#forever a memory and though they are food | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eddies-ashtray · 3 months ago

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

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His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

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hearts4hughes · 14 days ago

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tied up - rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: master manipulator!rafe ; mentions of violence ; sexual innuendos towards the end

a/n: the second i saw rafe tied up and sweaty in this episode, i KNEW i had to write about it. this is probably the first of many writings relating to this scene.

the ship rocks gently beneath you, creaking in time with the water lapping against its sides. you step carefully, feeling the weight of the metal plate in your hands, warm against your fingertips. the scent of food mixes with the salt air, thick and lingering, though you’re sure he won’t touch it. rafe sits a few feet away, hands bound to a pipe in front of him, his head drooped forward. he doesn’t look up as you approach, but you can feel his awareness.

you pause, just out of reach, and the light catches his profile—a bruise blooming darkly his eye, his lip split and red, dried blood marking his mouth like some careless stain from when jj knocked him out. he lifts his head slowly, almost deliberately, and his gaze finds yours. his eyes are sharp, narrowed, an intense blue like broken glass in sunlight, calculating and unreadable.

the plate feels heavier in your hands, like it’s suddenly full of something fragile. you set it down, the scrape of metal on wood cutting through the silence like a match. he doesn’t move, just watches you with that unblinking look, like he’s trying to measure how much of you he could break if his hands were free. the thought chills you, but you don’t step back.

“eat,” you say, trying to sound calm, detached, but your voice feels too loud in the confined space. his mouth twitches, a hint of something that might be a smile, but it’s too cold, too hollow. you can see the strain in his shoulders, the pure anger in the way he holds himself, but underneath it—something else. a flicker of vulnerability he’s trying hard to hide.

“so, they send you down to try to convince me to eat? think it would soften me up or something?” his voice is rough as it echos through the confined room. “i already told sarah that i’m not eating until they untie me.” he says with pure defiance. his eyes bore into you as if he’s trying to study you.

you turn your head, your gaze diverting to the dusty floor. “actually, no one sent me down here. they could give a shit if you starved or not. it would be doing everyone a favor.” you avoid his eyes, afraid that your confidence would melt if you met them.

for a second, you wonder if he’s about to say something, something meant only for you, and the realization tightens in your chest like a warning.

“then, why are you here?” he asks harshly. you look up to meet his haunted eyes, a chill runs down your spine and butterflies settle in your stomach. “what happened to never wanting to see me again, huh? what happened to ‘i love you forever’ ?”

his words command a flood of memories to rush through your head. your breathing becomes heavier as you remember it all; the lingering gazes, the sweet nothings, and finally, the way the absence in his eyes as he shot sherif peterkin.

“you know what happened, rafe,” you warn, your voice cracking slightly. he smirked, almost as if he could sense your anxiety. “you know why i left you.”

rafe’s smirk deepens, twisted and bitter, and he leans forward as much as the bindings allow him. “left me?” his voice is low, mocking, but there’s something raw in it too. “come on. we both know you didn’t leave me—you never really left me.”

the words cut through you, sharper than you expect, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. he watches you, waiting for a reaction, relishing it, and maybe even needing it. his gaze is relentless, pining you there like you were the one in restraints.

you force yourself to meet his eyes, even as every instinct screams to look away, to leave the room, and to escape. “i did, though. i left you because you weren’t the man i started dating. you were this,” you gesture to his bruises, his dried blood, and his hostility shimmering in his expression; the man who seems like a stranger and yet is all too familiar.

“you’ve always been mine.” he mutters more to himself than to you. “and i’m- i’m trying to change, y/n. i’ve been trying to change.” he says sternly, almost as if it was obvious, but it wasn’t. “y-you people don’t understand that i can change. i can change just as easily as you and sarah did when you started hanging around those goddamn pogues!” he raises his voice, jolting forward, and causing you to jump back.

when he notices you flinch, his gaze softens. he take a deep breath and sits back. you swallow harshly as he shifts from 0 to 100 in mere seconds.

“i’m just trying to change for the better; for you.” his voice is soft, not like what it was before. you can hear the sadness and the desperation dripping from his mouth.

it’s a trap. it’s all a trap. you’ve known rafe long enough to sense when he’s being manipulative, and he’s at his peak right now. you don’t respond, shaking your head, and going to grab the plate of food. as you grab the mental dish, his hands clasp around your wrist. the plate drops to the floor with a clatter.

“don’t- don’t go.” he whispers softly. his eyes search your face for even an ounce of reciprocated feelings. you bite the inside of your cheek as you ponder the possibilities. “stay here with me… please.” he isn’t speaking anymore, no, he’s begging.

your guard completely falls, leaving yourself vulnerable, and raw to his manipulations. when he senses the sudden shift, it’s as if he latches onto you, stringing his webs tighter around you.

you relax your shoulders with a sigh, not saying yes, but not leaving. he smiles and his eyes fall to your plump lips. his grip tightens around your wrist, fingers wrapping around your pulse. his breath is shallow and ragged, as if he’s afraid you’ll drift away.

your pulse quickens, a silent thrum that feels too loud, too obvious. his thumb moves softly, tracing small circles against your skin, a touch that’s barely there but enough to send a rush of warmth up your arm. you could pull away, break the moment before it goes any further, but you stay still.

rafe’s eyes drop to your lips, his jaw clenching as he takes a steadying breath. he’s drawing you closer, erasing the distance you swore to keep. “you don’t have to stay,” he murmurs, but his fingers tighten, betraying his words. “but… I don’t want you to leave.”

he inches closer, his face barely a breath away as his scent fills your senses. you can feel him hesitating, struggling against something, something that holds him back as much as it pulls him forward.

thousands of thoughts, warnings, and memories flash through your mind like blinding headlights, but they quiet under the intensity of his stare. then, he leans forward, closing the final sliver of space between you. his lips press softly against yours, and as if surrendering, you begin to kiss him back. the kiss begins gentle and sweet, but quickly turns into something desperate and fiery.

his tongue teases your mouth, slipping against your bottom lip. he’s frantic, raw, almost as if he’s afraid of losing you again, like he’s trying to make up for everything that happened. your lips slot against his like a puzzle piece.

you pull away breathlessly and stare at him. he lifts his arms that are bound by rope just enough for you to slip under them, now straddling his lap. you settle on his lap, something hard presses against your ass.

he smirks, “feel what you do to me, baby? i’ve missed you so much.”

the way he stares at you then and there tells you that you’ll be his forever. that there is no escape from him, even if you allow yourself to believe so. you’ll eternally be stuck in his web as he dances around you, only adding more silk to restrain you.

“calm down and untie me.” he says with a twisted grin. “let me take care of you, sweet girl.”

#love myself a little toxic rafe #nora’s writings 💐#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey

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daisymbin · 9 days ago

Text

for lovers who hesitate - choi seungcheol

warnings: cheating ex, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), shotgun marriage (not reader), some curse words, mentions of blood (seungcheol in a fight), some angst (mostly on seungcheol's part, some of reader's towards the end) + this is a long fic so I'm sure I missed out stuff, my apologies. please let me know what I missed out so I can add them in!

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: fake dating, resurface of old feelings (reader) & a down bad choi seungcheol

wc: 13k (not sure what happened i was aiming 3500-5000 but oh well.)

a/n: 13k words...my longest fic on here yet..... this took quite awhile, even proofreading was a challenge, so I hope you guys enjoyed this one! but fr, I early respect and admire authors who always belt out 30k word fics, it's really not easy i don't even wanna think about it. it's one thing to get a long fic done and another to proofreading it all oof. ... and no writer really only proofreads it once

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

“you've got mail~” seokmin sings down the hallway of your shared apartment, “it looks like a wedding invite…” his voice trails off, “are any of our friends getting married? why didn't I receive one?”

seokmin's question was reasonable, you did both have the same friend group, you grew up together, having tons and tons of mutual friends, you went almost everywhere together. he's like the brother you never had. but now he's got your interest piqued as well. who could it be?

on your hand sits a wedding invitation, beautifully adorned with gold accents, pink flowers litter the edges of the invite, a bright pop of colour in contrast to the plain white.

seokmin snatches the invite out of your hand, opening the invite as he reads, “you are cordially invited to celebrate the joy of han- what the fuck? is this a joke?” seokmin shuts the invite close and crumples it, “what the hell does that guy want?”

“han minjun?” you asked as curiosity plagues your mind. seokmin’s reaction only amplifies your own confusion, and you reach out to grab the crumpled invitation from his hands, smoothing it out with trembling fingers. his name stares back at you, a name you had once thought you’d never have to see or hear again. but here it is, boldly printed, like a ghost from the past come to haunt you.

“han minjun…” you murmur, your voice quieter now, filled with a mixture of disbelief and absurdity. the memories come rushing back like a tidal wave, each one hitting you harder than the last. you remember the good days first, the laughter, the late-night talks, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. but those sweet memories are soon overshadowed by the darker ones, the ones you had worked so hard to forget.

you remember the way he’d become distant, how the warmth in his eyes had faded, and the excuses he’d given whenever you asked what was wrong. you remember the pit in your stomach when he’d cancel plans at the last minute, claiming he was swamped with work, even though you could hear the laughter of friends in the background whenever he called.

then there was that one night, the night everything shattered. you had gone to his apartment, unannounced, carrying takeout and hoping to surprise him. the sight that greeted you instead was something you’d never forget. minjun had been in his living room, his hand tugging on another girl’s hair, the other on her waist as they makeout heavily. their light giggles echoing through the walls you thought you knew so well. you’d dropped the food in shock, the containers spilling onto the floor, and the way minjun’s face had paled when he saw you… it was a moment forever etched into your heart.

“its not what it looks like,” he’d said, scrambling for an explanation, but all you felt was betrayal, the heartache, the realization that the person you’d trusted had broken you in a way you never thought possible.

you come back to the present as seokmin's voice pulls you back, “oh i dropped a post it, ‘hope to see you there - kim hanna’ who the hell is kim hanna?” seokmin reaches for the invite again, his eyes scanning the words imprinted on the paper, “kim hanna…isnt she the girl he cheated on you with? that little bi- how dare she send this invi- SHE'S MARRYING HIM?” seokmin's mouth ran faster than body allowed, never finishing his sentence, but you heard and understood every word.

you snatch the invite back. the wedding is in 2 weeks.

are you hurt? no. heartbroken? no. sad? no. upset? just a little bit. angry? oh yes, yes you were. all the anger still simmering beneath the surface as you grip the wedding invite tightly. seokmin watches you with concern, his earlier frustration shifting into worry as he notices the way anger starts to consume you.

“you okay?” he asks gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

you softened, “yeah i just… i can’t believe he’s getting married after everything he did.”

seokmin’s grip tightens, his protective brother instincts kicking in. “you don’t have to go,” he says firmly. “and if you decide to, you won’t go alone. i’ll be right there with you, you know the boys will be too. whatever you need.”

his words bring a small sense of comfort, but the invitation still feels like a dagger, reopening wounds you thought had finally healed. “oh I'm definitely going,”

“why?”

“just because. & I need a date-”

“I can be your date.”

“no you can't.”

“why not?”

“because i need my date to be my fake boyfriend. i cant show up all single to an ex's wedding & everyone knows we grow up together. we're practically siblings we would never ever date each other! that's disgusting."

seokmin's fake dramatic gasp only leaves your laughing, the anger that once resided is now long forgotten. “how can you say that?” he continues, “don't you watch movies? don't you read books? or even better, fanfiction? that's like a really popular trope and it's popular for a reason! why? because it's real, it happens. what if I'm in love with you and you just don't know it? then what? you could have seriously hurt my feelings!”

“yeah could have, that means I didn't. and don't think I forgot about the time we all played truth or dare and chan dared you to kiss me and you literally threw up from how repulsed you were by me. how could you possibly be in love with me? unless...you puked because you were nervous.." you said as you wiggled your eyebrows disturbingly. “also what hell fanfiction do you read? why didnt i know about that?”

“EW!!!" he screams as he steps away from you, "AS IF YOU COULD EVER MAKE ME NERVOUS!"

“& the fanfiction? what do you read? come on, spill!”

“that's none of your business.”

“seok-”

“beyonce x reader.” it was almost as if he was dying to tell you.

the laugh you burst out only brings relief to seokmin, now he knows you're really okay. you've moved on, just angry at the audacity of them. “please beyonce would never pick you.” you joked as you got up from the sofa. “come on, be serious, this is serious stuff. I need a fake boyfriend.”

“ask seungcheol.” seokmin answers easily without missing a beat, as if the answer was obvious.

“why seungcheol?” you heart raced at the mere idea of seungcheol being your date for the night, let alone boyfriend.

“because…he never says no to you. like ever,” he gives a brief, small smile before he turns to walk away. “oh and also, don't you think he'd fit the role perfectly?”

[—]

but that's what happens when seokmin plants the idea in your head, because you now find yourself in seungcheol's apartment.

you sit in seungcheol’s living room, heart pounding as you try to muster the courage to speak. he’s standing in front of you, arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, looking at you with his usual gentle, patient expression. but somehow, today, that patience makes your nerves worse. you’re not sure why you’re suddenly so embarrassed; maybe it’s the way his dark eyes seem to search your face for any hint of what’s coming.

“so… what did you want to ask me?” he prompts, his voice warm and inviting, though there’s a hint of curiosity lurking beneath it.

you swallow, your palms damp. “you can totally say no if you want to, there’s no pressure at all but um-”

seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow at your hesitation, “you’re making me nervous,” he jokes, though there’s a genuine note of concern in his eyes. “what’s going on?”

you inhale deeply, avoiding his gaze as you force the words out. “so, i got this wedding invite. from…my ex.” you don’t have to elaborate for seungcheol to know which ex you mean. his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a flash of something dark passing over his expression before he smooths it out.

“han minjun,” he says, and the way he says the name makes it sound like a curse. his hands uncross, one clenching the back of a chair as he leans into it. “are you… are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say quickly, “i’m okay, really. just…it's in two weeks, and he’s marrying the girl he—” you stop yourself before the floodgate of bad memories start flowing. you look up at seungcheol, feeling your face grow warm. “anyway, that’s not the point. the point is…i need a date.”

seungcheol’s eyes soften, his tension melting away just a bit. “oh,” he says, and a smile tugs at his lips in realization, “you want me to be your date?”

“yes. i mean-” you fidget with the hem of your shirt. “only if you’re okay with it. you don’t have to-”

“of course,” he interrupts, his answer immediate, his voice firm. “if it’s for that, there’s no way i’d say no.” his protective instincts flare up at the mere thought of you facing your ex alone, and he wants to be there for you, to shield you from any pain that might resurface.

you feel relief wash over you, but then the real request lodges itself in your throat. you take a deep breath. “but… not just as a date,” you say quietly. “i need… i need a fake boyfriend. i can’t just show up to his wedding…single.”

seungcheol blinks, and for a moment, he thinks you’re joking. you watch as his expression shifts, surprise giving way to something more complicated. his smile falters, and his eyes search yours for any hint of hesitation, or a joke even. any indication that you might realize what this could mean for him.

a fake boyfriend. the words echo in his mind, and his heart aches, even as he tries to keep his face neutral. he’s spent the past 3 years hiding his feelings, protecting your friendship, waiting for a moment that never seemed to come. and now, here you are, asking him to pretend.

“a fake boyfriend,” he repeats, and his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of something broken underneath. he can’t help but imagine what it’ll be like to hold your hand, to smile at you, to pretend to be the one who gets to loves you openly…only to have it all stripped away when the charade is over. he knows he’s setting himself up for heartbreak, but how can he say no to you? how could he ever refuse you when you look at him like that?

“cheol?” you ask hesitantly, noticing his pause. “is that… is that too much to ask? i’m sorry, it’s just-”

he shakes his head quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “no, it’s not too much,” he says softly. “if that’s what you need, then… i’ll do it.”

“really?” your eyes light up with hope, and he wishes he could bottle up the way you look at him, keep it forever.

“really,” he confirms, even though his heart is already starting to fracture. he pushes down the longing, the desperate yearning to be more than just a fake. because he knows this is all he’ll get—a bittersweet taste of something he can’t truly have. but for now, he’ll take what he can get. even if it means breaking his own heart for the chance to be close to you.

[—]

“rules. we need rules. oh and boundaries. just to be safe, you know? not make it weird.” you informed as you pick up a piece of blank paper & pen from your desk before jumping onto bed.

seungcheol lies on his stomach on your bed as he waits for you, “what kind of rules and boundaries do you have in mind?” he asks.

“well for one, no falling in love. like, we both have to promise that this stays strictly pretend. we can’t let it mess with our friendship.”

for a moment, silence fills the room. when you glance at seungcheol, his expression is unreadable. “no falling in love,” he repeats quietly, his voice almost too steady. you don’t notice the way his jaw tightens, the way he clenches his fist against the sheets.

you give him a nervous smile. “exactly. we both need to agree to that.”

“right,” he says, his voice softer now. “no falling in love.” he repeats louder this time, his heart aches at the irony, because if only you knew how deeply he’s already fallen. but he forces himself to nod, to play along, to act like he isn’t breaking the very first rule you laid out just by being here. “any other rules?”

“um, yeah,” you continue, scribbling your next point onto the paper. “okay,” you say, oblivious to the turmoil in his chest. “it has to be believable. like, no half-assing it. if we’re going to do this, we have to commit. but, uh, within reason, of course.”

seungcheol chuckles at that, the sound breaking through the tension. “within reason?” he echoes, his smile genuine this time.

“yeah, nothing too….much,”

“& what exactly is too much?”

“kisses,” you answer without missing a beat.

seungcheol smiles, "so, i can’t kiss you, even if it’s just for an act?"

you pause, thinking over his question. the way he says it, so casual yet so heavy, sends a shiver down your spine. “i mean… kisses are too intimate. that crosses the line.” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how nervous the thought of kissing him makes you.

seungcheol watches you closely, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “too intimate?” he repeats, almost teasingly, but there’s something more in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “but aren’t we supposed to look like we’re really together? won’t people think it’s suspicious if we… don’t at least pretend that we’re comfortable with that?”

“no one’s expecting a porno of us making out,” you argue, your cheeks warming at the implication. what a poor choice of words. “hand-holding, hugs, maybe a forehead or a cheek kiss if we’re feeling bold. but anything beyond that…” you trail off, your mind spinning and butterflies threatening to invade your tummy at the thought of seungcheol’s lips anywhere near yours.

he hums thoughtfully, propping his chin on his hand. “so, kisses are off the table. got it,” he says, though there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice that you dont pick up. “any other rules?”

“that's all i can think of for now, what about you? anything you dont want me to do? anything to add?” you ask.

“no, I'll do whatever you want me to.” he says, a mixture of fondness and longing swirling in his chest.

“okay, i guess we're really doing this huh?” you ask as you feel some tension leave your body.

“yeah,” he murmurs, even as his heart screams at the unfairness of it all. if only you knew just how real it already was for him.

[—]

“did you actually really ask seungcheol to be your fake boyfriend?” seungkwan questions, taking another sip from his iced americano, his eyes narrowing at you suspiciously.

you sigh, pressing your palms to your face. “how did you even find out about that?”

“seokmin told me. now answer me! did you actually?” seungkwan presses, his tone both exasperated and concerned. he’s your best friend. he knows every secret, every late-night confession, and every tear you’ve ever shed over seungcheol.

you glance away, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “yeah... i did,” you admit softly.

seungkwan lets out a small groan, leaning back in his seat. he’s silent for a moment, and you can feel the weight of his judgment hanging between you. but there’s something else there, too. something heavier, deeper. regret, maybe.

four years ago, you were a helpless mess, pinning after seungcheol like a lovesick fool. seungkwan remembered the way you’d light up whenever seungcheol was around, the way your laughter sounded a little brighter, your smile a little wider. and he remembered the way seungcheol seemed oblivious, never showing a sign of returning your feelings.

seungkwan had wanted to help you. he’d been desperate to see you happy, to save you from the heartache that came from unrequited love. so he’d done the only thing he could think of at the time: he’d set you up with someone else.

“do you remember when i introduced you to minjun?” seungkwan asks, his voice suddenly quieter, more somber.

you blink, caught off guard by the question. “of course i do,” you reply. how could you forget? you’d been resistant at first, clinging to the faint hope that seungcheol would notice you one day. but seungkwan had been insistent. he’d told you that minjun was a good guy, someone who could make you happy, someone who could help you move on.

“you were so against it,” seungkwan recalls, his lips curving into a wistful smile. “but you finally agreed, and... well, you actually hit it off.”

a small laugh escapes your lips, though it lacks any real humor. “yeah. we did.”

for a while, dating han minjun had felt like a breath of fresh air. he was charming, thoughtful, and everything you thought you needed. for a moment, you’d even believed you’d moved on from seungcheol. but now, years later, here you were again, tangled up in your feelings for him, pretending to date him, no less.

seungkwan’s expression softens as he looks at you. “you know, i really did think minjun was a good guy back then. i just... i didn’t want to see you hurt anymore.” his voice wavers, and you can tell he feels guilty, even if it wasn’t his fault that things turned out this way.

“i know,” you murmur. “you were just trying to help.”

seungkwan sighs, setting his juice box down. “but now you’re back to seungcheol, except this time it’s... fake. and that worries me.”

your throat tightens, and you don’t know how to explain that being with seungcheol, even if it’s just for show, feels better than being with anyone else. even if it hurts a little. or maybe a lot.

“it’s complicated,” you whisper, but seungkwan isn’t satisfied. his eyes bore into yours, filled with worry and protectiveness, like he’s already bracing for the heartbreak he’s sure is coming.

[—]

“do you think we should pick something that matches or just, you know, kind of goes together?” you ask, sifting through rows of dresses, your fingers brushing over various shades of fabric.

seungcheol tries to focus on the suits in front of him, but he’s barely listening, too distracted by the way your voice lilts at the end of your question. “hm?” he clears his throat, hoping you don’t notice how he’s completely lost his train of thought. “yeah, matching is… good.”

you raise an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “that didn’t answer my question, cheol.”

he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “sorry. what was it again?”

“do you want our outfits to match?” you repeat, holding up a dress. it’s a deep, elegant navy blue, and seungcheol’s heart does a weird little flip. “like this one? it’s the same color as that suit you’re holding.”

seungcheol swallows hard, imagining the two of you side by side, perfectly coordinated, like a couple in a fairytale. he tries to shake the thought away. “yeah, that’s… perfect,” he says, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you seem satisfied with his answer, disappearing into the dressing room to try it on. seungcheol stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, heart pounding for no reason he can justify. he’s known you for years, been by your side for countless moments, but something about this—the idea of the two of you dressed up together, the way you trusted his opinion—feels different, it makes his heart race.

“cheol?” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he looks up, his breath catching in his throat as you step out of the dressing room.

he’s not prepared for the sight. you look… breathtaking, the dress fitting you in a way that leaves him momentarily stunned. his eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. it’s like he’s forgotten how to speak.

you tilt your head, concern flickering in your eyes. “is it bad?”

“no!” he blurts out, voice cracking embarrassingly. he clears his throat again; surprised at his own voice, his cheeks burning. “no, you look—” he stammers, searching for the right words, his mind a complete mess. but then, he smiles his boyish smile, his dimples dipping more than they usually do & says “god, you look… beautiful. really beautiful.”

you blink, taken aback, and seungcheol swears he sees your cheeks flush a little. he’s painfully aware of how warm his own face feels, how his hands are suddenly clammy.

“thank you,” you say, your voice softer now. you look at him, eyes wide and earnest, and seungcheol can’t handle it. he has to look away, but not before he sees the small smile spreading across your face.

he fiddles with the cuff of his suit jacket, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “you… you really think this is the one?” he asks, his voice cracking again. he winces.

you nod, your smile growing. “i think it’s perfect. but… what about your suit?”

he’s still trying to recover from seeing you in that dress, but he manages to nod. “right, my suit,” he says, forcing himself to focus. “i’ll go try it on.”

you sit down on a bench, and seungcheol practically sprints to the fitting room, his heart pounding. he stares at his reflection as he pulls on the navy suit jacket, trying to breathe. he looks like a mess, his hair sticking up from how many times he’s run his hands through it, his face still red.

“come on, cheol,” he mutters to himself. “get it together.”

when he finally steps out, he catches the way your eyes light up, the way you look him over and nod approvingly. “that’s perfect,” you say, and his heart does that stupid flip again. “we’ll look great together.”

he laughs, but it’s a weak attempt to hide how fast his heart is racing. “yeah. we will.” the words come out before he can stop them; even he knows he sounds completely & irrevocably smitten but he can’t help it, not when you’re looking at him like that.

[—]

“so, did you say yes to being her date?” seokmin asked casually, thumbs tapping furiously at the controller in his hands as he and seungcheol tried to hold their ground in the game. “you know, her fake boyfriend and all that?”

seungcheol’s fingers faltered on the buttons for a split second, and he shot seokmin a glare. “yah, focus on the game, we can't lose,” he grumbled, feeling his face heat up. but, of course, seokmin had to bring it up now.

“wait, what?” wonwoo’s attention snapped away from the screen, his character on the verge of getting attacked. he gawked at seungcheol. “when did this happen? and why didn’t you tell us?”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his character in the game momentarily stood still. “hold on, hold on,” he said, nearly dropping his controller in shock. “hyung, you’re telling us you agreed to be her date and fake boyfriend, and we’re only hearing about this now?”

“can we not talk about this?” seungcheol muttered, trying to refocus on the game, but his heart was racing. the way his stomach twisted at the mention of you and the fake dating arrangement wasn’t something he wanted to discuss—especially not with his friends teasing him about it.

“absolutely not,” soonyoung protested, his competitive spirit momentarily forgotten. “this is big news, hyung! you have to spill.”

“yeah, seungcheol,” wonwoo added, a sly grin spreading across his face. “why didn’t you tell us? don’t act like it’s not a huge deal.”

seungcheol sighed, his shoulders tensing as he kept his eyes on the screen. “because it’s not a big deal, its only for a day anyway,” he insisted, but even he could hear the strain in his voice.

“you’re so full of it,” wonwoo said, barely holding back a laugh. “you've been in love with her for god knows how long, now you agreed to be her date and pretend to be her boyfriend. how is that not a big deal?”

unfortunately, soonyoung & wonwoo, have possession over seungcheol's not so secret, secret. but really, everyone knows, it's only a secret to you, seungkwan & seokmin although seokmin has been starting to catch on for the past few months. everyone else has miraculously managed to somehow keep their mouth shut around seokmin and seungkwan for 3 years; knowing how close you are with the two of them. I guess in a way you could say the boys are loyal to him? anyways.

seungcheol’s grip on his controller tightened. “can we just focus on winning?” he pleaded, desperate to change the subject, but his friends’ curiosity was palpable.

“fine,” soonyoung said with an exaggerated sigh. “but we’re coming back to this later.”

just as seungcheol was about to let out a breath of relief, the sound of the front door opening made his heart stutter, and he turned his head, unable to help himself. you stepped into the apartment, bags in hand, looking slightly windswept but effortlessly beautiful.

“hey, i’m home!” you greeted, smiling at everyone.

seungcheol’s mind blanked, his focus slipping away entirely as he took you in. he barely registered seokmin’s frantic warning—“hyung, watch out!”—before his character was obliterated in the game.

