#having to settle with simply watching them with an ache that set deep into his bones.

[sinclarify]

shoutout to the jacksons diary fanfic i wrote in december 2022 that was just a oneshot highlighting david's feelings for exer and how they fill him with such guilt and shame and that his feelings would never be reciprocated that was made completely obsolete just a few months later when they kissed homo style in the middle of the night in the pouring rain ummmmmmmm.. so what does this mean does this mean i literally just bought ratatouille for NOTHING

[bellbery]

— [P1] The Heart That Remained (Vander x f!Reader)

Summary: A monster, once a beloved protector, now haunts the tunnels of Zaun. The creature is revealed to be Vander, twisted by pain and rage, leaving his daughters Vi and Jinx to grapple with the truth. As a battle unfolds, past memories and present dangers clash, forcing a choice between saving Vander’s humanity or ending his torment. Love, guilt, and hope intertwine in this intense, emotional confrontation.

Word Count: 5.2k (im a jerk for angst)

Content/Warning: Angst to Fluff, less mention y/n until the ending, a bit bloody?, AND VERY ANGSTY

🖋️ Author’s Note: AS I PROMISED I WOULD MAKE A ANGSTY FIC ABOUT VANDER, and i promise you its worth the while i did my best to put into detail of the character’s personality and the places. It took me 3 days and i’m very happy how it turned out! Before yall read this maybe someone you haven’t watched S2, there will be spoilers obv— and i recommend yall listen to Dead Island Trailer Theme song while reading this cause personally it juST MATCHED THE SCENE IT- i hope yall enjoy my writing this is my 2nd fic! Please comment your feedback and simply support me by like and reblogs! Thank you very much yall!<3

After the chaos of the Piltover Council meeting, guilt gnawed at you like a relentless, suffocating force. Deep down, you knew Jinx—Vander’s daughter—was the cause of the devastation that had torn through the heart of the city. You couldn’t escape the weight of the promises you’d made long ago: to protect Vi and Powder when they were still just children. Those vows now felt like shattered glass, each piece embedded in your soul. You had failed them. And now, hidden behind the mask of an investigator, you carried your shame like a cloak. It was the only armor that allowed you to survive, to push down the searing ache that never seemed to go away. Months passed, and you thought you had found your rhythm in the cold, distant monotony of your work. Then Ambessa hired you. The aftermath of the beast’s rampage in the prison—the blood, the carnage—shattered that fragile peace. It was the most grotesque thing you’d ever seen. The nightmare still burned in your memory, its horrors etched into your mind like permanent scars. The beast, its monstrous presence a cruel reminder of the violence lurking in every shadow, had torn through the fragile walls of your life, dredging up the dangerous ties to the past you couldn’t outrun.

“How could this beast come out of nowhere?” You whispered, the question hanging in the air like a death sentence. Ambessa’s gaze locked onto you, icy and unyielding. The weight of her authority pressed down on you, suffocating. She leaned forward, her voice low, controlled—laced with quiet menace. “You’re asking the wrong question,” she said, her words like a blade. “It doesn’t matter how it got here. What matters is that it’s here now. And we don’t have the luxury of waiting for answers. We deal with it. We don’t waste time wondering why or how—it’s already cost us too much.” She paused, her eyes narrowing, a flicker of impatience cutting through her otherwise steady demeanor. “If you want to stay in this game, you’ll find out who—or what—created this monster. And you’ll do it fast. Before it costs us more.” You nod, the weight of Ambessa’s words settling heavily in your chest. Without a second thought, you move past the cells, your gaze flicking over them with practiced detachment. You push down the swirling thoughts threatening to overwhelm you, focusing on the task at hand. But as you walk, something pulls your attention—a cell, its door locked with an unnerving sense of finality. Something about it doesn’t sit right, a tension building in your gut.

Before you can step closer to investigate, the soft, rhythmic chime of the elevator cuts through the silence. The doors slide open, and out steps Commander Caitlyn Kiramman, her posture rigid, her face set in the same steely expression you’ve come to recognize. She doesn’t glance at you immediately, but when she does, her eyes flicker with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Commander,” you murmur, your voice steady but carrying the weight of the unspoken. You can’t help but wonder if she’s here to speak of the very thing that’s been gnawing at your thoughts—the beast, the violence, the past that refuses to stay buried. “How is your investigation?” Caitlyn’s voice was steady, her usual sternness masking the exhaustion you knew she carried. Her sharp blue eyes flicked over you, searching for any hint of progress. You hesitated, your gaze drifting back to the closed cell. “It’s… ongoing,” you replied, the words clipped, as your unease bubbled beneath the surface. She followed your line of sight, noticing your fixation. Without waiting for an invitation, Caitlyn strode past you, her footsteps purposeful, echoing in the silence as she approached the cell. “What is it about this one?” she asked, her tone even, though her curiosity was evident. You didn’t answer immediately, the heaviness in your chest growing. “It’s locked,” you said finally, the words feeling too small for the weight of your unease. “But it’s too quiet. Too… deliberate.” Caitlyn reached out, resting her hand lightly on the cold metal bars. “Let’s open it,” she said decisively, her command leaving no room for argument. The tension in her voice betrayed her own unease, though her face remained calm and unreadable.

As the cell door creaked open, the air grew heavy with an acrid, chemical tang. There, sitting upright in the dim light, was a figure that made your breath hitch—Dr. Reveck. His sunken, hollow eyes locked onto yours, recognition flashing briefly across his face. Then came the cold, calculating glare of someone who had already weighed and dismissed your worth. “You’re persistent,” he murmured, his voice low and rasping, as though it hadn’t been used in days. “But persistence doesn’t make you immune to mistakes.” His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that never reached his eyes. “What are you here for? To make another mistake?” Before you could respond, Caitlyn’s sharp footsteps echoed through the corridor, her tone cutting the tension. “Dr. Reveck,” she began, her words laced with authority, “you’re going to answer for what you’ve done. Whatever experiments you’ve been running—whatever monsters you’ve unleashed—it ends now.” Reveck’s expression didn’t waver, though his gaze shifted to Caitlyn with a disconcerting calm. “Answers,” he said, almost mockingly. “The only people who demand them are those too weak to seek the truth themselves.” The sudden clang of metal doors opening at the end of the hall signaled Ambessa’s arrival. Her towering figure filled the space, the weight of her presence silencing any retort Caitlyn might have had. Her eyes swept the scene before resting on Reveck. “This is the man responsible?” she asked, her voice an authoritative rumble. Reveck tilted his head slightly, observing Ambessa with a detached curiosity. “And you are?” he asked, his tone clinical, as though dissecting her existence. Ambessa took a step closer, her imposing frame making the cramped cell feel even smaller. “I’m the one deciding whether you’re worth keeping alive,” she said, her voice unwavering. “And right now, you’re not making a good case.”

The tension in the room was palpable, your pulse pounding in your ears as you stood frozen, caught between these forces of will. Caitlyn glanced at you, her expression tight, as if silently willing you to act or speak. Dr. Reveck finally turned back to you, his gaze sharper now, as though seeing past your mask of authority to the pain you’d been carrying. “Tell me,” he said softly, almost conversationally, “are you here to find answers, or are you just running from your own failures?” Before you could answer Dr. Reveck’s cutting remark, the sharp clink of handcuffs broke the silence. Caitlyn had stepped forward, her features stern as she clasped the restraints over Reveck’s thin wrists. “You’ll answer for your crimes,” she said coldly. “But your cooperation might still buy you a sliver of mercy.” Reveck barely flinched, his pale eyes darting between Caitlyn and Ambessa as if calculating the odds of survival. He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Mercy,” he echoed, his voice dripping with disdain. “A curious word coming from Piltover’s enforcers. Tell me, Commander Kiramman—how does mercy reconcile with the blood already on your hands?” Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but before she could reply, Ambessa’s voice rumbled from behind her. “Enough.” Her tone brooked no argument as she stepped into the cell, her towering figure filling the cramped space. “Your investigation isn’t finished here,” she said, her eyes locking onto yours with a commanding weight. “You’ve uncovered the man, but not the monster.”

Reveck’s lips curled faintly, a reaction as subtle as it was unsettling. “The beast,” he murmured, as though savoring the word. “You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize. Closer than any of you would dare admit.” Ambessa ignored him, her gaze still fixed on you. “Find it,” she said firmly. “Before this trail goes cold and more lives are lost.”

Reveck’s smile widened slightly, his voice taking on a cryptic edge. “And when you find it,” he said, his tone almost taunting, “you might not like what you uncover.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air as you exchanged a brief, tense glance with Caitlyn. Without another word, Ambessa turned and walked toward the cell door, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Caitlyn followed, her hand lingering on her holstered weapon as if still on edge. You stayed behind for a moment longer, your gaze locked with Reveck’s, searching for something in his unflinching expression—a hint of truth, or maybe just an answer you weren’t ready to face.

You stepped out of the cell, the cold air biting against your skin. The echo of Ambessa’s commanding words and Reveck’s cryptic warnings swirled in your head, mixing with Caitlyn’s sharp presence. Every step away from the cell felt heavier, the pressure of what you’d just witnessed settling into the pit of your stomach. Reveck’s words wouldn’t leave you. “You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize.” They repeated in your mind like a haunting refrain, twisting your thoughts into knots. What did he mean? And why did it feel like there was more truth in his taunts than anyone cared to admit? The sterile prison corridor seemed darker now, its shadows crawling up the walls like something alive. A prickle of unease traced up your spine. For a moment, you paused, glancing back at the dim outline of the cell. It felt as though something—or someone—was watching. The air was too quiet, heavy with an unsaid warning. You shook your head and looked down, trying to steady your breaths, but your heart stopped cold. There, lying on the cold, stone floor just ahead of you, was a strand of blue hair. It glimmered faintly in the pale light, its color unmistakable. Powder. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you forced yourself to stay upright. A rush of memories flooded back—her laughter, her wide, curious eyes, the promises you made to her and Vi. And then the explosion, the chaos, and everything that came after. Your breathing quickened as you knelt down and gingerly picked up the strand, its texture soft but alien, almost too delicate for something so steeped in blood and tragedy. How did it get here? And why now?

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before you, the walls pressing in tighter. Your pulse thundered in your ears as a hundred questions screamed in your mind, all vying for answers. But one thought rose above them all, clear and sharp as a knife:

She was here.

And if she was here, then what had you missed? What was waiting just beyond the next shadow? You clutched the strand tighter, a knot of fear and determination tightening in your chest. You couldn’t let this go. Not now. Not after everything. With trembling hands and racing thoughts, you turned and walked toward the exit, but every step away from that cell felt like stepping deeper into the unknown.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, the cool night air biting at your skin. Your feet moved again, this time carrying you toward Zaun. If there was even the faintest chance she was there, you had to follow it. Whether you were ready or not, the path ahead was clear. You had to find her. And this time, you couldn’t fail. You had been at it for hours—no, days—piecing together fragments of evidence that felt more like whispers in the dark. Each lead took you deeper into Zaun’s underbelly: a blood trail smeared across cracked pavement, scorch marks that didn’t belong, and the eerie testimonies of those too afraid to say much at all. The closer you got, the more everything started pointing to one place. You’d seen the tunnel marked on old maps of Zaun—a forgotten artery deep within the district, barely mentioned anymore except in hushed tones. Something had happened there, something people were afraid to talk about. Standing at its mouth now, you could feel the weight of the place pressing on you like a physical force. The green chemfog swirled thickly, the heavy air carrying a stench of rust, decay, and something faintly metallic. It was quiet, unnervingly so, the usual hum of Zaun’s machinery conspicuously absent. You stepped forward cautiously, every instinct screaming at you to turn back. But the faintest trace of blood along the ground caught your attention, leading you further in. Whatever had been here—or was still here—wasn’t human. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a hunt for a monster. This was something personal, a shadow from your past reaching out to drag you back. As you stood at the edge of the tunnel, Dr. Reveck’s voice echoed in your mind, his words heavy with warning.

“You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize.”

The memory of his cold, detached tone sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to brush it off, focus on the task at hand. But it wasn’t easy. There was something about the way he’d looked at you, almost pitying, that gnawed at your resolve.

“You might not like what you uncover.”

The blood trail led further into the shadows, growing thicker, fresher. Each step you took seemed to confirm the truth of his cryptic warning. This wasn’t just a trail—it was a trap, a path carved by something that knew you’d follow. Despite yourself, fear clawed at the edges of your mind. You gripped your weapon tightly, the sound of your own breathing loud in the suffocating silence. If Dr. Reveck was right, if it was closer than you realized, then maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t the beast you were hunting anymore. Your heart pounded in your chest as you ventured deeper into the tunnel, every nerve on edge. The oppressive darkness seemed alive, pressing down on you as if the walls themselves wanted to swallow you whole. Then, breaking through the suffocating silence, you heard it—a voice. A familiar cry echoed through the hollow passage, carrying a name you hadn’t heard in years.

“Powder.”

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, your feet carried you toward the sound. The cry was raw, desperate, and unmistakable. It clawed at the memories you’d buried deep—days spent in the smog-filled streets of Zaun, promises whispered in the dead of night. You turned a corner, and there they were. The sight stopped you cold. Vi was locked in a brutal struggle, her movements sharp and relentless as she fought the towering monstrosity before her. Jinx—no, Powder—was nearby, her chaotic energy radiating even in the chaos, her laughter twisted with something between joy and pain. The beast, its hulking form both animal and something far worse, loomed over them. You stood frozen for a moment, unable to reconcile the scene before you. The two sisters you had sworn to protect were here, together again, fighting a nightmare brought to life. This wasn’t just a fight—it was their fight. But as the beast’s roar shook the walls of the tunnel, you knew you couldn’t just stand there. Not this time. You swung your electro-baton again, sending a crack of electricity through the beast’s thick hide. It staggered back, growling low, but you were ready to strike again. Then, a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like ages cut through the chaos, sharp and frantic.

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned, breath catching. There, standing in front of you with wide, shocked eyes, was Jinx. But it wasn’t just her surprise that caught your attention—it was the frantic energy radiating from her as her gaze flickered between you and the monster. Before you could even process the situation, Vi’s voice rang out, filled with desperation. “Get out of the way!” she yelled, her eyes locking onto the beast just as it made a move in your direction. The words barely registered before you heard the guttural growl of the creature, its monstrous form lunging toward you, faster than you could react. Your instincts kicked in just in time as you dove to the side, pushing Jinx out of the way and out of the path of the beast. In the chaos of the moment, you felt a sharp pang in your chest—Jinx’s face, twisted with a mixture of fear and resolve, flashed in your mind for just a second. She wasn’t ready to lose him again. But the situation was slipping further from control, and you couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Before you could strike, a hand shot out, gripping your arm with surprising strength. You whirled around, heart pounding, only to find Powder standing there. Her eyes were wide, frantic, pleading. “Stop!” she cried, her voice desperate, barely above a whisper. But it was enough to freeze you in place, your pulse hammering in your ears. The world seemed to slow as Powder’s frantic cry echoed in your mind.

“It’s Vander.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The name hung in the air, shattering everything you thought you knew. Your heart pounded against your ribs, memories of Vander flooding your mind—his hands, strong yet tender, holding you close during the darkest times. His laugh, the warmth he exuded when the world around you seemed so cold. He had been your everything. You had loved him with every fiber of your being. But this thing, this beast, it was not the man you had known. This creature, with its bloodshot eyes and twisted form, was not Vander. It couldn’t be. Your hands shook as you tightened your grip on the electro-baton, but it felt wrong—so wrong. The memories of him, so vivid and painful, clashed with the grotesque beast standing before you. You felt sick to your stomach, a wave of guilt crashing over you. You had failed him. Failed to save him. And now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to end the nightmare he had become. Your breath hitched as Powder stepped forward, desperation in her voice. “Please, Y/N, stop. I know it’s him. I can feel him in there. I won’t let you hurt him again.” Her words were a plea, a fragile hope in the storm. But your heart twisted with doubt. You could still hear the screams, the way the beast had ravaged everything in its path. And yet… something in Powder’s eyes, something in her raw desperation, made you falter.

