torture and bliss.Â
âStill want me to take it down? Donât know if I will, birdie, like the idea of keepinâ you up âere, âanging for the takinâ whenever I want ya.â A chuckle vaporizes into a hiss. âShit, you like the sound of that?
If you could manage speech, youâd say yes. Simonâs rewired your synapses in a matter of seconds with the rough pad of a finger. Heâs backlit from this angle. Haloed. Suits him, you think. What youâre feeling is rapturous, however ruthless it may be. Animalistic, really. If you let him leave the beamâthis is what youâll remember. Not some fresh-killed doe staring into nothing. But you, Simon, and the orgasm he harvests.Â
It creeps up on you. You howl, jerking in the ropes, muscles spasming and weeping. Revived with a burst of adrenaline, your legs try to close automatically, only to press uselessly into his sides. Thereâs no stopping him and nowhere to go until heâs done. Your body sags in its ties like a puppet.
Simon snarls something, and his palms return to your ass, abandoning all pretense. A haze rolls, thick as molasses, over you as he uses you to his end. He goes silent the few seconds before he comes, breathing harshly through his nose. One last snap of his hips, a deep grunt, and his cock floods your pussy. His chest heaves. Breaths heavy and stunted. Burrowing into your chest, he digs his nose into your sternum and rasps his teeth over your frantic heartbeat.
Your eyes droop along with the rest of your person. Everything disappears under a tenebrous wave.
Movement. The grind of the pulleys. The sawing of a knife. A sliver of lucidity buoys you, a headrush from popping to the surface after drowning. Your head throbs, the world spins, and by the time you make sense of it, you hear the familiar creak of the cabin steps.Â
Simon lays you out on the lumpy mattress, brushing his fingers over your hair and skin. He disappears, and you float in and out of consciousness. Thoroughly fucked.
You briefly wake when he tucks you in. The crux of your legs is damp, and a faint medicinal smell emanates under the blanket. Layers of gauze over aloe wrap your wrists where they lay beside your head on a flat pillow, and you wiggle your fingers experimentally.
âSleep.â He says, poking your forehead.
Your throat hurts. âStay.â
The bed dips when he obliges. He molds to your back, smushing your chest with an arm and cupping a tit. His breath fans over the shell over your ear, and when youâre on the edge of sleep, he murmurs something, but the words run together.
Somehow, he falls asleep before you. Sated. Ran out. You take care of him, and he takes.
~~
An emaciated tick floats with its legs curled in on itself in a glass on the floor next to the bed. You stare at it for too long, then roll over.
Simonâs awake, though his eyes remain closed and body still. You wince, thighs rubbing together and interlacing your limbs over his. His lip twitches, but he doesnât shove you off.
You trace a scar jutting across the meat of a shoulder and stare at his chest, pock-marked like besieged castle walls. Months ago, you asked about the stories behind the wounds. The question went unanswered, and it earned you a week of getting fucked face-down. So you simply drop a kiss to a crater on his pec and then his chin.
âYou broken?â He mutters.
âNo.â
âThen fix us some breakfast.âÂ
Itâs Herculean with how your flanks and thighs protest, but you hum through the kitchen and diligently rustle up the meal. Visions of a life dance through your head. An ivory lace curtain will suit the window over the sink. The smoke-damaged, yellowing cabinets need scrubbing. Thereâs hair stuck in the hoarfrost of the freezer, which makes you gag. Leftovers from one of Simonâs hunts.
No sooner than you plate the bacon does Simon emerge. No need to call. Heâs trained.Â
~~
The cell reception is terrible, one of the features that sold him on the property. Calls drop sporadically, and texts scrape by at the shed. His phone vibrates when he sets foot over the thresholdâmessages from his pet, all sent within a few hours. Poor thingâs bored at work. He wouldnât know the feeling. His morningâs been productive. Enjoyable.
Simonâs lip curls, and he leans the fishing rod against the shed door. Sliding his phone into a pocket, he turns back to fetch the tackle box. He lumbers past the wriggling cunt strung up on the newly installed gambrel, the plastic crinkling underfoot. The steady drip of blood is barely audible over their whiny throes. Probably hurts. Hooks through the Achilles tendons will do that, but theyâll go quiet soon enough. If he times it right, theyâll be done when he returns for supper.
He nearly pricks his thumb, spearing the worm onto the hook. Watches it writhe. He huffs a laugh and spares a glance back at the cabin. The two trees that once held the beam. Itâs a loss to no longer watch game struggle from the comfort of the deck. He surprised himself with how he complied with his girlâs request. She earned it, he supposed. Cried and begged and bled for it. Usually, that sort of response draws his knife, not his interest. But sheâs an odd one. Different. A rare beast.
He casts the line.
âDo you want to fuck me?â Sheâd asked all those months ago, less than a minute after he threatened to hang her date by the balls. Blunt and to the point. Refreshing. He was unaccustomed to finding them so willing, but she fucking imprinted on him like a wobbly-kneed fawn. Nosed his open, reaching hand like a stray, hungry pup. She saw him for what he wasâthe bigger, meaner predator. Top of the food chain. Thinks some part of her knew she was better off bowing her head and licking his cock than running. She stuck her neck out, took him home, and gave him her pussy without a fuss.
Itâs cute, the way she thinks sheâs made him agreeable. How she works on him and his hygiene and manners. Doesnât get that if it were up to him, heâd sleep on the floor, in the dirt, used to a lifetime of bunking down in shitholes. The cabinâs simply suitable for his hobbies. The fact itâs a decent vivarium for the sweet girl is a bonus, a place to keep her nice and soft so long as sheâs good. âCourse, the sight of her hanging by her hands made the idea of introducing her insides to the outside cross his mind, but he wonât cut her down just yet. Not when heâs got her leashed.
Hours later, the cooler packed with largemouth bass and walleye, he unpacks the dinghy and trudges toward the shed. Itâs silent, save for the insects and the birds.
The nosy prick from the bait shop sways, unmoving. Coated with his own fluids and dripping. He chuckles. He should call her.
#ghost x reader#ghost x f!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x f!reader#mind the tags#posting and skittering off
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Reader Lore - Born to Break Records
So this is a little filler for between now and the next chapter. This chapter might have triggers for death, abusive parents, and brief mentions of bullying. If these make you uncomfortable, then please feel free to skip this chapter. The synopsis is the readerâs life up until her first race win in F2.Â
Welcome to Reader-Lore
2003
The cry of a baby filled the sterile walls of the delivery room. Pants filled in the quiet moments, but were mostly covered. The wailing baby was placed into the arms of the waiting mother, the father looking down on the two.Â
âItâs a girl,â the nurse told them, writing something down in a book.Â
The atmosphere suddenly changed. The once hopeful air was dampened with disappointment. The father sighed loudly, turning his head to look out the window. The mother, who had held her baby tight, loosened her grip. Her nose was now scrunched in borderline disgust.Â
The nurse, feeling the off energy, offered to take the baby girl. She made some excuse about needing to weigh her and make sure that she was healthy, things that could have waited until after the parents bonded.Â
The mother was quick to hand her over, waiving her hand as though it wasnât a big deal. The father had now moved farther away from the hospital bed.Â
The baby had started to wail once more after being taken from the arms of her mother. Arms that she thought were safe. Arms connected to the body that had cared for her for 9 months. Arms that suddenly did not hold her tight. Arms that willingly gave her away to some stranger.Â
Once the nurse and frightened infant left the from, the mother and father looked at each other.Â
âI wanted a boy,â the male murmured.
The female rolled her eyes, âI know. And so did I. But we donât have a choice anymore.âÂ
âWe do. Could always leave her here. A boy would be able to break records. A girl is useless.âÂ
âAnd be arrested? No thank you.â The mother rolled on her side, arms around her front. The father just huffed.Â
âEverything we talked about, our future, is now a wasted memory.âÂ
The mother looked at the door with a sliver of hope, although, it was too small for anyone to see it. âMaybe she can do everything that you wanted a boy to do.âÂ
âWe can just have another baby,â the father persisted.Â
âYou heard the doctor. It would be too dangerous for me to have another. Whatâs done is done. You can walk out now if you canât commit.â The woman went to say something else, but was interrupted by whimpers.Â
The nurse had walked back in, now with a swaddled baby. Begrudgingly, the mother held her hands out to take the bundle of blankets. She looked down at the brand new baby, but her heart didnât swell with pride like she read about. Her heart filled with distain, as if the baby were a Christmas present that she didn't want. But this time, she couldnât return the baby like sheâd return a gift at whatever store it was bought from.Â
The father had taken a few steps closer to the bed, but kept his distance. There wasnât a bone in his body that actually wanted the child.Â
âWe still need a name for her,â the nurse stated, clicking her pen.Â
The mother glanced to the father before saying, âY/n. Her name is Y/n.âÂ
2008 â Five years oldÂ
The air was stuffy, filled with the scent of petrol and burnt rubber. The quiet that could have been was broken by the rattles of engines and throttles. You wished for silence.Â
You wanted nothing to do with this. But, youâd rather get in a kart then flinch at your fatherâs hand. You had been allowed to wander around the track. The big boys were driving now. And by big boys, you meant 11- and 10-year-olds. They were bigger than you and drove karts that were so much faster than the little one that you had.Â
You looked around. There was definitely not a shortage of girls hanging around, but none were dressed like you. Most were the older or younger sisters of the drivers. Their pink tops, paired with shorts or skirts, flowed in the wind. None of them were wearing an old itchy race suit that was two sized too big. They were allowed to wear sandals, while you had to endure the tight racing shoes that your dad had definitely yanked on the laces too much. It wasnât your fault that you hadnât learn to tie them yet.Â
You watched their hair bounce in the tall pony tails tied on the tops of their heads. They didnât need their hair to be wrapped in a bun at the base of their necks so that it could fit into a helmet.Â
You wished that your mom and dad would allow you to cut it off so that you could be the boy that they wanted. You knew that they didnât want you, your little mind was able to catch on to things like that.Â
You understood patterns. Patterns on the track helped you know what areas to avoid. Patters on the kart taught you where to put your feet and hands. Patterns told you that moms and dads should be happy for their children, and not yell at them. Patters revealed that children did not flinch when their parents patted their heads or caressed their cheeks.Â
The wind blew loud as the kart race came to a close. You knew that you needed to get back quickly to where you parents were waiting, but you wanted to see the winners, wanted to see them taste a victory that you were so desperate for.Â
You squeezed past the other boys and looked up at the three on the podium. The one on the lowest step wasnât rememberable. His hair looked the same as others. His height wasnât tall or small, just in the middle.Â
But the boys on the other two steps were. The one on the second pedestal had a shaggy hair cut, with bangs that pointed down. You had seen him before, surrounded by his family. A little brother, a big brother, mom and dad, and then a man who looked at the boy with stars in his eyes.Â
You wished someone looked at you like that.Â
âAnd in second place, Charles Leclerc.â So that was his name. Sharl. His eyes were bright green and filled with light and hope. But a sadness still glazed them as he looked up at the boy on the top step.Â
The boy who towered over the crowd had blond sandy hair. For a winner, he didnât look happy. His blue eyes didnât hold the same brightness that the green eyes had.Â
âAnd our winner, Max Verstappen!âÂ
That was a nice name. Max. You wanted to look at the boy winner for a few more moments. Engrave his image into your mind. Because, you didnât know when the next time youâd be able to do this. Your dad would probably ban you from such things, saying something like you didnât need to look at something youâd never achieve.