“yes!” soonyoung cheered, throwing his hands in the air. “we won, wonwoo!”

wonwoo leaned back with a smug smile, “thank you,” he said, looking over at you.

you blinked, confused. “me? what did i do?”

wonwoo’s eyes glinted with mischief. “it’s nothing you need to know… yet,” he replied, his voice teasing, and he shot you a knowing smile. “but thank you anyway.”

you tilted your head, clearly still confused, but you shrugged it off. “okay, if you say so,” you said, heading down the hall. “i’m gonna go take a quick shower.”

seungcheol watched you disappear, his shoulders slumping as he realized just how badly he’d let himself get distracted. he could feel the heat rising to his face, embarrassment and longing twisting in his chest.

seungcheol couldn't let it show. or at least, he thought he didn’t. he tried to play it cool, act normal around you, and pretend that his heart didn’t stutter every time you called his name. but apparently, seokmin noticed.

“you’ve got that look again,” seokmin pointed out, a teasing lilt in his voice.

seungcheol turned to find seokmin leaning against the backrest of the sofa, a grin spreading across his face. he blinked, feigning ignorance. “what look?”

“you know,” seokmin drawled, pushing himself off the backrest to lean closer to seungcheol “that look you get when she’s around.”

seungcheol felt his pulse skip, an uncomfortable warmth creeping up his neck. he avoided seokmin’s eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, hoping his voice sounded steady.

“sure you don’t.” seokmin plopped down beside him, elbow nudging his ribs. “c’mon, hyung. you’re not exactly subtle.”

seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to shake. “it’s not like that,” he insisted, though even he knew how unconvincing he sounded.

seokmin raised an eyebrow. “really?” he asked, voice softening. “because the way you look at her…you look at her like you'd burn down the whole world for her.”

seungcheol’s throat tightened, and he pressed his lips together, finally meeting seokmin’s gaze. there was no judgment there, only curiosity and a quiet sort of understanding.

“i didn’t mean to,” seungcheol admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “it just… happened.”

seokmin’s smile was gentle now, the teasing gone. “and what are you gonna do about it?”

seungcheol’s hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, a sense of helplessness washing over him. “nothing,” he said, bitterness seeping into the word. “she’s too important. if i mess this up… i can’t lose her.”

seokmin studied him for a moment, the silence stretching between them. “but what if you don’t lose her?” he said quietly. “what if she feels the same way?”

seungcheol’s heart twisted painfully. the thought had crossed his mind more times than he could count, but he always pushed it away, too afraid to hope. “and what if she doesn’t?” he countered, his voice breaking. “i’d rather be close to her like this than lose everything.”

seokmin sighed, leaning back on his hands. “i get it,” he murmured. “but you can’t live your whole life being afraid. sometimes, you’ve got to take the risk.”

seungcheol let out a humorless laugh. “easy for you to say,” he mumbled, but his chest felt a little lighter, the weight of his secret shared, even if just for a moment.

seokmin’s smile returned, playful once more. “hey, i’m rooting for you,” he said, clapping a hand on seungcheol’s shoulder. “but seriously, the way you look at her… it’s gonna give you away one day.”

seungcheol swallowed, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “maybe,” he whispered. “but not today.”

seokmin grinned, standing up and offering a hand to pull seungcheol to his feet. “well, just know i’ll be there to say ‘i told you so’ when it happens.”

seungcheol took his hand, rising to his feet. “yeah, yeah,” he said, but his heart felt a little less heavy & a lot more hopeful.

[—]

seungcheol stood outside your bedroom door with seokmin, heart pounding as he took a steadying breath. it wasn’t the first time he was picking you up, but today felt different. maybe it was the gravity of the wedding you were attending, or maybe it was the fact that this arrangement had slowly become more real for him than he ever dared admit.

“hyung, you okay?” seokmin asked, glancing at him curiously.

seungcheol blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “yeah,” he lied, his voice sounding far more confident than he felt. “let’s just…get this over with.” he lied, it hasn't even started yet but he doesnt want it to end.

seokmin gave him a sorry look but said nothing, and before seungcheol could dwell on it, you opened the door to your room. his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot how to speak. you stood there, radiant in a simple yet elegant dress, hair styled perfectly, eyes sparkling with nervous anticipation.

he was so down bad for you, it was almost pathetic.

he couldn't help the boyish smile that adorned his face, “you look… beautiful.” he didn’t trust himself to say more, afraid that if he did, the truth would come spilling out.

a faint blush dusted your cheeks, and you smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart feel like it was doing somersaults. “thanks, cheol,” you said shyly, adjusting your dress. “you clean up pretty well yourself.

he let out a laugh, hoping it masked the way his pulse was racing. “you ready?” he asked, extending his hand to you. “our grand entrance awaits.”

you hesitated for the briefest moment, but then you slipped your hand into his, and he had to fight the urge to hold on tighter, to pull you closer and never let go. he couldn’t, of course. this was all an act. just a performance to keep up appearances, to help you save face in front of your ex and everyone else.

but god, how he wished it were real.

[—]

the car ride was quiet at first, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio. seungcheol couldn’t help but glance at you every few seconds, noting the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your dress. he knew you well enough to recognize the signs of your anxiety, and his chest tightened.

“hey,” he said gently, reaching over to take your hand in his. your eyes widened in surprise, but you dont pull away. instead, you stared at your intertwined fingers, and he wondered if you could feel his heart pounding.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more careful. “if you’re not, we can turn around. we don’t have to go.”

you shook your head, a small, determined smile forming on your lips. “i’m fine,” you whispered. “it’s just… weird, you know? seeing him get married.”

seungcheol swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. he hated that minjun hurt you and how he couldn’t do anything but hold your hand and hope it was enough.

“if you want to leave at any point,” he said, squeezing your hand gently, “just say the word. i’ll get you out of there, no questions asked.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like he was being laid bare under your gaze, your eyes boring into his. “thank you, cheol,” you murmured, and your voice cracked just a little. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

his chest ached, a mix of longing and fear swirling inside him. he wanted to tell you that he’d always be there, that he’d never leave, but he didn’t. instead, he settled for rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, hoping you couldn’t feel how badly he was trembling.

the silence in the car was comfortable, but electric, charged with something unspoken. the way your shoulders relaxed under his touch, the way your breathing evened out as he held your hand—it was almost enough to make him believe that you felt the same way.

but that was dangerous territory, and seungcheol knew better than to get his hopes up.

“you know,” he said lightly, trying to steer his thoughts away from the ache in his chest, “you’re kind of incredible. not everyone could handle a situation like this with so much grace.”

you laughed, the sound soft and a little self-deprecating. “i don’t know about that or this grace you speak of,” you said. “i’m still trying to convince myself not to run away.”

“if you run,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips, “i’ll run with you. we can both escape and go somewhere far away. just the two of us.”

the joke made you laugh, but there was a wistful note to it, and seungcheol had to look away to keep himself from saying something stupid. his heart was a mess, pounding wildly with every word, every touch, every second he spent in your presence.

“thanks, cheol,” you said again, your voice quieter now. “really. i’m so lucky to have you.”

seungcheol drove on, your hand still in his, hoping that this moment would last a little longer.

[—]

the wedding had gone off without a hitch, at least on the surface. the vows had been exchanged, laughter and applause filling the air, and now the reception was in full swing. seungcheol had been trying his best to stay close to you, to keep you from feeling the weight of the memories this day might bring. but as he returned with your drinks, he froze.

there you were, standing stiffly, looking more tense than he’d seen you all night. and, of course, minjun was in front of you, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he leaned in, saying something seungcheol couldn’t quite hear. your polite smile was brittle, your shoulders tense, and anger flared in his chest.

he forced himself to take a calming breath before approaching, setting your drinks down on a nearby table and stepping in between you & minjun, “hey,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but firm. “everything okay here?”

your eyes darted to him, a flicker of relief crossing your face. you tried to smile, but it wavered. “yeah,” you said, your voice a little too tight. “we were just… talking.”

minjun glanced at seungcheol, an eyebrow arching. “seungcheol?” he asked, a smug smile playing on his lips. “fancy seeing you here, i dont remember including you in the invite?” he quirked an eyebrow.

you opened your mouth, your voice coming out steadier this time. “actually, he's my plus one, since we're dating.”

“dating? as in, he's your boyfriend?” minjun asked as he sneaked a glance at seungcheol.

“yes, actually.” your words sent your stomach doing flips.

the disbelief on minjun’s face was palpable. he snorted, his gaze flicking between the two of you as if you’d just told a joke. “boyfriend? really?” he smirked, clearly unconvinced. “come on. that’s a little desperate, don’t you think?” minjun tries to reach for your hand.

before you could react, seungcheol stepped forward, his hand moving to reach for yours protectively; staking his claim. “i don’t think your wife,” he said, emphasizing the word with a hint of sarcasm, “would appreciate you making my girlfriend uncomfortable.”

minjun’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “prove it,” he challenged, crossing his arms. “you really expect me to believe this… whatever this is?”

seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “we don’t need to prove anything to you,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “& you certainly don't have the right to ask for anything, much less a proof, not after all the shit you’ve done.”

minjun’s expression soured, but before he could respond, seungcheol turned to you, his eyes softening. “come on, pretty,” he murmured, his voice gentle and eyes earnest,. “dance with me?”

you stomach did somersaults, seungcheol watches you intently, he watches the way your expression melts into a grateful smile. you leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “thank you,” you whispered, so quietly he barely heard it.

his heart stuttered in his chest, warmth flooding through him. but he forced himself to push the feeling away, to remind himself that this was all for show. you were only doing this because minjun was watching, because you needed to keep up the pretense. there was no way you actually meant that kiss, no way you felt the same fluttering in your chest that he did.

but he couldn’t help the way his heart betrayed him, the way his entire body seemed to light up at the simple touch of your lips on his skin. he swallowed, hoping you didn’t notice the way his cheeks flushed, and offered you his hand.

“let’s go,” you said, taking his hand, your smile genuine and warm.

the music had shifted to a slow song, and seungcheol led you onto the dance floor, his fingers still intertwined with yours. his heart was pounding, his mind racing, but he tried to focus on you, on the way you were looking at him now, your eyes so full of trust and something he couldn’t quite place.

“thank you,” you said again, your voice a little steadier this time.

he gave you a small smile, trying to keep his emotions in check. “i’ll always be here for you,” he said, his voice soft. “you know that, right?”

you nodded, your gaze flickering down to where his hand rested on your waist. “i do,” you whispered, and for a moment, he thought he saw something more in your eyes. something he desperately wanted to believe in.

seungcheol tried to ignore the way your body fit so perfectly against his, the way your smile sent his heart racing. he couldn’t let himself read too much into the way you were looking at him.

but it was so, so hard.

“cheol,” you said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “can i ask you something?”

he swallowed, his throat dry. “of course.”

“why did you say yes?” you asked, your voice hesitant. “to being my date and… pretending to be my boyfriend?”

his breath caught in his throat. he hadn’t expected that question, and he wasn’t sure how to answer without giving himself away. “because you needed me to,” he said finally, and it was the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “and i’d do anything for you.”

your eyes softened, and he wondered if you could see right through him, if you knew just how badly he was hurting, just how desperately he wanted this to be real.

“you’re too good to me,” you whispered.

he shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said. “i’m just… selfish.”

you tilted your head, confused. “selfish?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words dying on his tongue. he couldn’t tell you. he couldn’t ruin this. “never mind,” he said, forcing a laugh. “just… ignore me.”

but you didn’t. your gaze lingered on him, searching, and he had to look away before he did something stupid, like confess right then and there.

“cheol,” you said, your voice so soft it made his heart ache. “what are you hiding?”

“nothing,” he lied, pulling you a little closer, trying to focus on the music instead of the way your eyes were looking right into his soul. “i’m not hiding anything.”

but he was. he was hiding everything. the way he loved you, the way he wanted you, the way he’d give anything to be more than…this.

“okay,” you said finally, but he could hear the doubt in your voice. “if you say so.”

“you know,” he said as he let out a small sigh, his voice barely above a whisper, “you didn’t have to kiss my cheek just now. not for minjun’s sake, anyway.”

you tilted your head, looking up at him with wide eyes. “i didn’t do it for him,” you said quietly as seungcheol watches your eyes sparkle and dilate, for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“then… why?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

your gaze searching his face. “just because.. i wanted to.”

seungcheol’s mind went blank, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the sudden, overwhelming rush of hope that filled his chest.

“should we call it a night?” you asked, your voice gentle as you turned to seungcheol, who still seemed lost in thought. you weren’t sure if it was because of the way you had kissed his cheek earlier or if he was still worried about you, but his expression had been hard to read.

seungcheol blinked, snapping out of whatever daze he had been in. “yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “let’s head home. but, uh, let me hit the bathroom real quick first?”

you nodded, offering him a small smile. “i’ll wait by the entrance.”

he nodded back, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer before he turned and made his way to the restroom. as he walked, he felt his heart racing, the memory of your soft kiss on his cheek replaying in his mind. you’d said it was just because you wanted to, but that couldn’t mean anything... right?

seungcheol washed his hands, letting the cool water calm him down. he took a deep breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. he doesn't really want this night to end, he's not ready for that yet.

but that’s when he heard it: voices coming from one of the stalls, low but loud enough to catch his attention.

“man, i still can’t believe you're actually married,” one voice said, a hint of mockery in his tone. “and only because you got her pregnant. how the hell did you screw up that bad?”

what the hell? seungcheol’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay quiet, listening.

“don’t remind me,” minjun’s familiar voice replied. “i know, okay? it’s not like i love her or anything. but i couldn’t just bail, you know? had to do the right thing, i guess.”

the right thing? seungcheol thinks to himself, yet cheating on you is okay?

the friend laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “still, hanna’s nothing compared to your ex. that girl is so much hotter than your wife. you should’ve stayed with her.”

seungcheol’s grip on the sink tightened, his knuckles going white.

“hey, i made a mistake,” minjun grumbled, clearly defensive. “she really is hot. i was just thinking with my other head back then, okay?”

“yeah, well,” his friend drawled, “i would’ve made a move on her tonight if she hadn’t walked in with that new boyfriend of hers. what’s his name again? seungcheol or something?”

“yeah, well, i tried to,” minjun admitted, and seungcheol could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “but he showed up before i could.”

“did you see the dress she was wearing?” minjun laughed as he added, “she's got such a killer body…bet I could make her cheat on that boyfriend of hers, what do you say? 50 bucks? bet on it?”

that was it. the final straw. anger flared hot and fierce in seungcheol’s chest, and before he knew it, he was storming over to the stall. he yanked the door open, and the look of shock on both men’s faces did nothing to quell his rage.

“what the fuck did you say? you think you can talk about her like that?” seungcheol growled, his voice low and dangerous. “after everything you’ve done?”

minjun barely had time to react before seungcheol’s fist connected with his jaw. the fight was quick, brutal, and messy, with fists flying and the sound of grunts echoing off the bathroom walls. seungcheol didn’t care about the pain in his knuckles or the way his cheek throbbed from a poorly blocked punch. all he cared about was defending your honor, protecting you from these men who had no right to even think about you, let alone look in your direction.

when seungcheol finally left the bathroom, his heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins. his cheeks were slightly bloodied and his knuckles were bruised.

but before he could reach the entrance to get to you, someone grabbed his arm. he turned, only to see hanna, minjun’s wife, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. “oh my god,” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “what happened to you?”

at first, she seemed genuinely worried, but then her eyes raked over him, and her concern twisted into something more flirtatious. she reached out, her hands brushing against his arms. “you look so hot like this with all the bruises,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his biceps.

seungcheol stiffened, every nerve in his body screaming for him to pull away. “don't,” he held a hand up, “i have a girlfriend,” he said firmly, stepping back. he glanced around, hoping you hadn’t seen any of this.

but you had. your eyes had caught sight of the scene, the way hanna's hands lingered on seungcheol’s arms, and your stomach twisted painfully. you didn’t understand why it hurt so much to see it, why your heart felt heavy and your chest ached. this was seungcheol, your good friend. you’d moved on from this heartbreak years ago... right?

you tore your gaze away, your mind spinning. you couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy, the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him with someone else, but it made no sense. seungcheol was just your friend. nothing more.

when seungcheol finally made his way over to you, unaware that you saw him & hanna, was careful not to mention it or the fight that happened. instead, he focused on the gossip he’d overheard in the bathroom. “hey,” he said, his voice gentle, “did you know?”

you barely registered his words, your mind still replaying the image of hanna's hands on his arms. your chest felt tight, and you couldn’t explain why.

“apparently,” seungcheol continued, “this whole wedding is a shotgun marriage. she’s pregnant, and that’s why they’re doing all this.” he paused, searching your face for any reaction, but you weren’t really hearing him.

“huh?” you finally said, blinking as you came back to the present. your eyes widened when you took in his bruised knuckles and the cut on his cheek. “oh my god, seungcheol. what happened to you?”

“did you hear anything of what i just said?” he asked, a mixture of frustration and worry in his voice.

you glared at him, your concern overshadowing everything else. “no, but i’m sure it’s nowhere near as important as this,” you snapped, gesturing to his bruised face and bloodied hands.

seungcheol sighed, his shoulders slumping. “it’s nothing,” he insisted, but he knew you wouldn’t let it go. not when you looked at him with so much worry, so much care, and it made his heart ache.

“nothing?” the depth of your furrowed brows going deeper, “you're bleeding, cheol.” your tone angry. “come on,” you said, your voice softening. “i’m taking you back to my place. i need to take care of those wounds.”

he tried to protest, but you wouldn’t hear it. “please, cheol,” you whispered, and the way you said his name made his heart stutter. he wanted so badly to believe that you cared, that this wasn’t just about him being your friend.

“fine,” he relented, his voice barely above a whisper. “but only because you’re so stubborn.”

you gave him a small, relieved smile, and he felt his resolve weaken even more.

back at your apartment, you lead seungcheol to the bathroom, rummaging through the first aid kit with a determined focus. he sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching you with a mixture of awe and longing. it’s overwhelming how gentle you are with him, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you gather supplies to tend to his wounds. he wants to believe this moment means something more than simple concern for a friend, that the tenderness in your gaze holds feelings he’s been longing to hear you speak out loud.

“does it hurt?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you dab a damp cloth against the cut on his cheek, your touch feather-light.

“no,” he says, his gaze never wavering from your face. the sting is nothing compared to the ache of wanting you. his heart pounds relentlessly, each beat echoing the longing he’s kept hidden for so long.

you move to bandage his knuckles, your fingers lingering on his for just a moment longer than necessary. “you’re so reckless,” you murmur, but your tone is soft, carrying nothing but worry.

he swallows, throat tight. “i couldn’t stand hearing them talk about you like that,” he admits, the words escaping before he can second-guess them.

your hands freeze. you look up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean?”

he hesitates, regret mingling with vulnerability, wanting to tell you everything but afraid of what might come next. “just... they were saying things they shouldn’t,” he settles on, the explanation falling flat compared to the storm raging inside him. “i couldn’t let it go.”

the bathroom feels smaller, the air thicker. you lean in closer, a wrinkle of worry creasing your forehead. “seungcheol…”

his hand lifts before he can stop it, and his fingers brush your cheek, gentle and unsure. “i just want to keep you safe,” he whispers, voice cracking, heart lodged in his throat. “even if it means getting a little bruised up.”

you’re so close now that your breath mingles with his, warm and intoxicating. your chest tightens, and something inside you shifts. you can’t tell if it’s the tenderness in his voice or the way his eyes seem to hold a secret you’ve always yearned to know. you feel your pulse spike, your mind racing. all the feelings you’ve tried so hard to bury come rushing back with an intensity that scares you.

you kneel in front of him, biting back the realization that you never really moved on, that you never truly stopped loving him. your feelings have been buried, but they resurface now, raw and undeniable, and you can’t pretend anymore.

“tonight was...a lot,” seungcheol says quietly, breaking the heavy silence. his eyes search yours, trying to make sense of the tension thick in the room.

you nod, hands trembling slightly as you pull back, though not far enough to break the spell. “yeah,” you manage, voice unsteady. “it was.”

seungcheol watches you with a gaze so full of longing that it makes your heart ache. he’s proud of you, he’s always been proud of you, but the way he’s looking at you now is different. “you were amazing,” he says, the sincerity in his voice making your breath catch. “the way you handled everything… i’m so proud of you.”

his words break something inside of you, and before you know it, you’re leaning in, closing the distance. it’s an impulse, a mistake, but you just couldn't help yourself. your lips brush against his, and for a heartbeat, time stands still.

seungcheol freezes in shock, but then he responds. his hands fly to your waist, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back with a fervor that leaves you breathless. the tension snaps like a taut wire, replaced by a burst of passion, and everything you’ve both kept buried pours out.

his fingers tighten around your waist, your hands finding their way into his hair, and you lose yourself in him. the way he tastes, the way he holds you, feels like a dream you don’t want to wake from. your heart races as the kiss deepens, desperate and all-consuming.

but then reality crashes over you like a tidal wave. you pull back abruptly, breaking away, your eyes wide with shock and horror. seungcheol looks dazed, lips parted, hair slightly mussed from your hands, and the sight of him so undone because of you only makes the guilt worse.

“i-” you stammer, voice cracking as you scramble to your feet. “oh my god. i’m so sorry.”

“wait-” he begins, but you’re already moving, stumbling backward, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “i shouldn’t have… we promised we wouldn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he tries to reassure you, his voice gentle yet laced with desperation. he stands, reaching for you, but you take another step back, your emotions spiraling.

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head, overwhelmed and terrified by the feelings that won’t stop crashing over you. “i ruined everything.”

you feel tears prick your eyes, your chest aching with regret and confusion. the kiss shattered the fragile balance between you, and you don’t know how to piece it back together. “you should go,” you manage, voice cracking. “its getting late,” your head starts feeling dizzy, “I'll call you tomorrow.”

before seungcheol can argue, before he can make sense of the whirlwind between you, you’re gone. you rush out of the bathroom, heart hammering, not sure where to go but needing to escape. the apartment feels suffocating, your feelings too much to handle, and you slam your bedroom door behind you.

you lean against it, sliding down until you’re curled up on the floor, tears spilling down your cheeks. what have you done? you kissed seungcheol, and now everything is a mess. the love you never let yourself acknowledge burns bright, and it terrifies you.

in the bathroom, seungcheol stands frozen, the ghost of your kiss still lingering on his lips. he’s never felt more hopeless, more in love, and more afraid that he’s lost you forever. the echo of your apology rings in his ears, and he clenches his fists, wishing he could take away the hurt and confusion you’re feeling.

he tells himself he’ll wait for you to call, but he’s terrified that this time, waiting might not be enough.

but still, seungcheol waits.

the days stretched on, each one feeling heavier than the last. it had been a week since the wedding, a week since that kiss had turned his world upside down, and still, there was no call from you. you had promised, but the days passed in silence. he wanted so bad to be the one reaching out, but he knows you well enough to know that it wouldnt end well, and that you needed your own time to process things. but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between you. each morning he woke up with a sliver of hope, a quiet, desperate wish that today would be the day you would reach out. but by every nightfall, the silence was all he had. the silence, and the ache that gnawed at him constantly.

he kept replaying that moment over and over in his mind, the feel of your lips on his, the way your eyes had searched his face afterward. the hope, the confusion, the raw vulnerability—it haunted him, leaving him restless and on edge. there was something about the way you pulled away from him, your apology spilling out in a rush, that made his heart ache. his own feelings were a mess, tangled up in things he hadn’t fully understood until that kiss, much less you, right?

he tried to keep busy, to drown the thoughts that plagued him. the gym became his sanctuary, his second home, a place to work out the frustration, the ache in his chest. he lifted weights until his body screamed for rest, hoping that physical exhaustion would bring some peace. but no matter how much he tried to tire himself out, the ache remained, lurking at the edges of his mind, waiting for the quiet moments when it all came rushing back.

work was just a blur, the hours blending together as he went through the motions. he found himself distracted, staring at his phone more often than usual, his thumb hovering over your contact, only to put it down before he could hit send. what would he even say? what if you weren't ready yet & him reaching out only made things worse? what if you didn’t even want to hear from him? what if his feelings were just a one-sided mess that he’d have to live with forever?

the days bled into one another, each one more unbearable than the last. he couldn’t tell anyone how much he missed you—how much he longed to hear your voice, to see you again, to figure out what all of this meant. so he kept it all inside, bottled up, carrying the weight of his emotions on his own. there were moments when he could feel it, the weight of his longing pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe. he had tried to be patient, to give you space, but with each passing day, that patience was wearing thin.

he wondered if he’d done something wrong. had he misread the situation? had he pushed too far when he kissed you back? maybe you only kissed him because of the atmosphere or adrenaline or whatever? every time he thought about it, he felt sick. maybe you didn’t feel the same way. maybe he had crossed a line, and now he was paying the price for it. the thought of you slipping further away from him was unbearable.

his phone sat on the coffee table, screen blank, mocking him with its silence. he had told himself he’d wait, that you’d reach out when you were ready, but the longer the silence stretched on, the harder it became to believe that. he wanted to hear your voice, to know that you weren’t angry with him, to know that the kiss hadn’t ruined everything between you. but instead, he sat in his apartment, surrounded by the deafening quiet.

& seungkwan? seungkwan had been on you about it for days.

"seriously, you’re just going to leave things like this?" seungkwan had said one morning, his eyes narrowing at you over his cup of coffee. "you kissed him. you kissed seungcheol hyung. and now you’re acting like it didn’t happen. you think he’s not waiting for you to come around?"

you hadn’t responded at first, unsure of how to even begin to process it. all you could think about was the kiss, and how everything felt so wrong and so right in that moment, and how now, in the aftermath, everything was a mess.

"you’ve been so quiet about this. and it’s obvious to everyone. you’re both miserable. don’t you get it?" seungkwan continued, his voice growing more insistent. "you can’t just let it go, not after that. you owe it to yourself & especially to him to figure out what this is. what he is to you."

you had shaken your head, turning away, not wanting to face the truth. "i don’t even know what it is. i don’t know if i—"

"you’re making it worse by not doing anything," he cut you off, his eyes narrowing. "stop running from it. just talk to him, okay? if you don’t, you’re going to regret it."

you sighed heavily, sinking back into the couch. you had never been good at this kind of thing, especially when it came to feelings. but something in seungkwan’s words made you pause. the last thing you wanted was to regret anything.

"i don’t know if i can," you murmured. "i don’t know if he’ll even want to talk to me after everything."

seungkwan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "stop thinking like that. he doesn’t know what to do either, so you’re both stuck, waiting for the other to make a move. just go to him. get your act together."

before you could respond, the door to your apartment unlocks, interrupting your conversation, and there stood seokmin, looking far too cheerful for the somber mood that had settled over you.

"hey, what’s going on in here?" he asked, stepping inside with his usual bright smile.

you shrugged, feeling the weight of seungkwan’s words pressing on your chest. "nothing much. just… thinking."

seungkwan immediately jumped in, as if he couldn’t help himself. "you need to go talk to seungcheol. i’m so done waiting for this mess to sort itself out."

seokmin raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. "ah," he crossed his arms, settling into the couch. "you’re still haven't called huh?"

"no," you admitted, your voice small. "i don’t know what to say to him."

"yeah, well, you’re not the only one," seokmin said with a sigh, his tone softening. "but running away from it won’t solve anything. look, and you know what cheol's like. if you tell him you need space & time & that you'll call him, he's gonna listen & wait for you. he’s not going to make the first move until you do so go talk to him, okay? figure it out. or at least to put that guy out of his misery."

you nodded slowly, trying to take in his words. it wasn’t that simple. it never was. but seokmin had a way of speaking to you that made you feel like maybe, you could take that first step.

seungkwan was still persistent, though. "seriously, i’m not letting you off the hook. you still love him after all these years, don’t you?"