The beast—Vander—lurched forward, its eyes locking onto you with an intensity that nearly paralyzed you. Every memory you had ever shared with him felt like it was being ripped from your chest.“Vander,” you whispered, the word slipping from your lips before you could stop it. The weight of it crushed you. You had spent so many years believing that Vander was lost, that the man you loved was gone. But here he was, in some twisted form, and it was as if everything you had been through had led you to this moment. Powder’s voice trembled as she pleaded once more. “Please, Y/N. Trust me. It’s him. Don’t hurt him. He’s still in there.” The battle inside you was unbearable. Every part of you screamed to fight, to destroy the beast before it could hurt anyone else. But Powder’s face—the vulnerability, the fear—held you in place. Your heart ached for her, for the girl who had once been Powder, the girl who had believed so deeply in the man who had been Vander. And for a long moment, you did nothing. Your body, your mind, were paralyzed by the weight of it all.

You wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that Vander was still there somewhere beneath that monstrous exterior. You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to break free. Slowly, shakily, you lowered the electro-baton, letting it fall to your side. It felt like an eternity, the weight of the decision heavier than any battle you had ever fought. The beast—Vander—let out a low growl, and for a split second, it seemed to hesitate, its glowing eyes softening. And then, before you could process what was happening, it lunged. In a split-second, you shoved Vi out of the way, your body reacting faster than your mind could follow. You felt the beast’s claws rake across your shoulder, pain searing through your skin. The world blurred for a moment, your vision flickering as you stumbled backward, feeling weaker by the second. And then, amidst the chaos, the word tore from your chest.

“Vander…”

The sound of his name was a raw, guttural cry, one that echoed through the tunnels, through your soul. The pain hit you harder than any wound could. Vander, that name, those memories—they tore you apart. You had vowed to protect Vi and Powder, to keep them safe from the horrors of the world, yet here you stood, helpless. The love you had for him, for both of them, never faded. But now? Now you wondered if you'd failed them all. Could you ever undo the damage, or was it too late to save any of them? This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be this. But here he was, and you couldn’t turn away. Not now. Not after everything.

As the beast—the twisted, monstrous form of Vander—pins you to the ground, his massive claw digs into your shoulder, a searing pain that nearly overwhelms you. Your body is trembling, pinned beneath his weight, but you find the strength to cry out. “Vander!” The word escapes your lips like a prayer, a cry full of pain, longing, and grief. For a fleeting moment, the ferocity in his bloodshot eyes falters. There’s a flicker of something, a split-second recognition that makes your heart ache with hope, even as your breath hitches in terror. The claws dig deeper, and for a second, you wonder if it’s all over. The beast’s heavy breaths rattle through your chest, but you can’t stop. This has to be the moment. This has to reach him. With what strength you have left, you lift your free hand and place it gently on his massive claw, the very one that could end your life. You speak the words that have haunted your thoughts, words full of both love and desperate sorrow, knowing they might be the last you ever speak to him.

“It’s me... your sunshine.”

The words hang in the air, fragile and raw, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop. The beast’s gaze flickers—just for a moment—as if the sound of your voice stirs something deep within him. There’s a trembling hesitation in his claw, as if he’s hearing something buried beneath the rage and the pain, something that reminds him of who he was. In the chaos of your heart, you realize your words are more than a plea. They’re a lifeline thrown into a sea of darkness, hoping that some part of Vander will catch it. For a heartbeat, you feel the world shift, the crushing weight of the beast’s form loosening as something human flickers in the depths of his eyes. His growls soften, his body stills, as if struggling against the flood of memories. Then, as if through a fog, his voice—gravelly, strained, broken—rumbles from the depths of his throat, just a whisper but heavy with a history that neither of you could erase.

“Y/N…?”

The name feels like a weight lifted off your chest, like the first breath after drowning. His voice is there, faint, but real. Vander is still in there. You can feel it—the man you loved, the one who had promised to always protect you, the one who had once held you close during the darkest nights, is right here in front of you. Tears blur your vision, and your body trembles, caught between the raw pain, the disbelief, and a flood of emotions you never thought you’d face again. With a trembling breath, you whisper, “It’s me, Vander… it’s your Y/N…” In that moment, his once ferocious red eyes flicker. A slow shift begins, and your heart seizes in your chest as you see something break through the fog—a glimmer of blue and green cutting through the fire. For a single, fleeting second, you see Vander there, in his eyes. The man you loved. The protector who had once carried you through the worst storms. It’s real. He’s still in there. The grip around you tightens, not with violence, but with a deep, consuming desperation. His body trembles with something far greater than rage—something more human. His chest releases a low, guttural breath, the growl that once shook the air now softened, trembling with the weight of all that he has become, all he’s lost.

He’s no longer the man you remember, not entirely. But he’s not the beast either. No longer fully consumed by it. It’s somewhere in between, and in that space, you cling to him like you’ve never clung to anything before. You feel his hands, so monstrous and terrifying in their size, holding you close— holding you. He pulls you in with a desperation that makes your chest ache, his form trembling as if he’s afraid you might slip away again, as if this might all vanish in an instant. The sheer weight of him, the warmth of his touch, releases everything you’ve buried deep inside—the fear, the questions, the pain, the grief. Every memory of him, of what you lost, surfaces and consumes you. Your sobs come, raw and uncontrollable. The sound fills the air between you, as you let go of everything you’ve carried alone all this time. And in the grip of this agony, in the midst of your sobbing breaths, you feel Vander—the man who once loved you—is still fighting to hold onto you, still fighting to be the protector he once was. His arms, still massive, still deadly, are now filled with tenderness. He doesn’t need to speak, not yet. His embrace says everything. He’s still here, he’s still fighting, and he hasn’t forgotten you. In that moment, you realize that the beast, the rage, the monstrous form—none of it can take away who he was, who he still is to you. Tears blur your vision even more, but you no longer try to stop them. You let them fall freely, because in the midst of the devastation, the pain, and the years you spent wondering if this day would ever come, you know— he’s here. Not just in body, but in soul. And you’ll hold on to him, no matter what form he takes. You’ll fight for him, just as he fought for you.

As Vander’s gaze shifts toward Powder and Vi, his monstrous form trembles slightly, and the flicker of recognition in his eyes softens further. Despite the beast he has become, there's a tenderness in the way he moves, his massive arm opening wide, offering a place for them to find solace in his embrace. The look in their eyes is a mix of agony and hope, the weight of everything they've endured written across their faces. It’s clear they’re torn between fear of what he’s become and the desire to believe that the father they once knew is still inside.

Without a word, you reach out, your voice quiet but full of emotion.

“Go to him. He’s still your father. He’s still here with us.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of years of grief, the ache of a lost family and the hope of its fragile restoration. Powder’s eyes fill with tears, and Vi, standing beside her, slowly steps forward. The two of them move together, drawn toward Vander’s open arms, like a long-buried longing finally being met. They collapse into his embrace, and the world around you seems to pause. Vander, in his monstrous form, holds them close, his massive arms gentle yet desperate, as though he’s afraid they might disappear if he holds them too loosely. The pain, the fear, all of it melts away in this moment, replaced by something simple—love. He’s still their father, still the protector who had raised them. Even now, with all the darkness and the destruction surrounding them, Vander is here, alive, and for this moment, whole.

And you stand back, watching them hold each other. The tears in your own eyes sting as you witness the reunion, knowing that, despite everything, the heart of the man you loved is still present. He is their father— your Vander—and for that, you are thankful.

[whorefordean]

ghostface smut i wrote on my break at work, anyone? ps this is very short

tw: recording poundtown, dubcon?, maybe a slight corruption kink?, threats lowkey, also unedited so any mistakes are allowed to be laughed at (if you can’t tell i hate labeling tw bc i suck at it. my apologies, dearie)

mdni 18+

“what would your friends think if they saw you like this?” ghostface mumbles into your ear. you can barely hear him over the sounds of slapping skin and your own moans. he’s thrusting into you so hard that you’re jerked forward each time his hips meet your ass. if his bicep hadn’t been nestled directly against your throat, locking you in place, you’re sure you’d be knocking against the wall by now.

“don’t,” you whimper, eyes rolling after a rather deep thrust. his cock fills you so perfectly, and you know you should beg him to stop. but you couldn’t. not when he felt so fucking good, and definitely not when you were the one who provoked him.

that stupid phone call three weeks ago had fucked with your head so bad, that you ended up with a killer’s cock buried so deep inside your aching pussy that you weren’t sure how you’d ever allow another man to fuck you again. there was simply no way that any man could give you this much pleasure again unless it was him.

the hand that had been resting on your bare hip retracts, and he leans over your, reaching toward the nightstand to grab your phone. the angle pushes his dick deeper, causing you to cry out as tears prickle your eyes with how far he’s pushing into you. your mouth is wide open, and your eyes are lulling shut as the tip of his cock nudges against your g spot.

the masked man chuckles as you grasp at his arm around your throat, nails prickling his skin.

“gonna make me bleed? hm? we both know i’m better at it,” he grunts into your ear as he settles back into his earlier position, phone now directly in front of your face. you can’t be bothered to care anymore when the flash comes on because he’s jerked your hips back to switch angles again.

“let them know how good i’m ruining this innocent little cunt,” he groans, quickening his pace as he shoves the camera in your face. you’re too far gone to object, and he laughs at you for it.

moans and whimpers echo through the room. ghostface sets the camera up on your nightstand, giving the perfect view of him using you. you pry your eyes open to look back at his masked face, tears and drool wetting your face.

“mm, there she is,” he rumbles. his arm loosens around your neck.

“please. they can’t know,” you whimper, hoping the words don’t reach the mic on your phone.

“oh, that’s too bad. because everybody in this town is gonna watch you fall apart on my cock while you beg for more,” he threatens.

unfortunately for you, he’s not lying. his gloved hand reaches down to toy with your clit. that mixed with his raspy threats have you toppling over the edge within minutes.

“smile, darlin,” he whispers in your ear as your eyes roll while you cum on his cock. the video stops and he snaps a quick photo, the flash adding another dizzying sensation.

ghostface fills you with his cum, laughing darkly as he pulls out, leaving a trail of his release in his wake. he snaps another photo—this time of your used cunt— and let’s out a hum of approval.

“can’t wait to show them how well you suck my cock,” he whispers. his threads one hand in your hair while the other slips his mask up just enough to press a rough kiss against your lips.

[arminsumi]

Hii can we pls get an extremely smitten in love like love sick gojo pls?????

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

A/N: ABSOLUTELY!! 🥰

Wc ≈ 1.7k

Pairing: GOJO Satoru x f.reader

Summary: the annoying popular boy at college has his heart set on you 😌💕

Warnings; it's a little cheesy

There’s a white-haired boy that always, always sits next to you in every single class. He’s got the looks that kill, one-of-a-kind features, almost too pretty to be on earth; the kind of boy that makes even teachers stutter in the middle of their lecture simply because of his presence.

So many girls fawn over him, like he’s the rockstar of your college with a bunch of groupies following wherever he goes.

And that ticks off one reason you don’t like Gojo Satoru.

The other reasons? To narrow it down; he’s an arrogant cocky flirty bastard who will not stop asking you out to parties and dates. Persistent and determined to make you crack and finally fall for him. Relentless and fast in his pursuit of your heart no matter how far it runs – he’s gonna getcha, he knows it, it’s just a matter of time.

He’s never felt this deeply or intensely. It makes his head spin. When you walk in the room, when you speak, when he sees your name on an attendee list… it has him feeling tingly and lightheaded. Even getting a text from you makes him jump; he replies in two seconds and pouts when you leave him on read. He even complains to his mom and Suguru about you.

This boy is the walking symptoms of lovesick.

But he’s in heavy denial about it. No, no – he’s not obsessed, you’re obsessed. He’s not crushing on you; you’re crushing on him. He’s not chasing you; you’re chasing him. He doesn’t wanna kiss you, you wanna kiss him.

“You have such a fat crush on me.” He smirks, talking unashamedly loudly so everyone who’s passing down the columned corridor can hear.

You sigh. “No I don't, Gojo.”

“It’s Satoru to you,” he winks, “And anyways, you’re not busy this afternoon, yeah?”

“Actually I am – ”

“Great! Let’s go out.”

Your whole face spells how frustrated you are.

“Oh my god…” you sigh, getting up for your next class which was in two minutes – Gojo took up all your time. Your friends had long slipped away after he gave them a glare, snickering as they did because they thought the whole thing between you and him was hilarious.

His long legs strode next to you down the corridor.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To class.” you replied.

“Let me walk you there.” he offered eagerly.

“Thanks, but there’s really no need.” you replied.

He looked at you like a sad puppy, so you gave in. “Oh my god, fine then.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“What!” you looked at him incredulously, “You’re the one who – oh my god never mind. Walk me to class, Gojo.”

He grinned in satisfaction. You almost wanted to smack him.

“It’s Satoru.” He corrected.

“I’m not calling you that. We’re not friends.” You said.

“Gosh, you’re breaking my heart!” he jokes, but deep down he was a little cut by that. You could tell by how he said no more smart remarks. He was silent.

You slid into your seat, watching your professor prepare the sliding whiteboards with awful scribbles of calculus. Gojo slid right next to you, settling his smart ass down a little closer than last time. He was aching to get closer to you in any way he could.

“I need a pen.” He whispered under his breath to you as soon as the lecture began.

“Seriously? Again? Where do you keep putting the ones I give you, up your ass?”

He smirked at you. Pretty blue eyes peaked over the rims of his sunglasses. You weren’t the only one to notice that he had them on indoors; the professor glanced over and immediately reprimanded him.

“Gojo, glasses off indoors, please. Don’t make me keep reminding you.” She said.

Gojo grumbled and reluctantly took them off, setting them down on the desk. You’d already began hastily scribbling notes, but all Gojo managed to do for the first ten or fifteen minutes of the lecture was drum his borrowed pen on his empty spiralbound notebook. He stole thirsted glances of you out of the corner of his eyes.

At some point his attention solely focused on you.

He observed you intently; the way you held your pen, the pace at which you write, your handwriting, how you leaned over just enough for your breasts to lightly squish against the desk.

“Hey.” He whispered to you.

You looked at him bemusedly. Ah, here he goes again. Fifteen minutes in and he has something to say to you.

“Can I copy your notes?” he asked.

“Seriously?” you whisper-shouted. The professor was so deep into her lecture about calculus that she didn’t notice Gojo starting to chat you up.

Asking to copy your notes was just his entry into flirting; what followed next was “I like your handwriting” and “so about that date…” and “there’s a party at my place this weekend…” and “wanna ditch this class together?”

“Satoru,” you said, “shut up, please.”

He shut up, not because you asked him to – he would have gone on and on despite your wishes, but you called his name. That took him aback so much so that he actually had to recompose himself and sit back, take in a breath, think for a bit. The way you pronounced his name had him in pieces.

Now came the part of the lecture where Satoru started making you laugh. You tried so hard not to, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction – but he had a good humour, you couldn’t deny a few breathy laughs here or there.

His unwavering stare was so distracting. That and the fact he kicked his feet up on the desk. He took them down when the professor turned around, and then resumed his lazy position as soon as she turned back to the whiteboard.

“Satoru,” you began, “How is it that you never take notes and still pass?”

He shrugged. “I’m a prodigy. You’re sitting next to a real genius.”

You regretted asking.

He felt bad, so he gave you a small honest answer. “I cram at night.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Would be nice to have a study buddy…” he suggested.

“No.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice? Let’s study in the library later.”

“No – ”

“Okay! I’ll meet ya there!” he smiled decisively, choosing to ignore your decline.

The class concluded, and Gojo lingered by your desk waiting for you to pack up. Some lovestruck girls always approached him at that point, and he held small talk with them. He absolutely let their compliments fuel his ego.

You tried to take advantage of the fact he was distracted by them so you could slip out of the lecture theatre unnoticed. But he had good eyes.

“Oh, gotta go. Bye.” He said hastily, eyes locked on you like you were his target. He practically tumbled down the desk levels to get to you.