But you were hungry.Â
You were taken out of your watching by the announcement that your own race was going to start soon. And you werenât in your kart.Â
You rushed through the crowd, trying to put on your bright pink helmet on. You could put your gloves on while you got into your kart.Â
By the time you got there, your dad was already looking at you with a disappointed look. Your mother was nowhere to be found.Â
âWhere have you been,â he hissed, hitting your helmet.Â
âI wanted to see the podiums,â you muttered, getting your gloves on.Â
Your dad shook his head. âWhat have I told you about that?âÂ
âThat I shouldnât look at things that I canât get.âÂ
âExactly. Now get in your kart.âÂ
You did as he said. You heart was pounding as you taxied the little thing onto the smaller track. You were able to be seen by everyone, your helmet acting as a little flag. It seemed to say âlook at me! Iâm the only girl trying to be on par with all these boys! Watch me fail!âÂ
But you were determined to prove them all wrong.Â
By the last lap, you were right behind one more kart. One more pass and you could win. Prove your dad wrong. Prove everyone wrong.Â
You watched as he broke your pattern. The pattern that would help you win.Â
He made a mistake, and you welcomed it with glee.Â
You passed over the finish line with a significant gap behind you and that boy. At the stopping point, you parked your kart and stepped out, exhaling sharply.Â
You thought that people would cheer and shout, but the silence that you had wished for earlier had come to haunt you.Â
You won and there was nothing to celebrate.Â
2015 â Twelve years oldÂ
Everyone thought he was crazy. There was no way that he was going to sponsor a 12 year old in karting, a female none the less.Â
He wasnât crazy. How could he not want to sponsor you, a consecutive race winner in your league. He constantly watched you drive circles around the boys who would berate you in their free time. He watched as you would let their words roll right off your back. You didnât let their words get to you.
But, he was your godfather and he had a sense of responsibility for you. He watched as you climbed out of the kart, looking around trying to find a familiar face.Â
He could see your eyebrows raise through the visor when you caught sight of him.Â
âLoLo!â you yelled, quickly sprinting over to him. He was ready to catch you, but not expecting the hit with your helmet.Â
He let out an oof as you knocked him slightly off balance.Â
âHey kid! You did good!â He rubbed your helmet as if it were hair. You quickly unbuckled the pink contraption and took it off, hair sticking to your forehead.Â
You looked around before your shoulders slumped. You kicked a rock as you spoke, âThey didnât come.âÂ
Lorenzo had noticed a lack of your parents as soon as he arrived. He would have come earlier to help you with your kart if he had known that they werenât here. He looked down at you with sad eyes, and thatâs the last thing you wanted.Â
You always wished for someone to look at you with so much love and affection that it poured out of their soul. But you only ever got looks of hatred and pity.Â
He rubbed your shoulder, âItâs ok kid. But you wanna know something?â He crouched down to your level, pant legs getting damp with moisture. You nodded your head. âLoLo gets to sponsor you!âÂ
You gasped, eyes tearing. Even though you were twelve, you knew the weight of the situation. Your parents had told you that because you were winning, you were embarrassing them. And because you were embarrassing them, they wouldnât pay any more years of karting after this one. You wailed when you told Lorenzo the next time you saw him. And he saw your heart break into itty bitty pieces while you did.Â
When you left, he looked into every possibly way that he could keep you in karting. The only option was to sponsor you.
And sponsor you he did. He emailed, texted, and called multiple companies, trying to get their support. He would get sponsorship to put on your kart so that you could carry the logos proudly. He had your new one sitting in the back of his old truck, but that was a surprise. It was blue with two proud bulls on the very front. He had done it. He found you a sponsor that would keep you going for a couple of years.Â
His thoughts were interrupted by you actually knocking him over. He knew his sweater was getting damp, but he didnât care. He just wanted to see you smile for the rest of his life.Â
You were too busy whispering thank you after thank you for you to notice the weird looks that you were getting. Looks from the boys that you had just beaten. Looks from the parents who didnât know the worries of paying for karting.Â
He quickly picked you up and took you back over to get your cart. He helped you load it on the mover and rolled it over to his truck. You wouldnât be needing this kart that was almost falling apart. You had a new one, and youâd be all right.Â
You talked the whole way home, animatedly moving your hands around as you described your latest win. Your hands rolled over the other as you showed him how you turned the wheel, barely clipping the front of the kart who wanted to push you off.Â
Lorenzo only looked at you with pure adoration. A look that you wanted so much, but were too busy to see due to your explanations of your imaginations.Â
Maybe he was crazy, but he didnât think so.Â
2019 â Sixteen years old (F3)
Your eyes were pricked with tears as you read the letter you received in the mail. The big letters of DISOWNMENT flashed in the reflections. They had done it weeks ago, according to the date on the top of the paper. By now, your things were probably thrown away or burned.  Â
You had just finished the F4 category and were making a name for yourself in F3. You couldnât deal with this now. One of the management people came and knocked on your door, telling you that the race was about to start.Â
You crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash. If they didnât need you, you didnât need them. That was the lie you continually told yourself. Of course a girl needed her parents. They were the people who were supposed to nurture you and help you.Â
But they never did that in the first place. At least you didnât have to constantly buy drug store foundation and concealer and try to explain the black and blue around your eyes after it melted off during the race. No more flinching. No more hiding.Â
Just no more.Â
You would call Lorenzo and see if you could stay with him for a bit during the break. You would have to or you wouldnât have a place to sleep.Â
Your breath shuddered at the thought.Â
You told yourself that you knew this was coming. They had cut all contact with you months ago and werenât spotted when you went home during the last break.Â
You allowed the tears to fall as you got your helmet on. No one would see the streams as you placed your visor down. You were now hidden away from the weird looks that everyone sent you. No girl had ever made it this far.Â
Sure as you grew, there were girls in karting. That number seemed to increase in F4. Most of them were from the driver academies. You were still able to participate due to multiple sponsorships that Lorenzo had gotten you.Â
But with increase, there has to be a decrease. You were currently the only female in F3 and were set to be the only female to make it to F2. Well, thatâs what everyone told you. Your stats reflected your need to prove yourself.Â
Race win after race win helped thrust you through the blockades built by men. They wouldnât stop you, and you didnât want to stop. Not now, not ever.Â
Each race win fueled your hunger in this world. And it only grew and grew.Â
Your tears were brushed away by the wind brushing through your car. At that moment, you told yourself that you wouldnât cry over your parents ever again. They didnât deserve them.Â
You could cry about other things. Such as passing over the finish line, marking your first win in F3.Â
You constantly showed the world that you could do it. You wanted to cry again as you listened to your anthem. You wanted to cry when the boys celebrated with each other, leaving you out. You wanted to cry as you walked back to your âmotor home,â knowing that it was put up quickly for you.Â
The time you finally let yourself cry was when you were talking with Lorenzo on the phone. Your eyes were tired and dehydrated by the time you quit. Lorenzo was able to calm you down. He told you that he would take care of everything, take care of you.Â
You knew you wouldnât be able to see him much though. The F3 calendar was far busier than the F4 one had. And you knew the moment you entered F2, time for relaxation would be far and few between.Â
But you had Lorenzo to fall back on when the times got hard. You could always count on him.Â
2020 â Seventeen years old (F2)
It was too soon. Too too soon. It wasnât fair either. Your tears had not stopped streaming down your face since you arrived. The sterile smell itched your nose, but you needed to be here. For him.Â
He had gotten paler in the few moments since you had been there. His breath rattled with each inhale and exhale. And each breath brought more tears. You didnât want to let him go.Â
âPlease LoLo. I canât do this without you,â you whispered, knowing that he probably would not hear you. The doctors told you that he was far too gone for that, but you liked to believe that he was still listening. âYou canât leave me like everyone has. I canât be alone. I need you.â You put your face down in the blankets, squeezing his hand.Â
The nurses stood in the door, with tears of their own. They were watching a child lose the only family that she had left.Â
You inhaled sharply, wiping your tears away.