"i don’t know," you said, your voice cracking. "i think i do, but i don’t even know how to deal with even coming to terms that i like him. everything’s so messed up. i kissed him, and now i… i don’t know what to do with all of it."

seokmin looked at you with an almost knowing smile. "sometimes, things don’t have to be figured out all at once. it’s okay to just… see what happens. go to him and talk. take it one step at a time."

seungkwan nodded eagerly, as if the suggestion had finally gotten through to you. "exactly. just go. trust me, you’re both miserable. just fix it."

the decision was made. somehow, someway, you had to go to him. you didn’t know what you were going to say, or how you were going to fix everything that had gone wrong, but you knew you had to try. the thought of never knowing how he felt, or whether you had a chance, was unbearable.

it had been days since you last saw him. days since everything had spiraled. and now here you were, on the verge of either fixing things or making them worse. you stood frozen, unsure of what to do. your hands trembled slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely out of control.

you knocked softly, but the sound felt too loud in the quiet hallway. a few moments later, you heard the shuffle of footsteps from the other side, and your heart skipped a beat.

the door swung open, and seungcheol stood there, looking absolutely stunned to see you standing there. his eyes widened in confusion, and for a brief second, you both just stared at each other in silence.

he seemed to take a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "you… you’re here," he said quietly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. "are you… okay?"

you didn’t know how to respond. you wanted to say so many things, but words felt like too much. you stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to form a coherent sentence. the silence stretched, and then he spoke again, his voice breaking the tension.

"come in," he said softly, stepping aside to let you in, but you didn’t move. "did i… did i do something wrong? if i upset you, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. i really didn’t." his voice was strained, as if he was holding back something. "i know we agreed on the whole fake dating thing for just 1 night, and maybe i crossed a line. but i didn’t mean to. i didn’t mean to make things complicated. I.. I didnt mean to make you uncomfortable.”

he sounded so genuinely sorry, and that was the moment it hit you—seungcheol was just as lost as you were.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to step over the threshold. you walked inside, every part of you feeling as though you were making a decision you couldn’t take back. the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do or say next.

he gestured toward the couch, but neither of you sat. there was a tension hanging between you two, something unsaid but felt in the air. you stayed there, frozen, trying to process your thoughts while he watched you, waiting for something.

he cleared his throat, his voice quieter now. "come sit, please," he said. "talk to me, please. is it something i did? i… i can't fix it if i dont know what i did wrong."

you shook your head slowly, still unable to find your words. you felt like a mess, and you could tell by his expression that he felt the same. the weight of everything that had happened—the kiss, the awkward distance between you two after—was hanging over you both.

finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "it’s not your fault."

"what do you mean?" he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion, a mix of hope and worry in his gaze. "what’s not my fault?"

"i kissed you," you muttered, the words coming out rushed, almost in a panic. "it was me. i shouldn’t have done it. and i’m sorry."

he seemed taken aback, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "but… why? why did you kiss me?”

you bit your lip, looking down at the floor, avoiding his eyes for a moment. "i don’t know why," you admitted, the confession escaping before you could stop it. "i wasn't thinking…i just… i was jealous. i saw hanna with you, and i couldn’t stand it. i… i kissed you because of that, but now, i’m not sure if it was jealousy or because i like you."

seungcheol’s face softened, his eyes searching yours as if trying to make sense of it. "you were jealous?" his voice was barely audible, as if the question itself was too much to bear. his eyes were glossy, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. he took a step closer, his voice breaking as he spoke. "you… you like me?"

you took in a deep breath, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "i think so, i don’t know..I'm not sure but i don’t want to lose you over a stupid kiss."

seungcheol exhaled shakily as his heart falters to the pit of his stomach. he felt a mixture of anger, bitterness and heartbreak flare in his chest, his fingers threading through his hair as he took a moment to gather himself. "a stupid kiss," he repeated, “you dont know if you like me?” and there was a bitterness to his voice that made your chest tighten. he looked at you, his eyes shining with something raw, something that made your heart splinter.

"it's not just a stupid kiss to me," he whispered, and your breath caught. "do you know how long i’ve been in love with you? do you have any idea how many times i’ve tried to hold back these feelings because i was terrified you wouldn’t feel the same?"

your eyes widened, your knees nearly giving out at his words. "you… you're in love with me?" you whispered, barely able to believe it.

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound cracking in the air between you. "yeah," he said, his voice breaking on the word. "i’m in love with you. it’s been hell, watching you, waiting for the right moment, praying that maybe, one day, you'd feel the same. and then you kissed me, and god, for a second, i thought it was real. i thought maybe you felt it too."

your hands shook as you tried to process his confession, the weight of his words pressing down on you, leaving you breathless. "cheol…" you started, but he held up a hand, his gaze turning away from you.

"don't," he whispered, pain etched in every line of his face. "if you're not sure, if you don't know what you want, please… don't say anything. because this? this hurts too much."

your chest ached, your heart breaking at the sight of him, of the way he was barely holding himself together. "i’m sorry," you choked out, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. "i didn’t know. i never realized—"

"that’s the thing," he interrupted, his voice strained. "i've always been here, and you never realized." he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back his own tears. "i can’t… i can’t keep doing this if you don't feel the same,”

seungcheol softens as he took in a deep breath, “I can accept, no–I can understand if you don’t love me back,” he says, his voice breaking, “but i need you to at least be sure you like me. if you can’t even be sure you like me, then i don’t think i can do this.” his hands curl into fists on his knees, the weight of his words pressing into the air between you.

the tears come without warning, spilling down your cheeks as everything you’ve been holding back crashes over you. “cheol,” you begin to confess, voice trembling, “i was in love with you four years ago. back then, before everything. before my ex.” your confession hangs heavy, and you can see the shock and pain in his eyes.

“four years ago?” he chokes out. he’s crying too, his tears slipping silently down his face. “why didn’t you tell me?”

you wipe at your face, trying to catch your breath. “because i thought it was over. i thought my feelings had become platonic, that they’d evolved into this safe, distant affection. but seeing you... seeing hanna flirt with you... it hurt. it hurt because i realized i never really let you go. i still love you, cheol. and it’s not just this soft, easy love. it’s the kind that makes me want you even when it hurts.”

his sob catches in his throat, and he reaches for you, his hands trembling. “i’ve loved you for so long,” he confesses, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. “i tried to hide it. i tried to hold it back, but i couldn’t. you’ve always been the one, even when i knew i shouldn’t feel that way.”

the two of you sit there, crying together, the years of longing, misunderstandings, and suppressed emotions finally crashing down. he cups your face, thumb brushing away your tears. “so now what?” you ask, voice small and broken.

seungcheol pulls back slightly, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes, but there's something vulnerable there too. he smiles as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. "now... now i ask you out on a date," he says, his voice softer, but his tone filled with so much emotion. “but—” he pauses, his smile fading slowly as his gaze turns serious now, “i’ll give you…five dates.”

“what? what do you mean?” your eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

seungcheol's smile returns as he takes in your pouty face before clearing his throat, “i'll let you decide if you still want me after that. no pressure. in case you change your mind.” his hand goes to reach for a stray hair near your cheek and tucks it behind your ear as he gives you a soft smile, still holding a certain sadness and uncertainty to it.

you smile softly, shaking your head. “i don’t need five dates to know my answer, cheol. i'm not changing my mind.” bold adrenaline suddenly pumps through your blood, and you hastily pull seungcheol closer to you in a quick motion, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and then you place a quick kiss on his lips. it's nothing romantic by any means, neither was it movie-scene-worthy. it's nothing like that, but it is more than enough to soothe your soaring heart, and it's definitely more than enough to send your message across to seungcheol.

seungcheol’s eyes widen in surprise as you pull away. "you’re…sure.” this time, it wasn't a question.

"i'm sure," you repeat anyway for him, stepping into his arms as your heart flutters at the feeling of him finally pulling you in, his embrace as warm as you'd imagined.

his arms wrapping around you with a warmth and desperation that sends a shiver down your spine. It feels like everything you've both been holding back for so long is coming unraveled, like this embrace is the start of something fragile but real. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and you feel his breath, heavy and uneven, as he holds on like he's afraid to let go.

"i've waited so long to hear you say that," he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. His words are shaky, the tremble betraying the vulnerability he’s still trying to hide. "i’ve wanted this for so long, but i never imagined it would feel this terrifying."

your hand finds his back, holding him just as tightly. "it’s terrifying for me too," you admit softly, your voice trembling. "but... i’m tired of being afraid.”

he pulls back slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes search your face. “let’s give this a real chance, even if it scares us. even if it’s hard." he whispers, a hint of a smile breaking through the sorrow that had clouded his expression.

you nod, your eyes locked with his. "i want to," you say, feeling a fragile hope bloom in your chest. "i want us."

a soft, relieved laugh escapes his lips, and he pulls you into a real kiss this time—gentle, slow, and full of everything unspoken. It’s not perfect, but it feels like a promise, like a beginning you both desperately needed. you lose yourself in the moment, your heart pounding as the weight of everything finally starts to lift.

when you both pull away, breathless but smiling, seungcheol rests his forehead against yours. "so, about those five dates, even though you say you dont need them," he teases, his voice a little lighter now, a spark of his usual playful demeanor coming back. "should we count this one, or start fresh?"

you laugh, the sound bringing color back into the space between you. "maybe we should count this one," you say, your heart feeling impossibly full. "but only if it means you have to try extra hard to make the next four unforgettable."

his smile widens, the warmth in his eyes chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt. "deal," he says, his hands still resting on your waist. "i’ll make every single one worth remembering, just you wait."

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melonisopod · 1 month ago

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Lifetime Stew is so much darker in hindsight.

Sinclair and Don Quixote both get it, and it’s specifically *Lust*, not *Gluttony*, despite being food-themed. (Although Gluttony in Limbus terms is basically Greed, and Lust very broadly refers to “desire” for things that aren’t material).

So, Lifetime Stew is based on the fable of Stone Soup, wherein a man managed to feed his whole village by bringing each together with a different ingredient, to make a soup that would last forever. He just kept telling each person in the town square, “All it needs is one more ingredient,” and everyone just kept adding to it. Is the gist of it.

Sinclair and Don have voice lines that more or less imply the same thing - the Abnormality (Basilisoup) just wants everyone to try its delicious soup! Cute, silly concept, right?

So what do Sinclair and Don Quixote have in common?

(SPOILERS beyond this point! You’ve been warned)

In Canto 3, Sinclair recalls that once his mother, father, and sister all received full-body prosthetics, they no longer had a need to eat. The table was set and food was placed only for him. It’s one of the things he found so especially heartbreaking, that he was the only one left in his family who could still eat food. It’s such a core memory that it’s plastered on the window-wall of his cell for his base E.G.O., four roboticized humans sitting at the table, with no food present.

He desperately misses getting to share meals with his family.

And in La ManchaLand, the Bloodfiends have been starved of blood for the past 200 years, barely sustaining themselves on hemobars that don’t satisfy them. They can *live* without subsisting on human blood, but they’re utterly miserable doing so. The only one of the First Kindred’s clan who escaped such a fate was of course, Sancho, though she’d long forgotten she is a Bloodfiend, Faust says she still craves blood. She’d been in effect, the only Bloodfiend allowed to sate her cravings, while the rest of her kin starved. Being the only Bloodfiend able to escape their fate was so traumatic for Sancho that she wanted to forget everything about herself.

In other words, Basilisoup/Lifetime Stew is about “the joy of sharing a meal with family,” something both Sinclair and Don Quixote desperately wish for.

KIM JIHOON WHEN I FUCKING GET YOU

#limbus company #canto 7 spoilers #Don Quixote lcb #Sinclair lcb #Kim Jihoon was EVIL for doing this okay?#and doing it so early in the game #it doesn’t hit just after canto 3 though cause it’s harder to see the common thread between him and don #and how both tie into a soup-themed abnormality #but now? now i see it and i want to die #by the way i don’t know if i can make the read more work on mobile #so for now just heed the spoiler tags

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thelightsandtheroses · 1 month ago

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Sweater Weather | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When you pick up a hobby again as the seasons turn in Jackson, Joel wonders why you won’t make him a sweater. Word Count: 2k Warnings: established relationship, pure fluff, copious references to knitting and crafting, references to the ‘sweater curse’ , post season Jackson domesticity, no description of the reader beyond her hobby. Notes: This is just a cosy autumnal piece of fluff to ease back into the fandom a bit. I’ve been struggling with writing and my place in the fandom bit recently but I wanted to take part in @jolapeno and @goodwithcheese ‘s jolabrew with cheese autumn challenge and I’ve recently been crafting a bit and trying knitting and crochet so couldn’t resist this silly little idea,

You used to love autumn. You thought it would be your favourite season forever. You were intoxicated by the foliage in all its glorious shades of red and mustard yellow, even the browns seemed richer then. You remember jumping through leaves in your childhood, a mug of hot chocolate waiting when you got home.

That was Before though.

Before the colour red reminded you of blood rather than leave. It was before the dark meant risk, meant the chance of an infected hiding away and a rational fear of death.

After the outbreak, all of the moments you clung to, the memories you used to savour, it all felt so pointless in this new world where death was always so close, always a shadow around you.

It’s different here though.

Jackson is like something out of a postcard. It’s simultaneously stuck in another time and fully adapted to the outbreak and the need for security.

You sit on the rocking chair on the porch, hands occupied by knitting needles as you try and turn what was once a too small jumper into something useable for you, or Joel, or Ellie. You’re thinking a scarf maybe for Ellie, as the weather turns more, perhaps even a matching hat if you can salvage enough, or remember how to make one.

“Whatcha makin’?” Joel asks, one arm casually leaning against the wooden jamb of the porch. Sometimes he seems to appear from nowhere and you take in his appearance, eyes slightly tired from patrol but still bright and there’s a small smile on his face as he takes in what you’re up to.

“Not sure yet. It was a sweater before I frogged it, could be good for a scarf or hat, maybe even socks if I can … I don’t know if I can make those.” Before Jackson, it had been a while since you picked up a pair of knitting needles or a crochet hook, or even a decent skein of wool but now you can finally indulge in the hobby again. Back in Boston, you can hardly imagine how many ration cards this would have gone for.

“You’ll figure it out, you always do.” Joel says with a smile.

You remember you used to make Tommy, Tess and Joel whatever you could from scraps of wool or ragged jumpers whenever possible. Your proudest accomplishment was a patchwork blanket over several months for winters in Boston. There was no heating in the apartments and it could get cold.

Now you’ve made a number of sweaters in varying levels of success, for the first the arms were so long in you had to start again, but you’ve also made a scarf and an acceptable number of hats - the latter of which you’ve proudly given to Ellie and Joel.

It feels domestic, normal even. Jackson is just different.

“How was patrol?” you ask.

“Tommy and I went up to the lookout, there were a few infected but-” Joel shrugs and runs a hand through his hair in a motion that still turns to your bones to jelly every single time. “It was fine.“

“Good.”

You take a moment to drink in Joel’s appearance. He looks better here. His clothes fit again, his eyes are brighter. There’s part of you that can’t believe either of you are here now, that he came back. That either of them did.

When you all left Boston, you noticed the way he made sure you and Ellie had supplies, had food when it was in short supply. The closer you’d got to Jackson, the more you’d noticed how he started using a tighter notch on his belt, so you tried to share more with him, make it subtle so he didn’t catch on to your intentions either.

He had taken Ellie on from Jackson alone, insisted he’d only be a couple of weeks, but he’d asked you to stay. There was an unspoken promise to wait for him to come back. Two weeks turned into a month and you’d begged Tommy to send a group to find him and Ellie, you’d begged the town meeting every week but they said no.

Tommy thought Joel was dead, you realised. Him and Maria were trying to subtly prepare you, to help you build a life in Jackson of your own. You knew they were alive though, you just knew it.

After a while, you weren’t so sure. You just weren’t sure what it would mean if they didn’t. Your life was in stasis, waiting for an answer that might never come.

The day Joel came back with Ellie, you’d hugged them both before joking that they stank and tried to wipe away your tears when neither was looking.

That was months ago and now the three of you are settled into Jackson, almost. There are secrets between them about the time they went to Salt Lake City, but they’re here. They’re safe. There’s time for that later.

Hey,” Joel says, “you want to get lunch at the hall?”

“Sure.” You place your wool and knitting inside the hallway of your, Joel and Ellie’s home and walk down the porch to meet him.

The two of you stroll down the street towards the main town hall and dining area. It’s cool, crisp and the sound of leaves crunching under your boots is a balm. Joel’s hand is tantalising close to yours, skimming your fingers as the two of you move in tandem.

“Weather’s turning, we’ll need warmer clothes. I think the stuff I made for Tommy and Maria’s baby went down well.” You pause. “Think I could get a sweater for Ellie and new socks for you outta that.”

“Huh?”

“The wool - you asked what I was making.”

“Oh, right.”

“Seth asked if i can make him a sweater. This wool is for you and Ellie though, if you come across anything on patrol, could you- ”

‘Sure.“

Joel pauses, he’s wearing the expression you’ve noticed whenever he wants to say something but he’s not sure. A slight frown, one brow lowered, concentration on his face.

“Is everything okay?”

“Sure.”

“Joel, I know that face.”

“Seth asked if you can make him a sweater.”

“For trades, Joel, could be useful. I think he mentioned a certain bottle of wine that I’ve been eyeing up.”

“Okay.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve made me some lovely things, darlin’, and I truly appreciate the hat, but I -I know it sounds selfish, but I -”

“You want a sweater,” you say in realisation. You should have known, the last time you knitted a jumper you couldn’t help but notice how Joel had watched you doing it.

“I mean, not necessarily. It just feels like half the town has sweaters you’ve knitted ‘cept -”

“You.”

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry.”

“No. No, it’s not. It’s just, I can’t make you a sweater, Joel.”

“You can’t make me a sweater?” Joel asks.

You nod solemnly. “Honestly, I would, but I really can’t.”

“Well, why not?“

“Sweater curse.”

“Sweater curse?”

“Sweater curse.”

The two of you reach the dining hall and you kiss Joel lightly on the cheek before you open the door. “We’re okay, right?”

“Course we are,” he says firmly, squeezing your hand and putting an arm around you. “Sweater curse?” you hear him mumble to himself.

You should elaborate, explain things but in all honesty this is a moment you’ve dreaded. It’s as close to defining your relationship as you and Joel have come in some time. Mostly, the two of you are together and you’re exclusive and that’s enough. There’s no need to put any firmer labels on things than that because the two of you just work.

By the time the two of you have selected your lunch and are sitting at the table.

Tommy’s wearing a sweater you’ve made. Joel scowls for a second.

“What the fuck is a sweater curse?”

Tommy bursts out laughing.

“Rally?” He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I’m not messing with that shit. Not in this world.”

“This world?”

“There are people essentially infected by a mushroom, Joel, I will play ball with any superstitions I need to.”

“That sounds sensible actually,” Tommy says thoughtfully. “So … the sweater curse, huh?”

“How do you know about the sweater curse?” Joel asks.

“Dated someone into crochet some time back.”

“You dated someone … Jesus, Tommy. So what is it?”

“Well you know if you give someone you’re dating a homemade sweater, the curse is you’ll break up.”

”Oh.”

Joel scrutinises you and you feel your face heating. “It’s an old wives’ tale, but I - I would rather not chance it.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“I know, I know. It’s just I know someone who did make their girlfriend a sweater and then she broke up with them. Do you remember Tamsin back in the QZ?“

“Tamsin was a smuggler and dating a woman in FEDRA, it was doomed before the sweater,” Tommy says.

“Nonetheless.”

“But okay, if you’re really worried, I get it,” Tommy says, earning a scowl from Joel.

“It’s just an urban legend, baby,” Joel says.

“That might be true, but with you? Nope, I don’t want to risk it.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he repeats calmly, looking into your eyes and squeezing a knee as he slightly moves you so you’re both facing each other. The distractions of Tommy and the dining hall melt away. It’s like a balm over your body, the fact that Joel is here with you, that he still wants to be with you. The connection between the two of you runs deep and it’s certainly not always run smoothly. This town has been a true second chance for the two of you to achieve something close to normal, and maybe, you realise, Joel can see that.

“You go on patrol, Joel, it’s not as simple as that.”

Tommy looks away and Joel swallows. You watch how he tries to work through his answer, lips slightly pursed as he ponders the rich approach. There’s a freckle on his neck, one that whenever you see it instantly transports you to nights with him and moments between the sheets. You’ve catalogued every freckle, every mark, every scar now.

“I won’t push you on this,” he says quietly. “The gloves and hats are real nice.”

You smile softly, kissing him on the cheek before turning your attention back to your food. The water jug is empty so you decide to go and get a refill.

As you walk away, you can hear Tommy and Joel’s voices still.

“Now I think about it, there’s a way around the curse anyway,” Tommy says quietly, clearly in the hopes you won’t hear them. The years together have led to your hearing becoming attuned to them, to Joel’s voice in particular. You could pick him out of any crowd.

“Oh yeah?” There’s a lightness in Joel’s voice now, that slight teasing edge you love.

“Marry her. That’s the workaround. Honest.”

Joel chuckles. “For a sweater? Can’t marry her for a sweater. That ain’t right.”

“You said you were going to marry her anyway, Joel. Isn’t a sweater just a bonus?”

“Tommy!”

“I’m just sayin’, you said you had a plan.”

“I do and shut up, will you? She’ll hear.”

You freeze momentarily. Joel’s talked about marriage with you to Tommy? You take a deep breath before returning to the table.

“Is it true?” Joel asks in a whisper to you. “I know you heard Tommy and me.”

“Reckon I could ask the same question.”

Joel swallows. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

“Same.” You pause and smile mischievously, “Say it was true, I take it you have a colour preference for a sweater then, Joel?”

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to the taglist please let me know. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs. Tag lists are a bit funky at the moment, so I recommend following me or my fic account @thelightsandtheroses-fics (you can enable notifications for that account) if you want to ensure you're up to date

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#joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #jolabrew + withcheese

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kamaluhkhan · 11 months ago

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anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner.

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank.

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it.

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations.

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined."

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition.

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes.

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were.

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze.

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

#Spotify #when i was younger i didn't think people would want to read all the stories i'd make up in my head about this series #so im glad the percy jackson renaissance is here #there's something so healing about writing + sharing this blurb even if i'm still nervous #might fuck around and write another part because i have so many ideas of where this could go #percy jackson #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #hoo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo #saf writes #riordanverse

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infictionalwonderland · 1 year ago

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hot physiotherapist | j.potter

SUMMARY, james has a rugby accident and has to take physiotherapy - he’s pretty down about, but all that depressions forgotten as soon as he sees you, his physiotherapist. why had he not done this sooner?

James Potter was miserable.

A very odd occurrence, although it did happen (evidently). He was pouting the whole way as Remus drove them to the physiotherapists, Sirius was giggling to himself in the backseat the whole time—Remus, ever the angel he was, tried to cheer James up by giving him complete control over the music in the car and even greeting him with his coffee order and a chocolate croissant.

James was still miserable.

“Have fun, darling boy!” Sirius chirped out the window as James got out of the car, “try not to break any bones on your way in. God forbid you need physiotherapy.”

He burst out into borderline manic cackles and fell down completely into the row of backseats, never one to wear his seatbelt as he hated being constricted—James glared with upmost venom and hatred at the backseat windows, Tarzan looking cunt.

“I hope everything goes well.” Remus’ voiced gently, shooting his boyfriend a blank stare even as he tried to stop his own amusement. “D’ya want me to fetch you any food or anything for you when you come out?”

“No. Thanks.”

Remus winced.

James was still miserable.

He trotted his way indoors, cursing inside his head at the shooting pains all up his back and his hips, with the largest pout there ever was he made his way over to the reception and told them who he was—why he was here, before behind asked to take a seat in one of the rooms where he would be joined shortly by the physiotherapist.

He sat, frowning at the large room with equipment and soft turquoise coloured walls for a short about of time and then the door opened.

And then his world stopped.

In you stepped. . your hair was tugged into a low ponytail, front strands out of the pony to frame your face. He had died, he was certain. Your skin looked so soft, the beaming white lights giving you the most heavenly glow, he was sure you were an actual angel. Your eyes gleamed beautifully, and he was lost in the exact shade of them—trying to pinpoint every little detail and speck of colour. Your lips were pulled into such a fucking lovely smile, he could’ve melted (he did melt). Even from where you stood in the door, he was greeted in the pleasant aroma of your perfume and he felt like he was floating.

Your mouth was open—oh my god he was missing an opportunity to hear your voice—wait, what had you been saying. Balls.

“Um—h—muhuh?”

Double balls.

Your beautiful smile didn’t even waver in the slightest, though, amusement weaved it’s way into your eyes and created a mesmerising pattern into your irises that he forever engraved into his memory.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Potter! My names Y/N and I’ll be your physiotherapist for the foreseeable future.” You grinned, walking closer to him, “Hopefully.”

Wha—was that flirting? No! You had said it in a normal tone, like Hi I hope I stay your physiotherapist because it is literally my job, James and I enjoy it. But—yeah, no. It was like that. You were so close to him now—so so much more beautiful up close, he didn’t think that was even humanly attainable.

“Yeah—i—I hope so too, ma’am.”

MA’AM?!

Somebody sedate me, he thought.

You didn’t seem thrown off or even slightly offended, or disgusted by him. Which was, good, really, really good.

Instead, you let out this little bubbly burst of laughter and fucking hell, James knew from that point he was gone and could never return. His eyes were probably comically wide and maybe in literal heart shapes but he could truly care less. He look at you in awe—your nose scrunched when you laughed, your eyes squinted and to James you just became even more perfect.

“Please, call me Y/N—Ma’am sounds overly American anyway—“

“Would you prefer Miss?”

I’m never leaving the house again.

You blinked.

He almost stumbled to his knees in apology though that would obviously only give you the impression he was more of a creep than you already thought he was—but—hold on. He watched, mouth falling open just slightly, as your cheeks flushed a very very pretty pink and your mouth formed into the cutest smile he’d ever seen in his entire life.

He was definitely leaving the house again, and it was going to be to come here everyday.

“Just Y/N is fine, thank you for being so considerate though.” You laughed teasingly.

“Can I be upgraded to just James?”

“Oh? You don’t want to he called miss? Or Ma’am?” You grinned at him, white teeth glistening from under your full lips, cheeks turning a faint rosy shade under the strength of your grin and a strand of hair swooping in front of your eye. He was in love. “Or, Sir maybe?”

Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

James is one hundred percent that he would’ve fallen over fast first had he been standing and he’s never been more thankful he’s not. He can feel his cheeks turn red—his face heating up to an embarrassingly tomato red state at an embarrassingly quick rate.

“Nah—Ju—Just James, please.” He huffed out, moving the material of his shirt dramatically off his chest and fanning himself. “Is—um, is it hot in here or is just you? Me! Is it just me?!”

You smile at him, adorably crinkle eyed and slightly pink cheeked, looking every bit the goddess and the angel James already knew with certainty that you were.

James Potter was, as it turns out, no longer miserable.

In fact, he can’t wait for his next appointment.