Just as you disappeared beyond the door, he caught up with you, lanky body colliding with yours on ‘accident’. You thought it was deliberate, but it really was an accident – he was so clumsy around you. He threw you a lopsided, apologetic smile.

That familiar sad puppy expression developed on his features as you walked quickly down the corridor and ignored him. Inside, you were bitter about how he bathed in those girl’s attention.

He had his hands behind his back. A peculiar thing – he usually walked like he owned the place with his hands swinging like a model on a runway. You stopped abruptly in your tracks when you noticed his deflated behavior. He bumped into you again.

“Hey…”

“Sorry.” He muttered apologetically.

“… wanna get lunch together, after studying?” you offered, feeling bad for how you ignored him the whole walk to the library.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah! Yeah… uh, yes.” He almost choked. “Absolutely.”

After that, he had a pep in his step as he followed you into the library.

Studying with him was super unproductive. He kept teasing your face, pinching your cheeks and ears to get your attention and then when he had it, he started rambling about something.

Then he pulled giggles out of you. He did such goofy, stupid things.

“Look.” He said, so you looked away from your textbook.

You shook your head.

He had balanced a book on his head and bit his borrowed pen between his pearly whites.

“Don’t put my pen in your mouth! I don’t want your germs.” You said.

He grinned.

You had to admit… that was an attractive smile. The way his Addam’s apple subtly shifted. The way his eyes lit up. The way his eyes creased.

He took the book off his head and the pen out of his mouth.

“You don’t want my germs?” he pouted jokingly.

“No, no way.”

“How are we ever gonna kiss?”

“E – excuse m – what? Huh?”

Gojo giggled. He threw that in just to see your reaction.

“You sooo wanna kiss me.” He teased.

“Uh… I don’t…” you swallowed.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He said, his tone shifting into a genuinely serious one.

“I’m not lying. I’d never kiss you.” You spoke.

“Yeah?”

He brought his face closer to you. So close you could see the subtle freckles on his pale cheeks.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Gojo asked, peering at your soul with his eyes.

You stuttered, too stunned to response. What would you do? It was a genuine question, you could tell by the tone of his voice and look in his eyes. He really wanted to know.

“I don’t know…” you responded.

“Have you thought about it at all?” he asked. A slight nervousness shook his vocals. There was the smallest of voice cracks as he said ‘thought’.

Should you have been honest? You were looking into his eyes contemplatively. Was he trying to trick you? Was he gonna get an answer out of your lips and then humiliate you with it?

You just bit the bullet and said it.

“Yeah, I guess I have.”

His eyes searched for any hints that you were kidding. You got his heart thumping, his blood rushing around so hard he felt dizzy.

It looked like he wanted to kiss you really badly, but your phone went off and ruined the moment completely. The lovey air dissolved between you and him and he wished it hadn't.

While you hastily took your phone call, you noticed out of the corner of your eyes that Gojo had a boyish blush on his face.

Reblogs n' comments help a lot!! 💗😙

Visit my library ?

[cottagecore-raccoon]

Since the Christmas season is upon us, I thought I'd recommend some of my favorite Good Omens fics that put me in the holiday spirit:

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve by theshoparoundthecorner (40k)

“Bit of an odd tradition, if you ask me,” he said, if not to get his mind off the longing that had settled in his chest. Aziraphale shrugged. “I think it’s rather sweet. A kiss for good luck. Seems a nice way to start the year. Very human.” Crowley nodded. “Can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, that lot. Always finding excuses. First it’s mistletoe at Christmas, then it’s luck for the New Year…” “Well there’s no need to be so grouchy about it,” Aziraphale said. “I think it’s lovely.” Crowley’s heart ached a little more as he watched Aziraphale smile up at the glowing numbers on the building above them. Yeah, he thought, lovely. Five times Crowley thought about kissing Aziraphale on New Year's Eve, and one time he did.

Snow Angel by Vagabond (14k)

Human!AU. Aziraphale needs a date to his brother's Christmas party to avoid getting set up with someone. Anathema suggests Crowley, the office bad boy. They go, get snowed in, and have a heart-to-heart that ends in a Happy Christmas. From a prompt: Human!AU: Aziraphale needs a date for family Christmas. He invites the office rebel/bad boy, Crowley.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks (14k)

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives. --- Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this? But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia. However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there.

Shelter from the Storm by AppleSeeds (13k)

They're coworkers in town for a conference, but a storm has knocked the power out in the hotel where they were supposed to be staying, so Crowley and Aziraphale brave the storm and find their way to a charming little B&B, which has one room available, and it's the honeymoon suite, which only has one bed, and now Aziraphale is injured and needs to be looked after, and oh no now the power's out here too but at least they have the soft flickering glow of the candlelight but OH NO the heating's gone off too and it's getting VERY cold and Newt's the one trying to fix it... whatever will Aziraphale and Crowley do? AKA, what happens when I try to squeeze as many tropes as I possibly can into one story.

The Anon Before Christmas by foolishlovers (67k)

When Crowley’s friend, blogging buddy and business partner Anathema announces her annual Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr, she is very adamant Crowley should join this year. The old-fashioned (but admittedly compassionate) man he gets assigned to send anonymous messages to every day until Christmas sounds awfully similar to the fussy bookseller that his friends adore, yet Crowley tries to avoid at all costs. But surely his friends would have mentioned if Aziraphale had taken an interest in the Bad Omens fandom as well… right? Or: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Santa Tumblr AU.

I could definitely use some more recs, so reblog with your favorite holiday fics! Self recs more than welcome :)

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3

As time progressed, the distance between you and Mihawk became increasingly frustrating to maintain. Concurrently, despite your bounty being cancelled, potential risks from undisclosed parties may still persist.

Author's note: It's hard to believe we're in 2025 already. The story is flowing well, and I expect the first part to conclude within the next chapter or two. I had planned to include an important scene with a major OP character in this update, but space constraints prevented it. I'll incorporate it in the next chapter alongside other plot developments.

The second part shouldn't be particularly long, but I want to write about daily life on Kuraigana Island. This means readers who haven't read the manga or watched the anime will encounter some spoilers. Since we don't know how many seasons the live-action will cover, it might take years before they film that storyline.

I wish you all a wonderful 2025!

You awoke to birds chirping, their gentle whistles drawing you back to reality. When you opened your eyes, sunlight streamed directly into them, causing you to squint and roll away from the harsh rays onto the cool grass. 

Upon discovering Mihawk's departure, a sense of melancholy settled over you. His solemn promise lingered in your thoughts, accompanied by memories of ardent kisses and gentle touches. The previous evening had marked a significant development in your relationship; you had simply held each other, finding peace and contentment in a quiet embrace with no need for anything more. 

Though naturally reserved, Mihawk revealed his softer side in private through subtle gestures of intimacy and affection. His tenderness emerged in the way he welcomed your presence and left thoughtful gifts on your pillow—each action carrying the same quiet precision that defined his character.

An involuntary sigh escaped your lips as his absence weighed heavily upon your consciousness. Yet you chose to trust his resolve, hoping he would return before the ache of separation could truly take hold.

You pushed yourself up from the ground, stretching to shake off the last traces of sleep. Making your way down the hill toward the village, you noticed townspeople already bustling between the harbor and main streets. Fresh fish scented the air while seagulls wheeled overhead, and the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls echoed off the surrounding walls. You'd nearly forgotten the vitality of your homeland during these early dawn hours.

Life had a peculiar way of shifting perspectives. Not long ago, you would have given anything to return home and forget your dream of adventure, one that had twisted into a nightmare of betrayal and deceit. Now you found yourself unwilling to stay, unable to give up the life at sea you had built through hard work, determination, and sacrifice.

A life with the ocean breeze blowing through your hair, and Dracule Mihawk by your side.

Mary-Ann visited the tavern in the early afternoon, choosing the quiet lull for an intimate conversation. Since your arrival, moments alone together had been extremely rare, and she craved the kind of private chat that only two best friends, separated by time and distance, could finally have. 

The tavern was comfortably warm, wisps of steam curling up from your drinks. Mary-Ann sat in thoughtful silence, choosing her next words carefully.

"So, I heard something interesting this morning," she said, sipping her tea with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh? Do tell," you replied with a smile.

"Your boyfriend came all this way just to see you, didn’t he? What a shame I wasn't here to meet him in person."

You pursed your lips and cast a suspicious glance at your cousin, who was casually wiping down tables nearby. "Runa told you, didn't she?"

Mary-Ann shrugged. "You know how she is. She said he's quite the handsome fellow. And judging by those old bounty posters, I'd say she's absolutely right."

“I mean—”

"You're not going to deny it, are you?" she teased. "Go on, don't stop on my account."

A wider grin tugged at your lips as thoughts of the Warlord drifted through your mind once more. "He's gorgeous, Mary-Ann. Breathtakingly so. But that's not the main reason I care for him."

"I bet. You've always been able to look beyond the surface. When I first heard the rumors about you two, I was skeptical… after all, he has quite the reputation. And those eyes of his..."

"Trust me, I was terrified when I first realized he was pursuing me."

Mary-Ann froze with her mug suspended in mid-air, unblinking. "Wait, he was?"

“Crazy, right?”

She sighed, setting the beverage down on the table. "Damn, sweetie. You've been through quite a journey out there."

"That's putting it mildly."

Her cheerful expression faded as a shadow crossed her face, giving way to a more serious tone. "So, he was chasing you because the Marines ordered him to? How did you get from there to this?"

You chuckled. "I honestly don't know. It just... happened naturally. Mihawk was never truly interested in capturing or killing me, he was fascinated by what I'd accomplished."

Her eyebrow arched impossibly high. "Seriously? Everyone says Dracule Mihawk is heartless and a savage on the battlefield."

"That's what I thought too. But believe me, he's the very reason I'm sitting here with you today."

She nodded. "Right, because he got your bounty cancelled. Runa told me about that too."

"Can't that girl keep anything to herself?"

Mary-Ann shook her head with a smile. "Can you really blame her for being excited?"

“Not really, but…”

The atmosphere grew heavy as Mary-Ann's face tensed, her gaze holding the weight of a thousand unspoken concerns as her lips formed a straight line. 

"You disappeared for weeks, Y/N, and we had no idea where you'd gone. Then suddenly we learned the World Government wanted you dead. Can you imagine how terrified I was for you?"

“I—”

"Look, I don't mean to sound harsh," she cut in. “I know it was difficult, and I understand why you couldn't reach out to us after that. But every day, I dreaded hearing news of your execution. I would break down in tears just thinking about it."

You had feared your family and friends would see you as just another wayward criminal lost to the sea, someone who could only disappoint them for committing what seemed like an unpardonable act. You were terrified to reach out, knowing the Marines could track any communication and endanger your loved ones. Yet you had failed to consider the most crucial aspect: how intensely frightened they all would be for your safety.

Your shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry, Mary-Ann. I know I've caused you all so much worry."

"I'm not blaming you, I know it wasn’t your fault. Though I have to admit, I spent a long time being angry that you chose such a dangerous dream."

Your eyes flickered as you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. "Actually, there were times when I regretted my decision."

Mary-Ann's warm smile returned as she settled in her chair. "If I were in your shoes, I couldn't have endured that alone. The way you found the courage to stand on your own, without support… it's truly admirable. I'm just so grateful you didn't give up."

“Why?”

She looked at you thoughtfully, her face glowing in the warm sunlight. "Because I've never seen you this happy before."

Oh.

"Whatever people say about Mihawk, I trust your judgment. And seeing how much you like this guy, I'm certain he's not the mindless World Government’s lapdog that everyone makes him out to be.

Your fingers reached for the cross pendant, subconsciously toying with it. "No. He's complex and contemplative, far more than just empty words and violence. He's direct, honest, and believes in me more than I've ever believed in myself."

Mary-Ann sipped her now-cold tea with a satisfied hum. "You spent time with him last night, didn't you?"

“Yeah.”

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing, actually. We just slept."

She propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. "Slept, sure."

"Is that really any of your business?" you asked with a playful smirk.

"You're my best friend, of course it is."

"Well, you're in for a disappointment; we really did just sleep. Get your mind out of the gutter."

“Mhh.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. "But that's not all you've done together, is it?"

"Nope, not going there."

"Come on, spill!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “With his fierce prowess in battle, I bet he's just as wild in the bedroom—"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Stop it!"

She erupted into laughter, clutching her stomach and nearly toppling backward in her chair. Her booming voice echoed through the tavern so powerfully you worried she might shake the rafters loose. 

"You should see your face right now. You're as red as your mother's tomato soup!"

"Well, who do I have to thank for that?"

"Alright, alright. My apologies. I can see you'd rather not discuss those details."

"For good reason,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “I never ask you about your husband’s performance during sex, do I?"

"Ah, I'd be happy to tell you all about it. You see, there's this special thing he does with his ton—"

You waved your hands frantically. "No, no, please. I'm perfectly fine not knowing. I'd rather be able to look him in the eye without any disturbing mental images."

Mary-Ann dissolved into uncontrollable giggling, just like in the old days. Wiping tears of joy from her eyes, she finally caught her breath and composed herself. "I didn't realize how much I've missed this."

“I missed it too.”

"But not enough to make you want to stay, right?"

You released a gentle sigh, tilting your head. "It's not that I don't want to."

"I understand. Your heart belongs to the sea now… and to Dracule Mihawk."

Lost in thought, you gazed through the window at the pristine sky above. The salty scent of the ocean had become part of your essence, clinging to your skin and dancing on your lips no matter how much you washed or what foods and drinks you tasted. And the distinctive aroma of the man you had fallen in love with, like the finest spice in a gourmet kitchen, had woven itself into your being, remaining a constant presence in your life.

"Yes," you whispered, blinking back tears before they could fall. "It does."

The seven days spent in your homeland proved transformative, offering insights into aspects of life previously overlooked. This period of reflection facilitated personal rediscovery, lending new perspective to familiar routines and emphasizing the importance of rest. The nurturing presence of family and friends served as a powerful source of rejuvenation for your spirit.

Runa struggled the most with your impending parting, retreating to her room the moment she noticed your packed belongings. After half an hour of coaxing, she finally opened the door, her face tear-stained, her breath hitching with crying. 

"Why do you have to go?" she asked, curling into a ball on her bed. "Why did you have to meet that Warlord?"

"Runa, it's not that simple," you said softly, placing a gentle hand on her knee. "I have a whole life waiting for me; a job, someone counting on my services, and so many places still to explore."

"But it's so dangerous out there!" 

"I can’t deny that, Ru. But I know you're mature enough to understand why I need to follow this path."

"No," she sniffled. "I know why you want to go, but I just can't make sense of it. Why risk your life when you could be safe and comfortable? It's not like you're planning to sail the Grand Line."

You hesitated, unable to find the right words to offer. The idea of venturing further had been growing in your mind—a chance to push beyond familiar waters. Though the East Blue was vast, you felt you had visited every corner of it, from remote islets to bustling cities. While you once dismissed the Grand Line as too risky, you now wondered if you might be ready to take on its challenges somehow.

Your silence made Runa's eyes widen in panic. "Wait… you won't go to the Grand Line, right? Please tell me you won't!"

"To be honest, Runa, I'm not sure,” you admitted. “While I haven't made any specific plans, I can't promise I won't consider that possibility someday."

"You can't do that! You may never return!"

A soft smile tugged at your lips. It seemed a flair for the dramatic truly ran in your family.

"Ru, I know I'm asking a lot. I don't expect everyone to agree with my choices. All I'm asking for is your acceptance of the journey I must take."

"Well, I refuse," she declared between hiccups, tears streaming down her face in endless rivulets.

“Ru—”

"No, I mean it. I don't want Dracule Mihawk to take you away from us. I don't want you to go to the Grand Line. I don't want you to be a pirate. And I certainly don't want you to put your life in danger every single day."

You exhaled deeply, brushing her damp hair away from her eyes. "Nobody is taking me away from you, and being a pirate doesn't mean I'm going to become a bad person."

"It's not about that. Being a pirate puts a target on your back, doesn't it?"