âYou know Iâm going to do it. For you. Itâs only ever been you. Youâve been my best friend and I donât know how Iâm going to get through this scary world without you.â You hiccupped. âBut, I know that you need to go. And Iâm being selfish for keeping you here.âÂ
You stood and kissed his forehead.Â
âThank you LoLo, for everything. I love you.âÂ
His chest rose, fell, rose, and fell.Â
But didnât rise again. The multiple beeps from the different machines let you know that he was gone. And he wasnât coming back.Â
One of the nurses came and rubbed your back as you sobbed, not caring who heard you. Your tears did not stop.Â
They didnât stop on the plane to Bahrain. They refused to dry up during the practices as you set record times. They let up as you gave post-practice interviews, saving you from being embarrassed.Â
You cried as you put your helmet on. Stickers had been placed on it the night before with Lorenzoâs name and dates of birth and death to commemorate his legacy that would continue through you.Â
You knew this race was important. You heard that multiple F1 drivers were there to watch. And youâd give them a spectacle, before hiding away to burry your dead godfather. You hoped that the blond kid with blue eyes that had grown up by now was there. He didnât need to know that you looked up to him. You just hoped that heâd be there. And possibly the green eyed Justin Bieber look-a-like as well, you had followed him too.Â
You had managed to score a P5 starting on the grid and you knew it would be tough to fight for the front. But you had a feeling that youâd be just fine.Â
And just fine you were.Â
You all hauled your F2 car over that finish line, finishing with a gap of 10 seconds. Your crew was screaming in your ear through the radio and congratulations were being thrown everywhere. You pulled into the number 1 spot and climbed onto the nose. You put your finger on the big numbers on the nose of your car, kissed the finger that touched it, and raised it, pointing at the sky. You had changed your driver number to the permanent 89 this season, and for the rest of your career.Â
One time, Lorenzo had showed you pictures of when he used to kart. The big 89 was visible through the old photographs. He had trophies upon trophies, but was never picked up by anyone. You told him that if he had raced these days, heâd be able to skip everything and would be put into an F1 car immediately. He had just laughed and told you to do it for him.Â
So thatâs what you were doing. After you commemoration, you scrambled down the car and jumped into the crews waiting arms. These days, you did not flinch when they hit your helmet. You knew that these were celebrations for racers and you were thankful to partake. Two boys followed you up and went before you. You didnât remember their names, only the Australian accent and the odd American accent. But they would remember your name.Â
You carried your flag high as you walked onto the stage. The anthem sounded much sweeter this time around. The trophy felt a little heavier this time though. You looked up to see those blue eyes that you saw many years ago. Max said a quick congratulations before you raised it as though to almost offer it to the open sky. This time, you let the tears go. You quicky wiped them away and picked up the giant bottle of champagne. You hauled it over your shoulder and sprayed the others, absolutely drenching them.Â
This time, they did it to you as well. Â
You knew you made it.Â
Iâll do it for you, LoLo.Â
December 2024 â Twenty-one years oldÂ
Christian Horner sat in the folding chair, as he did year after year. A camera was right in front of him, with an interviewer to the side.Â
âPlease state your name for the camera.â He rolled his eyes.Â
âMy name is Christian Horner, and I am the Team Principal of the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team.âÂ
âLetâs talk about your driver, Y/n L/n.âÂ
The screen cuts to the pace of your car, passing multiple others in one clean sweep.Â
âSheâs one of the best talents Iâve seen in a while.âÂ
A scene of you holding a trophy, high in the sky.Â
âWhat is one thing that you admire about your driver. She has said a lot about you.â Christian smiled. Of course you had. You told him that you saw him as the dad you never had.Â
âAlmost everything she touches, she turns it to gold.âÂ
The scene changes to your first win. The crowds of red cheered your name. Something you didnât think was possible. You had taken that win from their favorites and you were being praised for it. Slow-motion splashes of champagne hit you from either side as you wiped your face.Â
The scene returns, but Max is in Christianâs spot.Â
âSheâs different. Sheâs the epitome of what a rookie should be. Iâm just thankful that sheâs my teammate and not working against me.âÂ
The screen fades to two Red Bull cars with an Aston Martin in between them.Â
âY/n, Max is currently behind the Aston. Gap to you is 1.237 seconds,â Mitchâs voice is heard off screen through the radio.Â
âTell Maxie that itâs time to do the old switcharoo!âÂ
Your car suddenly slowed down just enough on the turn, and the crowd cheered as Maxâs car went wide, putting him before you. You quickly got in his slip stream and the two of you sped off, leaving the green car in the dust.Â
Another driver, with green eyes, is now in the seat, answering the same question.Â
Charles looked up in thought while blowing some air out his lips. âSheâs fearless. You normally donât see that anywhere. Sure, everyone gets scared if they have an impact, especially as big as the one she had, but not her.âÂ
The camera cuts to the violent scene of your first DNF. Your car flipped, you were trapped. Peopleâs faces were adorned with tears including Christian, no one had been able to contact you. Yet, the focus is now on you, wiggling out from beneath the wreckage. You, in spite of it all, raised your fist as though you were celebrating a first win.Â
The scene cuts to an Australian with a straight smile. He looks semi-uncomfortable in the seat. Â
âIt looked like you and L/n had a tussle in the beginning. Is that true?âÂ
Oscar shook his head. âThere was never a tussle. We both made mistakes, but thatâs racing. Wheels touch all the time: it doesnât mean that we have the urge to take each other out.âÂ
The interviewer continued, âBut she did take you out.âÂ
The screen fades to a clip of two cars dangerously close together, one orange and one navy.Â
David Croftâs voice could be heard, âAnd there goes the Red Bull of Y/n L/n and the McLaren of Oscar Piastri! They are close together around that corner and they arenât backing down. Are they going to make contact! And they do! Off the track they go, debris is everywhere. And I donât think they are going to be able to continue.âÂ
You knew that you should not have ânever backed down never what-ed.â But Oscar was going for it and so were you. And you felt terrible. You quickly used the halo to climb out. Looking over, Oscar was doing the same thing.Â
The camera followed you as you made your way through the swarming stewards. You just knew that you needed to check on the Aussie.Â
The crowds could hear David speak again, âOh no. Looks like L/n is mad. Does Red Bull have a thing for drivers with anger issues?âÂ
Oscar looked up and saw you storming towards him, batting away the stewards hands. He stiffened, ready for anything. But what he didnât expect was a giant hug. He could feel you shaking and he quickly put his hands around you.Â
âIâm ok.â Â
The screen flashes back to Oscar.Â
He huffed, âShe did. But the moment she got out of the car, she came to check on me. She batted away the stewards who were desperate to make sure that she was fine, since she took the brunt of the hit. If that doesnât convince you that Y/n is a great friend and better driver, then I donât know what will.â The Aussie looked livid.Â
The scene cuts to now a new face, your manager.Â
The interviewer asks, âWhat is something that people might not know about Y/n.â Vito put his hand to his chin. You had already given him the permission to talk about what might be discussed.Â
He inhaled, âSheâs strong. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.âÂ
âCan you give us an example?âÂ
âThe kid was disowned in 2019, right before her F3 debut. And you know what she did? She put that F3 car in the P1 spot. She never showed it though. She held her head high, and was squeezing into her place, that was waiting for her, in this sport.âÂ
A quick flash of 16 year old you, holding your first F3 trophy, was shown on screen.Â
Vito kept talking as the scene changed to you walking around your motor home, greeting everyone who was there. They knew what had happened, and comforted you with words and hugs. You were thankful for them.Â
âShe also lost her godfather Lorenzo in January 2020. It was heartbreaking to hear her over the phone. Her debut in F2 was the next day. I told her that she didnât have to, but she insisted that she needed to race, to win.âÂ
The camera followed 17 year old you, helmet on and visor down, as you walked to your F2 car, shining with your new number.Â
âIn less than 24 hours, she was back in the car.âÂ
Your car sped down the straight, over the finish line.Â
âAnd she won.âÂ
The scene shifted to 23 year old Max Verstappen handing you the big F2 trophy. Tears could be seen in your eyes as you took the cup and thanked him.Â
âDid you know?âÂ
Max looked at her in bewilderment. âI didnât. And you would have never guessed it. Y/n has her heart on her sleeve, everywhere she goes, except when she races.âÂ
A quick cut now shows Christian back in the seat.Â
âThe last driver I saw with that mental strength was Charles Leclerc. He previously lost his godfather, and then lost his father. A few days later he won his race. Y/n lost the only family she had in less than a year.â Christian laughed. âThese rookies are built different. Youâd think they were made for the earlier days of racing, with how much they put into it. But Y/n, I donât know. Her aura commands attention.âÂ
The scenes now shown are from multiple races.Â
The camera followed you as you walked through the crowded paddock, trying to get back to hospitality. You thought that it would be different, that youâd have to squeeze through to get by. But with each step you took, the people parted like water.Â
You flashed a smile at many fans who seemed awestruck to be in your presence.Â
A new driver is now in the seat.Â
âSheâs almost like Charles, in a sense,â Lando said. âThe two of them,â he looked around, âI donât know. Itâs hard to describe.âÂ
âCan you try?â Lando shot her a cheeky grin. âThey are basically the F1 royalty. Any driver has a âcelebrity imageâ and people are excited to see us outside. They ask to take pictures, but they also do things against us.âÂ
The scene cuts to multiple instances of booing and pushing drivers.Â
âAnd yet, Charles and Y/n bend them to their will almost. They listen to them. The King and Queen of Formula 1.âÂ
A video of you, Lando, Max, and Charles speaking before the Monaco Grand Prix plays.Â
âAh, Max. Did I tell you that we have to address them as your highness now?âÂ
Max looked up from his phone and followed Landoâs finger that was pointed at Charles and you, deep in conversation.