#james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james x reader #james x you #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #the marauders #marauders #marauders imagine #the marauders imagine #sub james potter #james potter smut #remus lupin #sirius black

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thatweirdfandom · 5 months ago

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body swap zosan

zoro:

he notices that he has no balance what so ever, he’s used to a heavier body built on muscle

his vision feels normal though, sanji has had his bangs cover one of his eyes forever so it’s not unlike when he lost his own eye

he can distinctly feel too much, he feels how the dust and dirt sticks to him in a way he can’t shake, faint crawling of ghost bugs on his body and he takes more showers then he likes to admit

when he wakes up if he doesn’t eat right away he gets sick- a repercussion to sanji s starvation

strangely when he picks up a sword when sanji isn’t looking it feels familiar- not like his intense muscle memory but that sanji knows how to use a sword above any class beginner

he cant not keep still, if he stays still too long he can feel the phantom aches in his body, the overstimulation of dirt

he ends up overextending by accident a lot, it’s funny at first because how flexible he is- but he’s not used to having to control the small joints so not to hurt himself (que him dislocating something because no, your body can’t just stretch like that unless you do it properly)

he notices he has a small appetite but if he doesn’t eat when needed he will get sick very quickly (ah that’s why sanji always makes excuses to have snacks for the ladies and everyone)

he gets trapped once, it’s nothing unlike he’s used to. but the walls, the tight space, this body knows this feeling and it just gives out on him

when he gets ready for bed he is always baffled why sanji sleeps with his shoes on. little did he know how nasty and brutal sanjis feet ended up (ballet feet)

why can’t he turn off his observation haki?

constant need to feel physical touch but also being repulsed by it when it happens

turns out the cook does in fact just have constant nose bleeds and if he gets too emotional or riled up it just happens. this is a awkward moment when some lady tells the crew her husband just dies and zoros nose starts bleeding

sanji:

he cant see his toes (tiddies too big)

his spacial awareness is terrible he keeps bumping into things

he has intense head splitting migranes that only a nap could help (hmmm thriller bark…) and maybe a drink

a need to work out, to sweat out toxins from his body

accidentally breaks too many things since it’s just sheer force of strength

he gets cramps way too much and can barely do a simple stretch

in battle he can’t help but notice the slight increase in heartbeat- he thinks originally it’s just cuz of adrenaline but he knows that feeling. and this one is fear, every battle no matter how strong he is in this body feels fear every moment- not for himself but those around him

he has to check on everyone no matter what- it’s weird because he does that too but this is more of a subtle pull to do it, a slow meditation of going through each member to make sure they are ok

always being touched by luffy and others to be buddy buddy, he doesn’t have much to cover him and the warmth is unlike something he’s felt in so long (usually one to cover up because he can just feel too much)

he is still a great chef but only in food prep. his hands are too clumsy for much else, and his body is bigger when trying to move in the kitchen

on top of cramps, he keeps pulling muscles (seriously does he never stretch this body?)

he also gets tired quicker- endurance isn’t as lasting when this body focuses on attacks that count on brute force

he cant feel his torso, turns out mihawk really made sure zoro remember by cutting off the nerves

BOTH:

man why does my heart pick up when i see my own body?

#zosan #zosan prompts #zosan headcanons

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whatsk-poppinhomies · 6 months ago

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Pairing : OT8 x F!Reader TW : reader death ; heavy angst. (Bangchan : hospitals ; Chan in denial) (Lee Know : sudden reader death) (Changbin : drowning ; mention of police) (Hyunjin : reader has seizures ; reader in a coma) (Han : car crash ; descriptive scene of the crash ; mention of blood) (Felix : reader suicide ; Felix is angry ; slightly descriptive post mortem reader) (Seungmin : car accident ; Seungmin in the hospital ; Seungmin injury) (Jeongin : really nothing descriptive ; nothing but angst) Word Count : 3.7k A/N : This one was really sad to write, but I love angst so it was kind of fun too! I hope you enjoy! I know they’re kind of short though, I’m sorry! Request : @moon0fthenight : “24 hours after skz’s s/o death”

Bangchan

Sitting in the hospital room, the buzzing of the fluorescent light bulbs that hung above his head filled the silence from the lack of your heart monitor beeping. He stared at the empty bed, refusing to take his eyes off of it. Maybe if he stared hard enough you’d finally show up.

He didn’t want to leave the hospital without you, even though the doctors, the guys, his managers, his parents, even your parents had told him that he couldn’t wait there forever, that you weren’t coming back.

How long had it been since you had been rushed out of the little room? The TV was still on the same channel, the tray of food that had been brought to you still sat on the little pull up metal table. He wouldn’t let the doctors take it away. “She’ll be hungry when she gets back.” He would say every time someone would come in to try to clean up the room. Pity would have the doctors and the nurses relenting, backing out of the room to leave him with his grief.

24 hours he’s been without you, and he had only truly had you for less than a year before you had fallen ill. It wasn’t fair. You had been stolen from him so quickly, he didn’t have the time to process what had truly happened. He was in denial, and in the back of his mind, he knew that you weren’t coming back. That didn’t stop him from sitting and waiting still, because he wasn’t leaving. Not without you.

Lee Minho

“I’m fine.” He lied, sitting in the dorm room surrounded by all of the guys who were trying their best to be there for him. “I just want to be alone.” Not exactly though, he didn’t want to be alone, he just didn’t want to be around anyone if it wasn’t you.

Waking up in the morning beside you, it was always like waking up in a dream, the way your eyelids would flutter as the sun shone through the window, waking you in the most beautiful way. It’s how every morning began… So why did that morning have to be any different? What had gone wrong?

His eyes opened that morning, landing upon you as they would, but this time, your skin was colorless and your lips were blue… How did you still look so peaceful? It took him a moment to realize what was truly going on, and he wished that he didn’t realize at all. Would he have been able to just fall back asleep beside you? Would you be okay when he woke back up?

No one could give him answers, there was no definitive cause… You just… Decided that it was time to go, and you did. How could you just leave him like that? You didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t give him the chance to say goodbye.

24 hours later, and he refused to go back to the apartment he shared with you. As long as he was at the dorms, he could continue to believe that it never happened, that he had never even met you, because he once he stepped through the front door, all of those memories would come rushing back, the good and the bad, and he’d have to face the fact that you truly were gone.

Seo Changbin

It was supposed to be a fun little vacation for the two of you to celebrate your 3 years anniversary. He had been so excited for it, you had been excited, everything was perfect. The trip was specifically for you, all you had talked about was how you felt bad that you had come down with the flu during your honeymoon, having to cut the trip short. This was the chance to try it again, and you both were ready for honeymoon take 2.

The current was strong, there had been warnings about it posted all over the beach, the lifeguards had warned everyone that it wasn’t safe to go far out in the water. “You’re stronger than the current, Binnie.” You had chimed, his ego swelling as you clung onto him. He just wanted you to have a great time, he wanted you to be happy, he loved seeing you smile…

He wasn’t stronger than the current, but the sound of the lifeguard whistle blowing hadn’t stopped him from carrying you out, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as waves crashed against the both of you. It only took one wave though, he lost his footing, and that’s when he lost you. He just wanted to make you proud, he wanted to make you happy, he wanted to have a real honeymoon with you…

“She’s not gone…” Changbin kept repeating. The guys were currently flying to him, police filled the hotel room where your suitcase still sat propped open in the corner. It had only been 24 hours and the interrogations seemed never ending, but he wouldn’t give up on you, not when you were still out there somewhere. You’d come back to him, you have to.

Hwang Hyunjin

A seizure. That’s all it was… you had them rarely, but he usually knew how to handle them and how to make sure you were okay. Why was this time different? Why did it have to be different?

His hands had been shaking when he tried to call for help. He misdialed. Was it his fault? He was already crying by the five minute mark… Was he too focused on crying? Could he have done more? He tried to hold you up to keep you from choking as he waited for the paramedics… What else could he have done?

You were flailing so violently, he could barely hold you still. It was terrifying, but still, not as terrifying as seeing you strapped to a gurney and rushed out of the house as your body still seized against the straps that held you down. He felt guilty for not riding in the back of the ambulance with you, but the paramedics had told him to follow behind, and in his state of shock, he didn’t have the mental capacity to argue.

Would you have been okay if he rode with you? He got stuck at a red light as the ambulance sped forward in front of him. It wasn’t long, but it was long enough he supposed. By the time he reached the hospital you were already being rushed down the hall, and he could only stand there and watch as the emergency room doors shut right in front of him, his last view of you was through the tiny rectangular windows.

A coma… It had been 24 hours and you still hadn’t woken up. The breathing tubes and IV’s that were connected to you had him crying every time he looked at you. He couldn’t even stay in the room longer than an hour before he started hyperventilating from crying so much. You weren’t dead… But the way everyone was talking, they made it seem like you might as well have been.

He wasn’t going to give up on you though, he’d pay as much as he had to, he’d visit the hospital every day for the rest of his life just to tell you he loves you, that he’s waiting for you, just in case you can hear him. But for today, he’d sit by your bedside and hold your hand, singing to you songs that he knows you love, hoping that you can still hear his voice.

Han Jisung

Your hand was in his as you walked down the road, streetlights and the bright headlights of passing cars illuminating the two of you, your journey aimless, just enjoying the time you get to spend together. The silence was calming, there was something about just simply being the company of someone that you love so deeply that can put your mind at peace. That’s exactly where he was, a peace that was unreachable unless he was with you. That’s how he knew that you were the one, the only one for him.

Headlights moving closer, becoming brighter, enveloping the two of you in a shroud of a nearly blinding white light. Tire squeals and the honking of a horn… It was too late. No more than a second was how long it took for your hand to be ripped from his, and it was like everything was moving too fast for his mind to fully adjust. The sound of your body colliding with the steel frame of the car, the sight of you being thrown yards along the road before you fell back to the ground with a muted thud. The crumbling of the car as it smashed into a light pole, metal wrapping around metal, like nails on a chalkboard and emitting a horrid stench.

A couple more seconds to process, and then a guttural scream as he ran over to you. The lingering warmth that was left from when your hand was still in his wasn’t enough to keep him grounded. Your body was mangled, your arms twisted in a way that he had only seen in the horror movies that he’d watch with you. A pool of blood forming beneath your head, your eyes still wide open in a perpetual state of shock. It didn’t take a genius to know that you were gone, you had literally been ripped away from him in the worst way possible.

Sleep wasn’t an option, no matter how tired his body felt, whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was a constant replay of you on the ground, or you moments before hitting the street. The first and only time he had even attempted a simple nap, he had woken up screaming and all of the guys had to run in and try to help him.

“Ji…” Minho whispered as he walked into Jisungs room, the lights were all out, the man's face illuminated only by the phone screen, the brightness turned all the way up, making the dark circles under his eyes more visible and more prominent. “This isn’t good, you need to sleep… Please…”

“I should have been walking on the road side…” Jisung mumbled back, his body already beginning to rock and shudder, the incoming tears were unavoidable. “I should have moved her away faster… it should have been me… I saw her… I watched it… I didn’t know what to do… She was just… She…” Along with the tears came hyperventilation, and then retching once all the mucus built up in his throat. It happened almost every hour, his guilt eating away at him, his brain working overtime to try to think of a way that things could have ended differently.

It’s not like it mattered though, he couldn’t change the way it all happened, you were already gone. All he had left was the phantom feeling of your hand in his, a feeling that he clung onto, because once that feeling faded away, that’s when you would be fully gone.

Lee Felix

“You know that I love you, right? It’s not your fault… I want you to always remember that, no matter what. I don’t deserve you though. I don’t deserve anything… And I’m tired. I’m just so tired, Lixie… I’m sorry.”

It was sent at 3:38am eastern standard time… He was sleeping… 2:38pm korean time… If he was there he would have been able to stop you. He was on tour, you were back at home. Everything seemed fine when he left, he told you that he’d be back in 2 months, it was one of the shorter tours… It was like you waited for him to be gone… Like you didn’t want to be stopped, you didn’t want to be saved.

As soon as he saw the message when he woke up, he sent one of the managers to the apartment. He knew what they would find, he already knew, and he was already booking a flight back to Korea. The emotions hadn’t fully hit him yet, they were there, but they didn’t have a chance to really kick in until he was sitting in the airport, a text from the manager confirming what he already knew to be true.

He cried himself to sleep on the flight, and even while sleeping, his body shook from his raspy breaths and tears seemed to subconsciously fall from his eyes. All of the guys went with him, not wanting him to be alone, but most of them were in a state of shock as well, and a majority of them just cried with Felix when he did wake up.

By the time he had gotten back, you had already been identified by your parents. Felix went to visit them, offering his condolences and apologizing for not being able to save you. They didn’t blame him, but they didn’t have to, he was already blaming himself. There had to have been something he could have done to keep this from happening, and it only made him angry when everyone would tell him that what you had done would have happened regardless if you really wanted to do it.

“I want to see her… One last time, I need to see her…” 23 hours and 45 minutes, that’s how long you had been gone, and up until now he had been too scared to even think about seeing you. But it was getting closer to the funeral and he knew that he wouldn’t have any other chance to, and he would only be able to rely on pictures and videos of you afterwards.

“Felix, that’s probably not a good idea. You shouldn’t… You don’t have to do that to yourself.” Chan tried to reason, placing his hands on Felixs shoulders. “She wouldn’t want you to see her like that… Just, wait until the viewing… Then you can say goodbye.” Goodbye? There was nothing good about this, and Chans words only angered him more.

“I’m going. I need to see her.” He said more sternly this time, pushing past the oldest member and walking out the door. Maybe he should have listened, maybe he should have just held onto the memories of you that were living in his mind and in his phone. Once he saw you, he felt everything at once, and he couldn’t stop crying, he couldn’t stop screaming, he was losing his mind.

“Why did you leave me?! Why would you do this?! Fuck!” This image of you was one that he wouldn’t be able to forget, cold, lifeless, laying on the metal table. It looked like you were sleeping, and he wished that he could just make himself believe that you were. “Wake up! You need to wake up now! We have so much to do and… And you just really have to wake up, angel! Come on!” Once he tried to lift you off the bed, that’s when the doctors rushed in, having to pull him off of you. He was thrashing and kicking and screaming, and all anyone could do was cry as they watched from the hallway. He had lost you, but they were slowly losing him because of it… Felix was gone, replaced by a bitter sadness and an anger towards himself that would never go away.

Kim Seungmin

“Seungmin, I think that person behind is drunk or something. You should really just let them go around…” You had said, turning down the radio and watching through the rearview mirror as the car behind you swerved in and out of lanes, coming closer and closer to the back of Seungmins car.

“We’re fine. It’s probably just one of those assholes that’ll weave in and out of traffic and piss everyone off.” Although you saw his eyes narrow as they flashed up into the rearview mirror, cursing under his breath before flicking on his blinker to change lanes. Just as he began to move into the other lane, the car hit the back of Seungmins. It happened in a flash, his foot slamming on the brakes as his right hand flew out to hold onto you.

That was the last thing he remembered before waking up once again, the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles and the sound of metal scraping metal as the car door was being cut off. He tried to turn his head, but that’s when the pain kicked in and he let out a scream… And then the panic set in when he didn’t hear you. Had you already been taken out of the car? He slowly moved his head in your direction, biting back the scream that threatened to escape him as the pain shot through. “Y/N…?” He whispered your name when he saw you, but there was no response. “Honey… Answer me please…” He pleaded, his breaths coming faster, but they were restricted as the seatbelt strained against his chest. This couldn’t be happening… This was a nightmare, it had to be…

“How are you feeling?” Hyunjin asked from the couch at Seungmins bedside. He was still in the hospital, being monitored for the concussion he had gotten from the accident. It had been 24 hours, and soon he would be discharged, but he’d be walking out alone, he’d be going home alone. You didn’t make it, the airbag on your side hadn’t deployed and… He didn’t want to think about what the doctors had told him, he was trying to hold himself together, at least when the guys were around.

“I’m fine.” He muttered, staring straight forward, refusing to look at Hyunjin because he knew that if his hyung saw the tears that had begun to bead up in his eyes, he would only make things worse. “I really just want to go home now. I’ve got a lot of stuff to sort through, I’ve got a lot of phone calls to make.”

“You really don’t have to do all that by yourself. The guys and I… we can help, we want to help. We know that-” Seungmin groaned loudly, cutting off Hyunjins words before he could finish them. He had heard this before from Chan and Changbin. Yes, you were gone, and yes, he was devastated, he was broken, he was pissed, but he knew that if he was given time to dwell on it, things would only be worse.

“I’m gonna sue him, I’m gonna sue him for everything he’s got. I don’t care about the money though, I don’t want his fucking money, I don’t need him to pay my medical bills, I don’t want anything from him but his suffering. I want him to suffer… I want his life to be living hell because that…” His voice broke, his fists balling up the blanket that covered him as a choked off sob escaped him. “That is how my life is now… Without her… So if you could just… Kindly let me handle this… On my own… That would be great.”

Yang Jeongin

“Robbery at local store : 4 Injured and 1 Dead in a Robbery Gone Wrong”

“Isn’t that the Alexander McQueen that Y/N works in?” Jisung asked as he watched Jeongin scroll through the news article that was still live at the moment. Of course it was the same store that you worked in, that’s why he was reading the damn article… Although he didn’t say that though, he wasn’t going to be shitty towards one of the guys just because he was panicking a little bit (a lot).

“I’ll just call her real quick… They already caught the person who did it. She should be okay now.” Jeongin said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. He didn’t want to let on that he was slowly but surely losing his mind not hearing anything from you.

The line rang a few times before it was picked up, and after some silence, a throat was cleared. “Hello.” A male's voice came through the speaker and Jeongins heart sank. “This is Detective Lee, who is this?”

“Her boyfriend. Where is she?” Jeongin didn’t introduce himself as anything but your boyfriend, right now his only worry was your whereabouts and why you hadn’t reached out to him. If something like this was going on in his building he would have called you already to let you know that he’s okay.

“Sir, I’m… I’m very sorry… But-“

“Nope!” Jeongin cut the detective off, pushing himself up off the couch that he had been sitting on, catching the attention of the other guys that sat around the room. “That’s not funny, don’t mess with me like that. I-I’d really like to speak to her now. C-can you put her on the phone? Please!”

“I know that this is hard for you… But we need you to come down to the hospital… and identify her…” The detective said solemnly, feeling Jeongins pain through the phone.

He broke, right then and there, he broke down. He threw his phone across the room, not caring as the screen shattered to bits against the wall before crumbling on the floor. His hands flew to his hair, pulling at it as he let out the most pain filled scream. The guys caught him before he could fall to the floor, their arms encircling him and trying to hold him up.

No amount of time would make this easier for him, but the hardest was the first 24 hours. His eyes were burning from crying so much, his throat burned, his chest hurt. He couldn’t even move, he felt so weak, his head hurt and he felt sick. He couldn’t stop crying, whenever he would stop, he’d think about you and he’d cry again, the sobs were heartwrenching, curled up in the fetal position and clutching onto your pillow.

You’d never lay beside him again, he wouldn’t be able to wake up to your morning kisses, he wouldn’t be able to cuddle beside you on the couch anymore. You were gone, you’d always be gone, you were never coming back. A piece of him died when you did, and that would piece of him, his heart, would always be with you, wherever you were, and he’d wait forever to finally be with you again.

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kaiser1ns · 8 months ago

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𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

╹synopsis :: it doesn't take much to say or show you love someone even with the simplest of actions.

╹contents :: can be read as fem/gn reader; characters from blue lock, jjk and honkai star rail, FLUFF, ooc maybe?

╹notes :: as i was walking to go home at like 10pm i thought of this, hope you enjoy! added hsr specially for @okkalo ♡

ITOSHI SAE immediately takes you out to visit the sea when he gets some days off. The sounds of the waves, the relaxing atmosphere and you in his arms calm him down causing him to flashback to his childhood memories of when he was just a small and carefree child wanting nothing more but to play football with his little brother and personal cheerleader.

Not only he is known as the strongest but GOJO SATORU is also known for having a very strong sweet tooth. So what does he do to reduce the sugar? He shares it with you because there is nothing better than sharing his favourite thing with his lover, so let's say he gets a double dose of chocolate and candy from just seeing you and that's enough.

AVENTURINE is not afraid to take the risk and his constant smile makes it difficult for people to guess his true intentions. Not with you though, he lets his guard down, your voice soothing him to help him relax and as he gets lost in your touch. He is not Aventurine of the IPC or the Ten Stonehearts, he is just Kakavasha the little boy who once dreamed of love and now he won the biggest treasure in his life — you.

ITOSHI RIN knows how much you don't like scary movies, and that's why when you come over for the weekends you watch movies or series of your choice, be it Barbie or The Lion King. He will swallow his ego and stop watching the weekly uploads of his favourite scary games just so you can't fall asleep on purpose because of the horror films.

GETO SUGURU can't stop talking about how beautiful, amazing, and kind you are. Mimiko and Nanako are tired because they are the only ones who get to hear all his murmuring when you are away even for only 5 minutes. But they know how much he loves you and how you breathe life into him, and he wishes that someday they will become like you — strong and good-hearted.

ARGENTI thanks and prays to Idrila every moment of his life for obtaining the biggest blessing to ever exist and that is meeting you. The Knight of Beauty makes sure to give you one red rose every day to express his profound love and admiration, it's a small gesture that symbolizes his devotion to the relationship. He should protect his lover and like flowers, the tender petals are directed to you, with the thorns to the cosmic and its danger protecting you

It may seem that he is spoiled, but in fact, NAGI SEISHIRO is not, well not that much. Sometimes he takes charge of the household chores, giving you, a well-deserved break. He washed the dishes, cooked you a meal (instant noodles), and even tried to fold the laundry. And you, pleasantly surprised, sank into the couch, embracing the rare luxury of relaxation as familiar songs from your shared playlist were playing on the TV. Even if it doesn't happen often you are forever grateful for your lazy boyfriend to do something like that.

ITADORI YUJI shows genuine interest and actively listens to you talking about your current obsession be it a series, celebrity, book, food, or anything. He loves your voice, seeing your beautiful smile, and how your eyes seem to sparkle as you talk, he is so lovestruck that he sometimes just stares at you with the most soft and genuine look. Just don't be surprised when you find some merchandise on your desk with a little love note, okay?

Engaging in meaningful conversations and connecting on a deeper level with DR. RATIO seems like every other normal day for him. He approaches every interaction with a thirst for knowledge. And you take him by surprise every time and he doesn't know what to do, the great genius suddenly stops functioning. The way you hold his hand, kiss his cheek, make him stutter — he goes crazy and questions himself about how there is no logical explanation for this, but there is, it is called love.

SHIDOU RYUSEI doesn't like to share his material possessions with anyone, he worked so hard to get the last volumes of Chainsaw Man as they are now put on the shelf in his bedroom. And imagine his reaction when he sees you reading volume 10 which has Makina on the cover, cuddled nicely with his blanket on the bed. How dare you read it without him? And so he jumps onto the mattress, squishing you because that's your punishment for not telling him. You apologized to him of course but for him to fully forgive you, next time you will be on anicon cosplaying Makima and Denji.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI remembers the small details about you and your preferences. If you don't like a certain ingredient in the food, he will order the dish without it. You like to sleep on this side of the bed, no problem he will sleep on the other side as you both cuddle and drift to Dreamland. He will immediately notice the change in your mood and even if he is not so good with words, he will always be there for you offering his warm embrace.

As a Galaxy Ranger BOOTHILL tends to travel around the cosmos a lot and sadly he can't spend time with you. But when he's with you, one of the things you do is his hair and to put cute stickers on his metal hands or guns. The scary cyborg cowboy is now a pretty princess with pigtails, heart stickers and with a very happy lover. He watches you having fun with his makeover — and will do everything possible to spend more time with you.

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i-yap · 6 months ago

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Can I ask for maybe a series on the batboys love languages? Them being down bad simps is so funny and cute

So i think all batboys sort of use all love languages, but in varying levels

Dick Grayson

words of affirmation,- very direct and upfront with words, confident and very charming. Even him being vulgar is like charming . Its almost like practiced ease but its so personalized that it works. It is a little basic though. Likes it a lot when you do it too. appreciate that beautiful wonder boy please.

quality time,- He tries so hard but with his responsibilities its tough. He craves getting adventures or doing some activity together but after a really long time apart he just wants to cuddle with you in a park or hill and talk.

physical touch,- yes. no hesitation yes. he loves it , knows just how to use it. Its like he can read your mind because he knows exactly what you want and when you want it. prefers giving over receiving .

acts of service- also big yes. Since he cant give enough quality time, what is one strong way he can show how much he loves you. also very caretaker vibes..like a mother hen. Wants to tie your scarf, wash your hair, tie your shoelace to something like staying up making you food and giving you stress release hugs during exam time. "why would you want to do something when I can do it for you babe" . Will die if you do even the littlest thing gushing and telling you just how much he appreciates it.

receiving gifts- Second Best gift giver , its like a perfect mix of expensive and personal and he just loves spending on you. but prefers spending on memories more than materialistic stuff . Will cherish your gifts forever and very vocal about it.

Jason todd

words of affirmation,- sucks at it, but he will quote you book lines when the mood is vulnerable and quiet in the night and he is really in his safe space. Which is unique and very personal . Also very vulgar and straight up in dirty talk. Will blush-glitch-brush off any sweet thing you say to him.

quality time- yes. like yes all the time just stick your skin to him will not leave you side. wants to be with you alone forever doing nothing at all just loving and its literally to an obsessive level

physical touch- made a separate post on this in detail

acts of service- its very subtle, he will never tell you about . may even deny doing it and for a while you probably thought it was a ghost. If you do anything for him, will just stare but inside his head its like an explosion...like imagines a loud screaming todd running around

receiving gifts-very sweet personal gifts . lowkey sucks at giving gifts on special occasion but gives awesome random gifts. Give him anything and its him malfunctioning ...like you saw him actually stutter 9times in a row" uh-wha-for me-why-uh-th-than-thanks-i mean- i-uh-i-uh-yea bye"

ill do a part2 with bruce and tim

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mermaidgirl30 · 2 months ago

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✨Saving What Was Lost Part 2: A Million Shades of Red ✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you chapter two! I’ve been working long and hard on this, so I hope you do enjoy it. As always, I LOVE to hear your thoughts so comments and reblogs really make my day 🩷 I loved getting to write the last half of this in Joel’s POV. No beta for this one. Happy reading! I have reached my max number of tags for this, so please go follow my updates blog if you'd like to be notified for future updates @mermaidgirl30-updates

Summary: Trying to figure out your way through grief is hard, but Joel seems to give you that first flicker of hope that you need.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 12.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, violence, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The next day you don’t leave your room, can barely stand to get out of bed. So, you don’t. You just stay curled up in a ball between the twisted sheets, listening to the soft drizzle of rain and the howling wind that taps at the glass window. You tossed and turned the entire night while nightmares tore their way through your worn body, reminding you that your life was ripped from your hands more than a year and a half ago.

You’re not hungry, can barely even choke down a glass of water. But Joel goes out of his way to make sure you get something down, even going as far as helping you hold the glass, encouraging you the entire time. You never asked him to; he just does it.

He brings you food to your bed. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And even when you can’t stomach anything, he leaves the plate next to your bed in case you change your mind. He checks on you every hour of the day, even if that’s just him walking by and peeking his head in the doorway to make sure you’re still breathing, alive.

You don’t feel alive, but maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you won’t wake up and immediately feel like dying.

One day. It’s only been one single fucking day since you’ve been pulled from the reins of Angela and all her grimy men, saved by the hands of Joel Miller. And you still don’t understand why he picked you. Of all the girls he could’ve saved, he chose to save you…

He saved you. And you’re eternally, forever grateful. Even if you can’t express that. Joel Miller is your hero. And even though you don’t exactly trust him yet, maybe one day you will. For now, this is enough.

Take it one step at a time. That’s what he keeps telling you. And you just swallow it down and stomach the pain like hot wire scalding your skin.

One day at a time.

When the night comes around, so do the nightmares. They leave you soaked in sweat, hair sticking to your damp forehead, eyes wide when they drag you from sleep. Blood curdling screams leave your lips, the raspy wails choking you as the tears pour like raindrops down your face.