"I only became a target because of bad luck,” you explained. “A chain of unfortunate events forced me to do something terrible, something I would never choose unless I had no other option."

She bit her lower lip hard enough to nearly make it bleed. "And what if you find yourself in that situation again? What if you need to survive and the World Government condemns whatever means you have to use? I doubt even Mihawk can protect you from that all the time. How well do you know this man, anyway?"

Knowing there was no response that could contradict the truth of your cousin’s statements, you took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "I can't promise you that things will be easy. All I can do is assure you that I'll be as careful as I can be, and call you at least once a week to keep you updated about my whereabouts."

"How can I be sure you won't end up with another bounty?"

"The reason I got a bounty in the first place was my inexperience."

She pouted, her throat tightening with emotion. "It's not enough, Y/N."

"I know, and I wish I could give you more reassurance."

"You're going to leave regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

“Yes.”

Her lips quivered as fresh tears soaked into her shirt. "Fine. Go ahead and do whatever you want, then."

The resentment was clear in her voice, anger and disappointment blazing in her darkened eyes. It pained you deeply to leave her this way; hurt, angry, and utterly miserable. Knowing she might hold a grudge against you made your determination waver, but abandoning your commitments and chosen destiny was simply not an option you were willing to consider.

With a gentle kiss on her forehead, you rose from your position. Maintaining your poise, you proceeded toward the door, accepting that you must once again depart from your cherished foundations in pursuit of a life that promised the fulfillment you had yet to discover in your hometown.

And of a man whose undefined role in your relationship held profound significance.

Before you could leave the room, Runa called your name, halting you mid-stride. You turned to look at your cousin one last time, as she hesitated, getting up slowly from the bed but staying a few paces away.

Finally, she ran to you for a tight hug, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you against her. She breathed heavily into your hair, whimpering and shaking, barely releasing you to say, "If that guy ever dares to hurt you, I swear I'll kill him with my own hands. I don't care how massive that sword of his is.”

Embracing her tightly, you felt your own tears cascade down your cheeks while a soft laugh escaped your lips. After dabbing your eyes dry, you pulled back to take in the fierce look on her face, which gave her a maturity you had never seen in her before.

"I'll take your word for it."

It had been three weeks since you'd last seen Mihawk. You dove back into your sea routine with renewed intensity, sailing tirelessly from port to port. 

Each day brought pleas to Isaiah for more assignments as you tried to outrun time's sluggish pace. While the busy schedule didn't quite ease your restlessness, it at least kept your mind from lingering too long on thoughts you'd rather avoid. 

The Warlord had returned to the Grand Line, withdrawing into his usual silence without any communication. You wanted to trust him—truly—and a part of you would never doubt his word. Yet the uncertainty of when he would return created an unbearable emptiness in your heart, one that left an aching void nothing else could fill.

Every night felt dull and meaningless, your bed suddenly becoming colder and much too spacious for you alone. The bathtub was stifling, each soak a reminder of your passionate moment with the swordsman, awakening desires you struggled to contain. Your cabin was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and every solitary meal tasted bland and lifeless. A deep ache consumed you, for your loved ones back home, for Mihawk's presence beside you, and for companionship to fill the endless lonely days.

Though you didn't lament leaving home again, the extended isolation was beginning to take its toll.

Fueled by pent-up emotions, you began picking fights more often than necessary. You weren't actively looking for confrontations, but after the incident on Mirror Ball Island, your patience with profiteering scoundrels had worn thin. You refused to let anyone take advantage of your services again.

One day, you stood with unwavering confidence before another fool who tried to cheat you out of your fair price, methodically counting the banknotes between your fingers. The thug snarled, blood dripping from his thrice-broken nose as he twisted against the ropes binding his hands. While you preferred peaceful solutions, mercy had no place in this world.

"This is more like it," you said smugly, securing your Berries into the inside pocket of your jacket. "It was nice doing business with you."

"You damned witch," he snarled in response. "If you think this is over—"

"Oh, it is," you cut him off sharply. "I wasn't the one who violated our agreement in the first place."

"Tch."

"Smart of you to stay quiet."

You pivoted on your heels and strode down the empty hallway, your sword and pistols echoing with metallic clinks against your sides. Before you could round the corner toward the harbor, the man called out from behind, his harsh voice booming with arrogance, causing you to stop abruptly.

"Must be real nice having that infamous Warlord watching your back and cleaning up your messes."

Your jaw clenched at the insult, striking a raw nerve. You turned menacingly, boots grinding against the dirt as you stalked back to where the man lay sprawled, each step deliberate and radiating malice. The man's smug expression wavered under your piercing gaze, but his words hung irretrievably in the air. 

You crouched down, your voice lowering to a deadly whisper that carried the same bone-chilling edge as Mihawk's infamous demeanor. "If you think he's my babysitter, you're dangerously mistaken."

The thug’s breath hitched, but you didn’t stop there. Your hand shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him closer. “I fight my own battles. I settle my own scores. And I certainly don’t need anyone to clean up after me. So, unless you want me to show you just how much I don’t rely on him, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

You let him go with a forceful shove, standing tall as you dusted off your hands. The scammer scrambled backward, his face pale as he muttered half-hearted apologies. But then, under his breath, emboldened by the distance between you, he sneered, "Figures a brute like him would choose someone just as savage. Warlord or not, he's still a glorified pirate.”

The muscles in your shoulders tensed visibly, your expression cold and unyielding as a storm brewing on the horizon. “What did you just say?”

His bravado faltered again, but he pressed on, perhaps out of misplaced courage or sheer stupidity. “I’m just saying, someone like him thinks he’s above the law because he waves a giant sword around and terrorizes everyone who crosses his path. It’s pathetic. You’re both—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. In a blur of movement, you grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet with surprising strength. “Listen closely,” you hissed, your face inches from his. “You don’t get to speak his name, let alone insult him.”

Your grip tightened, and the scammer squirmed, realizing too late that he had pushed far beyond the limits of your tolerance.

“That ‘glorified pirate’ could destroy you and everything you’ve ever known with a flick of his wrist. Do you know why he doesn’t?”

The thug shook his head frantically.

“Because unlike you,” you spat, “he has honor. He got strength you couldn’t even begin to understand, and he doesn’t waste it on cowards who can’t even win a simple scam. Next time you even think about speaking ill of him, ask yourself—are you prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions?”

You dropped him to the ground like a sack of bricks, leaving him gasping for air. "You are the only pathetic one here."

Without another word, you strode back toward your ship, your blood still boiling with rage. As you disappeared into the crowd, you grumbled curses and complaints under your breath, uncaring about the passersby who eyed you as if you had lost your sanity.

Heavens above, you longed desperately to see Mihawk again.

Weeks had turned into months, and it had become overwhelmingly unbearable. 

The Warlord's extended absence had created a palpable void across the East Blue region and in your personal life. Despite your resolute exterior, the question gnawed at you: would he honor his promise and return, proving his commitment to the bond you'd forged together? Though you wanted to believe in his reappearance, doubt crept in like an unwelcome shadow. You waited for any indication of presence, whether through reported sightings or even a single communication via transponder snail—none of which had materialized.

It unsettled you to realize how deeply he had influenced your thoughts, each day without him intensifying the craving that consumed both your soul and flesh. Even self-gratification brought no relief to your nerves, feeling hollow and incomparable to his touch. 

Missing him was truly maddening, but you could only wait and hold fast to his promise.

Meanwhile, your dealing job continued with more excursions and fruitful exchanges, immersing you in dynamic expeditions that provided just the right balance of stability and excitement. It was a good consolation, something that brought joy and gave your days purpose when you woke each morning with the sun rising. This was exactly what you'd always wanted; a life you wholeheartedly enjoyed, one you had chosen regardless of its lurking dangers over the comfort and security of your hometown. 

Still, as months went by, it became clear that the East Blue's opportunities were growing scarce. The region's limitations had become increasingly apparent, with Isaiah himself noticing the declining quality of your acquisitions. Though he was understanding about it, you both recognized that your finds were now predictable and less remarkable than before.

In hindsight, you should have anticipated his proposal.

"Wait, are you serious?" you asked, knitting your eyebrows.

"I know this is sudden, but honestly... I've been considering it for a while now."

"I thought you preferred avoiding the Grand Line," you remarked. "How are you planning to get there?"

He drew in a deep breath, folding his hands on the lantern-lit table. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"That's quite the plan to start with."

He laughed. "I know. I have no means to cross the Reverse Mountain, and I'd rather take the other route if I could."

"You can't simply sail through the Calm Belts in an ordinary ship."

"I'm aware. At minimum, I'd need one with a Seastone-lined hull,” he said firmly.

"Isaiah, let's be realistic. Seastone is an extremely rare mineral that only the Marines and World Government have access to."

He massaged his temples. "Yeah, that's the problem."

"So, you're only speaking hypothetically here."

"I am and I’m not. Look, I've always said I was content living here, but I'm getting tired of seeing the same faces and following this mundane routine. Even you know the East Blue has its limits. Sooner or later, there won't be anything left for us here."

Your eyes narrowed. “Maybe. But why are you speaking in plural?"

"Because this isn't just about me, Y/N. I want you to be part of this."

A heavy silence fell as you turned his words over in your mind, trying to make sense of them.

“Isaiah, what—”

"I know I don't have the means right now, but I've got connections. People who could help us form the crew we need and obtain some Seastone."

You exhaled. "Isaiah, listen to me for a second. While I've considered reaching the Grand Line someday, even a Seastone-lined ship wouldn't fully protect us from Sea Kings. They can still spot ships from the surface and attack any areas not protected by the mineral."

Isaiah nodded. "Exactly, we need to gather skilled people. Sailors with real talent and experience navigating the Calm Belts."

You sat in contemplation, weighing the risks against the potential rewards.

"Think about it. You could benefit too; after all, doesn't Mihawk have a residence in the Grand Line?"

“He does, but…”

"If we bypass Reverse Mountain, we could travel through the Calm Belts and establish the most efficient route."

"Come on, the Grand Line is vast. Some parts of it take years to reach."

"And it could take us years just to leave the East Blue anyway. I'm only asking you to consider the possibility."

This thought had been weighing on your mind more and more. If your relationship with Mihawk deepened further, you knew he couldn't simply abandon his duties to visit you in the East Blue. It would be unreasonable to expect him to give up his title and retire, reducing Yoru to a mere wall decoration. 

And certainly, enstablishing a long-distance relationship simply wasn't an option you could accept.

Yet, could you and Isaiah realistically cross the Calm Belts without being thrown overboard and devoured by a Sea King? While Reverse Mountain seemed like the better alternative in theory, it came with its own deadly risks. Put simply, neither path seemed safe enough for you to attempt at this time.

"I will, of course," you replied. "But I can't make any promises."

"That's fine. I would love to have you as part of my crew, Y/N, but I won't pressure you into it."

A smile crossed your face as he left his seat, bid you goodnight, and retreated to his room with measured steps. Your thoughts swirled in disarray as you stared at the lantern's glow—your mind adrift in possibilities— transfixed by its golden hues. 

Like the mesmerizing amber glow of Mihawk's piercing eyes.

Four long months had passed without a glimpse of the Warlord. From time to time, you asked Isaiah whether his contacts had heard any news of Mihawk's location or caught wind of rumors from across the four seas. So far, no significant news had emerged—his activities in the Grand Line had been unusually quiet and uneventful, nothing noteworthy enough to stir up any gossip.

As disappointing as it was, you had long since accepted it. Your faith in him remained unshaken, as you knew in your heart he would honor his promise and return to the East Blue for you, without fail. The ache of separation endured, but your strength of character carried you through each day, bolstered by your independence and resilience in your work.

However, nothing could have prepared you for what would become the most terrifying, life-threatening experience of your maritime career.

Notwithstanding prior experience and better judgment, you found yourself venturing once again into potentially hostile territory. 

The initial contact seemed legitimate and innocent enough: a potential client at a local tavern presented what appeared to be a straightforward business transaction of modest scale. The rendezvous point was on an inhabited island, with nothing outwardly suspicious about the arrangement. Red flags immediately went up when you arrived to find the meeting site was an isolated warehouse, completely cut off from civilization with no nearby buildings. The deal's questionable legality didn't faze you, that was normal in your line of work. But the circumstances raised significant concerns that warranted immediate withdrawal rather than merely exercising heightened vigilance.

No matter how capable you had become, certain battles were not meant to be fought alone.

You crept forward with caution, one hand resting on the sword at your hip while the other hovered near your holstered pistol. The decrepit wooden structure loomed ahead, its unstable frame making your skin crawl in alarm. 

A prudent course of action would have been to withdraw to your vessel without engagement. Still, something compelled you onward as you pushed open the door with a disturbing creak. The interior was dim and barren, containing nothing but scattered hay and broken planks, with decaying support beams that somehow still held the structure upright. 

The vast space had only a single entrance; the doorway you had just passed through. Though the contractor might simply be running late, your mind filled with darker possibilities, drowning out any optimistic thoughts. Before you could return outside to wait, the door slammed shut with a thunderous bang that echoed through the hollow chamber, making you jump and gasp.

An eerie silence descended, with no indication of activity outside. Upon attempting to exit, you discovered the door was immovable, refusing to yield even a fraction despite applying considerable force against the deteriorating structure.

You slammed against it repeatedly with your shoulder, until the acrid smell of smoke filled the air. Dark wisps curled up from beneath the door frame, forcing you to stumble backward as flames suddenly erupted in an incandescent blaze. You stared in horror at the advancing inferno, your eyes wide as the temperature soared with each lick of fire.

You spun around, desperately searching for another escape route, but found none. The wood greedily absorbed the flames, swallowing you into a scorching circle. You ran from one side to another, pounding your feet against the planks in hopes of creating an opening to slip through. Unfortunately, by the time you managed to make cracks and fracture pieces, the fire had effectively blocked your way to freedom.

The gravity of the situation took a moment to sink in. Your breath shortened as you panted and coughed, the smoke burning through your nose and filling your lungs. Sweat trickled from your hairline down your face as pieces of wood broke and fell from the roof. 

You leaped aside to dodge a massive girder crashing to the ground, but the sudden movement sent you reeling back toward the flames. A tongue of fire lashed out and caught your neck, searing pain shooting through you as your skin blistered and tore. You screamed in agony, clutching the burn with trembling hands as tears welled up, both from the excruciating sting and the dire reality of your predicament.

Though your smoke-filled lungs struggled for air, you refused to accept defeat. Your vision blurred as you climbed along the remaining foundations, only to slip and lose your balance, crashing onto your back. Your life flashed before your eyes, memories of childhood, faces of loved ones, and recalled Runa's distressed countenance as she implored you to reconsider your departure.

“This isn't just about me, Y/N. I want you to be part of this."

A heavy silence fell as you turned his words over in your mind, trying to make sense of them.

“Isaiah, what—”

"I know I don't have the means right now, but I've got connections. People who could help us form the crew we need and obtain some Seastone."

You pictured Isaiah's determined expression as he shared his aspirations of venturing to the Grand Line, an ambitious journey he envisioned undertaking together.

"This isn't farewell."

"Really?"

With a sigh, Mihawk sat up straight, facing you. His expression was serious and resolute. "You ought to have more faith in what I say."

Although his repeated assurances and actions could prove his sincerity, a persistent doubt was rooted in the recesses of your psyche. His motives were clearly not a pretense, yet that skeptical inner voice refused to be silenced completely.

"What further proof do you require from me?"

You pressed your lips together, contemplating the most appropriate response to give him. As silence lingered, Mihawk reached for the golden pendant hanging around your neck. "I don't give meaningless gifts. This necklace is more than mere decoration."

“I know.”

"If you do, then cease doubting my will to see you again."

Your thoughts turned to Mihawk, and you were gripped by a crushing despair. The bitter realization dawned that he would return to find only ashes where your life had been claimed by these merciless flames.

"I'm just wondering if I should start shopping for a wedding outfit," Micah teased. "I don't want to miss out.”

A bitter laugh escaped between your sobs as you struck the ground with your fist. Life held so much more in store for you, so many experiences yet to come, so many reasons to keep fighting and survive. 