âNo? Why?â Lando walked over and showed him the edit and comments on his phone.Â
The caption read âY/n L/n and Charles Leclerc are F1 royalty and we need to address them as such.â The video that played started with a clip of Charles in Monaco, with the grid and Monegasque royalty behind him. He looked so majestic. It switched over to you in your home country, with a crowd around your pedestal. You hadnât even won yet, and they looked at you as though you hung the moon. You stretched out your arms and the crowd roared.
Max looked back at the two, who were ignorantly blissed. Max looked up at Lando.Â
âYouâre right.âÂ
The camera is back to Charles.Â
His eyes were wide with eyebrows raised, âLando really said that.â He smirked. Shuffling up to good posture he said, âIâm fine with that. Y/n has always been different, but in a good way. She knows what the people wants, but also doesnât get caught up in all the PR. Sheâs herself.âÂ
A clip of you with fans plays. Your smile was mirrored with theirs. Everyone wanted to see you, hug you, feel you. And the waves that were emanating from you only made the crowd happier.Â
Now, the seat is occupied by none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton.Â
âWhat do I think about Y/n?â he questions back to himself. âI know that she is one of the best rookies to ever come across in the world of Formula 1. Iâve had the opportunity to share podiums with so many drivers, but her? Thereâs something different.â
The scene flashes to a podium shared with you, Lewis, and Max. Lewis had been able to take the win, leaving you on the third step. You had almost had the win, but a late safety car ruined it. Lewis looked over at you, expecting a disappointed face. But all he saw was a smile that rivaled the sun.Â
âShe never seems to be disappointed with anything. Even if she was to qualify in last place, she would still smile.â Lewis laughed. âAnd I think everyone loves her more than they realize.âÂ
A small clip of you and a bulldog flashes across the screen. Roscoe was licking all over your face.Â
âRoscoe, stop!â But you were laughing, and the dog thought that he should continue. Lewis found the two of you in the middle of the floor in the Mercedes hospitality. A blanket was draped around your shoulders. Â
âAnd what are you doing here kid?â Lewis put his hands on his sides.Â
You shrugged. âToto told me I could hang out here. Max is having one of those âadult meetingsâ that Christian says my ears shouldnât hear. I think they forget that Iâm 21 now.âÂ
Lewis just laughed, thinking of how Toto must have let you in and had given you a blanket as well. He just ruffled your hair and sat on the ground with you. Â
The scene changes one more time. You are now in the seat.Â
The interviewer asks, âPlease state your name and your occupation.âÂ
You smiled, âMy name is Y/n L/n and I am a Formula 1 racer who drives for the Oracle Red Bull Racing Formula 1 Team. I also DJ,â you shot finger guns at the camera and clicked you mouth, âThanks Lando.âÂ
âHow was your first season in Formula 1. You obviously showed the world of what you could do.âÂ
You nodded before continuing, âThe season went better than I expected. To place third in the driverâs championship as a rookie? Unheard of.â You smirked. âUntil now.âÂ
The person behind the camera continued, âYou were only 10 points away from Charles Leclerc. How does that make you feel?âÂ
You cocked your head. âIt feels wonderful. Charles had a really good season.â You leaned in as though to tell a secret. âIf anything, donât tell Charles or Max I said this, but Max and I would rather lose to Charles than anyone else.âÂ
âAnd why is that?âÂ
You deadpanned. âWell Charles is Lightning McQueen incarnate and Maxâs emotional support rival. Who else would we want?â People laughed in the background.Â
âNow that you know you could win a championshipâŠâÂ
You cut her off, âOh Iâve always known I could win a championship. But I also know that I was born to break records. And right now, Iâm on a path to help Max break the 7 streak.âÂ
âAh yes, sorry. What would you do after winning a championship.â You hadnât seen Max slip in.Â
âI think Iâd pull a Nico Rosenburg. Ya know? Retire while Iâm ahead.âÂ
âYou would not do that!â Max said behind the camera and you looked straight at him.Â
âYes I would.âÂ
âNo you wouldnât. Because you said you were born to break records. Well Kid, if I make a record championship, you need to be the one to break it.âÂ
Oh my gosh, I loved how this chapter turned out. And it is officially the longest chapter I have written so far â 6,077 words. Right now, I have to write the chapter for the last race of F2 and you readers have to pretend that it lands on a weekend that the F1 drivers can attend.Â
Also! I am pleased to announce that the first few chapters of a new series will be out shortly! It is called âBesties for the Restiesâ and itâs how you got close with many of the drivers. Not all of them will have their own chapter and not all the drivers are being written about. So please be aware that this will not be going over 10 chapters!Â
Thank you to all my readers and Happy Thanksgiving! Â
Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost
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Sujood has reached out to me to boost she and Sanaaâs fundraiser. Theyâre urgently trying to evacuate their family from Gaza and seek asylum in Belgium. Their previous campaign was suspended, so they have started a new GFM and currently have ÂŁ1,642 out of their ÂŁ50,000 goal! Please share if you canât donate!
From their GFM page:
Dear friends,
We are reaching out to you with a heartfelt plea for help. Our names are Sanaa and Sujood, and we find ourselves in an incredibly challenging and dangerous situation.
Unfortunately, our previous attempt to receive donations was unsuccessful due to restrictions on transactions to Gaza. However, the urgency of our circumstances compels us to reach out again, this time with new procedures in place to ensure the secure delivery of your generous contributions. We are launching a new campaign because we cannot afford to wait for a long time for the restrictions on the bank account to be lifted itâs already being two months now. We are unsure if we will be able to access the funds or if they will be returned to the donors. In any case, here in Gaza, we are fighting against time. Every day poses a threat to our safety, and we cannot afford to wait. If, after some time, we are able to retrieve the previous amount, we will use it to rebuild our lives and continue the education of my siblings.
The situation in Gaza has become increasingly unbearable, and we have been left with no choice but to seek assistance from compassionate individuals like you. Your donations can make a significant difference in our lives and help us escape the dire circumstances we currently face.
This is ours story:
I hope this message finds you in good health and spirits.
My name is Sanaa Odeh, currently in Gaza, occupied Palestine. I am writing this as a plea for survival, for a future for my family and myself.
Our lives are in immediate danger, with non stop explosions everyday and every night, tanks and guns all around us, and fear as a constant companion. It is a non-stop nightmare, every minute of every day, for 6 months. Everyday is a struggle for survival. Lack of food and clean water creating a crisis of death by starvation and dehydration.
Despite the endless nightmare, we are a resilient and strong family. My beautiful parents gave everything to raise us as successful daughters and we are so proud of what we have achieved.
I work as a graphic designer and my sisters: a nurse/educator, small business owner, a medical student, and a field coordinator. Despite being on the path to rich and promising futures, it can all be taken away in any moment. We have already lost several family members, including my uncles and their entire family. There is little hope that the situation will end soon, all of us waiting for our turn next.
We are looking to seek asylum in Belgium. This campaign will help support us in covering the costs to do so, specifically in covering the evacuation costs per person. Your donation will provide us with the chance to escape the endless horror weâve been facing for the last 6 months and give us a chance to return to a safe, normal life again, where we can once again contribute positively to society.
I understand that this is a challenging time for everyone right now, but please do not underestimate what even ÂŁ5 can contribute to especially when it all adds up. It really does make a huge difference. No matter how small the contribution it can still change our entire lives.
Thank you for taking the time to read our story, your support means the world to us. Whether it is simply sharing our campaign or donating, it makes all the difference in the world to us. Your act of kindness can bring light to our darkest days and help us build a better future.
Thank you once again for all your support and kindness
With heartfelt gratitude,
Sanaa and Sujood
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IN BLOOM | jisung first date series. second chance lovers.
pairing: jisung x fem!reader word count: 13.2k genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!) summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.
chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ⥠series masterlist · · · ⥠taglist · · · âĄ
a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3
also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!
âAll of these had to be pulled.â Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway.Â
âAgain?â you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. âI donât understand, they sold so well last year.â
Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. âItâll pick up eventually, donât worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.â
Heâs being sincere, you know that. But thereâs a part of you that also knows itâs a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. Heâs being nice for your sake.
âMaybe we could try coming up with other ideas?â he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.
He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones heâs wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges.Â
âYouâve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since theyâre more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.â
You hum in approval. âTrue. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we donât have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeonginâs been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so heâll be home for a bit.â you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. âI could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?â
Hyunjin lights upâ he always does when Jeongin is mentioned.Â
Itâs been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But itâs hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields arenât enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than whatâs capable of being pursued here.
That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.
âCanât believe heâs driving.â Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. âI used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbullsâ but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.â he fake sniffles. âBy the way, Iâm gonna take my fifteen after Iâm done snipping these tulips.â
You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.