And then there’s Joel slamming the door open, watching you with those sad brown eyes locked on yours, his soft voice calming you down from the brutal memories of the past that try to drag you back to the awful, pain-filled house. You’ll never go back. Not ever again.

Again, he doesn’t leave until you’ve calmed down enough. He asks if you want him to stay, sit in that same chair he sat in the entire night the evening before. But you shake your head and tell him you’ll be okay. But you’re not okay. You’re far from okay. And when he nods and walks out of the room and closes his bedroom door, you let the tears soak the sheets until you’re dragged back down into darkness.

That’s exactly how the next three days go. You stay in bed, only dragging yourself from the cool sheets to crawl to the bathroom. You have no strength, no will to do anything. So you stay in the safety of your room and just sleep, praying the nightmares will leave you alone for just one fucking day, but they don’t. They come like creatures in the night, swallowing you whole with their sharp fangs and feasting on your misery. They bleed you dry just like all those men did.

And then there’s Joel and those sad doe eyes… He scares away the nightmares sometimes. But you don’t dare tell him that. You just stay silent, letting him stalk the halls day and night until you’re pulled down to sleep.

It’s a repeated cycle that you can’t break: wake up, get a teeth clenching migraine, cry, fall back to sleep, wake up with nightmares clouding your mind, cry, let Joel talk you back to sleep, cry. But you can’t stop, can’t shake it. It’s like it’s ingrained deep in your mind, becoming a part of your new identity.

You’re completely hopeless.

And still Joel doesn’t push you, doesn’t make you do anything you don’t want to. He’s just a crutch that he’d gladly let you use, if only you’d touch him. But you don’t. You stay far far away from his tanned skin, his rough hands. You don’t want to be touched, and he doesn’t dare go there. He just stays like a lingering shadow in the hall, making sure you’re still here. Alive. He wants you alive, breathing. And you don’t know why…

When the fourth day comes around, you make it your goal to get up. You have to try; you can’t stay in bed forever, even if your weak body is completely revolting against any sort of movement. You ignore the blinding pain of your aching bones and push yourself out of bed. And that in itself is a step in the right direction.

With messy hair, sweatpants, and a purple hoodie, you take a deep breath and make your way out of the room, praying you can make it all the way downstairs. Every step feels like sharp glass shards cutting the bottom of your heels, but you fight the burning pain and walk on. You have to make it downstairs. You just have to.

Take it one step at a time. Joel’s soothing voice floats through your mind, and that alone is enough to get you down the steps and into the kitchen.

When you turn the corner and see him slumped against the counter, one elbow leaning against it and his other hand skimming the newspaper intently, you freeze in place. He must’ve not heard you tiptoe in because his eyes are locked tight on the folded black and white paper.

He’s focused, jaw tense as he reaches for his cup of coffee. It’s black. No cream, no sugar. Just black. And you can smell the fresh brew lingering in the air. His green flannel hugs his broad shoulders, the rolled up sleeves leaving his tanned forearms exposed to the light. His eyes have dark shadows underneath them, and he looks like he’s gotten just as much sleep as you have these past few days. Basically none at all.

Your eyes avert to the floor, your fingers nervously twisting into the soft fabric of the hoodie. You don’t know what to say, so you just take one more step into the lit up kitchen and clear your closed-up throat.

Joel’s eyes snap up, and he immediately drops the newspaper, pushing back his sturdy mug of black coffee. “Oh, hey. You’re up.” A ghost of a smile meets his lips and then those soft doe eyes appear.

He needs to stop looking at you like that, like you’re a lost puppy. But you won’t lie, they do make you feel a little safer.

Nodding your head, you push your hands inside the pockets of the hoodie, twiddling your thumbs mindlessly because you don’t know how else to act when anxiety and fright sit tucked away in the back of your mind.

“You hungry?” he asks, tilting his head as he studies you with soft eyes.

Those soft brown eyes…

Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. You’ve barely eaten the past few days, unable to stomach anything under than choking water down and only able to tolerate a couple pieces of toast. Anything else was left untouched, and all Joel would do was sigh when he kept seeing the full plates of food left on your nightstand. But again, he didn’t force you to eat anything, only encouraged you while he asked if you felt okay.

He was… too good. Why on earth did he choose to save you…

“Mhm,” is all you can hum out.

“Okay then. Why don’t you sit down, sweetheart. I can fix you somethin’ up real quick,” he answers from across the lavish kitchen, pulling out various ingredients from the refrigerator.

You slip into one of the barstools at the kitchen island and lean your elbows against the white quartz that reflect against the bright lights displayed high in the room. Your back is as stiff as a board, and your fingers knot together like you don’t know how to act when you’re in the presence of Joel. He won’t hurt you, yet in the back of your mind there’s always that little alarm that says you can’t trust anyone.

You can trust him. He’s safe.

“Apples or blueberries?” he calls out behind the open refrigerator door.

“What?” you ask confused as your eyes flick back up to him.

He leans his head out and smiles softly. “Which one do you like more, sweetheart? Apples or blueberries?”

You take a second to think on the question. He’s asking which you like more. He’s giving you a choice. Something you haven’t had in almost two years. Do you even remember how to choose anything for yourself? You doubt it.

“Oh, ummm,” you sputter out, fingers locked tight around each other. You almost think they’ll break with how hard you have them knotted together. “Blueberries,” is what you finally decide on through your racing mind.

He nods his head and grabs a container of fresh blueberries and sits them on the counter, pulling out other ingredients like butter and syrup. You sit there motionless while he gathers a couple of pans and glass plates out of the cabinet. And you just don’t know what to think about any of this.

After a couple minutes of just listening to him bustle around the kitchen, he breaks the silence. “You want some coffee? Just made a fresh batch a few minutes ago.”

Coffee. You don’t remember the taste of it anymore or how you even liked it. “Oh, okay. Yeah, I could take some coffee,” you say shyly with your hands still shoved deep in your pockets.

He wastes no time and pours you a cup, sliding a spoon in as warm steam escapes from the black liquid. “How do you like it? Black, sweet, lots of creamer?”

Your lips mold together in a tight line as you try hard to remember how you used to make it. You can��t recall anything you used to like before you were taken, and it makes you want to beat your fists on the countertop and spill the tears you’re trying so very hard to hold back.

“I don’t—I don’t remember how I like it,” you whisper, eyes dropped to the shiny island, legs trembling beneath you.

Joel takes a step in your direction and sets the steamy cup of coffee down in front of you. You can feel his body looming across the island, his large hands leaning against the quartz material, and those eyes. You feel how soft and sad and intently he’s looking at you, like he understands your pain.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me a second?” he asks quietly, his deep voice a staccato in the heavy air. When you lift your eyes, he gently encourages you by saying, “There ya go. Attagirl.” And for some reason, that makes you want to cry even more.

“S’alright, sweetheart. How ‘bout I leave out the cream and sugar, and you can make it sweeter if you don’t like it plain. That alright with you?” he asks softly, his gentle brown eyes locked on yours. You sniffle out a yes, and he gives you a small smile as he turns to grab the creamer and sugar.

You drag the coffee cup closer to you and tap your nails against the ceramic material, thinking long and hard about everything you’ve lost. What did you even like doing anymore? You can barely remember what you liked before the last couple of years were snatched away from you. You can’t even remember your favorite color…

When he returns and sets the bottle of creamer and a shaker of sugar down in front of you, you crack. A tear slips down your cheek, and you look up at him through glassy eyes. “I can’t remember what I loved to do before they—before they took me. My hobbies, my passions, my likes. I just don’t remember…” Your voice is barely audible as it shakes beneath your broken stature.

God, you’re so broken.

His jaw flexes and his knuckles tighten into closed fists. He seems angry, but those sad brown eyes tell a different story. He’s not mad at you; he’s furious about the ones that took your life away. The murders that tainted and destroyed your life, your mind, your heart. They took everything from you, and Joel knows this. He hates it as much as you do.

He takes a deep breath and relaxes his fingers against the cold material of the kitchen island, his brown eyes focused directly on you. His bottom lip twitches, and then he sighs as he speaks. “It’s gonna take a while, sweetheart. Gonna take time and work to remember what it was you loved before, what you lost. But I have no doubt that you’ll get ‘em back. You’re gonna discover new loves, new passions, new hobbies. And trust me when I say that you will thrive. One day, you’re gonna be soarin’, and all this pain and sufferin’ will be gone. Maybe not completely, but you’re gonna fly, sweetheart. Wings and all.”

Another tear escapes your lash line, and you nod up at him slowly. “Thank you…” is all you can muster out of your highly emotional state. Thoughts are hard after he just painted a masterpiece with his words.

You’re gonna fly, sweetheart. The words stay sealed in a safe space deep inside your mind. No one can take what he just said away from you. Words that were spoken straight from your savior. Words meant just for you. Wings and all.

“Why don’t you take a sip of your coffee? See how you like it.” He encourages you to try while he stands back and watches.

You bring the curve of the cup to your lips and take a small sip. As the warm liquid washes down your throat, your nose instantly crinkles up. Joel’s laugh floats around the room, bouncing off the stained cabinets and right back to you. You almost want to laugh back because his laugh is so infectious and light, but you don’t.

“Take it you’re not jus’ a plain cup of coffee type of girl,” he chuckles as he pushes back his sandy tousled hair, a couple strands of silver flashing beneath the bright lights.

“Guess not,” you reply as you reach for the sugar next. When you pour a large spoonful in and mix it up, you take another sip. It’s closer to your liking, but there’s still ingredients missing that you can’t recall.

“Not sweet enough for you yet?” he grins, taking a sip from his own coffee cup, watching you struggle with finding just the right mix.

“Not yet,” you sigh, annoyed with your own self from not knowing how to make your coffee anymore.

“S’alright. Try the creamer next. Maybe that’ll do it.”

As you start to pour the thick creamer into the warm liquid, he sets a shaker of cinnamon in front of you. And again, he just watches you with those warm milky-brown eyes.

You look at him all gawking and wordless, speechless because he’s trying to strike your memory, make you remember what you liked. He just stands there and smiles, watching you pour some cinnamon in next, like that’s what you needed. You don’t know why, but it makes your heart race just a beat faster.

“In case that’s what you were lookin’ for,” he replies, flicking his soft eyes down to the brown cinnamon atop the now lighter-colored coffee.

When he turns back around, a hint of a smile curls against your pink lips. In case that’s what you were looking for. He’s so… kind. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve him.

You take a sip of your creamy, sugared-up coffee and hum at the sweet taste. Almost there, almost how you want it. You toss in some more cinnamon, mixing it into the almost white liquid. And when the delicious flavor meets your tastebuds, you freeze.

Caramel. That’s the ingredient you’re missing. It’s like a lock clicked right into place. A lost piece that was missing, and Joel helped you find that piece of yourself again.

“Joel?” you call. His body whips around, and then those soft brown eyes are on you. Those doe-colored irises that make your mouth run dry.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, like he’s right at your beck and call.

“Do you by chance have any caramel?”

His eyes light up at that request, and he smiles warmly. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he grins.

He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls it open effortlessly, digging around until a small bottle of caramel materializes and lands in front of you, his fingers brushing past your coffee cup as he takes a step back.

“Hope you found what you were lookin’ for.” The way his deep timbre and the meaning of his words leaves you smiling behind the hand that’s leaning against your mouth.

“I think I did,” you say shyly up at him.

He chuckles and nods, knowing exactly what that means. “I’ll make sure to always have caramel stocked in the fridge from now on. Jus’ for you.”

Just for you.

A smile ghosts over your lips, and another tear leaks when you realize what just happened. You actually smiled. You smiled. Even just a small one is progress. Joel made that progress happen. He made you smile…

After pouring in a glob of syrup and stirring the sugary goodness with your spoon, you almost moan from the way the savory coffee hits you like you just swallowed the best piece of cake in the world. This is how you liked your coffee. Caramel, sugar, lots of creamer, cinnamon, warm. You just unlocked a forgotten piece in your mind, and it’s all because of Joel…

The way he’s looking at you, soft doe eyes and a big smile curled against his plush lips, makes you give him a small nod. And in that moment, you see a ghost of a tear in his clear brown eyes. He knows you just found another lost part of yourself, and he loves to see you discover it once again.

He ends up making you blueberry pancakes drenched in butter and syrup, and you have to admit that these are the best pancakes you’ve had in your entire life. While you indulge in the sticky, syrupy plate, Joel joins you at the kitchen island after a few minutes. He’s careful to sit one barstool away from you, knowing very well that you need your space. And that’s exactly what he does. Gives you space while also being close, present, in the moment. And you appreciate that about him. He’s respectful of your boundaries when no one else has ever been before.

He gives you a smile every once in a while as he sips his black coffee, barely touching his own pancakes. You think he just likes watching you eat, for whatever reason that may be. You know damn well you don’t look pretty shoveling a huge forkful of pancakes in your mouth, but you let him watch anyway. Maybe it’s because you aren’t used to being fed like this, only used to being starved to death. He’s trying to give you the freedom and enjoyment back in your life, you think. And that alone almost brings tears to your eyes.

Another couple of minutes goes by, and that’s when you decide to break the silence. Maybe he could answer some questions that’ve been crawling under your skin since the moment you stepped foot into this house. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” he hums, taking one more sip of his coffee and setting the mug down on the quartz island.

You take a second to breathe, tapping the fork nervously against the glass plate, gathering your words together. And then you ask the question that’s been eating you alive at night. “What were you doing at the auction, really?”

He taps his thumb against the brim of his coffee cup and stares off into the blue silently, his jaw slightly clenched. “I was there for business.”

“Business?”

“Yes,” he answers blatantly.

“Seems like you’ve done it more than once. Been at auctions, I mean.” You drag your fork over the syrup-filled plate, wondering what he’ll say next.

“That’s ‘cause I have,” he says as he swallows a sip of coffee, setting it back down carefully. Like he might break the glass if he’s too loud.

That doesn’t answer your question, so you grit your teeth together and ask again. “Why were you there, Joel?”

He sighs and runs his fingers back through his tousled curls, making it messy and disheveled as thick lines map across his tanned forehead. “Was tryin’ to find someone. A girl named Rebecca. Her family, they reached out. Told ‘em I would find her and bring her back home.”

Words get lodged in the back of your throat, your mouth suddenly dry as a desert. He was looking for someone but instead found you. He could’ve left you to the awful blonde man. The nameless face that still haunts your nightmares, depriving you of adequate sleep.

“Oh. I see…” you say quietly. “But you found me instead?”

He nods slowly. “S’right, sweetheart. Found you instead. Got you out jus’ in time, too. Glad I did.”

Your bottom lip quivers as tears prick the back of your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. He should’ve left you there to die. You already feel dead, so why does he want to bring you back to life?

“You could’ve just left me there. You could’ve just—” Your words are smeared with guilt because he shouldn’t have wasted his time and money and efforts on you. But he did, and you still don’t think you deserved it. His kindness. Just everything he’s done for you. You don’t deserve any of it.

“Whoa. Hold on there, sweetheart,” he says as he halts you from finishing your sentence. “I wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you. So don’t for a second think I would’ve.”

His sad brown eyes don’t help your trembling, but you just nod and brush away any trace of tears with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Okay,” you choke out.

His fingertips brush against the edge of the kitchen island and after another minute of silence, you ask the next question that you’ve been wondering. “What exactly is it that you do for work?”

He blows out a deep breath and answers. “I was a former CIA agent. After Sarah was taken, I did everything I could to find her and get her back. Turns out when I found her, I found ten other girls that were missin’. I decided then what my line of work was gonna be. Opened up my own private business that focuses on huntin’ down sex traffickers, shuttin’ down auctions, findin’ missing girls. A lot of families hire me to help bring their daughters home, and that’s what I do.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the information. Joel does this sort of thing on a weekly basis? “So, you’re kind of like a bounty hunter?”

“Something like that, I suppose,” he chuckles. “It’s almost like I never left my former position sometimes. But this seemed more important. After Sarah was taken, I made it my life’s mission to take down as many traffickers as I could. And trust me when I say I will find every single fucker that ever laid their filthy hands on you, and I will destroy them.”

You swallow back a lump in your throat and gawk at what he just said. “I don’t know what to say, Joel. That’s uhh—that’s…”

“Don’t gotta say anything, sweetheart. That’s a lot of information to take in.”

“You kill people?” you ask quietly, dropping your fork as it clatters against the glass plate. You’ve suddenly lost your appetite.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he sighs, dragging his palm down his patchy beard in deep thought.

“A lot?”

He nods. “I’ve killed a lot of bad men, sweetheart. Both for the CIA and for my own business. After knowing what most of ‘em have done, that’s the only thing you can do sometimes. ‘Cause if they go to prison, they’ll jus’ get bailed out and do it all over again. I’ve witnessed it happen quite a lot, unfortunately. So, the only way is to get rid of ‘em for good.”

“I see…” you whisper, twiddling your thumbs together mindlessly as your eyebrows knit together in concentration.

He kills people. Bad people.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable with this topic we can—”

You stop him right there by shaking your head, your eyes snapping up to look him intently in the eyes. “No. No, I just—that’s gotta be heavy, Joel. What you do.”

He groans under his breath and nods, his brown eyes heavy with years of dealing with traffickers. “It is, sweetheart. But I do it to make a difference. Seein’ those girls go back to their families, watchin’ ‘em get back to living their lives is truly worth the long nights and heartache of this job.”

Your eyes get a little foggy as you look at him like a lost puppy, admiration and sadness swirling through your irises. You don’t have a family to go back to. You don’t have anyone. But you don’t see Joel rushing to kick you out. In fact, he hasn’t even said anything on the topic yet. You don’t even know where you’d go, what you’d do.

How can a person get by in life if they don’t even know who they are anymore? You’d probably just wither away into burnt ashes if it wasn’t for Joel…

After a beat of silence, Joel digs around in the pocket of his denim jeans and takes something out. “Oh, and this is for you.” A new iPhone appears on the clean counter, and then he slides it over to you.

Your mouth drops open as you unlock the screen, your index finger flicking through the different pages.“You really got me a phone?” you ask with disbelief in your voice.

“Sure did, sweetheart. It’s got my contact information in there, and I put Sarah’s in there for ya. In case you wanna reach out. Or I could do it. Whatever you’re comfortable with. And Tess’s number is in there. Whenever you’re ready to talk to her, she’ll be there. Jus’ don’t push yourself. Only when you’re ready. You’ll know it when you are.”

Your lips tremble as you swallow back fresh tears. He’s already done more than you deserve. “Thank you, Joel. This is… this is more than I could’ve asked for. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

He holds up a palm to stop you, scoffing at the last sentence. “‘S’not necessary, sweetheart. You don’t owe me a dime.”

“But I—.”

“Hey, listen to me. You don’t owe me anything ever, sweetheart. Not a damn thing. The only thing you could possibly give me is the chance to see you healing from all this trauma. Learning to love life again is all I wanna see. Understand?”

He wants to see you enjoy life again. He wants to see you healing…

“Oh. I uhh—okay,” you stammer out quietly.

“Go on and finish your pancakes. You want some more coffee? I could—”

Before Joel can finish his sentence, the front door opens with a bang, and you jump in your seat, your fork going flying to the ground.

“Joel! Hey, Joel. We need to talk. I…”

Your eyes widen in fright as you see a tall man with slicked back dark, greasy hair standing in the hallway. The breath gets knocked from your lungs like you’ve been kicked in the chest, and adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. Fear sets you on edge, and all you can think is that this man is here to take you away or worse, hurt you.

No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening!

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls as he slips off his barstool, stalking toward the man with a matching pair of dark brown eyes. But they’re much darker than Joel’s.

“Joel, I—Oh.” The man freezes as Joel stands over him, clearly upset that he appeared out of thin air.

Your body tells you to run, to hide. So you slide off your stool and start to move quickly. Before you can get out of the kitchen, Joel stops you in your tracks.

“Hey, s’alright. He’s not gonna—” Joel coos, trying to calm you down, one arm outstretched like he’s reaching for you.

Your hands lock around the edge of the wall, trying to grip onto something that’ll ground you into place.

Calm down. He won’t hurt you. But you don’t know that. You don’t know this man. And you can’t trust any of them. Can you even fully trust Joel? You don’t know now.

“Tommy, I told you to call first. Don’t jus’ show up. You knew she was here! The hell’s the matter with you?” Joel growls, shoving him hard in the shoulder.

“Shit, Joel. I wasn’t even thinkin’. Sorry, I just assumed you talked to her already,” he apologizes, brushing off the spot on his leather jacket that Joel moved out of place.

You watch the banter between them, not knowing what to do or where to run.

“Well, I was ‘bout to. I said four in the afternoon, Tommy. Not the fuckin’ mornin’. Christ,” he scoffs, hands on his hips while his lips form into a tight line. “Now you apologize to her.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Tommy sighs, taking a step forward in your direction.

“Stay back,” you warn, trying your best to sound brave, but you’re anything but that.

“Hey, s’alright, sweetheart. He’s not gonna hurt ya,” Joel soothes slowly, stepping forward as his brown eyes soften when he looks at you. “This is Tommy. He’s my brother. He works with me. Actually helped me the night I got you out.”

Your eyes flick quickly between the two of them. Your mouth feels like sandpaper when you realize what he just said. He was there too? “He… helped you?”

Joel nods, keeping his distance to make you feel more comfortable. “S’right, sweetheart. Helped me get you out safely.”

“What…” you whisper, your eyes wide as you look at Tommy. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do right now as he stands between you and Joel, trying to figure out if he’s too close.

“It’s true, darlin’.” Tommy has the same mannerisms and Southern drawl as Joel. They really must be brothers.

“Th—thank you,” you say directly at Tommy, your hand dropping from the wall as your guard drops.

He smiles and stuffs his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Don’t mention it, darlin’. Glad you were able to get out of that hell hole.”

“Me too…” you answer back in a whisper.

“Joel, I need to speak with you for a minute.” Tommy nods his head toward the living room, and Joel looks between you and his brother, brows furrowed together undecidedly. He obviously knows how uncomfortable and uncertain you are with a strange man in the house. But this isn’t your house. It’s Joel’s.

“Is it alright if he comes in, sweetheart?” Joel looks over at you with soft brown eyes. And God, those fucking eyes will be the death of you.

“Why are you asking me? It’s your house. Why are you—.”

He rakes a palm down his thick beard and sighs. “‘Cause I don’t want you scared, sweetheart.”

You just stand there like an idiot looking between him and Tommy, deciding how this will go. Your body screams for him to leave, but half of you trusts Joel. And if he says he won’t hurt you then you know he’s not lying.

“It’s okay, Joel. He can come in,” you say hesitantly, your fingers curling in, making half crescent moons against your skin.

Tommy smiles while you just stand there silently, watching like a hawk. “Thank you, darlin’. You know you’re a brave girl, don’t you?”

You give Tommy a bewildered look and just shake your head while Joel watches the interactions between the two of you. “I don’t feel like one,” you half whisper out.

“Well, ya are,” he confirms.

Again, you stand and stare. Fingernails embedded into your palms. You might as well be drawing blood now.

“C’mon, Tommy.” Joel leads him into the living room, leaving you to an empty kitchen with half-eaten pancakes on the countertop. But your appetite has sailed away. And suddenly, you can’t even catch your breath.

You make your way over to the barstool, knocking the knife to the floor with a loud clatter. There you go again making messes. When will you ever learn?

You twirl a piece of hair anxiously, awaiting whatever the conversation is to be over. You don’t like not knowing what’s being said, especially when it’s two large men that could take you down in a matter of seconds.

Joel would never. At least you don’t think. It’s weird, the thing between you two. He saved you, continuously tries to comfort you in a way that you’ll accept, tries to take care of you. And you haven’t even been here a fucking week yet.

He’s… different. He wouldn’t hurt you. Not ever. At least that’s what you keep telling yourself. But his actions match his words. And he feels safe. But are you ever really safe anymore? Your body thinks not, and it makes you sick to your stomach.

You saunter over to the edge of the kitchen, leaning your ear against the edge of the wall, hoping to get a glimpse into their conversation. You have to know what’s being discussed. For your safety and the comfort of your mind. They could be discussing anything.

Leaning a little closer, you get a drift of their conversation.

“You sure, Tommy?”

“Positive. We got ‘em, brother. We found ‘em. And they’re not gettin’ away this time.”

Blood pumps like a fountain through your ears, and your nails dig in deeper into the painted wall. Who did they possibly find?

“You found ‘em. Shit.”

“That’s right. Now it’s time to give them what they deserve.”

You whip around the corner in a whirl and stomp into the room, arms crossed and on guard. Joel and Tommy snap their heads up, and Joel meets your eyes that are swirled with a look of desperation. A plea for him to trust you enough with whatever this is.

“You found who?” Your bottom lip trembles and your hands shake. You’re so fucking worked up over nothing.

“Oh—uhh.” Tommy looks from you and back to Joel, not able to make a decision.

“Tell me.” It isn’t a question but a demand. Not like you’re in a place to be demanding answers, but you deserve them. All the secrets Angela and her men kept left you vulnerable and in a dark place. And for fuck’s sake, you deserve to be told things.

Joel steps in and saves Tommy from the decision. “S’okay, Tommy. She has a right to know.” His dark eyes flick over Tommy and then back up at you, and they look a little softer when he’s specifically looking at you. “Some of the buyers. Tommy was able to track ‘em down. He was able to help shut down another auction last night, and some of the same men that were at yours were there.”

You stand there stunned and wide-eyed like you’re frozen to the wooden floor. Even… the blonde one?

Before you can ask, Tommy steps in. “Wasn’t jus’ me. My brother here helped. And some of our other men.”

Joel helped. But he was here? How could he…

“What umm—what happened?” you choke out. You can barely speak. Too stunned to barely even blink.

“Was able to take some of ‘em into custody. Got some of our other workers watchin’ ‘em. Makin’ sure they don’t see daylight again. Not until Joel—well, steps in.”

You drag your tongue gut wrenchingly slow over your bottom teeth and just stare with a locked jaw ahead at Joel. His eyes are the color of honey, fluorescent onyx swirling in those stormy eyes. But they’re still so fucking soft. Even though his jaw is clenched and his dark eyebrows are knit together.

He always looks at you so fucking soft. It’s hard not to just sink to the floor even though your heart is in your throat thinking about those filthy men.

“What guys exactly?” you grind out through your teeth.

Joel’s jaw clenches, his broad body becoming stiff and upright in the leather chair, palm raking heavily over his mouth. His dark, sad eyes tell you enough. He doesn’t even have to say anything for you to know who exactly he’s talking about. But you hold your breath nonetheless.

“The blonde…” he whispers out, his deep voice barely making a sound. But you hear it like a loud, booming crash of thunder as he nearly knocks you back two steps.

The blonde… the man that couldn’t fucking keep his hands off you. And those piercing blue eyes that dragged scars down your body.

Fright. Pain. Memories. You feel everything all at once. Suddenly, you don’t feel brave at all.

And then there’s Joel who’s looking at you like the lost kitten that you are.

“What about Angela or Garrett?” you spit out quickly, your hands trembling as every syllable scratches the surface. Their names feel like fire on the tip of your tongue.

“Haven’t been able to track ‘em down yet, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, his palm skimming over his patchy beard, brown eyes in a far away place.

“You mean they’re still out there somewhere…” you mutter, tears pricking at the back of your eyes just threatening to spill.

“S’alright. We’re gonna find ‘em. And when we do, you’ll be the first to know,” Joel confirms; Tommy nods beside him.