“I don’t have the patience to constantly remind you of your worth, Y/N.”

Your grin vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of utter shock. Countless thoughts raced through your mind, but you couldn't focus on any of them. All you could process was the sound of your name, spoken aloud by Mihawk for the very first time since you'd known him.

And it felt exquisite, resonating in your ears like a perfectly struck chord.

“What did you just say…?”

"Has your hearing suddenly failed you?"

"No, I mean—" You touched his warm cheek with trembling fingers, his sideburns gently prickling your sensitive skin. "You said my name. You've never done that before."

"Unless you prefer I address you as 'Cutthroat' instead."

With a rapid intake of breath, you grasped the lapels of his coat and pulled him into another, fervent kiss. "Don't you fucking dare."

A guttural wail erupted from your throat, straining your vocal cords as your eyes burned with the same intensity as the surrounding blaze. Clutching the golden necklace with your hand, you hoped for a miracle to occur, for anyone in the distant villages to notice the rising smoke and come to your rescue before the flames consumed you. Digging your nails into the dirt, you prayed between choked weeping, casting your pride aside as the fire advanced.

Then, like a mirage, a possible route to salvation appeared in front of you. The fallen rafter had created an acute angle against one of the last standing supports. Above it, an opening in the roof revealed the sky, so blue and beautiful it seemed like divine intervention. You assessed the situation methodically, mapping out each critical point along the potential trajectory, your heart hammering in your chest. It was perilous, considering you could easily lose your footing once more and plunge into the flames below. 

With the limited alternatives available, this presented a more viable choice than remaining passive and succumbing to the inevitable.

Inhaling deeply, as far as your body allowed, you forced yourself to your feet and took a running start, racing along the rafter and leaping onto the support before it could collapse. You clung to it with your arms and legs like a monkey on a tree, carefully sliding up toward the roof as holes and tears formed in your jacket from the crackling flames. The heat was unbearable, the smoke rising so high it seemed to chase you to the top. Your right boot slid from the wooden pillar, but you maintained your grip by channeling all your strength into your arms. 

You were so close now, reaching for the ceiling boards and twisting your torso, your legs painfully crossed around the foundation piece. Gritting your teeth, you fought against your blurring vision and fading focus, summoning one final burst of willpower to propel yourself upward and slam against the edge of the broken roof. Your feet swung precariously close to the flames as your hands clawed frantically ahead, dragging you to safety. 

Finally, you were outside, gulping in fresh air between violent coughs that expelled ash from your airways. As you lifted your head, you caught sight of a small vessel in the distance, its Marine flag billowing, sailing away from the island's port. 

Whether that meant anything in relation to the arson or not, there was no time to dwell on it. The warehouse was on the verge of collapse, with parts of the roof crumbling and melting away. You made it back to the ground through unsteady movements and collisions with the walls, managing to limp away mere seconds before the building exploded. The force of the blast sent you flying, leaving you rolling across the grass with groans of pain.

Voices approached from the woods as townspeople rushed toward the unexpected explosion. Fighting through the sharp pain in your neck and the various aches throughout your body, you dragged yourself up without pause. You quickly retreated from the scene to avoid potential misconceptions about your involvement. Given your history, being discovered at the site could result in unwarranted accusations and legal complications, particularly concerning an incident that  posed significant risk to the surrounding area. No authority would consider your injuries with a lack of evidence against the real perpetrators, given your prior status as a fugitive in international law enforcement records.

As you walked, you discarded your ruined jacket and wrapped your belt scarf around your burned neck for protection. Brushing off as much soot as possible from your face, hair, and clothes, you forced a natural gait to reach your ship without garnering unwanted attention.

"Isaiah," you rasped through the portable transponder, collapsing onto your bed as the island faded behind you. The burn on your neck throbbed and stained your scarf with blood, your muscles and joints throbbing and creaking as though you had been crushed by a ship at full speed. 

"I need your help."

"Y/N, I've got just one question for you: what the actual fuck?"

You winced as Isaiah tended to your burn, carefully cleaning and disinfecting the wound.

"I didn't exactly plan on getting trapped in a burning building," you retorted.

"Oh please, don't clutch at straws now. You've got to stop charging headfirst into dangerous situations like this."

“I don’t.”

"No? Didn't I warn you that the Mirror Ball invitation might be a trap?"

“You did.”

"But you went anyway. And you ended up in serious trouble there too."

You clenched your teeth and gripped your thighs as he dried the injury, dabbing gently at the damaged skin. "What are you trying to get at?"

"All I'm saying is that you should be more mindful of yourself," he explained. "Mihawk isn’t even in this part of the sea now. He won't always be there for you."

"You think I don't realize that? I saved myself today, in case you hadn't noticed."

Isaiah let out a deep sigh as he set aside the bloodied cloth and washed his hands. "Don't get angry, I'm not trying to diminish your abilities."

"No, you're just implying that I rely on Mihawk for my safety."

"That's not what I meant at all," he said softly, applying a big plaster to your burn. "Y/N, you don't need to prove your strength, we both know how capable you are. But when your instincts warn you of danger, you need to take precautions instead of walking blindly into the unknown. What will you accomplish besides getting yourself killed?"

Though difficult to acknowledge, Isaiah's assessment was accurate. Perhaps you had subconsciously anticipated that Mihawk would sense your peril and arrive in time to rescue you from the flames. With him being on the far side of Reverse Mountain, such wishful thinking was absurd.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yeah, I get it. I don't know why I still went to that warehouse."

"You're lucky the burn isn't too severe. I'm not a doctor, but with time, the scar should fade."

You gently brushed your fingertips along the bandage, flinching as your skin still stung beneath it.

"Yes, ah, maybe don't touch it and make it worse now."

You chuckled, pouring quality rum into your empty glasses. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, by the way."

"No worries, I understand. That must have been absolutely terrifying."

"I truly thought I was done for, Isaiah."

He nodded, clinking his glass against yours in a silent toast. "I bet. But who would want to do something like that? Is there anyone there with a grudge against you?"

You shook your head. "You're the one with all the connections, I barely know anyone in the East Blue."

Suddenly, you remembered the Marine vessel you had observed from your elevated position. Through the thick smoke, you could clearly discern their official flag with its characteristic, simplified seagull emblem and "MARINE" inscription, billowing against the horizon. 

"Although..."

“Yeah?”

You hesitated, downing your rum in one swift motion and recoiling at its bitter taste. "I'm not entirely sure, but... I think I've noticed something."

"What did you notice?"

Could the World Government truly be pursuing you still, despite Mihawk's influence and intervention on your behalf? Or was this the work of an independent group, operating covertly for their own agenda?

"After escaping, I saw a Marine vessel leaving the island. A small one, unlike their usual ships."

"Seriously? And you think they were behind this?"

You shrugged. "I don't really know. They could have been there for completely different reasons, leaving on their own by the time the warehouse exploded. There's no way to prove whether the World Government or Marines are behind my attempted murder."

Isaiah slammed his glass onto the table. "Well, if you ask me, you've got quite a clue."

"You don't trust them at all, do you?"

"Like hell I do. Y/N, we know how corrupt these people are. Most Marines are rotten to the core, they rarely do things properly or care about our interests and safety. The World Government can easily keep its hands clean by having their lower-ranking pawns do the dirty work."

You pursed your lips thoughtfully. "If you're right, then not having a bounty doesn't mean I'm safe from trouble."

"I'm not trying to alarm you. No hunters have come after you since your bounty was removed. But if we're right about this and the Marines are still targeting you, it means even Dracule Mihawk doesn't wield the authority over them that we assumed he did."

The mere mention of his name sent your heart fluttering and your stomach twisting. "This is completely messed up."

“The whole world is, my dear. If I can give you some advice, maybe try to lay low for a while. Forget about work and stay vigilant. I can reach out to my contacts and see if they've heard anything suspicious.”

You couldn't bear the thought of idleness, which likely explained your reckless decision to enter the warehouse even though your instincts warned against it. You sought professional engagement to occupy your thoughts, finding it preferable to focusing on Mihawk's inaction and how much you missed him. You let your feelings take control, consuming and commanding you. Your promise to Runa about self-preservation remained unfulfilled as you continued falling into familiar patterns of risky behavior. While your devotion to the Warlord ran deep, managing these impulsive tendencies required immediate attention. 

For your own wellbeing, your family's peace of mind, and for Isaiah, whose steadfast support had guided you through countless challenges.

And above all, for Mihawk himself, who recognized and nurtured your inherent capabilities, preserving your life with the expectation that you would value and protect it accordingly.

"Thank you, Isaiah. I'll actually follow your advice this time."

The subsequent week passed in relative tranquility as you kept to strict isolation to facilitate proper healing of your neck injury. Isaiah diligently managed your recovery, performing regular bandaid changes every 48-72 hours while following thorough antiseptic protocols for the affected area. Though the recovery process remained uncomfortable, the wound showed gradual improvement with diminishing inflammation and more manageable pain levels.

While Isaiah's network had begun investigating the attack, their findings proved inconclusive. Rumors suggested Marine officials were unhappy about the removal of your bounty, but no concrete evidence could be established linking them directly to the incident. Dismissing the matter without further probe could potentially expose you to similar risks in the future.

"No word in the newspapers or on the streets about your death," Isaiah observed. "My guess is that someone inspected the scene, and they've reported the absence of your body to the mastermind behind this attempt."

"Well, at least my family won't be panicking for nothing."

"Yeah, that's not something any parent should ever have to endure."

"Or uncles, cousins, and friends."

Isaiah offered a smile, but his tense posture and unfocused gaze betrayed his underlying concern.

“Are you okay?”

"Yes, I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"I appreciate your concern, but please don't worry too much."

He scoffed. "How can I not? Y/N, you could've died!"

"I was there. I know exactly what happened. Thank you."

"Then please, stop pretending this isn't serious."

You swallowed hard and looked down, absently twirling the pen between your fingers as the open journal rested in your lap. "Someone has to. Otherwise, those images will haunt me day and night."

“Y/N…”

"I see the fire whenever I close my eyes. I feel the heat on my skin, and the smell of smoke follows me everywhere; in every corner of this place, on every piece of clothing I wear, even in my hair. I've showered twice today, yet it doesn’t go away."

Isaiah ran his fingers through his hair as your voice cracked. You could no longer keep up the façade of being strong and unshakeable.

"I can't stop thinking about how my family wouldn't even have had a body to mourn if I had failed."

"I get it, I really do. But—"

“And the truth is... I miss him, Isaiah. I miss him so much it hurts."

Isaiah remained silent, pursing his lips and clearing his throat as he straightened his posture. His eyes darted back and forth, suggesting he knew something you had yet to realize.

"Well... about that..."

You wiped your eyes, fighting back tears. "You must think I'm being ridiculous."

"No, not at all. I'd never mock someone who's in love. Actually, there's something else I need to tell you."

Your body stiffened as the journal and pen tumbled from your lap, your attention suddenly focused. "Did you hear something?"

"Indeed. And it's quite interesting," he replied with a grin.

"Well, might as well keep me in suspense for a moment," you remarked sarcastically.

Isaiah's smile widened. "I could, but I'm not that cruel."

"Oh, just tell me already!"

“Sorry! Okay. He's here in the East Blue."

Your breath escaped just as it had in the fire, constricting your chest and draining the blood from your face at this sudden revelation.

“What?!”

"From what I've heard, he was pursuing Don Krieg and his fleet. Needless to say that he succeeded effortlessly in his task."

"Uh-huh..."

"He was last spotted at the Baratie restaurant. Apparently, he's carrying out some mission for Vice Admiral Garp, though the specifics remain unclear."

“Oh…”

So, Mihawk's presence in the East Blue stemmed from his official duties rather than any personal motivations regarding your whereabouts.

"Where is he right now?"

"I'm afraid I don't know his exact location. He's constantly on the move. But from what I understand, he's always been the one to find you, hasn't he?"

“Yes…”

He settled more comfortably on the couch, stretching his legs out. "Just relax then."

"That's easier said than done, you know."

He groaned, tipping his head backwards with a loud grunt. "Look, I love you, but sometimes you really drive me insane."

"I'm sorry, it's just hard to control my feelings."

"Listen, Y/N. That man is crazy about you."

"What makes you say that all of a sudden?"

"You look and act like a beaten puppy just because he's busy elsewhere instead of coming straight to you."

Indignant, you lifted your chin with a scowl. "That's not true."

"Yes, it absolutely is," he countered firmly. “Sweetheart, have you noticed how he practically burned holes through me with his glare? I've never seen anyone look more jealous. How could a man show such possessiveness if he didn't truly care about you?"

"Logically, I understand what you're saying. Still, here he is sailing through the East Blue, and I knew nothing about it."

"He likely has his reasons. Being a Warlord comes with privileges, but it also requires following orders from the World Government. That's the agreement these pirates made with the higher ups.”

Exhaling softly, you contemplated his words. "I know that. But Isaiah, there's still nothing official between us yet."

"That doesn't mean anything. What happened to your faith and conviction? You were so sure he would come back to you. That necklace he gave you must mean something, right?"

"It's not that I've lost faith, but it's been months. Words and gifts can be fleeting—what holds meaning today might lose its value tomorrow. Now that he's back in these waters, am I supposed to just sit here waiting?"

Isaiah scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Unless you want to wander aimlessly across the East Blue searching for him. And frankly, I'd rather know you're safe."

"I can't stay here indefinitely. We may never find the perpetrator."

He pressed his lips into a tight line, clasping his hands as he leaned forward on his elbows. "You might have a point there. It's just..."

"You're worried about me."

"I really care about you, Y/N. You're my best friend. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Over time, Isaiah had transformed from a trusted professional contact into an essential part of your life at sea. What began as mutual respect had deepened into an unshakeable bond of friendship that you treasured above all else, along with a brief romantic connection that had naturally run its course.

Your love for Mihawk had become unshakable, but the camaraderie you had formed with Isaiah was timeless.

You extended your hand with a warm smile, and he gently clasped it in his own without a moment's pause. "You won't lose me, Isaiah. I know this might sound like an empty vow, but I swear I'll be more careful from now on."

"It's not just about being careful. When someone wants you dead, they'll keep trying until they succeed. Every place you go could turn into a battleground."

"So what's the solution then? Should I just lock myself away in your headquarters?"

"No, of course not."

"You have a good network of contacts. Now we know what we're up against."

"Perhaps. But there's only so much I or my informants can do."

You shook your head. "It's more than I could ask for."

Isaiah released your hand with a composed chortle, looking at you with pride in his eyes. "I do believe Mihawk knows how lucky he is to have your heart. But if he doesn't, I should probably remind him of how amazing you are."

"Just be careful not to become minced meat."

“So comforting, thanks," he groaned with exasperation.

As you burst into a hearty laughter, Isaiah joined in, the tension dissipating from the room as your shared mirth echoed through the space like a cheerful melody.

The peaceful rhythm of waves against the vessel's hull provided a serene backdrop to the bustling activity of Marines aboard, who diligently attended to their duties - tending to the sails, securing rigging, swabbing decks, and servicing artillery.

As the Vice Admiral proceeded to his office, his face betrayed mounting ire at reports confirming your continued survival and evasion of capture. Evidently, he had significantly underestimated your capabilities, regardless of whether fortune had played a role in your survival. His hasty plan had proven insufficient to eliminate someone so tough, he required something smarter, something that even your determination couldn't withstand.

Upon entering his private quarters in the late hours, he was met with minimal illumination from a solitary desk lamp. As he proceeded to loosen his collar, his expression etched with weariness, he suddenly froze at an unexpected presence in the room.

He blinked repeatedly, attempting to dismiss the apparition, but his heart rate accelerated upon realizing the figure seated comfortably in his chair was indeed real.

Right there before him was Hawk-Eyes Mihawk. His legs were propped on the desk, crossed at the ankles, while his trademark hat cast a shadow over his piercing, unyielding eyes. Yoru, his colossal black blade, rested across the table, its edge gleaming ominously in the lamplight.