âSounds good. Also, donât let Innie hear you say that. Iâm about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.â
âMy baby would never do that to me!â Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip.Â
February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.
Thereâs still a few supply boxes from yesterdayâs shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.
Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron.Â
Hyunjinâs on break. A necessary one at that. You canât bother him, especially not when heâs done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what heâs had to sacrifice in the past year now.
âIdiot,â you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and canât seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind.Â
If it werenât for the timing of it all, youâd blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.
But itâs February. And in Jejuâ it rains.
By the time you make it back inside, youâre drenched.Â
âYou look like you just got dunked in a pool.âÂ
You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. Itâll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.
Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.
âMight as well have. Itâs insane out there.â you sigh. âHow was your break?â
You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.
âYeah, about thatâŠâ Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.
âEverything okay?âÂ
âYeah, yeah itâs justââ Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.
You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, âDo you mind if I leave a little early today?â
You scoff, turning to face him. âHwang Hyunjin,â you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, âYou donât have to ask me that. Weâre partners now, remember? We run this place.âÂ
He shifts on his feet, still unsure.
âBesides,â you huff, tying a knot behind your back, âWe were friends way before that, too. You donât have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. Itâs slow today, I can take care of it.â
Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. âAre you sure youâll be okay, though?âÂ
When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.
Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.
âOf course.â you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant.Â
Hyunjinâs ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.
âHave fun. Tell Minah I said hi.â
He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. Itâs cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.
âIâm not going to see her! Iâmâitâs just a movie! How did youâGod, youâre so annoying. I shouldâve made you trim the tulips. Hah!â
You giggle. âItâs funny that you think I wouldnât know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.â
âI am busy.â he mumbles, looking away. âI just emphasize it a lot more when sheâs here.â
âSure,â you roll your eyes, âLetâs go with that.â
He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper thatâs used for wrapping vases.
Itâs loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if itâs hard to find.Â
When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that youâll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down youâre grateful.Â
âLove you,â he says, one foot out the door. âCall me if you need anything.â
You shake your head, ignoring him. âLove you too.âÂ
And then heâs gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain.Â
âHerb snips, shears, tapeâŠâ you mumble, scanning the supply shelf.Â
Thereâs not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. Thatâs why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.
In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all.Â
âWhen I die,â your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, âSell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?â
âNana,â you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.
Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of havingâ you included.
Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. Itâs no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun.Â
âIâm not selling this place. Itâs too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.â
She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.
âThe one thing you shouldnât do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.â
You wish you hadnât been so hard headed. Wish that you wouldâve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.
Iâm sorry for your loss.
Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.
Sheâll be with you in your heart, forever.
Oh, what a lie forever is.
The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way.Â
Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. Itâs a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season.Â
The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.
Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shopâs best interestâ both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.
âI know, I know,â you say around the pen cap between your teeth, âYou used to be the brains around here, not me. Iâm not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.â
You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.
âDonât give me that look.âÂ
She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.
âUgh.â you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.
You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones.Â
Just as youâre about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.
The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadnât even heard anyone come in.
âBe right there!â you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where youâd thrown it on one of the chairs.Â
In your haste, the box of seed packets youâd been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.
âFuck,â you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today.Â
Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted.Â
You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.
One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later.Â
âSorry about that,â you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. âHow can I help you?â
Thereâs a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.
You realize, belatedly, that youâd forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.
Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, âItâs okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.â
You freeze. Thereâs a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach.Â
Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought youâd see again.
Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.
Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears.Â
A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung.Â
âYou lookâŠnice.â he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.
Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat.Â
You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.
âThe shop is closed.â you manage on a shaky breath.
Jisung sighs, something heavy. âListen, Iâmââ
âThe shopââ you try again, louder, ââis closed.âÂ
Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember.Â
There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandmaâs shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.
His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever youâd enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.
But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your handâ it feels wrong.Â
âIâŠâ he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides.Â
âOkay,â he resigns, licking his lips. âI, uhâ have a good night.â
He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.
Itâs February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.
And in Jejuâ it rains.
Thereâs an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time.Â
Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.
Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them.Â
Jisungâs parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family.Â
Thatâs how it happens. Yours and Jisungâs story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.
Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparentsâ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all youâve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. Youâre glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake.Â
The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.Â
Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.
Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep.Â
Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurseâs office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own.Â
Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.
âYou could come with me, you know.âÂ
Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world.Â
The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.
âItâll be fun. Weâll be together, weâll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.â
âTheyâre not nerdy things, Ji. Donât you know everything we have now is because of whatâs happened before us?â youâd asked. âDoesnât it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.â
Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. âI donât care about the future, though.â heâd said. âI care about right now. You, me, this.âÂ
When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head.Â
âI love you,â he whispered, âAnd I want you to come with me.â
Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own.Â
You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.
âI love you too,â you whispered back.
Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisungâs mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning.Â
âBut I canât.â you choked.Â
Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.
It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you.Â
And in Jejuâ it rained.
âI think you should talk to him.â
The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if youâd be willing to accept a drop off even though itâs the weekend. Youâd agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.
âAnd I think youâre not helping.â you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.
âAgreed,â Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, âThis guy sounds like a total dick.â
Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair.Â
Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after youâd already graduated, and of course, Jisungâ Chan is your oldest friend.Â
Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night.Â
âJisungâs not a dick, heâs justââ
âAn asshole.â you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles.Â
Chan sighs. Again. âYeah okay, Iâll give you that one.â
âListen, I know Iâve never met him, but isnât it weird that he just, like, showed up?â Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.
âI mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? Heâs gone for whatâ three years?â
âFour.â you correct.
âGod, even worse.â he grimaces.
âBut yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go âoh, you look niceâ? Come on.â he scoffs, crossing his arms.
You wince, caught off guard because youâve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. Itâs no surprise that heâs annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. Heâd been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldnât believe what he was hearing.
âOkay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isnât part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?âÂ
You pause mid-snip, mulling Chanâs words over in your head.
The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you werenât, though. Not when youâve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you donât need to know what Jisungâs been up to, donât need to know if heâs been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.
âWhat?â you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you.Â
âWell?â Hyunjin pushes. âAre you?â
You shrug. âNo, not really.âÂ
Thereâs a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.
âOut! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.â
âBut we were supposed to get lunchâ!â
âWeâre taking a rain check!â Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chanâs sad figure left alone on the other side.
You gape at him. âWhat was that for?â
Hyunjin scoffs. âYou think youâre convincing? Think again.âÂ
He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until itâs resting on his shoulder.Â
âTell me the truth now,â he says, soft. âI know thereâs more to it.â
Hyunjinâs warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like youâre standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.
âI am curious,â you start, âAbout him, I mean. Iâveâ I donât know. Itâs been so long. I tried to pretend I didnât care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?âÂ
Hyunjin hums but doesnât say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going.Â
âIâm scared, though. Part of me doesnât want to know.â
Hyunjin takes a deep breath. âWhat are you scared of?â
Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking.Â
âWhat if he tells me that itâs true?â you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. âWhat if he says that I was right, that he didnât care? That he left and didnât want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?âÂ
âOh honey,â Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadnât realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjinâs sweater.Â
He lets you cry for a while. Itâs nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. Heâs been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. Heâs picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.
Once youâve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.
âCan you be honest with me?â
You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder.Â
âDo you love him?â
It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increasesâ none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.
Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that heâs there.
âI donât think I ever stopped, Hyune.â
The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasnât a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever theyâd see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandmaâs hand when sheâd find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs heâs written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.
The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.
âThen you owe it to yourself,â Hyunjin says. âYou owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Donât let yourself suffer forever.â
Forever. That word again. No matter how many times youâve tried to escape it, it always comes back.
âItâs gonna hurt.â he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. âItâs gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. Youâve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But youâll be okay. Iâll make sure of it.â
He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until youâre sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin.Â
âYou deserve an answer.â he says, with conviction this time. âOkay?â
He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditionalâ thatâs what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like itâs too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others.Â
âI donât deserve you, though.â you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.
âShut up,â he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, âYou deserve everything and more.â
When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, youâre ready for it.Â
Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when heâs been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub.Â
If thereâs one thing about Chan, itâs that heâd rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.
âI donât know how much of a consolation this is,â heâd said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, âBut heâs pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I justâ I donât know. Iâve never seen him like this, I guess.â
Itâs not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear.Â
Sure, thereâs anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with whatâs happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But youâve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.
âAlso, he leaves tomorrow.â Chan smiled sadly. âHe really wants to talk to you before then.â
Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly âshreddedâ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias.Â
The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out thereâs more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But thereâs nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by.Â
Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm.Â
Five minutes until close. Youâve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating.Â
Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. Youâd told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this.Â
Youâre seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting.Â
Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You donât realize youâre holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisungâs figure comes into view.Â
He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers.Â
âHi.â he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.
You blink. âHi, Jisung.â
His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. Itâs been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance.Â
âHowâ Howâve you been?â he chews on the inside of his lip.
You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. Heâd make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind youâd wanted it more than anything.Â
Youâd waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.
âIâve been better.â you say, taking a deep breath. âWhat about you?â
Good, you think. Heâs been good. He looks good. He doesnât need this place.
âMe too.â he says instead. âIâve been better.â
You donât know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does.Â
âIâm sorry thatââ
âIs that all you came here to say?â you cut him off.