You and Joel continue watching each other, eyes never leaving one another. He looks like someone just stole the last piece of pizza from a box and tossed his dog out in the street. He looks just as wrecked as you do.

Lost. Abandoned. Betrayed.

You can’t seem to keep your footing, so you grab onto the railing of the staircase to keep yourself up. “I’m just—I’m going to go lay back down again.”

Joel gives you a nod, understanding hitting his dark brown eyes. He doesn’t want you to go back up just yet. “You gonna finish your pancakes?”

“Lost my appetite,” you shrug, your grip tightening against the smooth railing so you don’t fall back and crumble to the floor.

He looks at you for a good five seconds and nods, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t. “Alright, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” you shutter as you start to climb the marble steps.

“It was nice to meet you, darlin’. Take care now,” Tommy yells, but you don’t even stop to say goodbye to him because the tears come swimming in your vision.

By the time you get to your room, your eyes are heavy and blurry as tears stream down, tunneling your vision. You throw yourself against the sheets and get lost in the memories all over again.

There you are like a pretty diamond on display, men drooling and catcalling you as you cross the polished stage. And then the blonde’s hands are on you, his hot breath blowing down your breasts, hand sliding up the skirt of your dress, dipping underneath your lace. But Joel stopped him before he could go any further.

Joel stopped him.

You cry all over again from the night of the auction, the past hundreds of days you’ve been trafficked from state to state, not even knowing where you were most of the time. And then there was that house. That fucking rundown house where you were used and abused with the rest of the girls. Some didn’t even make it out alive…

You stay in the room the rest of the day. Mostly in bed. Except when you drag yourself up and force yourself to brush your teeth, wash your face, run the brush through your messy tangles. You need to do something other than rot in that big, comfy bed but for now, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

When 9:00 p.m. rolls around and the full moon is high in the sky, twinkling lights shining through the open window, Joel materializes in your doorway. Blue flannel buttoned up, hands deep in the pockets of his denim jeans, his greying curls disheveled, a concerned look on his tanned face. But the thing you notice is the jangle of keys in his pocket.

Why does it look like he’s leaving?

“Joel?” You yawn, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes as you sit up.

“Hey, sweetheart. You still up?” Joel leans against the doorway, biceps flexing beneath his flannel, the black Rolex on his left wrist glistening under the dim hall lights.

“Mhm. Still up. Barely.” You yawn and push yourself up to where you’re leaning against the intricate headboard with gold flecks splashed into the dark wood.

“Listen, there’s somethin’ I gotta take care of tonight. Should only be gone for a few hours but—”

You flinch at his words and swallow the lump that’s forming in the back of your throat. He can’t just leave. Not in the state you’re in. “You’re leaving me here? All alone? What if—”

He shifts his weight and takes a step forward, barely breaching inside your room. “S’alright. Maria, Tommy’s wife, is gonna come over while I’m gone. Didn’t think you’d be comfortable bein’ alone, and she was my next best thing. If you’re okay with that.”

You sit there tumbling his words over again in your head, repeating what he said. He’s not leaving you alone with a man but a woman. He thought you’d be more comfortable that way. Even though you don’t know her, Tommy was nice enough, or so it seemed. And if Joel trusts Tommy enough to be around you, then you think you’d be okay with Maria.

“I think so,” you muster out.

His chocolate eyes soften, and the crow’s feet pull tighter as a small smile spreads across his mouth. “Good. That’s good.”

“Where are you going?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as you watch him stiffen up at the question.

“Jus’ ‘bout forty minutes south of here. Shouldn’t take me too long.” He doesn’t answer specifically what he’s doing, but you have a feeling that it involves the blonde man that haunts your dreams.

“Is it dangerous?” You shift in the sheets and pull the velvety blanket tighter under your chin.

“Not tonight it ain’t.” He hesitates a little, and that makes you wonder if he’s not telling you everything because he doesn’t want to set you off again.

“Only a few hours?” you ask softer, voice low as your stomach twists and turns.

“Only a few,” he confirms.

“Okay.”

He hooks his thumb around one of his belt loops and pushes his other hand through his tousled curls, his brown eyes never leaving yours. There’s something heavy in his stare, but you can’t quite place what it is.

“Well, go on and get some rest, sweetheart. Shouldn’t be much longer until Maria gets here. I’ll introduce you before I leave for the night. But for now, I’ll let you sleep.”

You sink back under the sheets and get comfortable, the nightlight plugged into the wall the only thing glowing except the dim lights in the hall. As he turns to walk out, you stop him. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” He turns and smiles, and you can’t help but to feel a little flutter in your heart. He really has a beautiful smile.

“Promise me you’ll come back.” Your eyebrows thread together in concern, fingers curled firmly under the sheets.

“I promise,” he nods, flashing you another smile. There’s no lie in those brown eyes of his.

“Okay.” You give him a tight-lipped grin and let out another yawn, sleep about to take hold of you once again.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He pulls the door closed and when it shuts with a soft click, you call out goodnight too.

In another half hour Maria gets to the house, and you get a brief introduction with her. But sleep is all you can think about, except for Joel leaving. You don’t want to think about that, so you fall back into bed and force yourself to succumb to the darkness. Maybe when you wake up then Joel will be back home.

Please, come back.

Joel makes his way into the private warehouse, one that’s small and tucked away north of Austin. No one ever lurks around these parts. If they did, Joel would know instantly because there’s cameras all around the perimeters.

The metal door slams closed as he stalks in, pushing past empty boxes and wooden crates that sit scattered next to dusty shelves. He pushes himself forward deep into the warehouse, close to the back where he knows the fucker is at. He’s going to fucking rip his icy blonde hair from the scalp and kill him for what he did to you and every other girl he’s gotten his filthy hands on.

Blood boils like lava in his veins and his hands are fisted at his sides, ready to finish what he should’ve that night of the auction. One punch wasn’t enough. Not when he was defiling you like a dog.

Joel hates him and everything he stands for. But tonight, Carter Williams wouldn’t get away with what he’s done. No. Joel would end him.

The dim lights overhead pop and flicker, anger brimming in his blood-red eyes. When’s the last time he got a full night’s rest? Not since he rescued you. No. He’s been too worried sick over you.

God. He’s never going to get the memory of how absolutely terrified you looked that first night. Won’t ever get the image of your pretty eyes filled with tears, blood running down your soft skin all because he wouldn’t call you a whore and wouldn’t dare ask you to get on your knees.

Goddamn it. He won’t ever forget that. He wants to strangle every single fucking person that ever gave you that mindset. Wants to completely ruin them for making you feel like all you were worth was for getting used and abused by disgusting men.

You’re not any of those things they made you believe. You’re a beautiful, broken woman that needs time to heal and fall in love with life again. He’ll help you get there as much as he can. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you and those big doe eyes.

Fuck. He’s going to break every single one of them. Starting with Carter.

As Joel rounds the corner and kicks a metal pole forcefully, he comes face to face with Carter. The fucker that’s going to die tonight.

His hands sit bound behind him tightly. Wrists, ankles, and chest restrained around the cold metal chair with sharp-edged rope. Blonde hair is slicked back with a tinge of blood perspiring down his sweat-drenched forehead. His stormy eyes widen when he sees Joel appear before him like a dark shadow.

“You!” Carter accuses, glowering at Joel who lives a double life night after night. “You were the one at the auction!”

Joel crosses his arms across his broad chest and smirks, eyes darkening as he focuses on the man that caused you pain. It makes his fingers twitch from anger. “I was.”

“Let me go, man! I didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve got the wrong guy,” Carter shouts, twisting in his confines, thinking he can escape his restraints. He’s not getting that lucky tonight.

“Didn’t do anything wrong, huh?” Joel asks, raking his fingers slowly through his patchy beard, trying to hold on for just one more second before he explodes with rage. He chuckles and shakes his head in unbelief, and then he throws a punch against Carter’s jaw. Blood spews from his mouth and lands across Joel’s button-up, but he could care less at the moment.

“Shit! What was that for?” Carter chokes out, a purplish, red tinge bruising his now swollen face.

“That’s for touchin’ what doesn’t belong to you,” he scowls, jaw locked tight like a hidden safe.

“Oh, I see. This is about that bitch you bought,” Carter spits.

Joel jumps as fast as lightning and grabs Carter by the throat, his hold firm as he squeezes just enough to get his point across. “Call her that one more time and see what happens,” he warns, glaring at the pathetic man who got caught.

Carter gasps for air the second Joel releases his hold and howls out a raspy laugh that sounds like poison to Joel’s ears. When he finds his voice again, he smirks like the bad guy that he is. “Go on then. Do your worst. I’ve already seen her on video. Legs spread, tight pussy being fucked by some—”

Joel takes the back of his hand and smacks him across the cheek so hard that blood spews from his mouth. “I said shut the fuck up!” he screams, his angry words echoing around the walls of the stuffy warehouse.

He’s going to fucking kill Carter. One more word and he’ll end it with the snap of his finger. He just needs that tiny push over the edge. One more revolting comment about you and his life is over.

Hell, it is already over.

Joel paces back and forth uncontrollably in front of the man whose face looks like it’s been through a bar fight. His hands clenched into tight fists at his side, jaw locked, narrowed eyes that could kill with a single stare. He’s livid, way over the edge of being angry. He could kill a whole goddamn room of traffickers and buyers at this rate. If more were here, they’d be finished.

Carter rudely interrupts Joel’s chaotic thoughts and murmurs lowly. “Is she really worth the trouble, man? What? You gonna beat me to death because of her? She’s not worth it.”

“She’s worth everything!” he shouts, his deep growl echoing around the room. He can almost feel his blood boiling beneath him like he’s already on fucking fire.

“So, this is what it’s about? You want to ruin me because I tried ruining her,” he chuckles darkly, like he has no remorse in any stiff bone in his body.

Fucking bastard.

“It’s part of it,” Joel says with a clipped tone, his fingernails digging into the denim of his pockets like he’s about to rip them clear off.

He needs to calm down, but he can’t. Not when he’s in the presence of a beast who tried to dig his claws into your delicate skin. So, he won’t be calm. He’ll be chaotic instead.

“Don’t act like you know me,” Carter shakes his head, tendrils of smeared red strands falling over his cloudy eyes.

“Oh, I fuckin’ know you alright. Read up on your filthy past,” he growls. “How many women have you taken? How many have you kidnapped, raped, murdered? How many did you fuckin’ wreck? More than ten, you son of a bitch,” he storms, kicking over an empty bucket and cursing under his breath when he walks off the pain that spreads like wildfire through his foot.

“Was worth it, and I’d do it all over again,” Carter replies with a smirk.

That does it. Something snaps inside Joel. Hard. A feral growl leaves his throat and then he’s jumping in front of Carter, his hand wrapping tightly around his neck until he sees red flash in Carter’s dead eyes.

“You sick fuck. You know what I do to men like you?” he screams, wrath swirling off his tongue and making his fingers curl extremely tight around Carter’s pale skin.

Carter hacks violently under Joel’s grip. He’s only able to get dry coughs and garbled words out until Joel backs off just enough to where he can speak. “What, kill them? Go ahead. Fucking kill me. It won’t make a goddamn difference because there’s one of me all over these states. And the trafficking isn’t going to stop with me. The buying isn’t going to stop. It’ll keep happening over and over and over again.”

Joel fists Carter’s short locks until he’s cringing in pain, snarling a pit bull glare into his piercing blue eyes that are laced with pain.

“Well, it ain’t gonna hurt when you’re dead and buried six feet under the ground!” Joel says with bared teeth, blowing hot air into Carter’s clenched face.

“You can’t save all of them, you know. You can’t save her.”

That strikes a nerve in Joel, a sharp ache stabbing him directly in the middle of the chest. He drops his tight hold on Carter and takes a step back, eyes blown wide with guilt.

He couldn’t save them all. He didn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t save her. But through all the pain that’s flaring in his body, all the lost souls that he’ll never be able to avenge, one thing still rings clear. He saved you… when he couldn’t even save himself. But he still saved you.

He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh, holding back tears he refuses to shed. He’s not a weak man, but he’s so weak for you.

“I have to try…” he whispers, his voice broken and muddled against the slight echo and dripping sounds from the leak in the ceiling.

For a moment it’s silent, only the screaming voices in his head breaking the stillness. He almost forgets that Carter’s there, until he hears his choppy voice gritting against his eardrums.

“You’re going to fail, you know,” Carter whispers, taunting him again with the rasp of his throat.

“What did you say?” Joel asks, whipping around to face the blue eyes of a killer. A killer he’ll surely strangle to death.

“You’re going to fail her. You’re going to fail her so hard that she goes running when you try to fix her. She’s beyond repair, and you know it,” he spits out, smirking like a madman who’s lying through his bloody teeth.

“No, she ain’t,” Joel snaps, eyes narrowed and fists clenched at his sides.

“Yeah, she fucking is. You know how many men fucked and abused her? Do you know what her handlers put her through? Do you know how many women she’s seen murdered right in front of her eyes?”

“I fuckin’ know enough! So jus’ stop! Jus’ shut your fuckin’ mouth!” He’s way past angry. He feels feral with the need to choke this man out just to silence him enough to where he won’t hear how broken you really are. Joel knows this. He knows the unimaginable pain you’ve been through. The abuse, the torture. They tried to fucking destroy you, and this fucker was one of them.

“I was going to give her a nice home, you know. Yeah. Was going to treat her real nice. Like a brand new dog. Maybe teach her some table manners. Bitches always get on their knees before their meal is served,” Carter chortles with wicked eyes. Eyes that could burn icy flames out of those hellish blue pits. But Joel would burn them out first. Maybe jab a knife through his skull. He wasn’t about to let Carter win this war.

“Fuckin’ stop,” Joel warns with a deep scowl, teeth clenched as he fists the front of Carter’s blood-soaked shirt.

He slips the semi-automatic handgun from the back pocket of his jeans and triggers the safety off. His arm darts out as he shoves the barrel of the gun to Carter’s sweat-soaked forehead, daring him to say one more goddamn thing about you. He swears he’ll shoot. He won’t even flinch. Not when it comes to protecting you.

He only needs one fucking reason to blow Carter’s head off, but he has more than enough reasons now. “I swear to God if you don’t stop—.”

Carter gives Joel a devious smirk as he watches Joel’s finger hover over the trigger. He knows Joel won’t hesitate. He’s just pushing him to the edge until he snaps.

“You want me to stop? Not until you hear all the filthy ways I was going to fuck—”

“I said enough!” Joel seethes, anger taking over every single nerve ending in his body until he completely snaps. He pulls the trigger and watches the bullet fly through Carter’s forehead, spewing blood all over the front of Joel’s button-up, sloshing droplets of crimson on his wrinkled forehead. He’s too worked up and furious to even care.

He’s fucking wrecked.

He steps away from the pool of blood at his feet, teeth bared as he clicks the safety on, sliding the gun into his back pocket once again. But this time, blood is smeared across the metal barrel, reminding him of the mess he just made.

His head is fuzzy, shapes foggy, and he’s got a raging migraine that could take him to his knees in an instant. He needs sleep, needs to wash off the blood of the day, bask in the darkness where he lingers most sleepless nights. He needs to get a handle on this grief that eats him alive night after night. But he can’t. And ever since he took one look at you, his mind has barely thought of anything else.

Scared. You were so fucking scared. The way you walked sheepishly across that stage, high heels dragging while you held back muted tears. And in that moment, he wanted to kill every goddamn man in that room of sinners.

Isn’t that what he’s doing now? Avenging you and every other girl those vile men did unspeakable things to. He’s going to fucking…

“Joel?”

Joel’s name pulls him out of the fog just long enough to realize Jimmy, one of his workers, was calling his name.

“Clean up this mess. I can’t be here right now. Gotta get home,” Joel replies quickly, voice strained as he clenches his jaw tight.

“Sir, you good?” Jimmy tries again, dark eyes trying to read Joel.

“I’m fine. Call me when you’re done here. Make sure no trace is left.” He walks out of the room, passing a few of his other workers until he’s making his way out of the stuffy building, letting the door slam behind him with a bang.

Once he’s in his truck and turning the key in the ignition, he slams on the gas and makes a run for it, leaving behind the giant mess he just caused. Carter was going to end up dead either way. Joel just decided he couldn’t stand another fucking word out of that bastard’s mouth.

He clenches the leather steering wheel so tightly that he leaves claw marks in the black material. A hand rakes slowly down his patchy beard, trying his best to alleviate some of the rage, but nothing helps. Maybe seeing that you’re sleeping peacefully tonight might help him calm down a bit. Maybe just maybe you’d be the cure to his never-ending suffering.

When he pulls up in the long driveway and kills the gas, he hops out and rushes to the front door, barely stopping at the bottom of the stairs to even say hi to Maria. Right now he just needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still breathing, still in one piece, still alive.

“Whoa there. Everything go okay?” Maria asks as she shoots off the leather couch and paces toward Joel, a look of worry flashing across her wide eyes.

“As good as it could’ve,” Joel rasps, wiping the dried blood from his forehead.

Maria looks him up and down, taking in the stained flannel and tendrils of messy curls that stick to his sweaty skin. “By the looks of your shirt and your face, guess you got him.”

He nods, letting the ice settle deep in his bones. “I got the son of a bitch alright,” he growls.

Maria stares at him with concern swirling in her dark eyes, her body stiff as she folds her arms over her chest to take a good look at him. As if she’s just seen death in his hazy eyes. “Hey. You alright? You look—”

“Tired? That’s ’cause I am,” he sighs, lacing his fingers back through his dark locks.

But the wavering stare she gives him makes it seem like tired isn’t the word she was going for. Defeated might’ve been a better word. Because right now that’s exactly how he feels.

Destroyed.

“I’ll just get out of your hair,” she murmurs, leaving him with a light pat to the back of his shoulder. But before she can grab her keys off the coffee table, he stops her.

“Maria, wait. Thank you. For watchin’ her for a few hours.” He gives her a tight-lipped smile, and she nods back in return.

“It was no trouble, Joel.”

“How is she?” he asks, letting the stuffy air settle while she shifts her weight on the wooden floor.

“She’s sleeping. She’s fine,” she confirms with a smile.

He lets a puff of air leave his lungs, thankful you’re safe and sleeping.

“Good. That’s good. Thank you, again. I really appreciate it, Maria. I know it was last minute and all.”

She presses a palm into his bicep, giving it a light squeeze, letting him know it’s all fine. “It was really no problem, Joel. Whenever you need me to come back over, I won’t even hesitate.”

Joel nods in thanks, letting her walk toward the front door. But before she decides to leave, she turns and leaves him with one more thing. “She’s a lovely girl, Joel. Nice, sweet, a little shy. She’s lucky you found her.”

His spine goes stiff, a lingering sensation crawling up his skin, bubbling its way into his brain. She’s lucky you found her.

“Yeah… she is.”

“Well, goodnight. I’m going to head back home to Tommy. I’ll see you later.” She makes her way out the door, the lock clicking in place once she’s gone.

“Night, Maria…” he finally croaks out, throat suddenly tight as he hears the creak of bed springs and a tiny whimper float down the end of the hallway upstairs.

He rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard, sighing as he climbs the marble staircase. He’s prepared for another restless night, knowing you’ve been having nightmares every single night since you’ve been here. Every single time he makes sure to check on you, wake you from your violent nightmares. And every fucking time you wake up with bloodshot and tear-soaked eyes, it makes him want to wrap you in his arms until he can soothe the nightmares away. But he can’t. He just can’t.

When he makes it up the staircase and down the hall, his foot hits a particularly creaky spot in the floor, and he curses under his breath when he hears you shift in the bed and stir awake.

“Joel?”

Fuck. He didn’t want to wake you. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Looking just as much of a monster as Carter did.

The blood. It’s going to fucking terrify you. And that’s the last thing he wants. You to be scared of him. He doesn’t want you to fear him because he’d never ever hurt you. Never dare lay his fingers on you without your consent. He’d rather chop his own hand off with a dull blade.

But you’d still be scared either way. Blood or not.

He takes a deep breath and spins around, hovering in your open doorway and giving you a strained smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine. I was just…” You gasp, eyes wide and wild as you take in his bloodied flannel and disheveled hair. “Your shirt. The blood. Are you hurt?” You look scared, worried, and it makes his heart clench at the sight. You don’t need another thing to worry about. He’ll be fine, even if he doesn’t feel fine.

“Nah. It’s—not mine,” he stills, fingers clenched around the stained material.

You knit your brows together, studying him closely as you analyze the splattered blood stains on his cotton material. “Whose is it then?”

He flinches, not wanting to tell you what he did. Even if Carter deserved a thousand deaths, each one worse than the other, he doesn’t know how you’ll respond to this. He doesn’t want you afraid.

He takes another deep breath, inhaling as much oxygen as his lungs can take in. Because in the next moment, he might not have any left.

Carefully, hesitantly he lets his raspy voice choke out. “Oh. It’s ummm. It’s the blonde’s blood…”

You still, eyes blown wide, mouth dropped open like you’ve just been shocked by lightning. Your body becomes stiff, as stiff as a wooden board, fingers curling nervously against the lavender comforter. You look lost, wading off into the distant sea, waves carrying you far far away until he can’t reach you anymore. Until the sea swallows you whole.

Damn it.

“Oh. Oh… I see,” you whisper out, jaw tight as your eyes travel up to his.

Jesus. Those fucking sad eyes. It could bring a man to their knees. They’d bring him to his knees.

“What was his name?” you ask hesitantly.

“Sweetheart. I don’t think—”

“Tell me,” you plead adamantly. “Please...” Your voice is a breath of a whisper, just loud enough to stir a hurricane inside his hollow chest.

And then he breaks as a wave of grief washes over his slack jaw.

“His name was Carter,” he finally says, breath shaky as his eyes momentarily fall to the dark wood, until he’s looking right back at you and those fucking eyes that are full of fear and hurt.

“So he’s dead?” you ask muffledly, your features frayed as you contemplate his answer.

“Yes,” he confirms, his blood-stained shirt suddenly feeling too suffocating and tight, like someone is trying to strangle him to death.

Another beat of silence falls over the dark room casted in shadows, ghosts of green trees swaying in the moonlight behind the glass window that overlooks the slumbering forest.

You lick your bottom lip slowly, fingers twisted against the sheets, your eyes looking vacant and lost as you contemplate. “How many—how many women.”

He knows exactly what you’re asking. How many women has he hurt, killed, mutilated to shreds.

“More than a dozen…” he says calmly, his fists tight at his sides as the flash of a bullet and blood invade his thoughts.

You slowly nod and curl in on yourself, your knees folding into your chest, blanket tucked up under your chin, your eyes vacant as he sees your trembling form relive the past all over again.

He can’t see you like this. Like you’re being tortured all over again. Like there’s not a single thing he can do right at this moment to make you feel better. He wants to wrap you in his arms, tell you it’ll be okay, that no one will ever hurt you again. He wants to take the pain away from you; suck it all out so he can carry the burden instead of you.

You… how could they ever hurt you? You’re too… special. They took everything from you. Took every last fucking piece until you were left on the floor like a broken vase, glass shards unrecognizable until all the glitter and shine was scraped off and covered in dirt. They wrecked you, and he fucking hates them for it.

Diamonds aren’t supposed to break or lose their shine. They’re meant to be treasured, taken care of, meant to never be broken. But you… you’re so very broken. And all he knows at this moment is that he’d do anything to see you smile again. He’d do anything to put all the shattered pieces together until you’re sparkling like glitter even in the darkness.

“Are you… okay?” he asks hesitantly, like he might crack you like the spine of a new book if he talks too loudly.

“I’m… yeah. I’m okay,” you reply with a muted response, lips quivering, tears licking at the edges of your waterline. You’re not okay. You’re far from okay, but you put on a brave face anyway. Even if you’re lying through your teeth. You want to be okay, so that’s what you say. Maybe if you let the words fall off your quivering lips then you’ll believe them.

But he knows the truth. You’re fragmented and defeated. This much he does know.

When you look up with tears welling in your eyes, he freezes, jaw clenched as he stares at the face of a woman who had her entire life ripped from her own hands. Hands that were never meant to be ripped open and scarred from filth and grime. Your life was never theirs to take, but they took it anyway.

Your big doe eyes sear into him, splitting him in two until he feels pain radiate down his chest, suffocating his insides like oxygen is being stolen from his lungs.

Stop that. Stop looking at me like you want me to fix you. Like you want me to wrap you up in my arms until all the pain is gone. That’s what he sees when you look at him like that. Like you want him to make it all just stop. Drown the noise out until you can’t hear the world tilt on its axis anymore. Until you just feel peace.

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him with those beautiful doe eyes, your held back tears making them glitter in the moonlight. God, he’s never seen such big sad eyes. Eyes that could make a grown man crumble into tiny pieces by both heartbreak and awe.

He can’t fix you, can’t make the pain stop, can’t wipe your memories from the hell you’ve managed to survive the past almost two years. He can’t even… fuck. He can’t even hold you the way you should be held. Gentle, tender, affectionate. That’s what you deserve. And he can’t fucking do that because you’re so traumatized and fragile that even one light caress would send you into an unbreakable panic attack.

He just… cares. He cares a lot. And there’s nothing much he can do except slowly show you how good life can be again. He just wants to see you smile. And that’d be enough. That’s honestly all he wants — you happy again. He knows you can bloom. And one day you will. Just like a pretty sunflower that thrives in the giant Texas fields.

One day you’re going to be that sunflower. And he’ll be there to see you blossom and sprout.

They might have cut down your stems, ripped out your strong roots, destroyed your green leaves, crushed your beautiful bright petals. Making sure to kill everything that was good inside you, but Joel would replant you. He’d watch you grow until you bloomed into the most lavish garden he’s ever seen in his entire life.

You’re going to thrive. One day at a time, you will get your petals back. He’ll put his life on that promise.

The weight of your heavy stare and the thick fog that hangs in your room makes him dizzy, makes him a little off kilter every time you flash your teary eyes his way. He can’t see you cry. Not right now. Because then he’d want to wrap you so tight in his arms that all your pain would fade away. But he can’t do that, and he knows it. So, he’ll do the only thing he can before he breaks in two himself.

Leave. Not the perimeters of the house, just your stifling room.

“I’m gonna jus’—go lay down. You know where to find me if you need me,” he mutters under his breath, his hand finding the edge of your solid door until your shaky breath stops him cold.

“Joel?”

He can barely turn his head, too afraid that if he looks at you one more time tonight that he’ll finally crack. “Yeah?” he chokes out.

“Thank you…”

One more look at your starry doe eyes and he’s gone.

His hand finds the cold doorknob while he gives you a tight-lipped smile and gently closes the door behind him. Your wide doe eyes will surely haunt his dreams tonight. If he even gets any sleep. He thinks he won’t, even if his body is screaming at him, wanting to drag him down until he sees nothing but the backs of his dark eyes.

When he finally releases his hand from the doorknob, he stops in his tracks, back suddenly rigid when he hears the faint sounds of your voice cracking, finally letting the tears shed from your eyes. The sound nearly takes him to his knees.

He slides down to the ground, back flush to the closed door, sinking lower until he’s sitting against the hard floor feeling completely defeated. He feels as if a large anchor got thrown down on him, chaining him to the cold wood, imprisoning him to hear your muffled cries through the cracks in the walls.

He’s so fucking weak. Every part of him is telling him to run into your room, take the pad of his thumb and wipe the tears from your eyes, hold you against his firm chest until you’re quiet and calm, until he can rock you to sleep and take every ounce of pain you feel.

But instead, he sits there like a fool with his head hanging low between his thighs, elbows resting on his aching knees, fingers lacing roughly through his mess of greying curls. He needs to get a grip on himself, needs to find just one speck of courage to drag himself to his room. But he finds none, letting the grief and despair chain him right against your door.