The officer's hand instinctively moved toward his sword, but Mihawk's low, velvety voice stopped him cold. "That would be unwise," the Warlord drawled, his tone deceptively calm yet brimming with malice.

He remained motionless, not even sparing a glance at the man's weapon. The air in the room grew thick and heavy, weighed down by the sheer force of his aura.

“How did you—” the officer stammered, his words faltering.

Mihawk moved forward deliberately, his boots landing heavily on the floor. His right forearm came to rest on the desk as his fingers drummed a quiet rhythm against the wood. "The how is irrelevant," he said. "What matters is why I'm here."

The Vice Admiral swallowed hard, trying to mask his fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

"You set a trap," Mihawk interrupted, his voice cutting like Yoru's blade. His golden eyes narrowed, their intensity rooting the man to the spot. "You failed," he said simply. "But not from lack of effort. And for that..." His voice dropped to a whisper that carried the weight of an executioner's blade. "You will pay."

The officer staggered backward, his knees threatening to give way beneath him. "I... I was following orders," he croaked, his voice thick with desperation.

"Oh no," Mihawk replied coldly. "It was personal."

"That—that bitch slaughtered my father like a pig! Of course it was bloody personal!!!"

Mihawk stood slowly, his movement unhurried yet reminiscent of a predator coiling to strike. He loomed over the desk, Yoru's hilt within easy reach. "You chose her as your target. You attempted an ambush, imprisoned her, and set the flames. A coward's approach befitting your mediocrity. This matter has become... very personal indeed."

His suffocating presence dominated the room as he towered over the officer, who trembled in fear. "I could end you now," Mihawk murmured, his fingers grazing the blade's hilt. "It would be easier than drawing breath."

The man recoiled, his eyes darting to the sword, but Mihawk made no motion to take it. Instead, he straightened to his full height, his stare as cold and impenetrable as steel.

"But that would be too merciful for someone like you," Mihawk continued, his voice dripping with venom. "You will live. And every moment of your existence will be haunted by my presence."

The officer’s eyes widened in terror, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"You'll look over your shoulder at every sound, at every shadow," Mihawk continued, his tone unnervingly silken. "You'll wonder if today is the day I choose to end this. You will not sleep. You will not know peace. You will live in constant fear, knowing that I can—and will—appear when you least expect it."

With fluid grace, Mihawk lifted Yoru from the desk as if the massive blade were weightless. He secured it to his back in one practiced, graceful maneuver, his predatory stare fixed unwaveringly on the trembling Marine.

"Consider this your punishment," he said, turning toward the door. "A life spent waiting for the inevitable."

With that, the Warlord strode out, his coat sweeping behind him like a dark omen. In the suffocating silence of his office, the man crumpled to the floor, face drained of color, hands quaking uncontrollably. Calling for backup would be futile against an opponent like Mihawk, who could easily split the entire ship in half, just as he had done with Don Krieg's fleet.

From that night forward, every creak, every gust of wind, every flicker of shadow became a harbinger of doom. He would wake in cold sweats, feeling the phantom weight of Mihawk's oppressive glare weighing down on him.

Isaiah thoroughly analyzed his collection of notes, books, and maps, trying to devise a strategic plan. Now that you had returned to your vessel and resumed maritime operations, he was particularly concerned with assembling a qualified crew capable of ensuring your safety.

Reaching the Grand Line through the Calm Belts had become an increasingly tangible goal, but the time wasn't right. Isaiah insisted on thorough preparation, ensuring every detail was in place before such a momentous undertaking.

Engrossed in his analysis, Isaiah methodically traversed the room while reviewing documents, failing to notice the presence of a figure who had silently entered and now observed him from just a few paces away. He spoke to himself, alternating between nods of approval and whispered curses.

Upon turning around, he nearly collided with the unexpected visitor. His eyes widened in recognition as he found himself face-to-face with those distinctive, piercing golden hawk-like eyes, dropping his papers as he let out a startled gasp.

Mihawk stood motionless, his head tilted slightly as he observed the scene. His gaze swept over Isaiah with calculating intensity, causing the latter to swallow nervously and take a cautious step backward.

"Damn, a warning would've been nice," he stuttered. "If you're looking for her, she's not here."

"That is not the purpose of my visit," Mihawk responded.

"No..? Then... what can I do for you?"

Mihawk stepped forward, his sword gliding with a metallic clink against his back. "I have something for you. And in return, you will do something for me."

Isaiah exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. When Mihawk dropped the large bag he was carrying, which looked far too heavy for casual transport, Isaiah tentatively reached for the thick cord keeping it closed.

When he opened it, a blue glow emanated from the pile of minerals inside. The stones looked almost otherworldly, encapsulating all the color, magic, and translucency of the ocean.

Isaiah was transfixed, momentarily speechless at the contents before him. The bag contained an extensive collection of premium Seastone crystals, meticulously extracted and of exceptional purity—a treasure of immense value and rarity.

Isaiah looked up to meet Mihawk’s stoic expression, the Warlord standing watchful in absolute silence. "Holy hell, man."

Upon disembarking from your vessel, the familiar atmosphere of the island struck you with immediate recognition. Isaiah had maintained an unusually upbeat demeanor while being deliberately cryptic, selecting this location as the meeting point for a prospective arrangement with one of his trusted associates.

When you inquired about this contact, Isaiah maintained an enigmatic air of mystery, offering only reassurances about their reliability. He arranged your travel to the location with complete confidence, his usual concerns notably absent.

The scene was precisely as it had been etched in your memory: the shadowed entrance of the cave where you had discovered the emerald ring—now a permanent fixture on your finger—the soft yet distinct sound of sand shifting beneath your footfalls, and the subtle tropical fragrance of palm trees and coconut carried on the breeze. Mihawk's voice seemed to echo in your mind, though you stood alone in this familiar place.

You walked along the shore at a leisurely pace, placing one foot in front of the other. You kicked a few rocks as you went, watching them roll away and come to rest in the distance. You waited in the tranquil oasis, touching your stomach as a sudden twinge made its presence felt.

The physical proximity yet distance between you and Mihawk was excruciating. Reports from Isaiah's network indicated that the Warlord remained within the East Blue region, having not yet returned for the Grand Line. Were his duties truly so demanding that he couldn't spare a moment to find you? During your first encounter there, he had made it clear that he operated on his own terms, refusing to be bound by orders that conflicted with his personal interests or convictions.

You snorted, gazing at the horizon while the coastal wind whispered past. At the sound of approaching footsteps, you steadied yourself, smoothing your hair back and relaxing your shoulders. However, when an unexpected voice cut through the peaceful ambience, you felt your heart freeze and swell in your ribcage.

“You are quite challenging to track down.”

Mihawk stood mere inches behind you, echoing his words from your first conversation. His proximity was palpable, his breath ghosting against your hair as warmth emanated from his form.

Your lower lip quivered as words caught in your throat, refusing to emerge. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as your eyes squeezed shut, then fluttered open.

Finally, when you found your voice again, you were able to speak. “Not that much for you, apparently,” you repeated softly, a gentle smile spreading across your face. "Took you long enough," you added.

"I had urgent matters to attend to," he replied. "Affairs that could not wait."

You swiveled on your feet, meeting his eyes again after what felt like an eternity. His keen attention was captured by the large plaster on your neck, his golden irises following its line along your skin as darkness clouded his gaze.

"Ah, this," you said, brushing your fingers against the fabric covering your wound. "Just another scar to add to my collection, I guess. It should fade eventually."

"I hope so," he responded, his tone stern.

“Does it disturb you that much?" you asked.

"The mark itself doesn't trouble me."

You reached for the front of his coat, sliding your hand along its lapel until it hovered over his cross knife. "Have you heard what happened?"

Mihawk’s eyes met yours once more. "I’ve heard enough.”

A deafening silence hung between you, filled with tension and anticipation.

“And?” you pressed. "Do you know who was responsible?"

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he closed his hand over yours, stilling your restless movements against his coat and chest. He was calm, yet carried an unmistakable edge, like a perfectly honed blade. "The answer should be quite evident."

"You do, of course," you concluded. "So the World Government wants me dead?" 

"No. Just one arrogant fool who believed himself clever enough to evade my notice."

"And who might that be?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The identity of that person no longer matters. I ensured he understands what it means to make a mistake of such magnitude. That lesson will haunt him for the rest of his life.”

There was no need to ask for details, you knew Mihawk well enough to understand that his vengeance would be methodical, calculated, and as terrifying as the man himself.

"I shouldn't have expected anything less," you whispered.

Though Mihawk's countenance remained impassive, he moved his hand to rest delicately upon your waist. He pulled you nearer with effortless precision, his face inclining until his nose gently grazed yours. "What is mine shall remain safeguarded. Without exception."

His words reverberated powerfully, each one sinking into you like an anchor, grounding you in the depths of his devotion and commitment. Unable to resist any longer, you gripped his collar, pressing your lips against his in a fiery collision. You savored their salty taste as if starved, the kiss searing and desperate, completely unrestrained.

For a moment, Mihawk was still, caught off guard by the force of your passion. His response was controlled yet equally consuming as his tongue darted forward, seeking yours in an entwining dance.

When you finally parted, your breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you stared up at him. His eyes now held an unmistakable warmth, a quiet acknowledgment of both your fervor and his own.

"You've been holding onto that for a while," he remarked, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I missed you too," you said teasingly. "No need to be so maddeningly composed."

"Someone has to keep balance when you're set on tipping the scales.”

"Then it’s a good thing you’re mine to tip.”

The storm between you had been unleashed, surging like wildfire in the aftermath of your kiss.

His lips quirked ever so slightly, his golden eyes steady as they locked with yours. "That much has never been in question.”

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 9 (coming soon) ->

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

If it's okay with you can you continue the series where Gojo was giver the reader "lessons." I love that series so much, you did an amazing job writing it😭 I would love to see more parts of that series.

I'm so glad you're enjoying them! However I believe I may be running out of ideas for lessons, so I may have to call this one the last part of the series. But you are still more than welcome to request anything else, my friend.

Title: A Hands on Lesson: Lesson 3 (A continuation from Lesson Two)

Characters: Gojo x m!reader

Contains: light BDSM, blindfolding, fingering, praise/degradation, pet names(love), orgasm control/denial

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

"Alright, are you all situated?" Satoru's voice after moments of silence settled your nerves, your position, however, not helping.

Your head rested on a couple soft pillows, eyes once again shielded with Satoru's signature eyecloth(you both had agreed it was a thrilling addition to the sessions), and arms gently tied behind you as your lower half was propped on a support foam pillow to help keep you up without getting tired. The perfect doggy style position for a novice like you, posed in a way where Satoru could properly teach you.

Speaking of...

"I-I'm alright. But...uh...w-what's...the lesson this time?"

Satoru's fingers gently brushed up your bare leg, the limb flinching from the touch. They glided up from the spot, leaving your skin already aching for more of his touch.

"Let's see..." The way Satoru spoke was like he was counting on his fingers. "You handled receving and giving a handjob, excelled in giving a blowjob...now..." Pausing, it felt like his presence was gone, but he simply positioned himself by your exposed ear, causing you to gasp softly from the change of position. "Now...The lesson is taking me, and controlling yourself...~"

As he initially listed the tasks you had done, your face grew redder with every one, embarrased by the words alone, but you didn't dare speak against him, unsure of when the game has started. Between sessions, he had teased before how he wouldn't tell you when he'd start, but you would know, so he insisted you keep on your best behavior. He also reminded you that the safeword would always apply, no matter whether or not he was in his role or not.

As you were in your thoughts, something cold pressed against your awaiting hole. One of Satoru's fingers, coated with lube, was prodding at the tight rings, as if urging you to open.

"Now just relax, alright? Otherwise the rest of this will hurt."

Putting all trust into him, you did as he suggested, your body relaxing against the soft pillows below you. Thanks to that, paired with the lube, Satoru was able to slip the one finger inside, causing you to tense once again before returning to your relaxed position.

"Good boy~ I promise this will make everything feel much better..."

His movements were slow and careful, easing himself in and out of you. The sensation was strange but not unwelcome. On occasion, you let out an audible breath, especially as Satoru hit a deep spot inside, and with every little sound you made, he would praise you.

As he felt it was easy to move a single finger, he soon paired it with another, your hips suddenly grinding against the support pillow in tandem with his motions. Your moans were a bit louder than earlier, a smirk growing on Satoru's lips.

"Oh, look at you. So desperate, huh?"

His tone of voice told you he had long slipped into his role, setting your body aflame. He watched as your hips continued to gyrate, your cock pressing against the edge of the pillow for him to view. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your skin from merely two fingers. Your actions would soon come to a stop as Satoru's also halted.

"Did I say you could move?"

His voice wasn't dark, but it was definitely a warning. Panting lightly, you shook your head, swallowing down pooling saliva from the side of your mouth.

"N-No, sir."

"Good. Stay still."

With that said, he resumed his actions, curling his fingers around, spreading them, thrusting them. You were lost in this light bliss for what felt like awhile, the two fingers having stretched you enough for them to have plenty of room. Within time, he stopped once more, but with less time in between than last. A third finger joined, and the stretch burned lightly, though it was quickly shrouded with pleasure as he moved once more.

"Fuck...~ Look at you. Three fingers? How much of a slut are you~?" The word sent a jolt to your cock, precum having already began leaking from the tip. You weren't expecting it, but you weren't complaining; it felt thrilling.

As you were reeling from the new sensation, Satoru spoke once more.

"What, can't talk anymore? Is this all it takes to ruin you~?"

You were brought back to reality, lightly shaking your head once more. "N-No, I'm sorry." A sudden thrust of his fingers caused you to cry out, your hips subconsciously grinding against the pillow once more. You were quick to realize your mistake. "N-No sir!"

"Hah...~ Good boy. You learn quick~"

His fingers then left you, leaving you empty with a soft whine. Satoru didn't keep you waiting, and you felt hands spread your cheeks, a larger object prodding your stretched and aching hole. He asked if you were ready, and with your consenting nod, Satoru filled you, your ass taking him down to the hilt thanks to the stretching. As he let out a groan, you had let out a blissful cry, fighting the urge to grind your hips once more.

"F-Fuck~ God you feel amazing. I knew you could take my cock like this." Your body shook with anticipation, patiently waiting for Satoru to move. Noting this, he pressed his chest to your back, his warm skin coming into contact with your blazing body. "Are you ready, love?"

One extra reassurance, but honestly, despite how respectful it was, it was unneeded. You nodded nearly the moment he stopped speaking. You had been ready the moment he entered you. Sitting up, Satoru placed a firm but gentle hand on the back of your neck as he began to cycle his hips into you, the movements almost precise. His hand placement, his movements, all of it nearly made you lose it, your cock throbbing painfully against the pillow. You needed a touch, friction, anything. You were desperate to the point you started to grind your hips again.

The action didn't go unnoticed, Satoru slightly increasing his speed as he watched.

"Nngh...~ Yeah you're desperate...~ Can't...last a moment of fun without w-wanting your cock touched, huh?"

Your eyes were rolling under the blindfold, nails digging into your palms. His hand placement only grew in firmness, not by a lot, but it felt like it was the only thing keeping you mentally in place, like a leash keeping you connected.

Without an answer, Satoru simply continued his thrusts, degranding phrases of how dirty you were slipping out only to be replaced with praises of your work, of taking it as well as you were.

All of it was enough to tighten the coil in your stomach, your moans pitching in sound. It was a familiar feeling, one you were able to proclaim.

"G-Gonna...cum~! S-Satoru--S-Sir I--"

"No."

The denial brought you back down, your body shaking with the urge to already let loose. "P-Please!"

It didn't help that Satoru's movements hadn't stopped. You were about to burst, yet he insisted on continuing.

"Y-You cum when I say. That's part of the lesson~" His voice was breathy. "Don't move o-on your own...a-and don't cum. You can do that, right~?"

"S-Satoru, please!"

At your plea, the movements stopped, and your approaching orgasm would gradually leave.