âWhat?â he asks, confused. âNo, Iâ no.â
âWhat, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?â your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. âBecause, honestly, Iâve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that youâve âbeen betterâ I might actually lose my fucking mind.â
The words tumble out faster than you intend. You canât help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible.Â
âNo, no, of course I wouldnât do that.â he says quickly. âIt's just that I didnât know where to start. I donât know how much youâll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didnât want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You donât owe me that. You donât owe me anything. Not after what I did.â
What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. Heâs aware of it, of the pain he caused.Â
He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until heâs right up against the front counter, an armâs length away.Â
Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way heâs grown and changed with your own eyes.Â
Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust.Â
âTell me what your conditions are,â he says quietly, âAnd Iâll give you every explanation I have.â
The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile.Â
âI waited four years for you.â you say.
âI know.â
âI trusted that youâd be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.â
âIââ his voice cracks. âI know.â
âYou lied to me.â
Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.
âI know.â
âSo you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.â
When he brings his head down to look at you, itâs unreadable. A mix of emotions that you arenât familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.
You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench.Â
âOkay,â he says after a beat of silence. âOkay. I can do that.â
Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul.Â
Youâre only human, after all.
Best friends from the startâ you canât stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisungâs always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that youâd be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. Itâs one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one anotherâs lives.
The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.
âMy flower girl,â the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.
âMrs. Kim,â you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.
âHalmeoni,â you say, gesturing at him, âDo you remember Jisungie?âÂ
His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.
âOh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,â she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. âWhere have you been? Itâs been ages!âÂ
Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back.Â
âHi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?âÂ
âMe?â she asks, pulling him away to hold at armâs length, âNevermind about me! Iâm old! How have you been?â
Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.
âBetter,â he says. âIâm doing better.â
Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.
The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.
âSo,â you say, catching Jisungâs attention, âTell me about Seoul.â
He hums. âItâs busy. Stinks. Lots of people.â
âDream come true, yeah?â you joke, taking a sip of your water.
Jisung chuckles. âYou could say that, I guess.â
âI mean, it was yours.â
âIt was.â he sighs, looking down at the table. âI donât know. Itâs nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so Iâm close to where all the foreigners hang out. Iâve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.â
You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.
You clear your throat, glancing away. âYeah, Iâveâ uh, Iâve heard some of your songs.â
He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadnât expected you to say that. âReally?â
âYeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.â A lie. âIt usually takes me a second to realize that itâs you.â Another lie. âBut theyâre good, youâre doing well.â
Pink dusts the tops of Jisungâs cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.
He looks younger like this, like heâs still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.
He talks a bit more about his music, about how heâs with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.
His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. Itâs equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says heâs been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with.Â
Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.
Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the companyâs cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.
But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadnât realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished youâd been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that youâd been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.
He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate.Â
âYou run the shop now,â he says, âHowâs that been?â
You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.
âItâs good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.â you shrug. âIâm not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I donât know what Iâd do without him.â
Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like thereâs a lot he wants to say, like he canât find the words to say them.
So, naturally, you do it for him.Â
âI assume Chan told you so I wouldnât have to, by the way.â
He looks up then, as if he wasnât expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.
âHe did, yes.â Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like heâs walking on eggshells. âIâ I didnât know how to bring it up. I assume youâve heard it all already butâ I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.â
The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.
Suddenly youâre in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt.Â
âI donât need an apology for that.â you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.
âIt wasnât sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. Thatâs what she told me, at least.â
You take a deep breath. âSo donât be sorry about it.â
Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest.Â
âI know. I justâ Iâm sorry I wasnât here. I shouldâve been. I had no idea thatââ
âNobody did, Jisung. Donât punish yourself for that.â
He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. Youâve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.
âYouâre right.â he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. âSheâd probably yell at me for saying that.â
You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like youâre crazy.
âI think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.â
The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.
Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. Thereâs no doubt that if she was here sheâd be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.
âShe wouldâve loved to be able to see you.â you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. âShe always wondered if youâd grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.âÂ
He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.
âWell, clearly I donât know how to listen.â
âNo, you donât.â
Jisung smiles softly. âMaybe Iâll cut it now. You know, since Iâm here. And because I know sheâd want me to.â
You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you donât know. All thatâs in them are stars.Â
âYeah,â you say quietly. âYouâre here.â
By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set.Â
The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sunâs fading rays.Â
âDo you think youâd maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?â
You snort. âWhy? So I can embarrass you?â
âHey!â he puts a hand on his chest, offended. âIâll have you know that I let you win all those times.â
âHow do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?â
âI was being nice!â
âUh huh.â
âDonât believe me?â he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight.Â
âIâll have you know that Iâm one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.â
âJisung,â you scold, âThatâs a computer game. These are coin-ops. Thereâs way more skill needed.â
âNo there isnât!â
He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.
Itâs easy. Nice. Thereâs a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.
Old Man Parkâs arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.
Your grandmaâs picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.
âLove you,â you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.
Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesnât see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets.Â
Itâs still hard to believe that heâs here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.
âReady?â you ask.
He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.
Something passes across his faceâ a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.
You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat.Â
The one thing you shouldnât do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.
Forever isnât promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:
Itâs February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh.Â
So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.
The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisungâs palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.
And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.
You. Him. This.
âGod, I canât believe everything is only one coin.â
You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisungâs face.Â
âStop acting like you donât remember this place.â
âI donât!â he argues, smiling. âWe stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!â
Chanâs first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.
You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisungâs hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further.Â
âOh, shit!â Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine.Â
âHere we go,â you sigh, following after him. Heâs like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.
âArenât there, like, I donât knowâ things better than this in Seoul?â you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.
Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. âObviously,â he says, âBut I canât beat anyoneâs high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.â
âWeâll see about that.â you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out.Â
Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. Itâs cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.
Heâs glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything.Â
The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.
When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat..Â
You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him.Â
âYouâre joking.â he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. âPlease tell me youâre joking.âÂ
There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjinâs names sit just below you, respectively.
âWhat was that again about finally being able to be at the top?â you mock him, smirking.
âSince when did you get good at this?â
You shrug. âHad to find something to do in my free time.â
âNo,â he says, rolling up his sleeves. âNuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.â he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm.Â
âYou might as well give up now. Weâll be here all night.â
âIn your dreams.â he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen. Â
Jisung has always been competitive. Itâs one of his more hidden characteristics.Â
It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old timeâs sake.
Fort-five minutes. All heâs managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.
âUgh!â he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot.Â
âLook at you throwing a tantrum.â
âIâm not throwing a tantrum.â he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.
âOkay fine. Iâm throwing a tantrum.âÂ
âThought so.â
âCan you blame me?â he asks. âThis is, like, our first date. And Iâm sucking. Hard.â
âOurââ you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didnât mean to say what he did.Â
Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesnât end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.
âI didnâtââ
âI like the sound of that.â you say quickly. âOf this being our first date, I mean.â
He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.
âAnd the fact that you suck.â
The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.
âCome on you big baby,â you laugh, grabbing his hand. âI know a game you can beat me at.â
He lets himself be pulled, pretending that heâs upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.
The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisungâs mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.
The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points.Â
When you get there, he frowns. âThe only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?âÂ
âI donât think,â you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. âI know.â
The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.
âPlay something good, Jisungie.â
He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.
âYou got it.â
In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.
An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.
Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didnât know if heâd ever come home.Â
After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.
Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.Â
When the game starts, you try your best. Itâs hard. Youâve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isnât easy for you, that much is still true.Â
âShit.â you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.
Jisung lets out a low whistle. âHarsh.â
âYou wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?â you raise an eyebrow.Â
He holds his hands up in surrender. âSorry, sorry. Go ahead.â he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin.Â
You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.
âIf youâre so good,â you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. âThen why donât you try?â
He chuckles then. âIâd rather help you, if youâll let me.â
âHow are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.â
Jisung doesnât say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once heâs done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick.Â
With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.
âThis okay?â he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.
Warm. Heâs so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.
Itâs more than okay. Great, even. Itâs Jisung. Everything and more.
âYeah,â you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. âItâs okay.â
The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. âGood.â he says, and then hits the start button.
The game begins but youâre barely processing whatâs happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours.Â
A firm chest, different from whatâs observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.
Itâs all so intoxicating, so much so that you donât even realize youâve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life.Â
âWhat?â you blink. âWhat the hell?!â
You laugh, spinning to face Jisung whoâs grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. Heâs surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.
âHoly shit howâd you do that!â you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.
âMagic, I guess.â he chuckles.Â
The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position youâre both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.
Itâs been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.
Things are different now.
âSorry,â he backtracks. âI didnâtâ um, I wasnât trying toââ
You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like itâs not the thing you want most in the entire world.
Jisung doesnât react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.
âHi.â you whisper against him.Â
One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home.Â
He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways.Â
âHi.â he whispers back.
The apple tree is much bigger now.
Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.
Itâs bare. The season is long gone. But itâs okay, because it means that the view of the stars isnât blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.
Itâs the same but it isnât. Thereâs gapsâ periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover.Â
But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.
Itâs nice. Perfect, even. But thereâs a conversation that needs to be had. One that canât be put off any longer.
âJi.â
âHm?â
âCan I ask you something?â
Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not itâll stain.
âOf course.â
âAm I ever gonna see you again?â
He takes a deep breath. âYes.â
âYou said that last time.â
âI know.â
âSo what makes this different?â you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like heâs scared youâll get up and run away.
When he realizes youâre waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.Â
He doesnât say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.
Itâs white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, youâre met with a tulip.Â
âDo you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didnât know if sheâd be able to afford school in the city?â
You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand.Â
It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual.Â
Youâd been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.
âYou told me that you couldnât do it anymore.â Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. âThat you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.â
You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.