He can’t stay like this forever. Can’t stay glued to this spot where he can hear you cry yourself to sleep. But he just can’t shake how scared and vulnerable you looked the moment he told you about Carter. Or yet, even just the look on your face when he walked over and you asked if he was hurt.

He is hurt and he feels a sharp blade slicing straight down his spine, opening him up and cutting out his nerve endings until he can’t feel the weight of those sad fucking doe eyes.

Your pain is now his because he feels everything that you keep bottled up inside. Just like spilled perfume, he’ll soak you up until your pain is no more. He’ll swallow all of it like a spoonful of cough syrup until every last drop is gone.

After half an hour of sulking on the floor, your cries die out, and then you’re sound asleep, escaping your pain for just a little while. Until the nightmares run rampant. So, he drags himself to his room, doesn’t even bother shedding his clothes, too tired to do anything but sleep. And when he falls into his bed, he instantly passes out and lets the pain swallow him whole.

The last words he hears echoing in his head are ear splitting. You can’t save all of them, you know. You can’t save her.

But he’ll try. One way or another, he promises to save you.

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merakiui · 8 months ago

Text

RABU.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, brief nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, implied murder/death, implied cannibalism, pregnancy, obsession note - i chatted with @heyyy11 and we discussed noodle shop owner jade!! :D this fic is the result of our thoughts. additionally, it's inspired by maretu's "binomi" and lyrics featured are from mitski's "me and my husband."

i. i steal a few breaths from the world for a minute. and then i’ll be nothing forever. and all of my memories and all of the things i have seen will be gone. with my eyes, with my body, with me.

There’s a pot of perpetual stew sitting on the stove.

It fills the small shop with savory scents, enthralling all who catch its delicious aroma on the air. Your husband of twenty years tends to it every now and then, lifting the lid to stir through its contents with a large wooden spoon. Regulars stop by for a fix of his food and comment much the same thing each time: “That husband of yours sure loves his stew.”

“Oh, he can’t get enough,” you would always reply, giggling at their observations.

You would then scrawl their usual orders in your notepad and they’d give you a knowing look. Still so infatuated even though two decades have passed—aren’t you the sweetest? But you can’t help it. Your husband is everything: affectionate, attentive, a masterful chef…

His forever single twin brother often groused that Jade got all the good fortune. “Y’know, if you’re ever tired of Jade, I’m here for ya,” he’d say, leaning over the counter with a sleazy smirk. “Shrimpy’s free to visit whenever she wants. My arms are always open.”

And Jade would smile tightly at him, brush him away with his broom, all while saying, “I’m afraid the shop’s closed now. You’ll have to come back tomorrow, Floyd.”

He acts in jest. Mostly.

Shortly after your wedding, on your first night as newlyweds, the two of you made a compromise. Jade wanted a family; you weren’t ready to start one. And so, in order to work through this dispute, you came to an agreement: He would be in charge of the prep work for the noodle shop he intended to open—a metaphorical child more than anything. In return, you would take orders and chat with customers. A fair deal, one you thought was attractive in its own right. Jade, ever so patient and understanding, lounged beside you in bed, gesturing towards the ceiling as if attempting to spell out the vision before your very eyes. He spoke so eagerly of his dreams. It warmed your heart.

Naturally, just as passionately, you would support him in his every endeavor.

“What do you think of this name? Rabu Rabu Ramen.”

You rolled over on your side, snuggling closer. You couldn’t snuff the overwhelming elation and tenderness that wrapped itself around you whenever you looked at him. And he was all yours—your husband to love forever, to grow old with, to experience life’s highs and lows together. Your wedding night was just the beginning of what would surely be a riveting romance.

“It’s silly.”

“It’s lovey-dovey.”

“If you like it, I like it.”

“Truly?”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t long before fantasy bled into reality. The both of you found a quaint spot in a quiet neighborhood. It was more hole-in-the-wall than you would’ve liked, but Jade didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes tourists stumbled in, commenting that they would’ve missed it had they not ventured down the narrow path. Jade liked that aspect. It was secretive, peaceful, off the beaten track…

By the end of your first year running the shop, plenty of praise had spread throughout the neighborhood. You learned the locals’ names and faces quickly, committing each to your memory as if there might be an exam later on. They thought you were the cutest, the way you’d take charge of the front while your husband worked diligently in the back. Grandmothers adored you, and they made sure to point out the obvious at every opportunity.

“Omago-san, it’s too quiet in here! You’re still so young. Plenty of time for a family. Tell that husband of yours to get busy!”

You could only offer an awkward smile. “Maybe one day.”

When that ‘one day’ would be, you couldn’t say.

It’s become something of a widely-held belief that Jade can’t make a single bad dish. Everything on the menu is scrumptious. From the homemade noodles to the variety of broths to the additional ingredients, each prepared by Jade’s adroit hand, it’s a feast for the ravenous.

Sometimes customers ask for recommendations, and if you aren’t careful you’ll end up fawning over every dish.

“It’s all so amazing, but I like my ramen with bone broth. My husband makes it better than I do.”

It was true. You couldn’t possibly replicate Jade’s skill in the kitchen. At the very least, when it comes to tea, you’re on an even playing field.

“Just what’s his secret anyway?”

To that question, you could only offer a shrug. “Maybe it’s love?”

Jade told you it was a family recipe—a cherished secret passed through the generations. You thought he’d confess at some point now that you’ve been part of the family for so long, but he’s yet to do so. It hurt at first. You’re married! Family! Jade is smooth about the entire thing, promising to tell you one day, easing all of your worries with sugared sentiments. You’re impatient and oh-so-curious, but you force yourself to wait for his sake.

It must be a special secret.

The pot on the stove is an heirloom. It’s old, yet reliable and sturdy. Jade’s mother gifted it to him in the wake of your engagement. Sometimes you think he treasures it more than anything. He’s always hovering near it, having forbidden you from lifting the lid, lest you unintentionally tamper with whatever it is he’s cooking. It smells hearty like meat stew most days, and according to Jade the process is long.

You linger near the stove. A tiny taste wouldn’t hurt, right? After all, Jade cooks things in excess to cure what appears to be an interminable hunger.

But then someone pokes their head inside the shop, calling out a greeting. You move to the front just as Jade returns from the storage room, carrying a crate of vegetables. That taste will have to wait.

Detective Azul Ashengrotto lowers onto a stool at the counter and heaves an exhausted sigh.

“If it isn’t Azul! What brings you here? Tired of the big city?”

Weary hues flick over your face. He manages a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, (Name). You’re still as energetic as ever.”

“You know it. Every day’s sunny over here.” You rest your elbows on the counter and hum. “Although it’s been awfully slow today.”

“I envy you.” He lifts his hat off of his head to card a hand through tousled hair. Now that you’re looking at him, he seems to have lost some weight. His face is thinner. His eye sockets appear hollow, heavy with shadows. “They’re running me ragged over there. Too many cases. Not enough answers.”

“You ought to take better care of your health.”

“I am—will. I plan to as soon as I wrap up this current case.”

“What’s it about? If you can tell me, that is.”

“A young man went missing near the port. They think he might’ve fallen in and drowned. His wallet was brought up from the seabed, but they haven’t recovered his body yet.”

“How unfortunate… I’m sure his family’s distraught.”

Azul drags a hand down his face and sighs again. “A mess.”

“My, my. It’s been some time since I’ve heard that familiar sigh.”

Lowering his arm, Azul fixes him with a sardonic grin. “How kind of you to join us. I was starting to wonder where you were hiding.”

Jade hums and adjusts his bandana. “Forever confined to the kitchen. My wife is eating for two now.”

A minute ticks by before the realization flashes on Azul’s face. He looks between the both of you, stunned.

“Oh, you’ve—wow. I wasn’t expecting… Ahem. Congratulations.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s talking about his stomach. I’m not pregnant.”

Azul’s countenance shifts through a catalogue of emotions before landing on a scowl. “To think I actually believed you for a moment. I rescind my congratulations.”

“My poor hara, endlessly empty without your sweet sentiments to fill it.”

“And my hara is telling me that you’re going to starve our guest if you keep being silly.” Clicking your tongue at him, you turn your much softer stare on Azul. “The usual, right?”

“Oh, thank you, but I ate before I came. I only intended to stop in and say hello since I was in the area. I really should be leaving now that—”

“Nonsense! You’re already here and Jade has nothing better to do. You should go back on a full stomach.”

“Indeed. A delicious bowl of tonkotsu ramen has your name on it,” Jade adds from his place in the kitchen. “And I do so love busying these idle hands of mine. Should they remain idle, I fear the devil may just find work for them…”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You look so withered, Zuzu. You’ll feel better after a hot meal. I promise!”

The platonic affection twined through the nickname catches him by surprise. Huffing, his cheeks colored pink, he stuffs his hat on his head to veil the darkening blush. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together. “I’ll get started on tea.”

You weren’t going to give him much of a choice. Azul probably knows this by now, well-acquainted with your proclivity to play caretaker.

“This winter is particularly brutal,” he comments after you’ve fetched him a cup. It’s more of a change in subject than an observation. He shudders and burrows further into the warmth provided by his coat. “The worst time to die.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Winter is full of mistakes. Drunken mishaps at night, in which the victim slips on ice and falls into the sea… Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. I can’t begin to imagine how painful that must be—to not know where your loved one has disappeared to, only to find them just as the winter frost melts away to usher in spring.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” You set the kettle down, and Azul watches steamy tendrils curl up towards the ceiling. “Does it ever scare you—the things you find?”

“I’ve seen so much it’s difficult to know what real fear even is.”

“Ah.” You glance over your shoulder at Jade as he opens the lid on the pot of stew. Your eyes drift over towards Azul once more. “You work hard. You deserve a break after your next case.”

“I could sleep forever when that day comes.”

“Retirement isn’t too far, is it, Ojiisan?”

Azul chokes around his breath. “Do I really look so old? Oh, my heart… If these sleepless nights don’t kill me, that assumption certainly will.”

You giggle. “Sorry, sorry. I meant to say you look as spry as ever.”

“You’re too happy to hammer nails into my coffin.”

“I do it with love. It’s our secret ingredient, you know!”

“So I’ve heard.”

The rest of your conversation stalls out. You wipe the counter with a fresh rag in hopes of giving yourself something to do while Azul reads through the newspaper and sips at his tea. You watch him in your peripheral vision. Is he taking care of himself? It doesn’t look like it, but you’ve known Azul long enough to be familiar with his level of responsible efficiency. Maybe this particular case has him in the trenches.

Just how hard are they working him over there?

As his friend you worry. In fact, you worry yourself sick. Every time he visits he’s in poor shape. Though he masks it with confidence, you can see the toll life is taking on him.

“Have you ever wanted to get married, Azul?”

“If I find the right person, sure.”

“But?”

“But, seeing as that has yet to happen, I have no interest in pursuing something that might waste my time and money. Emotions are exhausting, even more so when invested in something like romance. It’s better to put them towards something that will yield solid results. Like work, for example.”

“That outlook is so frigid! Don’t you wanna fall in love?”

“Love isn’t going to crack these cases,” he grumbles at the paper.

Jade appears at the little window cut into the wall. “Someone sounds like a love killer.”

“I’m only being realistic.” Azul scoffs. “Besides, you have no right to speak as a married man.”

“Envy is a wicked vice. I’ll gladly help you overcome it.”

You take the bowl of tonkotsu ramen from Jade and set it in front of Azul. “Okay, enough of that. Let him enjoy his meal in peace.”

“But I haven’t yet had my fill of fun.”

You reach through the horizontal window to gently tug on Jade’s ear. He rumbles with laughter. “Don’t bully the guests.”

“Why, I would never, my dearest.”

Azul watches this back-and-forth with a forlorn longing in his pale blues. Wordlessly, he sinks his soup spoon into the broth and lifts the noodles between his chopsticks. He eats with such zest it makes you wonder if this is his first meal of the day. Sensing your stare, he attempts to pace himself.

You smile sadly. He looks like he needs this.

“As always, it’s delicious,” he says once he’s made a sizable dent in the portion.

Jade basks in the praise. “I’m pleased you enjoy it.”

“But… Well.” The ghost of a frown settles on his weathered features. “The broth tastes different. You must’ve used a new seasoning. Or perhaps this is an expensive cut of pork? Whatever it is, it’s different. Not bad, mind you. I’m sure if it were anyone else it would’ve been difficult to catch.”

“Is this the impressive power of Detective Ashengrotto’s taste buds at work?” you joke, to which Azul flashes you a proud grin that’s more teeth than lip.

“Well, I have been using ingredients with better qualities as of late… I’m not very fond of serving cheap products to honored guests.”

“Isn’t my Jade so considerate? He’s too cute.” You stand up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “He even grows some of the vegetables himself. Green onions and mushrooms and the like.”

“Ah, of course. How could I forget that dubious green thumb of yours?” Azul muses, recalling the time in which Jade served him a new dish in exchange for valid critique. He had conveniently neglected to inform Azul that it contained mushrooms, something he has eaten plenty of in the time that he’s known you and Jade. So many that all varieties have been spoiled for him. “In any case, what’s the secret ingredient? Imported pork? Some sort of flavor that’s seeped in when left to simmer? No, not that… It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t place it!”

Jade chuckles. “There is no secret. It’s just love.”

Azul pokes around the bowl with his chopsticks, his eyes narrowed with an intense scrutiny. “I can recognize every other flavor. The meat, the green onions, the egg, the noodles… And I can parse the broth well enough. There’s just something else—a hint of something I’ve never tasted before. This profile is missing from my gastronomic lexicon.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “Well, it’s the same broth, isn’t it?”

The both of you turn to Jade for his input. He nods. “My recipe and method haven’t changed.”

“So it’s still the same as before?” Azul’s nose wrinkles. “Strange. I was certain there was a taste of something more…”

Before he can dwell on it any longer, the radio at his hip crackles to life: “Sir, you’re needed at the port. We’ve got something you should see. Over.”

Azul detaches it from his belt and lifts it to his mouth. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t touch anything if you can help it. Out.” Releasing the button, he deflates briefly and then addresses you and Jade next. “It was wonderful seeing you again, but I’m afraid I must cut my visit short.”

“Then we won’t keep you.”

He moves to pull money from his wallet, but you stop him.

“On the house. You deserve it.”

Despite your generous offer, he still places the exact amount on the counter. “You won’t make profit if you’re giving food away for free.”

“Wha—but you’re a friend!”

“That makes it even worse. It’s not very fair to favor me to this extent.”

“Azuuul, don’t be so stubborn! You did this last time, too.”

“I surmise it will be much the same next time he graces us with his presence,” Jade says, eyeing you sympathetically.

“Ugh. Really… If you won’t let us treat you, at least promise you’ll take better care of yourself. No more skipping meals. Get a full eight hours. Prioritize yourself, too, okay?”

Azul starts for the door, so you miss the way he flusters up to his ears. They’re all very valid concerns, of course, but then he’s never been able to swallow the embarrassment that accompanies being unduly fussed over.

“I’ll do what I can,” he says instead and steps outside into the snowy afternoon.

You fold your arms over your chest and huff noisily. “What are we going to do with him? He’s in bad health and he still insists on being difficult. Must he faint before he realizes it?”

Jade emerges from the kitchen, sliding easily behind the counter where you stand. An amused glint shimmers in two-toned eyes. “I suppose we can only hope he’ll fix his bad habits sooner rather than later.”

“If only there were two of me… That way one could tend to the shop alongside you and the other could help him with his work.”

Jade embraces you firmly. With a giggle, you crane your neck to look at him.

“Two is much too troublesome.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have you all to myself.” His lips curve into a practiced pout. “What if (Name) Number Two finds Detective Ashengrotto more desirable than her own husband?”

You reach up to pinch his cheek in light scolding. “You know that would never happen.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I would never. If I did, that wouldn’t be the real me. I love you too much.” You twirl out of his arms to collect the dirty dishes. “Hey, since he’s no longer here, what was really in Azul’s ramen?”

“I haven’t the faintest inkling, my dear. I used the same ingredients I always do. Perhaps he was tasting something that wasn’t actually there?”

“Maybe… He looked pretty tired, Jade.” You peer at your reflection in the broth. “I wonder if he’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure he will.” Jade follows you into the tiny, compact kitchen. “You do know his penchant for smoking has worsened. I fear his sense of taste may be compromised from so many cigarettes. That, and age. Oh, but these are merely my own theories. He might have caught flavors of a love he’s never known before on those ruined taste buds of his.”

“Ah, right. Because everything you make is filled with love.”

“Not everything. There’s still something I’ve yet to fill with my love.”

He presses himself against you, his hands settling on your waist. You roll your eyes at his very obvious flirting.

“I’m assuming that something is actually a someone?”

“Indeed. And she’s standing right in front of me.”

His arms snake around your front so that you’re effectively trapped between him and the countertop. His hands close around your breasts to grope you through your shirt. You shiver against him when his fingers brush against the precise area of where your nipples are. It’s when he pinches both between his thumb and index that you finally shut the faucet off, surrendering to his touch instead of the dishes piled in the basin.

“At least close the front. What if someone walks in?”

“Unlikely,” he murmurs, his lips hot on your neck. His fingers slip under your shirt to undo the clasp of your bra. “It’s slow today. We can manage.”

You brace yourself at the sink and gasp when he grinds against your ass. “T-Ten minutes.”

“Only ten?”

“Would you prefer five? Your mouth is so smart today.”

“My love, I need only seconds to unravel you. You’re quite easy.”

You bark out a sharp laugh. “I’m not the one with the hard-on, my darling.”

“You’re too alluring, even in uniform. So beautiful, always and forever, my sweet wife.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of dirty dish duty.”

“How cold… You rival the snow outside.”

You shift slightly to face him, offering him an impish grin. “I’d hate for my Jade to freeze. Let’s warm up together, all right?”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

And all the while, your voices filling the kitchen in unison, bodies pressed close, the pot continues to simmer on the stove.

ii. and i am the idiot with the painted face. in the corner, taking up space. but when he walks in, i am loved, i am loved.

“Can I ask you something, Floyd?”

“What’s up?” he answers around a mouthful of udon. A few strands hang out from between his lips, and he slurps them up in a motion so fluid it leaves you impressed. As for the mess he makes… Not so much.

“What’s the secret thing that’s been passed through your family?”

Floyd blinks at you, lost. “The secret thing?”

“It’s some ingredient or flavor or…whatever that Jade says is a family secret. I have no idea what it is. He won’t tell me no matter how many times I ask.”

“Ohhh, you’re talkin’ about Mama’s pot, right? That thing’s been in our family forever. She gave it to Jade cuz I didn’t want it.” Floyd points with his chopsticks, playfully accusatory. “What? You into cookware now? I can getcha somethin’ if ya want.”

“What’s this about cookware?” Jade asks, poking his head inside. He looks warm and comfortable in his nagagi and haori, a pleasant sight for your eyes, but the broom clutched in his hands tells a threatening tale.

Ignoring the fact that he so clearly eavesdropped, you wave him forwards so that you can straighten his scarf. Jade props the broom against the doorway before striding closer. He leans into your touch with a smug smile, which is shamelessly directed at his brother.

“Oh, you’re freezing! Let me fix you a cup of tea. You’ll catch your death if you spend any longer sweeping out there.”

“Thank you, my dear. I fear the chill is rather paralyzing…”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “He’s fine. Nothin’ he can’t handle.”

“I might just die.”

His dramatics don’t faze Floyd, but they do draw a chuckle from you. “We can’t have that.” You duck into the kitchen and return minutes later with a warm cup of chai. “Floyd was just telling me about your mother’s pot.”

“Was he now?”

“Only cuz Shrimpy asked.”

Jade blows at the steamy beverage to cool it before bringing it to his lips for a sampling. He hums his approval. “It’s quite special.”

Floyd slumps against the counter. “Whatever. It’s boring!”

“I suppose there isn’t much to discuss regarding an old pot.”

“Nothing we haven’t already mentioned.”

“Speaking of that… You thinkin’ about closin’ up the shop for the holidays? Pops’s been on my ass. He and Mama want you to visit.”

Jade gazes at you, but you’re already looking at him. “Should we?” you ask. “I’m not opposed. I just know you like running things here.”

“Not like you’re gonna get crazy business on Christmas.”

“No, but there are a fair amount of regulars who might stop by.”

“We should visit your parents, Jade. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, listen to Shrimpy. Mama’s been missin’ ya.” Floyd shovels more noodles in his mouth. “And afterwards we can all do somethin’ fun on New Year’s Eve.”

“That sounds great! Let’s do it!”

“S’no fun spendin’ the holidays workin’ yourself into the ground.”

“Exactly. Your brother makes a good point. What do you say, Jade? We’ll make the trip to see your parents and then come back in time for New Year’s Eve.”

Jade smiles, approving of the idea. “In that case, I should call Mother so she knows when to expect us.” Taking a final sip from his tea, he rises from his seat and disappears into the kitchen. Seconds later, you hear soft footfalls on the floor above.

“You really don’t know?”

Floyd shrugs. “No idea. The only thing that kinda fits the whole secret ingredient vibe is Mama’s pot. That’s been passed through the family. Other than that? I’ve got nothing.”

“Well… Yeah, that’s true. Maybe it really is nothing.”

Floyd laughs. “This sure means a lot to ya.”

“Of course it does! We’ve been married for two decades and I still don’t know what this ‘family secret’ is. Decades, Floyd! Surely he would’ve told me by now.”

“Is it really that important?”

“It is to me.” You gaze sidelong at the broom and inhale a steadying breath. “It feels like I’m not a part of the family if he won’t tell me something as simple as this. You’d think twenty years qualifies you as—”

“Hey, you’re always gonna be family to me.” Floyd’s hand reaches to cover yours. He hesitates and instead grabs another napkin. “Jade’s just bein’ a hard-ass. Gets it from our old man.”

“Do you think this ‘family secret’ is real?”

“Who knows? I’m sure he’ll fess up once he gets tired of playing this game.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my Jade. He’s really too much sometimes.” You shake your head and sigh. “Thanks for saying that, though. That part about me being family. It… It means a lot.”

“It’s the truth.” Floyd sets his chopsticks and chirirenge down, lifting the bowl to drink what’s left of the broth. He whistles, supremely satisfied, and slouches on the stool. “You ever need anything—doesn’t matter what it is or how much trouble you think it might be—just gimme a call. I’ll be there to help.”

“Thanks. A-Again. Truly.”

Floyd flashes you a toothy smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You collect his bowl, intending to bring it to the sink, but Floyd’s next words stop you in your tracks.

“Hey, Jade’s got that pot on, yeah?”

“The pot? Oh, yes, the pot! What about it?”

“Has it been stirred lately? You gotta do that once in a while, right?”

Your nerves, which had previously been pulled taut, smooth out. He’s referring to cooking. Nothing else. Just cooking.

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Mhm! Smells yummy, by the way.”

“Doesn’t it? Jade’s food is amazing.”

“Mine’s pretty killer, too. You gotta come over and try some.”

“If you’re cooking for me, you’ll have to cook for Jade as well.” You giggle to yourself as you cross into the kitchen, only for the laughter to stick in your throat.

Jade stands at the stove. He lowers the lid onto the pot and sets the wooden spoon aside. He was so quiet you hardly noticed him. How long has he been there? When did he return from upstairs?

“Oh, good timing! Floyd and I were just saying the pot needed to be stirred.”

Jade smiles and takes Floyd’s empty bowl from you. “Did we all have a collective thought just now?”

“Ooh, like telepathy?”

“Wouldn’t that be shocking? Three-way telepathy.”

You watch Jade set the bowl beside the others in need of washing. “That would be so noisy! Three times as many thoughts… I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.”

“It’d be like watchin’ a show about the two of you,” Floyd pipes up from the front.

“Thankfully, that will never happen.” Jade guides you back out. You peer over your shoulder at the pot. “What a relief our minds aren’t connected. I don’t think I’d enjoy a stray listening in on our private affairs.”

You slap his arm gently. “Floyd’s not a stray!”

“Might as well be since it feels like he’s kickin’ me to the curb. So mean.”

“Not at all. I’m just making a distinction clear.” Jade’s smile is razored, his words catty. “You’re always welcome to visit so long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hands off the Shrimpy. I gotcha.” Floyd pops up from his seat and stretches. It seems as if all of Jade’s remarks, each born from petty possessiveness, roll off his shoulders. “I’m not gonna steal her from you if that’s what’s got you so worked up.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Floyd’s once easygoing expression sours. “You’re beggin’ for cement shoes, ain’tcha?”

Jade feigns offense, placing his hands over your ears even though it’s a pointless gesture. “For my own blood to threaten me in front of my sweet pearl… It brings tears to my eyes.”

“All right, all right! I’m goin.’ Geez.” Floyd struts out the door, not wanting to be manually shooed out by Jade and his beloved broom. “And don’t forget about New Year’s Eve!”

You wave farewell until he’s vanished out of sight. Only then do you turn to address your husband. “You ought to be nicer to him. He’s your brother.”

“I was. Very nice, in fact.”

“Really? How?”

“I didn’t charge him for the meal.”

iii. me and my husband, we’re doing better. it’s always been just him and me together. so i bet all i have on that furrowed brow. and at least in this lifetime we’re sticking together. me and my husband, we’re sticking together.

Everyone thought the odds were significantly slimmer than that of younger women—impossible by your standards—but somehow you’re pregnant at forty-four. You suspected it when you missed your period and then, just days prior, woke up with a terrible bout of morning sickness.

Standing in the bathroom, staring at the positive test like it’s a relic from Atlantis, you pinch yourself. Hard. It stings, and with this your disbelief mellows into something astonished.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

And this time you’re ready for a family. You’re ready to raise a child. Somewhat. Amidst every positive emotion there's anxiety and fear, and they reign so tyrannical that you almost forget you’re meant to be excited. Tamping down insecurity, you turn the test over in your hands.

I’ve got to tell Jade.

But before that you think back on the timeline in an effort to pinpoint the fateful day. After mapping it out for a brief while, you arrive at what’s possibly the least romantic way to conceive a child. Going at it raw and reckless in the kitchen, bent over a sink filled with dirty dishes and pressed against the wall… At least it was in a place both of you treasure.

Not the worst place, you think. I guess it doesn’t have to be a typical rose-petals-on-the-floor situation.

You’re practically vibrating out of your skin when you tiptoe out of the bathroom. Jade’s already downstairs. You can hear him humming as he works to open the shop. Hastily, you change into your work clothes and stuff the test in your pocket.

Jade’s notorious for his surprises, but it’s never been easy to return the favor. You mull over this facet of his character as you skip down the stairs. How can you shock him with this good news when he makes it so difficult? It’s as if he’s always two steps ahead, expecting the unexpected before it can even happen.

Jade brightens when you walk into the kitchen. He meets you halfway, lifting your hand to his lips. “Good morning. How did you sleep, my pearl?”

You squeeze his hand. “Like the dead.”

He chuckles. “I’m pleased it was so restful.”

You glance at the pot then and an idea sprouts. “Is there anything else that needs to get done? Is the front opened?”

“Just about. I need to prep a few more things here and then—”

“I can do it! It’s just stocking up on what’s low, right? That’s not very hard.”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” You claim the spot he had once been standing in. He was in the process of filling a container with chopped green onions before you came down. “Go on and open the front. I’ve got things handled here.”

“I do so adore you.”

“I adore you more.”

“I adore you most.” He beams and stalks off through the doorway.