"Alright, then I'll stop...~" Satoru's voice wasn't upset, but teasing. If you couldn't handle it, he'd stop, leaving you there to lose your orgasm. His hands now resting on your bound hands, not to untie them, but to simply rest there.

"N-No, Sato--S-Sir I...I-I can handle it, please!"

You really were desperate to have him move inside, but he would ignore your pleas until he figured enough time had gone by.

"Still feel like you have to cum?"

Realizing it wasn't there, you groaned softly, shaking your head.

Gently gripping the binds, he used your arms as a leverage, using it to pull you closer to him to bury deeper into you. Just as you were before he stopped moving, you were quick to fall back into the mess you were, your ass clenching around his cock, as if begging him not to stop again. It didn't take long for your orgasm to return, in which you'd announce it once more.

"J-Just hold off a bit longer," Satoru breathed, repositioning himself to once again press his body into you. His hands rested on your shoulders, not in a way to press you down, but another leverage spot for him. This way, he could focus on his hips, losing himself inside of you in a sticky mess. You tried your best to hold off, but it only inched closer.

"S-Sir, I-I can't! I-I need to cum--!"

As if answering your prayers, Satoru replied, "C-Cum with me~!"

Another moment more and you would have came without his permission. Before your mind went white, you thanked the gods for the reprieve, cum roping out from your cock onto the pillow as your body shook with bliss. You let out heavy, moan-filled panting as your felt your ass fill with Satoru's cum, feeling Satoru himself pant heavily against you with soft groans of each release.

You had to admit, Satoru was an excellent teacher. You'd be sure to tell him that whenever you'd awaken from this experience.

[fairrytype]

Just rambling because I want Misty to follow her dreams a little more before joining the E4 in my silly little universe ( I think I'd like her to join when she's older!)

The Elite Four. It’s the natural next step for a Gym Leader, and Misty is no exception. After learning to love her role as a Gym leader, it’s everything she should want, and everything to strive for. But for Misty, it’s more than that. Being the scrawny kid who was nearly thrown out of a League meeting at 13 for loudly swearing when her Gym was under threat of closure only fuels her determination. It’s not just a step forward. It’s proof that she belongs in a world she’s had to find her place in.

So she puts herself forward for it at a young age. At 15, she’s ambitious, scrappy, and eager to prove her worth to the League, to her sisters, and, most of all, to herself.

And she fails.

Not for lack of skill. Misty’s battled enough challengers to know her strength rivals the best—but because she’s just not ready. She doesn’t have a plan for leaving the Gym behind. She doesn’t have anyone trained to take her place. She doesn’t have the polish, the experience, or the confidence to stand on that stage. Not yet.

At 15, Misty simply isn’t cut out for it.

But this is Misty. And when her mind is set on something, she makes it happen.

So, at 19, she returns. This time, she’s different. Stronger, wiser, more prepared after years of pouring everything into revamping her Gym. A modern arena that’s as much a testament to her skill as her battles are. Her friends call her a workaholic. She’s not dense enough to disagree. Long nights training until her muscles ache. Early mornings reviewing strategies. There’s more chlorine in her hair than there is in the pool, and she’s okay with that. 

Every sacrifice feels worth it.

And just like that, she passes. The Elite Four extends an invitation to her. It's an opportunity most would kill for. A chance to cement her as one of the best. The girl who fought tooth and nail to be taken seriously, who spent years clawing her way out from under the shadow her sisters left her in, has finally earned the recognition she deserves.

Misty has never been one to seek validation, at least not outwardly like this. She’s used to being overlooked, dismissed, underestimated. She’s lived her whole life convincing herself she doesn’t need anyone’s approval, that she'll carve her own path. And she is.

So why does that initial pride, the satisfaction of passing –only fight to survive against the strange discomfort that curls in her stomach? A voice, buried deep, a quiet ache she can’t ignore, gets louder. The Elite Four. The responsibility. The structure. The title.

 The permanence. 

It’s an odd type of hollow, settling deep in her chest, one she isn't used to. Misty is, for the most part, happy in life. Content with what she's achieved, proud of her choices. But she floats in her pool, under a glass roof framed by stars and wonders why even now, she cannot reach them. A mental box, the one she’s scribbled messily pass Elite Four on at 13, is finally ticked. There’s a career ahead of her. A title where she can shine, where no one could ever question her skill again. 

And yet… something is missing. Is it possible she's satisfied with just passing? With the knowledge she's done it? Is it possible that somehow, despite it all, she doesn't feel ready for what comes next now.

The TV flashes.

Her head turns at breakneck speed. She hasn't forgotten he's there, what this match means. She could never forget, but then she can’t look anywhere else. Misty finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from her childhood friend, standing on a stadium as spectacular as he is. Yellow Mouse by his feet, fighting for the World Champion title. She watches from the very spot, in the Gym, where he won that badge she always teased him over. The snot-nosed kid who didn't understand what a Pokemon Center was. The one who became her best friend for so long.

And suddenly, the memory is sharp and vivid. Like a thunder shock she hasn't felt in some time.

The dreams she had before responsibilities. Somewhere along the way they had morphed into something more realistic, more manageable. Life demanded it. They were pushed aside, buried beneath the weight of what she had to do instead of what she wanted to do. On those rare weekends she’d set aside to search the Cerulean caverns or dive off the shores near Lavender Town, a work emergency would steal her time. Something more mundane would happen: a League report with an impossible deadline. A maintenance issue in the pool that couldn’t wait.

It isn't lost on her, how alive she'd felt in Alola. After, there were days she’d look out over the water and feel the ache of it—the hollow, gnawing longing to just leave. To step outside the walls of her Gym, the borders of Cerulean City. To train with Water Pokémon in their natural habitats instead of the confines of a battlefield. 

To chase the girl who swore, boldly and without hesitation, that she wouldn’t come home until she was a Water Pokémon Master.

But the plans she made for herself would fall apart, just like they always did. The wetsuit would stay hanging in the back of her closet. And still, Misty made the most of it. She huffed at her sisters and whined to her friends, but she trained. She worked. She pushed herself to be the best version of who she could be.

And it hits her then, hard. Her, now, in her gym. Kanto's Top Gym leader. A sensational sister at last. The tomboy. The Mermaid. Everything, all together. This is the best version of herself within these walls.

Ash hugs Pikachu on screen, and Misty watches, her eyes wide as the roar of the crowd thunders through her Gym, so loud it makes the surface of the pool ripple with the vibrations from her speakers. For a moment, she imagines herself there with him. Pride swells in her chest. Warm. Overwhelming. Threatening to burst. She aches to tell him he’s done it.

That he’s finally done it.

It had always been uncertain. They’d talked about it on quiet, late nights, huddled under blankets and whispering dreams into the dark. Neither had been ready to admit they didn’t know exactly what being a Pokémon Master meant—only that it was where they were headed. But Ash would always beam, his ego shining for the both of them, and tell her, with that unshakable confidence, that it meant being the best.

And now, he is. Maybe not a Master. But he’s the best. In the world.

Misty isn’t sure how quickly the decision forms in her mind, then. Only that it’s hers to make. She looks around at everything she’s built, the life she’s worked so hard to create. Every sacrifice, every late night and missed plan and loss she’s faced, it’s lead her here. Excitement—real, visceral excitement, the kind that burns through her chest like a wildfire spreads. She's restless, alive, all at once.

The Elite Four can wait. The oceans, she thinks, have been waiting long enough. 

And maybe—just maybe—she'll tell Ash he has something to do with it. Not that she’ll be able to do that any time soon, of course. Not that she’ll find him on some far-off beach, near one of those oceans she wants to explore, where she can finally tell him how much seeing him make it has reminded her that her dreams mattered, too.

[mintmatcha]

can we get some rouge facts? pretty please 🤲🏼 she’s v interesting and i know nothing about d&d so i’m a little clueless about her role in the team. love your world building btw

— 🪐

cw: cisfem reader, reader has a set background and personality, MENTIONS OF GROOMING AND ABUSE!

"Why don't you join them?"

The fiddle swelling and dips and the dancers do the same. You watch where your friends have blended into the crowd, their elbows crooked into the arms of strangers as they prance about. The alcohol has wiped away their inhibitions, but only strengthened yours.

Obsidian has left his partner on the dance floor and returned to you, arm outstretched. He must have seen you watching him and misunderstood that forlorn look in your eyes as something else.

"I'm alright here," you dismiss with a laugh.

"Let me teach you." Obi gestures again, "Or is our fearless leader afraid of the dance floor?"

He hums along to the song, hitting none of the correct notes. Even when he's making mistakes, he's undeniably charming.

"I'm okay, really." You try to laugh again, but the sound is tight in your throat. The crowd spins and laughs and jeers and the sound of it all stuffs your ears. Obsidian steps towards you, closer than a friend should be, with a chuckle on his lips.

"I insist."

Your stomach sours a bit and you aren't sure why. This is familiar in ways you don't want to admit. "Obi, not tonight."

"I simply wish to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room," His fingers loosely wrap around your wrist, but the pressure makes your mouth go dry. There's an ache, deep in the narrow of your bones, radiating out as he lightly tugs, "Come, it will be-"

You rip your hand from his with all the force you can muster. It's much too forceful-- you end up smacking yourself and knocking over your stein. Beer fizzs and bubbles across the waxed bartop, spilling down and over your legs.

"I said no." Your voice aches with the way to rips from you, "Why does no one listen to me when I say no?"

Obi's face drops. Green eyes wide with shock, he simply watches as you push off from your stool and weave out through the crowd. You bump elbows with a poor halfing halfway out the door, only offering the briefest of apologies.

The crisp night air brings you a bit of clarity, but it aches in your lungs. The cotton of your shirt suddenly feels much too tight and you cant help but tug on the edges to free yourself.

You're aware of being followed. It's like a stray dog, tailing behind you just fair enough to avoid any possibility of retribution. He continues until you stop and settle, sitting in the dew soaked grass. It doesn't matter- you're already soaked.

Obsidian stays quiet for a while, rubbing his sleeve against his nose sheepishly.

"Can I sit with you?" he says after a while.

You glance up at the dragonborn. The spot he rubbed is significantly shinier than the rest of his scales, catching the moon shine as he speaks. Your anxious settles just a bit at that; it even tugs a smile onto your face. You pat the ground next to you and the man settles down on to his knees.

"I am sorry," Obi says after a moment, "I should not have pushed you."

You're very aware that wasn't a normal reaction. The shame makes your stomach curl. "It's alright."

"Clearly, it was not." He rubs his snout again, "I should have listened to you."

He places his hand gently on to your thigh- no pressure, just reassurance. "I'll listen now, if you want to speak about it."

The truth is heavy on your tongue. You know better than to speak of it, and yet:

"Adam saved me. I know that," you say carefully. Your husband is always the elephant in the room, waiting to be addressed, "He took me off of the street and gave me a place to live. I'd be nothing without him-- I know that."

Obsidian prickles a bit at that, just the slightest flash of teeth, but he doesn't interrupt.

"He'd bring me to galas. The prettiest dances you've ever seen. I'd wear the nicest dress I could find and he would dance with me until my feet bled from those god-awful shoes." You flex your foot. The thick leather boot barely gives to the pressure.

"I hated them. I hated every minute," you say, "I'd beg him to let me stay home. I'd //beg.//"

You close a hand around your own wrist. Your body has changed over the years, almost to the point of unfamiliarity, but the pressure of a palm against the inside of your wrist always snaps you back to the brittle age of eighteen.

"And he still made you go?"

Eighteen was the first time you started measuring your steps, walking in the shadows to avoid drawing his attention. Eighteen was the first time love felt sour on your lips.

"All anyone would ever say to me was that I was so lucky to be his wife. How he loved me so much." You take Obi's hand from your leg and intertwine your fingers with his. The span and width of his grip are so much different than anyone else you've ever known. "And all I wanted to do was tell them how scared I was of him.'"

"Why didn't you?" He's asking, but its not a question. It's a door, open just enough to let you keep going. "Someone surely would have listened."

"Where would I have gone?" You almost laugh at how ridiculously pathetic you sound. "I didn't have friends, and he was the closest thing I ever had to a father -"

Obi's grip stiffens, and you know you'd made a mistake. His eyes narrow and he knows//.

"Father?" he repeats, voice dark, yet trying to stay even, "He wasn't-- you--- what do you mean by father?"

Those sharp, kind eyes watch you, unblinking, as if he closes his eyes, you'll disappear.

"What do you mean by that, my dear?" he repeats, much softer.

The bar behind you clambors with din, the night is rich with the cicada song, and yet you feel like the world is so, so quiet. All of your words feel earshakingly loud.

"He didn't pursue me romantically until I was eighteen," you whisper, "But Adam took me into his home when I was thirteen."

You brace for what's coming. The anger, the disgust. By the time you realize you've closed your eyes, the silence has stretched out too far. It takes an effort to look at him and face the music.

Obi doesn't seem mad, he's just... sad.

"You were just a child." His voice is so brittle, "I-- Why didn't anyone protect you?"

You wish you knew the answer.

[wordy-little-witch]

If there was one thing he absolutely fucking hated, it was a lack of meticulous control. One may think that was the antithesis of a private who made a name for himself with weaponized whimsy and catastrophic collateral, wrong though they were. Life was a meticulous dance, choreographed and studied from his earliest years. To know was to survive, he learned early on, earlier still than the year he spent with a captain, a crew, a brother. He had plans to make it, to live, to thrive - no matter the cost.

It had been in his years of relative peace, East Blue Big Fish as his profession, when it all began crashing, burning, and imploding.

He clung to what he could in the suddenly tumultuous waters. It was bittersweet, the way he seemed to shed his skin with the passage of the Twin Peaks. Making contact with Crocus was a point of refusal, pain still raw and jagged even decades later. The moment the Big Top settled into the chaotic waters of the Grandline, he felt something dead, something buried, something never forgotten despite his efforts - it stirred, it woke, and Buggy breathed.

His crew was ready for this. He was certain of it, despite their blundering ways; they were ready, because he refused to let anyone join the ranks if they lacked the drive to survive. It was easy to coach them gently through Haki drills, to twist the formulas and create something new, something grand. He was not a monster, and only mortals filled his crew. They were easily snuffed out - which made their survival all the more telling with each passing year.

Buggy was a meticulous, obsessive planner - he needed to have a backup for every backup, an escape for every single angle. His anxiety was unmatched, and his paranoia was limitless. Despite it keeping him alive, it had an unfortunate tendency to kick into overdrive, leaving him to stagger, fall and suffer in its frenzied wake.

It was this which Buggy found himself ensnared in early one summer morning. The Guild was bustling, running on the fruits of the clown's manic labor. Days had bled together, he admitted silently to himself, and time had seemed to dilate again, leaving him uncertain of what, exactly, had all been done. His sporadic notes were not much help either. All he could gather was that there were likely some serious hype, some dawning plot, and a lot of screaming from himself. He definitely overdid it again.

Sipping his tea, he frowned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There was a weight in his lap, a lavender maned head pinning him to the chair by his window. He'd long since learned not to argue with Ritchie Watch - even if he split himself to escape, the lion would find his feet and chase him down regardless. It was easier to simply wait him out, Buggy mused, scratching at an ear. Luckily, it seemed the feline's sixth sense was attuned primarily to fevers - once his own dropped suitably, it was smooth sailing.

Soulful brown eyes peeked up from beneath pastel hair, and Ritchie yawned, nuzzling closer to Buggy's stomach. The captain sipped his honeyed tea with a slight smile, petting fondly over his head. The cloak draped loosely around his shoulders slipped slightly as he shifted, deep violet pooling around his bicep. The mug in his hand was black, peonies etched into it around the handle with a glossy ruby finish to the petals. The teapot on the table was partially filled with a particular blend he favored when his vocal cords flared up, honey to the side in a dainty little set, unbecoming of pirates but painfully cute as well.

Buggy sighed silently, his throat aching, voice gone, head mildly dizzy. This fucking sucked... but at least he wasn't alone.

At least here, despite it all, he was loved.

[optimisticgrey]

Echoes of the Thread, Part 5

Pairing: Unnamed Tav, Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart, Astarion, Gale, Lae'Zel

WC: 1522

Summary: What happens to a Tav who does remember all their previous runs but failed every time?