âAnd I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.â
âSo what?â you ask, looking at him. âDid you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?â
âDonât be like that.â
âNo, Jisung, Iâm gonna fucking be like that.â you scoff, rising to your feet.Â
Thereâs a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You shouldâve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.
Jisung scrambles to his feet. âIt wasnât like I wanted toââ
âOh like hell you did.â you say, turning to face him. âFour years, Jisung. I waited four years and you justâ you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.â
âIt wasnât make-believe to me,â he argues. âIt was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.â
âOh so itâs my fault? I made you leave, is that it?â
âThatâs not what I said.â
âSo then say something else!â you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. âSay something else, then, Jisung. Why didnât you call? Huh?â
âBecause Iââ he stops, licks his lips. âGod. Fuck. I couldnât face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasnât fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.â
âHa!â you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. âSo you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because thatâs so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.â
He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass.Â
Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didnât contact you because he chose not to.
âDid you ever even love me?â
The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisungâs entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.
âWatch what you say.â he says, his voice low in his chest.
âI wouldnât have to if youâd just be honest.â
âIâm trying.â he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon.Â
âI fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And Iâm sorry it took me so long but I wantedâ noâ I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.â
âNo, Jisung, you promised me thatââ
âIâm not talking about you.â he says then, taking a deep breath. âYou werenât the only one I made promises to back then.â
Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, âI promised her. I told her Iâd get you out of here. That Iâd give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldnât.â
You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like youâre drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.
âShe told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. Iâm sorry it took me so long.â
Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core thatâs been hiding beneath the surface all along.
Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment.Â
âYou shouldâve told me.â you cry, beating a fist into Jisungâs chest. âYou idiot. You fucking idiot. You shouldâve told me.âÂ
Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that itâll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair.Â
When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.
âI wonât ask you to come with me.â he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. âI know that things are different. You have a life here that youâve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.â
He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.
âBut I promise itâll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I wonât disappear again. Iâll call every day. Iâll visit. Youâll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and Iâll get every part of you in return.â
Your heart thrums. The thought of having what youâve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.
âAnd when youâre ready, when you feel like you canât do it anymore, thereâll be a place for you.â
His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than heâs ever sounded before in his life.
When you turn to face him, heâs already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.
Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.
Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.Â
âI love you.â you say first this time.Â
He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist thatâs still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony.Â
âI love you, too.â Jisung whispers back. âForever.â
Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.
Thereâs less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.
âEvery day.â he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. âI promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when youâre on the toilet too.â
The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.
He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisungâs lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.
When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.
Youâre too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.
âJesus Christ Hyune, did you have toââ
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â he asks, breathless.Â
âUh,â you blink, glancing round. âWorking?â
âIs Jisung not on a damn plane right now?â
âI mean heâs on his way to the airport. Chan isââ
âChan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.â Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.
You sigh. âHe didnât want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I canât just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me andââ
âYou are so stupid.â Hyunjin sighs.Â
âExcuse me?â you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter.Â
âCome on. We have to go.â
âGo where, Hyunjin? Iâm not leaving toââ
He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. âAnd I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.â
âWhat is that?âÂ
âA plane ticket.â he says, pushing it towards you. âTo Seoul.â
Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious youâve ever seen on him.
âHyunjin Iâ I canâtâ where did you evenâŠ?â
âChan hyung has a friend.â he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.
âHis name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dudeâs super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, youâre leaving.â he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.
âWait.â you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin.Â
âI told you I canât leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.â
He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room.Â
âCan you be honest with me?â he asks.Â
You nod, slowly.Â
âDo you love him?â
Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something heâs always been good at. You donât doubt that itâs written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds.Â
âSo much that it hurts, Hyune.â
Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. âThen you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Donât worry about this place, Iâll take care of it.â
The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.
âI donât have clothes.â you manage to say around the lump in your throat.
Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose.Â
âIâll send them to you.â
âThereâs a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?â
âIâll manage.âÂ
You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.
âIâll miss you.â you say weakly.
Hyunjinâs throat bobs against the top of your head. âIâll always be here in our little corner of the world.â
The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjinâs warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like youâre floating. Unreal.
âI donât have a way to get there.â you say quickly, glancing at the clock.Â
Jisungâs plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. Youâre at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving.Â
âDonât worry,â Hyunjin chuckles. âIâve got that taken care of.â
You open your mouth to ask him what he means when youâre cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize whoâs waiting for you.
âHurry up people we donât have all day!â Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. Heâs parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.
âInnie!â you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around.Â
âYouâre here! Oh my god I thought you werenât coming for another two weeks.â you say in disbelief once he puts you down.
He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders.Â
âYeah, well,â he shrugs. âI figured Iâd show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.â
âHelp Hyunjin break into my whatââ you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one thatâs been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.
âFor the last time,â Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. âItâs not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.â
He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, heâs smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.
With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. âI love you guys.â
Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driverâs seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.
âYeah, yeah. Save it.â he says. âRight now, you have a plane to catch.â
The airport is crowded.Â
There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked.Â
Thankfully, your gate isnât far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand thatâs curled around your suitcase handle.Â
Itâs scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That youâre finally leaving.Â
Itâs bittersweet, too. Thereâs an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere.Â
You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.
Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that heâs probably wondering why you wonât answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored.Â
Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, âExcuse me? I think you dropped this.â
Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.
âWhatâ what are you doing here?â he asks.Â
You place the pick in his hand. âI'm on my way to Seoul. Thereâs a guy there that Iâve been trying to find for a while.â you say.Â
Jisung catches on quickly. âOh, really?â he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. âThis guy must be pretty great if youâre leaving for the mainland.â
The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. âHm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.âÂ
He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. âSounds like youâre excited.â
You nod. âI am. He promised me that weâd do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently heâs gonna write songs and Iâm gonna be a nerd.â
Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.
âHeâs really lucky.â he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.
You smile into it. âSo am I.â you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals.Â
And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key youâd been searching for finally click into place.Â
Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips.Â
Forever isnât promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:
Itâs February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jejuâ it rains.
And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.
[tags: @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @drhsthl @strwbrrychannie @shays-library @giuliadesu @iknowyouknowminho @linocz @pynchkilledme @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @chans1aptop @liknws @realrintaro @beeracha @vxllxnsworld @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]
#skzstarnet#han x reader#jisung x reader#han jisung x reader#han angst#jisung angst#han jisung angst#han fluff#han jisung fluff#jisung fluff#han au#han jisung au#jisung au#han imagines#han jisung imagines#jisung imagines#han scenarios#han jisung scenarios#jisung scenarios#skz fluff#skz angst#skz au#skz imagines#skz scenarios#han#han jisung#jisung#han fanfic#han jisung fanfic#han fanfiction
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Preciousđ©”
Summary: Reader gets separated from Daryl at the start and finds a farm with a wonderful family, she finds out sheâs pregnant and one thing leads to another and a new group settles onto the farm
âąMasterlistâą
I waited for Daryl at our little house in the small town we grew up in, I had been gone to the city for the day when everything happened, I was able to find a car and drive back home praying that Daryl would be there waiting for me but I knew it would be a long shot, I waited for a few days until the food ran out and decided if I was ever going to find him again then Iâll have to go find him myself
So I pack up my bag with essentials, clothes, water, snacks that were left over and weapons for Darylâs hunting collection, I drove for what felt like forever no signs of human life only blood and rotting corpses who some how took over the earth
I came to the interstate seeing the cars upon cars piled up blocking my way so I turned around hoping to find a back road to get around when I spotted a sign âGreeneâs Farmâ if the farm was still standing maybe it could have some food or more water, as I pulled up the drive way to a large white farm house people filtered out, it felt surreal to see people, live people