Now left to your own devices, you move to the sink and turn on the water to wash your hands. If all goes according to plan, you’ll open the lid, pretend something’s wrong with its contents, and when Jade comes over to investigate you’ll act as if you’ve pulled the positive test from the pot. It’s a harmless surprise. You’re sure he won’t be expecting it, especially since he’s the one who does all of the cooking.

After confirming Jade’s still busy with the front, you creep over to the stove. That infamous pot awaits. You slide your hand into an oven mitt and grab hold of the lid, lifting it slowly. You’re immediately hit with the delicious scent of bone broth, so fragrant it almost has you salivating.

Focus! I can eat after the big reveal.

You open your mouth to call Jade over and then pause.

Has he stirred it yet? It looks a little… No, it’s definitely murky. Is bone broth supposed to be this dark? Maybe I just need to stir it.

You lower the wooden spoon into the broth and, scraping along the sides and bottom, mix expertly. The bones knock into each other from the disturbance, and you inhale deeply. It reminds you of the tonkotsu ramen Azul fancies so much. You could go for a bowl right now.

You’re about to take the spoon out and cover the pot when something floats to the surface. Without meaning to, you recall Azul’s words from last month: Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. Curiously, you scoop the object up onto the spoon. Broth spills over into the pot and then you see it.

A finger.

A human finger.

What the fuck is a finger doing in Jade’s pot?

The nail has been plucked off and the skin is sagging away, turned to pliable mush from sitting in the pot for so long, but it is undoubtedly a finger.

A very real, very human finger.

Bile slithers up your throat with thick, acidic fingers.

Fingers.

There’s another one and then another. Three fingers. You poke around in the broth, dreading what else you might see. You don’t want to find a full set of ten. Anything but that. You count five and that’s all you can stomach before you’re shakily covering the pot with the lid. You set the spoon and oven mitt down next, your mind reeling.

You want to vomit.

You’re about to vomit.

You’re going to—

“(Name)?”

You whirl to look at him. Your husband. He stands in the doorway, a dark look on his face. You can’t describe the emotion, or lack thereof. It’s more of a shadow. An oppressive shadow. An intimidating shadow. A shadow that seems to say: You’ve seen too much.

“J-Jade!” How long has he been standing there? How much does he know? “Sorry. I… I felt sick just now. I think I should…rest a bit more.”

The gloom fades away into perfect placidity. “My, my. That’s not good.” He takes a step towards you and pauses when you jerk away. “Is everything all right?”

“Y-Yes, of course! I’m just…not feeling it today…or something.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” His eyes slide towards the stovetop. “I do so dislike getting into disagreements with you. So to avoid that I’ll ask once and only once. What did you see in the pot?”

Your spine stiffens, straight and still as a board, and you hang your head guiltily. “I… I’m sorry. I saw… W-Well, I don’t want to believe it. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding or a mistake of some kind. It’s just that—um… I… I saw…”

Fingers. Human fingers!

“I saw what I think is y-your secret ingredient. The thing—” your voice cracks, and you swallow thickly to push rising bile back— “Azul tasted that day…” “And that secret ingredient is…”

Tears brim and spill over in silent, horror-struck waterfalls. You risk a glance at your husband, and a wobbly smile pulls your lips apart.

“Love.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader

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yayakoishii · 1 year ago

Text

Want | Sanji x Chubby! Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Chubby! Reader

WC: 5.5k

Genre: Fluff, slight Angst

Warnings: Sexual harrasment, derogatory terms for chubby people, mentions of blood, insecurities that lead to a bit of light self derogation (Please remember you're absolutely beautiful as you are <3)

A/n: The response on Hunger is insane. Over 700 likes?! I didn't expect much beyond a few 10-20 likes, thank you for all the love 😭 This is another self indulgent fic, more personal to me because I'm chubby myself so... I'm not super proud of the pacing tbh, but it's still pretty good, in my (biased) opinion, haha. I hope you enjoy it!!! ♡

also available on ao3!

When you joined the Straw Hat crew, you didn't expect to fall in love with the blonde chef.

Actually, when you joined them, you weren't in the mindset to think about love and silly crushes. Your island had been destroyed by the Marines for a 'good cause' and despite the Straw Hats' best attempt, you were the only remaining survivor. Luffy kindly offered you a place on his crew, and you joined as an assistant to Chopper, slowly learning from him.

The first few weeks after you joined were tough for you, who had never travelled outside of your island. It took time to get used to the environmental changes along with the emotional grief of losing all your loved ones. The crew tried their best to cheer you up in their own ways, and you would forever be grateful for every one of them for at least trying, even if their methods weren't the most effective for you. It was the thought and the sentiment behind it that counted.

But what did work for you was… food. Ever since you were a child, you had loved food and it was the way you connected to life. Though you were not the greatest cook out there, you were capable of making things that were edible and quite good at times. On the ship though, you never had to cook, because Sanji would always do all the cooking. Whenever you offered to help, to take your mind off the pain you were feeling, he would kindly decline, saying that he would make you whatever you wanted.

But he couldn't. The dishes from your island were not recipes known quite to the rest of the world. Hell, even you didn't know all of them, save for some of your favourite foods that you had learnt from your mother. So you snuck in after dinner and made a dish from your hometown. It wasn't the best food you ever cooked, but it still meant something to you, because you were reminded of home.

You wrote down all the recipes you knew into a book, and kept it close. Whenever you missed your home, you would sneak into the kitchen at night and make yourself something with your wonky cooking skills that made the dish taste different every time. Still, the familiarity was enough to comfort you and let you wallow in the grief at the same time.

Until one day, you couldn't find your book.

"Nami?" You called unsurely to the navigator, who was lying on the deck under shade next to Robin. Behind them, Sanji was serving drinks. The three looked at you in question and suddenly under the scrutiny, your confidence faltered. "Um, uh.. d- did you see a journal somewhere? I can't find mine…"

"The brown one?" She asked, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. You nodded frantically, hoping she knew. "I don't think I did. Did you check under your bed?"

"I did," you whispered, feeling the sadness wash over you again. It's not like you didn't still remember the recipes, but your memory wasn't the best. Without the book, it would be hard to remember them all.

"Don't worry, we'll find it," Nami got up and reassured you, looking concerned. "Sanji. Robin."

The two of them nodded along and then the four of you were searching for it everywhere, until Sanji had to excuse himself apologetically because he had to go cook lunch. You could only nod, trying not to get down in the dumps again over a book, but it felt a little hopeless. Until you heard Sanji shout from the kitchen. The three of you ran over to find him scolding Luffy, your journal in his hand.

"I just wanted to see what was in it!" Luffy pouted, his rubbery hands swinging around to try and get it back.

"That's an invasion of privacy, Luffy!" Sanji looked angry, but you were too relieved about the fact that you had found the book to get upset with Luffy.

"It's okay," you said, reaching forward to get the book. "It's just… recipes, Luffy. From my hometown."

There was silence in the kitchen for a few seconds and Luffy's face dropped into a serious look.

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I thought… If I knew how to help you, you'd be happier."

It made you laugh softly, your heart warm at his kind intentions.

"Thank you, Captain," you smiled at him, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. "I am happy here. I just… miss my home, sometimes."

He wrapped you into a hug and Nami ruffled your hair a little. You smiled under the attention, holding the book close. Sanji for once was quiet, just staring at the book thoughtfully, though you didn't notice it then.

A few days after that event, Sanji called you to the kitchen before lunchtime. Curiously, you followed him to find… a plate of your favourite dish from your hometown. It was plated beautifully, making it look fancy and yet it still had that homey feeling to it. Sanji didn't say a word, just held out the chair for you to sit. You sat down in a daze, too focused on the smell of it lingering in the room.

It smelled like home.

And when you tasted it, you burst into tears. Because it tasted like home. It tasted exactly like your mom's. All the tears you had held back to not worry the crew were now spilling out without any end but you didn't care. Here, where only Sanji could see you, you let it all out. He didn't say anything, just placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and squeezed to let you know he's there for you. You turned around to face him, but the tears made it all blurry. Knocking your head against his stomach, you cried harder.

Sanji just held your head, carding fingers through your hair in comfort, offering you a handkerchief. That, you realised later, was the moment your feelings for Sanji began.

✿

After that day, you became a lot happier. Somehow, without words, just eating the food that Sanji made was enough to heal your broken heart bit by bit. Sometimes, he made extra because Luffy was curious and wanted to taste it too; and then the whole crew wanted it so Sanji made a few of your dishes for dinner. In that moment, surrounded by the smell of home, around your new family, your heart finally started healing.

You started noticing Sanji everywhere after you got used to life on the Thousand Sunny. From the small things he does, to the loud expressions of love he made, everything about him seemed wonderful and warm to you. Because you knew that beneath his overt affections for all the ladies, he was an infinitely kind, caring and observant person. How were you supposed to not fall for him, when he went above and beyond for you?

And yet, for all his admissions of love, you never believed that he could truly like you back like you felt for him. You were after all, not the prettiest girl around and you knew that. You were not slim like Nami or Robin, and it's not like you absolutely hated your soft and squishy body. But you wondered if Sanji would like you even though you weren't pretty.

All that self consciousness went out the window every time you were in his presence. He never made you feel less, or ugly– in fact, the way he spoke to you always left you a blushing mess. He made you feel special, and in the moment, it would be enough. Until you saw him fawning over Nami or Robin, and then the sneaky voice in your brain would whisper quiet thoughts comparing you to them. You had no chance with him, and you knew that.

And that was fine. You could live with that, couldn't you? You had to, because wanting more than you should never ended well. All it would leave behind is rejection, hurt and awkwardness. So you pressed down the feelings and acted as normally as you could.

The moment you realised that you loved Sanji was probably a memory you would never forget. Although it was unforgettable for you, it probably wasn't particularly that unique to others. That didn't matter to you because it was a memory you cherished ultimately.

It happened when the ship docked on a peaceful little island. Everyone else was going out to enjoy their time, and you wanted to spend that time with Sanji. So, casually, you made your request.

"Sanji?" Your timid utterance of his name got an instant reaction from the chef, who straightened up and looked at you with hearts in his eyes.

"Yes, (y/n)-chan?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Um, you're gonna go grocery shopping, right?" You had seen Nami complaining while handing him the money for the shopping.

"That's right," he leaned closer, almost too close but not quite into your personal bubble. Still, the proximity was enough for you to smell the mild smell of his perfume that left you a little weak in the knees. "Did you want me to get something for you, sweetheart?"

"I just," you hesitated, suddenly scared that he might realise your feelings and get disgusted. No, Sanji wasn't like that, you had to remind yourself. He would never treat you unkindly, even if he knew your feelings. "I heard you always do it alone. I thought you might enjoy some company?"

The hearts in Sanji's eyes disappeared as he stared at you like you were speaking gibberish for a few seconds. Under the intensity of that stare, you fidgeted and waited for his response.

"You're too kind, (y/n)-chan!" He finally cried, holding up your hands in his own bigger and colder ones. You flushed at the action, stammering out an actual gibberish response this time before you were whisked away by the blonde chef to town.

It felt all too much like a date to you, when you walked next to him. Sanji somehow made grocery shopping fun, or maybe that was just because of how much you liked him that anything with him was enjoyable? It didn't matter, you decided, because whichever it was, you couldn't deny that Sanji was equivalent to the sun on a cold day.

He enthusiastically showed you around, as if you were a tourist and he were a guide (when in fact, it was the first time in this town for both of you) causing you to giggle. Whenever you stopped to buy things, he would humour your curious questions on how to pick which vegetable and what cuts of which meat are the best. It felt awfully like a domestic date, one that made you smile when you imagined doing this with Sanji years down the line every week.

"And that's the last of it!" Sanji said happily, picking up the last bag. He was holding all the bags since the start, despite your insistence and now you were anxious, seeing him hold so many bags in his hands.

"Sanji, let me hold a few," you tried again, hands reaching out to take some of them. But Sanji just turned around so you couldn't reach the bags and grinned down at you.

"Nonsense, how could I let such a delicate lady hold such heavy bags?" His words made you flush in embarrassment. You were not delicate in any sense; surely, Sanji knew that too. And in spite of all his sincerity, the word just felt like it was mocking you.

"I'm… not…," you struggled to say, not wanting to argue but unable to keep it in either. With your chubby frame, no one had ever considered you as delicate.

"Let me do this for you, my love," Sanji's voice was soft and infinitely gentle, as if he was indeed holding something fragile in his hands. "I wouldn't feel good letting you carry anything when I'm more than capable."

"But Sanji!" you lightly whined, wringing your hands. "I don't feel good letting you carry all the burden either! Come on, just a few bags?"

Before Sanji could respond, you heard a scared squeak. Your brows furrowed and you looked around the marketplace, finding a man cornering a girl a few feet behind Sanji. She seemed uncomfortable and he was all in her personal space, saying something in a rough, sleazy voice that gave you shivers.

You were not a fighter, but the instinct to protect her overtook the rational part of your brain and you crossed the distance to where they were. Pushing him back, you stood in front of the girl to block her from him.

"Can't you see she's uncomfortable?" You said coldly. "Back off."

The man took an involuntary step back until his eyes fell on you. He reeked of alcohol and smoke and you felt like puking from the putrid stench coming off him but you held it together, trying to come off as more confident than you felt. His eyes roamed over your body shamelessly, and you felt dirty and uncomfortable from the action.

"Don't get in our business, fatty," he grinned, the smell of alcohol doubling the moment he opened his mouth. "Are you jealous that no one will ever give you the attention she's getting?"

The words stabbed you in the gut, even though you knew rationally that you were better off without the bad attention. That was the one perk of being conventionally average in looks– no one really looked at you, in good ways or bad. Or maybe you had just been lucky so far. But hearing him call you that, saying those words, even from someone like him, it hurt a small part of you. Before you could respond, a leg in black slacks came up and kicked the man down with such a force that everybody around paused, shocked by the sudden action.

Even you stepped back automatically, gasping when you saw that it was Sanji, still balancing all the bags perfectly while he had roundhouse kicked the man into the ground with so much force that you could see his teeth had become bloody and he was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"(Y/n)-chan doesn't need the attention of sewer rats like you," he said calmly, straightening back into position smoothly. "Her beauty only deserves the best of the best."

The sight of Sanji saying that with a calm face, his hair slightly tousled, his hands balancing the bags and his leg muscles rippling under the slacks – that image was imprinted in your heart and brain for the rest of your life. The words sent you into a shock, but when they finally processed, you couldn't deny the overwhelming realisation that crashed into you.

You love Sanji.

It wasn't just a silly crush, or something that could go away if you gave it time. The chef had unknowingly carved himself a place into your heart. He was taking over it, chamber by chamber.

"Sanji…" The word came out as a whisper, inaudible under the din of the market as people were talking about what was going on. You snapped out of it when you felt the girl behind you shuffle and you immediately squashed your thoughts down to examine them later. You turned around and asked her, "Are you okay?"

She looked very alarmed and upset, but she still shot you a grateful smile as she murmured, "Yes, thanks to you two."

"He didn't hurt you?" You asked, hands hovering over her as you looked to ensure if she was safe. A peek of crimson caught your eye when she raised her hand to rub her face. Her elbows had scraped against the rough brick wall in his tousling. "You have some scratches!"

"Oh," she turned her arms to look at the wounds, now feeling the burn after the adrenaline and fear response was receding.

"Come on, I'll treat it for you," you offered, opening your sling bag which had some emergency first aid. You usually carried it around for the members when you were off the ship, knowing that they were all too reckless to give a second thought to any wounds.

"Oh, no, no, I couldn't trouble you more!" She said, mortified but you gently shook your head, offering her a hand.

"It's no trouble," you reassured her. It took a little bit of convincing but she eventually calmed down and let you clean up the wound before you parted. Finally, you allowed yourself to look at Sanji, who immediately schooled his features so you wouldn't see the warm adoring look he was giving you the whole time. "Sanji… Are you okay too? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"Do you think I'm that weak, sweetheart?" He smiled teasingly, but you felt the need to defend yourself.

"I know you are strong," you insisted, worrying your lower lip as you tried to look him straight in the eyes but kept getting flustered. "But even strong people get wounds. Just because they are strong, doesn't mean that they don't feel the pain. So tell me honestly, Sanji. Are you hurt anywhere?'

"No," he promised. "But if you're that worried, I'll let you check me all out back on the ship."

He ended that with a wink, and this time, you couldn't hold back the flush threatening to overtake your face again. Sanji couldn't help making the mood light again, but he had no idea of the effect his words had on you.

"Stupid," you weakly pawed at his arm, walking away before he could say anything. The blonde chef just laughed and followed you, face once again soft and fond as he watched you.

✿

Sanji may have been one of the only people onboard who was oblivious to your feelings, because a few of them did figure it out after watching the way you interacted with him. The first ones to realise were Nami and Robin, who called you out on it when the three of you were lying under the shade on the sunny deck.

"Really?" Nami had scrunched her nose, eyes critically analysing Sanji as he walked (danced, really) back to the kitchens after serving drinks to the three of you.

"Really what?" You asked, too busy sipping the cool drink to notice that she had noticed the way you had warmly thanked Sanji and given him a bright smile.

"Sanji?" Nami gave you a pointed look. The name made you freeze, and you tried to play it off.

"What about him?"

"Oh, come on!" Nami threw the slice of lemon that was on her drink. You caught it before it could fall on your shirt and muttered an indignant 'hey!' that the navigator ignored. "You like him, don't you?"

The words were enough to make you hide your face in embarrassment. Robin was smiling knowingly from the other side of Nami and you felt exposed, like they had both just turned you inside out.

"I do," you whispered after the few minutes of silent mortification that Nami had spent in self satisfaction.

"Why that loser though?" She said without any real bite. You knew she wasn't actually demeaning him; it was affectionate, in the way one would talk about their sibling's lovelife.

"Because!" You whispered, eyes running everywhere to check if no one else was around to hear you. "Have you looked at him? He's literally so pretty! He is kind, caring, and so, so thoughtful and generous. Without expecting anything in return, he is always giving and giving and he makes my stomach do silly things. He has curly eyebrows, Nami! I didn't think those could look good on anyone. Hell, I know I would look ugly with them, but he makes it work! It suits him, and he's so beautiful and I'm just–"

You collapsed onto your chair, your wet fingers from the condensation on the drink glass finding purchase in the dips of your face to hide it. Just talking about him was enough to get your heart beating fast, and the mortification of what you had just spilled to the two girls made you want the ground to swallow you already.

"You really like him," Robin's soft observation made you relax. She wasn't teasing you. You turned to look at her and caught the comforting smile she was sending your way.

"I was going to say you could do better," Nami turned to face you, swinging her feet around to your side, "but after hearing all that, I think… You two are perfect for each other. Despite all his antics, he has a good heart. And you'll be good for him, because you see him as he is."

"Yeah?" You couldn't help the small flower of hope blossoming in your chest.

"Really," Nami smiled, a rare genuine smile that was usually reserved for late night talks and reassurances in down times.

"You don't think…." You trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of your top, "he won't… find me good enough?"

"Are you crazy?" Nami snorted, picking up her drink. The melted ice had made the level go up so much that it was threatening to spill any moment. "You're better than anything he could dream of. I told you, didn't I? You would be good for him. Having someone like you in his life to ground him, I think there's nothing better than that. You're one of the sweetest people I have ever met. If anyone here isn't good enough, it's him."

"Hey now," you frowned, ready to defend Sanji but hearing his voice stopped you.

"Who isn't good enough for (y/n)-chan?" His face was stuck in a weird smile, like he was forcing it. He carefully placed the plate of pastries he had brought as he continued casually despite the silence, "I don't know who we are talking about but Nami-chan is right. No one is good enough for our lovely (y/n)-chan."

"Oh, look at that!" You hurriedly switched the topic, looking at the plate he had brought. The tiny pastries were adorable and colourful, looking so delicious that it would have made your mouth water if you weren't distracted at the moment. "This looks so good, Sanji. Seriously, if you keep feeding me like this, my weight will keep increasing!"

The last line became a teasing complaint, but you didn't expect Sanji to come to the side of your chair and lean down to where you were tilted. The proximity caused your eyes to widen, the blood thundering in your ears as he carefully tucked in a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, face so soft and warm that it make your insides feel like they were vibrating.

"All the more for me to love, so I would keep winning, wouldn't I, sweetheart?"

You choked, and the need to get away from him before you did something wild like grab him and kiss him got so much that your knee accidentally shot up and into Sanji's back, pushing him forward. The chef's eyes widened at the sudden attack, but he managed to not collapse on you by quickly holding onto the sides of the chair but now you were trapped in between his arms on top of the close proximity.

It made you so weak in the knees, and there was something hot and warm curling in your gut as you stammered gibberish, feeling like you were about to faint because Sanji's chest was practically touching yours and it was all too much.

"SORRY!" He hurriedly backed off the moment he got his bearings, and for the first time since you had come onboard, you saw him have a genuinely heavily flushed face. There was a little blood starting to leak from one of his nostrils and somehow, it helped you calm down. He was just as affected as you were. The idea was enough to lessen your embarrassment by a little.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Sanji," you said remorsefully, hiding your face completely in your hands this time. "I kicked you!"

"It wasn't on purpose," he said, right hand coming up to hide the blush on his own face. "I'm sorry for… for making you uncomfortable, (y/n)-chan!"

Uncomfortable? Did Sanji have any clue just how comfortable you actually felt? The problem wasn't that you were uncomfortable in the proximity; it was that you were too comfortable, to the point that you never wanted to leave. But that would be a dead giveaway of your feelings, right?

"Okay, this is just painful to watch now," Nami sighed, jolting the two of you. You had nearly forgotten that she and Robin were right there, and they had seen everything. She looked at you unhappily, mouth set in a tight line. "How about you two get a room and make out there?"

"Nami!" You cried out. She really just gave away your crush like that?!

"Just be grateful I'm not demanding money to make up for what I just had to witness," she sniffed haughtily, swinging her legs back onto the chair and pulling down her sunglasses. "Seriously, you two, go talk shit out. Or else, knowing you, you will just be awkward around each other and that's gonna be even more painful to watch."

She wasn't totally wrong. You were planning to avoid him, possibly by jumping off the Sunny and drowning to death since you didn't know how to swim. But that wasn't really a solution and even you could admit that.

"W- What's there to talk-?" Sanji seemed a little scared, wide eyes glancing between the three of you. Nami ignored him, and you were too flustered to look him in the eyes. Nami's suggestion was essentially for you to come clean, wasn't it? But that was easier said than done. The fear of rejection and the eventual awkwardness was gripping your insides in a chokehold, and you couldn't move your feet even if you tried.

"Sanji," Robin said calmly. "Pick up (y/n) and go to the kitchen."

"Huh?" You were startled at her words. Pick you up?! No way! "No, no way, I'm too… I'm too heavy, there's no need for that!" Even as you said that, you couldn't actually bring yourself to move.

"I don't really get it," Sanji admitted, looking between the three of you as he spoke, "but I can do that. (Y/n)-chan?"

"No, Sanji–" the protests died down the moment he bent down and picked you up like you weighed nothing. Even as he walked you across the deck, you couldn't help but think that it was kind of hot just how easily he picked you up. "Sanji…"

He didn't look at you until you were in the kitchen and the door was closed behind the two of you. He walked over to the table and then carefully placed you on it, as if you were a teacup made of fine china teetering with tea. Finally, he let his clear blue eyes stare down at you, the expression on his face more vulnerable and exposed than you had ever seen on him.

"Sanji?"

"I know I made you uncomfortable," he said quietly, backing away. His hands came up to rub away the blood but it only made it spread around and you winced at seeing that. You never wanted to see any blood on Sanji, if you could help it. "I touched your… you. It wasn't my intention, I swear! I just, I wanted, I–"

He abruptly shut up, looking frustrated with himself.

"Sanji."

He didn't look up, fists clenching at his side the moment you said his name.

"Come here, Sanji," you whispered, holding out your hands to beckon him closer. His eyes flickered over your face, as if trying to gauge out what you were feeling, even as he followed through your request without a second thought. You pulled out the handkerchief he had given you long back, and wiped away the blood over his upper lip and cheeks carefully before you picked up his hand. The thumb was bloody too, so you gently held the limb in one of your hands and wiped it with the other. "You didn't make me uncomfortable, Sanji."

He stayed quiet as you continued to wipe it until it was all gone.

"Didn't I?" He said the moment you were done.

"No," you said, looking up at him. You didn't let go of the hand, though you dropped the handkerchief beside you. Somehow, holding his hand seemed to give you the courage to make the admission Nami had told you to. "I… Sanji, I like you. A lot more than I ever thought it was possible to feel towards someone. I like you so much that it physically hurts when I see you flirting with other women. I like you so much that my heart feels warm whenever you are around, and I feel so safe in your arms that I never want to leave. I like it when you are close to me. But I know that you don't like me like that, so whenever you get so close, and I can't help but want you so much, it's painful for me. I never want to let you go."

Sanji's eyes darkened with every word you spoke, a gradual change that you didn't notice at first because you were all in over your head. His hands hovered around your waist as you finished.

"Who told you?" His voice was a little hoarse, and he cleared his throat the moment he realised how desperate he sounded.

"Told me what?" You asked timidly, looking down at your lap.

"That I don't like you?" Sanji's voice was a broken whisper like yours had been. "I have never heard anything more untrue than that. All this time, I wanted you but I kept my feelings to myself. Because you deserve so much, so much more than I am, so much more than I can give. I wanted and I wanted and I felt so greedy, wanting more and more of you, more than you would let me have– I wanted anything you were ready to give, and I also wanted everything you have to give. I thought you wouldn't want someone like me, when there are so many better options around for you–"

"What?" You couldn't help but laugh. All his words were making you delirious; this had to be some wild dream you had conjured up. It didn't feel real. None of it did. "I had better options around? Sanji, I was so sure you would never look twice at me! I never felt like I was pretty enough, or good enough to get your attention and you're telling me… I had better options? That's so–"

You kept laughing, body shaking from the weight of the laughter. Sanji stared at you, unsure hands still hovering around you. His fingers twitched from holding back the urge to pull you into him.

"You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen," he mumbled. "Not good enough to get my attention? Darling, you have had all of my attention ever since I met you. No other woman could compare to you from the moment you made your place in my heart known."

"Did I really have all your attention?" You asked, letting your insecurities bubble up. Now that you were both being honest, it was better to get it all out of the way, right? "Even when you looked at the other women…"

"I never looked at them the way I did you," his words were sincere, and in that moment, they were enough. You looked up at him, and your body broke into shivers the moment you realised the heat in his eyes as he stared down at you; like you were some unique dish he was finally getting the chance to eat after years of craving it.

"I didn't want the other options, Sanji," you whispered, the volume enough for the proximity you were in. "The only one I ever wanted was you."

You held his collars and pulled him in, and it was like he finally snapped, now that he had permission. His hands immediately grasped at your sides, gently holding the soft flesh there as he kissed you. And now it was your time to give and give, while he took from you like your lips were spilling with ambrosia and he was determined to get every drop. His warm breath fanned over your lips and the goosebumps on your skin rose again, your fingers tightening around the collars of his shirt.

When he let your lips go, he was greeted with the sight of your flushed and pleasantly buzzed expression, like you were drunk on him. Seeing you like that, because of him, it was enough to get him groaning.

"So beautiful," he whispered, leaving feather light kisses all over your face. "So gorgeous. All for me. All… for me to have?"

"Yeah," you whispered, looking up at him and seeing the devastated yet over-the-moon expression on Sanji's face. Even without words, he could always just cleave into your heart and press himself within its walls like they were made to fit him, and only him. "You can be greedy. Take all you want. I'm all yours."

°•❀•°

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