I got out of the car as the came down the stairs, it was an older man a girl around my age and a younger blonde, then what seemed to be an older couple and a younger boy
âHowâd you find this place?â The man with the white hair asked
âIâve been on the road looking for my husband, I got turned around in the road and saw your farm sign, I just need some restâ I say as I run my hand down my belly
When I went to the city when everything happened I found out I was pregnant and I was over the moon about finally starting a family with Daryl but now Iâm scared, scared about delivery, this baby never meeting their wonderful father
The man noticed my movement and his harsher demeanor changed to one of pity
âCome dear weâll get something set up for youâ
They let me settle in the spare room after feeding me some eggs and fresh fruit, the house was cozy and they are lovely people but I canât help that feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling I always got when Daryl would be gone too long, he always soothed me even if he didnât talk much he showed me comfort with actions of love and care
Whenever he scrounged up enough money heâd buy me little gifts, he got me a silver necklace with a bow on it which I never take off, I never got a wedding ring because I refused and said we should keep the money for the future and that I donât need some diamond to show my love for him
âKnock knockâ I look up to the doorway and see Maggie standing there with a wide smile
âDaddy wanted me to check on you, well both of youâ
âOh yes I think weâre okay, I only found out about two weeks agoâ
âThatâs when you first had symptoms?â She asked as she sat next to me on the bed
âYeah, the nausea and a little bumpâ
âIâd say youâre about two months pregnant then, signs only show up later, does the father know?â I shock my head feeling my heart clench in pain
âI never got the chance, I donât even know where he is but somehow in my heart I believe we will find our ways back to each otherâ she ran a comforting hand up my back and smiled
âYouâll find him sweetheart you never know what might happen!â She said before she left the room giving me space to finally rest
Itâs been 2 months now on the farm and it was peaceful for some reason this farm has gone untouched from the world thatâs filled with death, I havenât stopped looking for Daryl, every other day Iâd search farther and farther out but there was no sign, as I was walking back to the farm I saw two men and Otis running through the field, I got back to the house and Maggie told me of everything that was happening, Otis accidentally shot the boy who Hershel was working on now
I sat outside on the steps as the young boys father came out obviously in shock covered in blood, he sat next to me completely disheveled, I took a rag I had in my pocket and wiped some blood he smeared on his face
âHershel is a good surgeon and a great man, your son is in good handsâ my words seemed to calm him down and what he needed right now was a distraction it seems
âI remember when my wife found out she was pregnant with Carl, we were young but I was excited this little life was gonna be born, so how far along are you?â
âAbout 4 months now, Iâm not sure if itâs a boy or girl, I got separated from the father when I found out but Iâve kept looking, I know heâs out there, heâs a stubborn man but god is he strong and pretty smart tooâ
âYeah I know the type, got a man like that back in our group, we lost a little girl and heâs been looking for her day and nightâ
âMaggie should be back soon she must have found your group by now, itâll be okayâ almost as if she heard me I see her horse ride up the field with cars following, then I hear the rumble of a motorcycle and it brought back so many memories I had with Daryl, when heâd work on his bike Iâd sit with him, when weâd go for a drive at night together, moments I kept dear to my heart, zoned out in nostalgic thought I didnât notice the group coming to the steps
âY/n?â The grumble to the voice that I fell in love with, I look up to see him standing there just as the day I last saw him still as handsome, I couldnât stand up fast enough before I was pulled off the stairs and into his arms
âI canât believe itâs you, I looked everywhere, I missed you so much Darylâ I cried into his shoulder as his group was most likely watching this moment unwind
âItâs me sunshine, I found yaâ he pulled back and we just looked into each others eyes for some time before he looked me over stopping abruptly on my belly
He opened his mouth but he seemed to be at a lose for words
âItâs yours if thatâs what youâre wondering?â
âMy baby?â He asked placing his hands on either side of my bump
âYeah our lil baby Dixonâ
After everything settled down and people set up tents I decided to stay with Daryl since they were using my room for Carl, I was sitting across from him on my sleeping bag and he couldnât take his eyes off my bump
âDo you want to feel?â He thought for a moment before he nodded, I lifted my ivory dress just above my belly feeling his warm hands caress my bare skin
âHow did this happen?â
âWell remember that night you came back from the bar with Merle and I was wearing my pink sundress you loveâ realization dawned as a blush crossed his face
âYeah thatâs how it happenedâ I laugh missing how easily it is to embarrass him
âWhere have you been?â I asked as we laid next to each other
âFound a camp outside of Atlanta with Merle, idiot went and got himself stuck on a roof donât know where he is now, then we went to the CDC and that was a bust then that leads to now finally some sanity with yaâ
âIâm just glad you didnât get bite, the farms been secure so I havenât had any troublesâ
âAnd ya never have to with me âroundâ
Itâs been 6 months and Daryl and I had a beautiful 1 month old baby girl, it was painful giving birth but with Daryl by my side it made it a bit easier, hopeful
She was a wonderful little thing, barely fussy, brown hair light blue eyes just like Daryl, and he was over the moon about her he praised me over and over for giving him such a gift he treasured
We were able to move into the house to make it more comfortable for the three of us, we named her Lily because Carl thought it suited her perfectly so we just went with it
I walked into the room seeing Daryl sat on the bed with her in his arms her little hands reaching to pull on his now grown out hair, I sat beside them curling up to Darylâs side
âShe loves you so much Dâ
âNot as much as I love herâ
âYou know I think sheâs your favouriteâ
âNah she loves us both sunshine, I love yaâ
âI love you too Daryl, foreverâ
#twd fanfiction#twd daryl#daryl dixion imagine#twd x reader#daryl dixon#twd fluff#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixion smut#daryl x reader#daryl imagines#daryl dixon twd#daryl fanfiction#daryl dixon smut#the walking dead daryl#daryl x female reader#daryl x you#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixion x reader#daryl drabbles#twd#the walking dead series
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You know what I love chat? Reincarnation.
Imagine being Sukuna's lover in every universe, in every life, every time stamp, but not surviving a single one.
Sukuna remembering every, e v e r y single one. The anguish, the raw feeling he feels every single time watching you die.
Warnings: slowly crippling insanity, yandereish, pregnancy, male pregnancy, omegaverse, mention abortion, gender neutral reader but the first and second are female and male, child birth, sacrificing
First.
It was a typical love story, a farm boy meeting a daughter of a shaman. When Sukuna first started courting, the man of the house, (Name)'s mother, told him that he had bad, very demonic energy and needed to be cleansed. (Name) and Sukuna rolled their eyes and eloped.
Sukuna rushed to his shared home with you. He was in the fields working in the blistering summer heat when a messenger ran towards him, telling him his wife was in labor.
He felt ecstatic. He prayed to the gods that your delivery would be safe.
Appernlty no gods bared him that request.
"Mrs Ryomen!! Relax".
(Name) let out a pained cry, their stomach contracted, tighting to move the babe from their stomach, "I- FUCK! I CANT!".
Midwives held onto (Name)'s hands, easing (Name) onto their knees, "Ma'am- you have to push-".
Sukuna slammed open the door, hearing his wife's crys, "I'm here!!".
(Name) looked at Sukuna with teary eyes, "Suki- OH GODS!".
Sukuna rushed to (Name)'s side, holding her hand, "Breathe my love-".
(Name) let out a scream, the midwives speaking amongst themselves. A small cry was heard, "it's a boy sir".
Sukuna held a proud smile on his face, looking down at his wife to see their reaction.
(Name) looked at Sukuna in a daze and back at their son, "he's beautiful Suki....".
Sukuna looked at (Name) with worried eyes, looking at the midwives, "something- hey- something is wrong!!".
One of the midwives looked under (Name)'s nightgown before going pale. One rushed out of the small hut. Sukuna gave his son to a midwife, before putting his focus on his wife, "hey hey hey, look at me, don't close your eyes".
The doctor didn't show up untill three hours later, but by that time (Name) was gone.
Sukuna looked at his crying son, his heart heavy, his mind weaked.
'I would do anything to bring them back'.
'Anything?' A voice rang out.
Sukuna looked backed at his crying son, then at the marbled statue at the altar.
That day, Sukuna murdered his own blood for a gamble with a hinnagami. It wasn't until his death that he knew what he wished for.
Second.
When Sukuna awoke, or when he first gained consciousness; he was in a different world or what he concluded a different universe.
Alphas, betas and Omegas.
It was... peculiar, different, but when he found you again, he stopped caring. You were a male this time, a beta male. It didn't matter to him. You were his mate, his soul mate, and he wasn't going to lose you this time.
"I want you to take birth control".
You looked at him with a deadpan face, "Okay werido".
"I'm serious".
You sighed. You've only dated or courted Sukuna for a year, and it felt like he knew everything about you, he had his quirks but it didn't make you love him any less.
"Baby." You reached over, grabbing his waist, "I'm a beta.... I can't get pregnant. "
"Sir, I'm surprised to say this, but you're pregnant".
Sukuna felt his heart drop to his chest. You were flabbergasted, "HOW!?" Both of you said in allusion.
"It looks like you're just.... an omega in terms".
Sukuna growled, "in terms of what? He doesn't have a scent nor-".
"I understand that, sir, your mate has.... we just need to do further testing".
After the doctor left the room, Sukuna has his eyes on you. "You need to get an abortion".
Your eyes widen, "excuse me?".
"You need to remove the thing-".
"That thing is our pup-".
"It's going to kill you-".
"You don't know that! People give birth every day, and it there's, like, barely a chance of death! We live in a time of technology! Not like, the stone age!".
Sukuna huffed, "I think....".
"I think you're just scared, baby..." You grabbed his hand, "... it's..... I know you're scared and I am too, but I want this with you... I'm ready. " You smiled softly at Sukuna, your smile relaxing him.
You were five months pregnant when you died. Sukuna could've laughed. It wasn't this pregnancy that killed you. No, it was a freak accident. Who would've thought that a fire happened at your work trapping you inside on your last day before maternity leave.
Three
When Sukuna awoke again, he vowed to just convince you (trap you) to stay at home. This time, he would get a vasectomy when he was of age.
Sukuna searched for you.
He didn't care about this world.
He just wanted to find you.
He found you.
But you were already dead.
20
In this life, luckily, he had the chance to grow up with you. You both went to the same school, became highschool sweethearts.
War broke out, separating you two.
No matter how much Sukuna fought against it, he was drafted. Sukuna didn't care who he hurted, he just wanted to go back home to you.
Which is why he cut his own foot off. He heard of other men doing the same thing, so why couldn't he?
While waiting in the discharge center he found out that his home town had been bombed.
Sukuna started hating humanity.
He hated this curse.
He hated that no matter what lifetime he was in, he could never have you to himself.
489
This life started out strange. He was born back into the Hiean period. But he couldn't find you. Instead of killing himself to reset the life, he decided to take centuries long frustration on humanity, it was a good run, people called him "King of Curses".
Instead of dying, cruelly, he was punished by being sealed. During that he rest he could only think of you and only you, how beautiful every form, every life you've had, you were still breath taking.
He couldn't stand the fear in your eyes. He came back, and here you are staring at him like he is a monster. Sure, this isn't his body. And yes, you just saw him take over your student's body. But it doesn't matter anyways, he's back.
And no one is going to take you away this time.
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