Warnings: This contains spoilers. All of them. Some light smut hinted.

Read on AO3

All your nerves are alight as you leave camp, the anticipation thrumming through you after everyone has finally settled down for the night.

The earlier conversation with Lae’zel had been unexpectedly engaging: a deep dive into the origins of the Githyanki that you hadn’t expected her to entertain so patiently. Yet, despite the fascination of her insights, you’d barely been able to sit still, counting the moments until you could slip away.

You follow the path you saw Astarion take earlier, your steps quick and deliberate.

“There you are,” he greets you, his voice dripping with his trademark smirk and low, seductive timbre. While you’ve grown immune to the particular tone, knowing it’s more a habit than genuine intent, the effort he makes to connect still warms you in ways words cannot capture.

When his arms wrap around you and his lips meet yours, you sigh against him, your body relaxing into the familiar. He tastes just as you remember, though it’s been too long since you’ve shared this kind of intimacy. His hands are gentle, his touch careful in a way that speaks more than his words ever could, and it makes your heart ache.

Being touched by any of them always feels surreal, as if indulgence were forbidden yet necessary. And Astarion, in his own twisted and scarred way, makes heaven out of your shared need. You let him relearn your body, knowing this is his language of connection.

He needs this—unknowingly—as much as you do. And in truth, you’ve always enjoyed the way he touches you.

Astarion has always been a meticulous, attentive lover.

Sadly, the bliss of last night does not carry into the next day.

The morning begins pleasantly enough, with Gale’s breakfast lifting spirits all around. The group sets off for the Risen Road in good humor, ready to face the gnolls.

For a while, things feel promising. Your party falls into step under Gale’s command, even Karlach nodding and following his direction without question. The gnolls are dispatched with practiced ease, and Gale is delighted to find crates of wine among the spoils, eagerly collecting them under your amused urging.

Still, Astarion is uncharacteristically quiet. When you pull him aside to ask, he brushes it off with a smirk.

“I’m simply watching you, that’s all,” he says, his words as cryptic as his smile. You consider pressing him but decide to let it go.

For now.

Opting to confront the Zhentarim first, you hope to spare Wyll another emotional blow before the inevitable confrontation awaiting him tonight. The plan seems sound, gain an edge before facing the battles ahead.

But from the very start, the fight spirals into chaos. Every minor misstep compounds the pressure, turning what should have been a manageable skirmish into a desperate struggle.

The gnolls are far more formidable than you remember, their ferocity matched only by the relentless assaults of their hyena companions. Each strike feels heavier, each moment more perilous, as the fight drags on longer than it should.

Gale’s exhaustion is the first thing you notice—his brow damp with sweat as he struggles to maintain his spells. It’s a painful reminder of the wizard he once was, the power he once wielded with ease. Seeing him reduced like this hurts in ways you can’t quite describe.

Karlach and Lae’zel are both bloodied before the first gnoll falls, and when Wyll takes a hit, a wave of fear threatens to break your resolve.

You push it down.

Focus.

Just gnolls.

You’ve faced worse, and you remind yourself that you are stronger as a team.

Gale repositions Lae’zel with surprising authority, and by some divine stroke of luck, she follows his lead.

One by one, the gnolls fall, and though battered and bruised, you all survive.

Inside the Zhentarim cave, you deal with their leader, forcing yourself to tolerate the unpleasant task of gaining their password.

You hate it, the familiarity of the scene gnawing at you, but if fate insists you relive this moment, you’ll at least make it count.

By the time the group regroups and drowns healing potions, the air is thick with exhaustion. Shadowheart’s lecture on combat safety is a predictable backdrop, though no less irksome for its inevitability.

You decide to return to camp before the sun dips completely below the horizon.

How fucking long did it take to dispatch a few gnolls?!

The first order of business is cleaning up. The camp moves with weary efficiency, each of you tending to your own scrapes and bloodied gear.

You lend a hand to Shadowheart, supporting her as she works her healing magic on the group’s leftover superficial wounds.

Small aid, but it’s all you can manage right now.

As the warm glow of her magic eases some of the pain, you catch yourself longing for Halsin. The ache for his presence settles in your chest like a dull weight.

A long hug, Halsin's whispered reassurances, the soothing touch of his healing magic... it’s what you crave most in this moment. But he isn’t here, and the thought deepens the ache. The path to freeing him and earning his trust again feels impossibly long, paved with more days like this one, fucked up and exhausting.

Seeking some semblance of comfort, you reach for a bottle of wine but hesitate.

You still don’t know the first thing about wine, so you turn to Gale for guidance. His eyes light up as he explains the nuances of your options, his enthusiasm spilling over in a way that makes you smile despite yourself.

You let him choose, his words warming you as much as the wine itself.

As you sip, you watch him cook. There’s something deeply soothing about it, a quiet reassurance in the way he pours himself into the task. It stirs an echo of a memory.

For a moment, your mind drifts.

You wonder about the nature of this existence.

Whether everything stops each time you die, or if there are other versions of this reality.

Universes where things unfolded differently.

Where they all lived and found the happiness that seems so far from reach now.

You picture Karlach discovering the plans to fix her engine in Zariel’s forge in Avernus, freeing herself and claiming the life she deserves.

Gale, finally free of the orb and Mystra’s grasp, after handing over the Karsus Crown and returning to Waterdeep on his own terms. You’d always wanted to do that with him, but you never had the chance.

And Wyll….brave, kind, steadfast Wyll telling his father everything he has kept bottled up, finally hearing the apology he has always deserved.

Astarion, free of Cazador. For the high price of walking in sun light, but free nonetheless.

For a moment, you let yourself linger in these imagined worlds, clinging to the hope they might exist somewhere.

Versions of them all, alive and happy.  Not reduced to nothing just because you failed.

But the moment fades, leaving you here, in this flawed and fractured reality.

Still, there’s warmth to be found in the little things.

The wine Gale chose.

The rhythmic motions of his cooking.

The way his quiet passion for such tasks feels like a balm for the day’s wounds.

For now, it’s enough.

For a brief, precious moment, the near-death experience binds you all closer. They actually share a laugh or two and you feel yourself relax a little until you remember what night it is.

You jank upwards to fast, Astarion shoots you a surprised look and you are sure Lae’zel notices.

As the sun dips lower, you watch the camp settle.

Gale is engrossed in a book, Lae’zel punishing a training dummy, and you share a surprisingly gentle conversation with Astarion.

He doesn’t trust you yet, you know that, and his flirtation is still his default armour. But even so, it feels like a step forward.

You watch the sun settle until Mizora arrives.

You hate this part.

The cambion’s presence is a persistent thorn, her leash on Wyll growing tighter by the second. As she delivers her ultimatum, you deny her, knowing full well the cost. The punishment she inflicts on Wyll is cruel, transforming him in ways that break your heart.

Afterwards, Wyll retreats, shocked and traumatized.

Karlach tries to mask her gratitude with a booming, embarrassed laugh, but the sadness in her eyes is unmistakable. She’s ashamed you chose to save her at Wyll’s expense, and her grief cuts deeper than words.

The camp is quiet that night, the weight of the event casting a shadow over everyone. Even Gale is at a loss for words, and Astarion refrains from his usual sharp commentary.

You seek out Wyll, offering him your shoulder and a listening ear. He shares just enough of his story to ease the pain, though the details are sparse. You hug him, offering what comfort you can before retreating to your tent.

You decline Astarion’s company for the night, you need time to think.

The others’ eyes follow you as you enter your tent – which still smells of rats because you forgot to ask Gale for help.

[pecanwriter]

The Elephant King and The Tiger Prince

Themes: shifter world (non-A/B/O), fantasy setting, immobility

Word: 3886

Part: 1/1

“Halt in the name of Dharma, The Elephant King!”

Two Elephant Guards emerged out of the thick jungle onto the path. As all elephant shifters, they were big-bellied and thick-limbed. In their animal forms, two more emerged, their enormous elephant legs shaking the earth as they stepped onto the path. The two in human forms pointed sharp spears at the approaching tiger.

“Halt!” One of them repeated as the tiger drew near.

It stopped. The stripes on its back began to glow brightly, soon the light radiating from them was so bright the Elephant Guard covered their eyes. When the light subsided, it revealed a young man, dark-skinned and dark-haired, with a sharp face and wild, gold eyes. He threw himself down in a bow, his forehead hitting the dirt.

“I am Prince Ravindra of the Tiger People. I beg for the aid of the Elephant King.”

The guards looked at each other in puzzlement, even the jungle seemed to have settled into a dumbfounded silence. After a moment of stillness, they lowered their spears.

*

Ravindra watched with mild fascination how the Guard’s fat belly swung and jiggled with every step. He knew that because of the sheer size of their animal forms Elephant shifters had to store the additional bulk on them even in human forms; apparently, they used up so much primal magic to shift that if they were skinny they would simply expire.

He knew that, and yet it was shocking to see soldiers be this fat. In his land, every Tiger Soldier was nimble, with tight, lean muscles. All tiger shifters were like that, even the elderly. The only other shifters he’d ever encountered were Eagles, Langurs and Avocets, all of which were lean and swift in their human forms. He couldn’t help but think of the Elephants as lazy seeing their large bellies and saggy, soft limbs. But he had no choice, he was desperate.

They led him into the city. It was hidden deep in the heart of the jungle, surrounded by a low wall. If an enemy was determined, they could easily scale it and enter. But nobody ever attempted such a deed; Elephants were a peaceful people but turned deadly in a fight.

He marvelled at the city. It was enormous, overflowing with abundance, every person well-fed, well-dressed and happy. Ravindra’s heart ached with longing, seeing how the Elephant King’s subjects seemed to have everything they could ever desire.

When their small party arrived at the palace gates Ravindra was shocked to see how modest it was. It was still an enormous palace of white stone, of course, but it wasn’t even half as lavish as he imagined such a prosperous King would have.

“You are entering into the presence of The Elephant King.” announced an enormous doorman as he swung the heavy doors of the Throne Room inwards.

Ravindra stepped inside, body burning with urgency.

The Elephant people he’d seen so far were all thick and sturdy, but none were close to their King’s size. Ravindra stared at the enormous man splayed on a low cushioned divan. He was so fat his lardy belly hand off the side of the divan, his legs were like swollen tree trunks, arms like overstuffed sausages… His round face was encased in a thick roll of fat in place of a neck. He was surprisingly young for such a prosperous ruler and, loath though Ravindra was to admit it, quite handsome. His eyes were those of an elephant; large orange-brown irises incase in a black sclera and shrouded in a fan of impressively long lashes.

Ravindra, realising he was staring, threw himself to the ground, his forehead hitting the stone floor. “King Dharma, Oh, Great Elephant Lord! I am Prince Ravindra, I come to beg for your aid.” He stayed on the floor, waiting with bated breath.

“Welcome, dear Prince, please stand.” The Elephant King said in a low, smooth voice. He had such a soothing, gentle manner of speaking that Ravindra was immediately put at ease.

He stood and was once again faced with the sight of the enormously fat man. He couldn’t help but wonder how such a man could be as great a leader as everyone claimed him to be.

“What troubles you, prince?” King Dharma asked, urging him closer. Ravindra lowered himself onto a cushioned seat on the opposite side of the low table overflowing with food.

“The Tiger King is dead.” He said.

The previously stoic face of King Dharma cracked a little with surprise. His brow furrowed with something that looked eerily like compassion.

“My condolences for your loss, Prince.”

“I am the one to slay my father.”

There was silence. A nearby guard raised his spear but the King waved him down.

“Is that so?” He asked, looking at Ravindra from under his heavy lashes.

“My father was a madman. A tyrant. He ran our people into the ground, he neglected the cultivation of the land…” Ravindra swallowed bitterly, his heart aching in anger “The land of the Tiger People is barren. We have nothing. There is no food, no prey, we are… We are starving, my people are dying. I had no choice, to save my people, I had to kill him.” He bit his cheek, looking down at his lap.

The King was silent for a while and when Ravindra dared look up, he found the man looking back at him with a surprisingly soft expression.

“Is that how you got this…?” He asked, gesturing to Ravindra’s scar that spanned from the side of his nose, all across his cheekbone and taking off the tip of his right ear.

He nodded.

“What would you ask of me, brave prince?”

“You are the master of a prosperous, rich land. I beg of you to aid my people, to feed them until they can once again feed themselves. In exchange, I am prepared to give you anything you desire.” He bowed so deeply he hit the table with his forehead.

“Please, stop bowing.” The King’s chest rumbled with a soft chuckle.

Ravindra straightened, swallowing anxiously.

“I will save your people, Tiger Prince.”

Ravindra couldn’t help himself, he bowed again, the dishes on the table giving a loud clang as his forehead collided with the wood.

The King’s rumbling laugh filled the room.

“Sit up, Prince.”

“My gratitude is boundless, King Dharma. What price do you ask?”

“You.” The king said, a twinkle in his gentle eyes.

“I don’t understand…” Ravindra searched his face in confusion.

“You said it yourself, Prince, the land is barren. Your people will not survive if they stay there. I can feed them, but what good would that do? They will still be unable to support themselves, enriching the land and making it fertile again will take decades, if not centuries. I have land in abundance and mine are peaceful people. I will accept them as my subjects. They will be free to settle and work in the Elephant Kingdom as equals. But my price is your hand in marriage.”

Ravindra stared at the Elephant King. To marry this enormous man, to share his bed? But this was an offer beyond any generosity he could have hoped for. His people would live! Not only would they live, they would survive. There was only one answer he could give.

“I accept your offer, Oh, Elephant King.”

*

Ravindra swallowed heavily, peering in the mirror. His plump elephant aid connected the chain going from his nose ring to his ear with the elaborate golden earring hung there. He was wearing a traditional Elephant wedding garb. A mundu, a bottom garment made of a long white cloth wrapped around his waist. The fabric had beautiful, intricate golden borders. Another piece of cloth with similar golden elements was resting on his shoulders and flowing along his arms. He was also wearing a tight, beautifully woven belt cinching his waist; a symbol of an outsider being accepted by the Elephant Kingdom. His chest was bare but for a heavy, gold necklace. Matching bracelets clang on his wrists and ankles.

“You look beautiful, Your Highness.” The aid said, gently dabbing gold powder over his eyes and lips.

Ravindra didn’t disagree, he wasn’t a particularly vain man, but he had to admit he looked handsome in the Elephant wedding attire. That was the only problem. He was wearing Elephant wedding attire. For his wedding. His wedding with the Elephant King.

He was led through the palace and barely registered any of it, his mind in a foggy, uncertain haze. Before he knew it, Ravindra was entering the Elephant Temple. It was stuffed with people. There were mainly elephant shifters but there were also dozens of tiger shifters. His people.

He walked to the centre, where his future husband waited. He was wearing similar clothes to Ravindra, only with less golden jewellery, safe for his crown and nose ring. Ravindra couldn’t help staring at the enormous stomach hanging over the waist of the King’s mundu; he was so enormously fat his dark, soft flesh seemed like it was melting off, sagging low and heavy, pulled down by its own mass.

The High Elephant Priest raised her hands high in the air and the ceremony began. In a moment, he would be wed.

*

Ravindra flopped onto his back, all four paws in the air. The morning sun was warm and he purred contentedly.

“Ehrm, Your Highness…” someone cleared their throat.

Ravindra’s eyes snapped open and he saw his elephant aid, Rohit, bow low, trying very hard not to look at him.

He shifted swiftly, covering himself with a thin blanket.

“Yes, Rohit?”

“The King requests your presence for breakfast.”

“I’ll be there momentarily.”

Rohit bowed low and scurried away.

It’s been a week since the marriage ceremony. Ravindra thought the King would want to consummate their marriage immediately and expect him to share his bed every night, but it was not so. Ravindra got his own beautiful room and so far all the King expected of him was to have breakfast and dinner with him.

Ravindra put on a long tunic and loose trousers, he adorned his ankles and wrists with golden bracelets signifying his Royal marital status and made his way to the King’s dining terrace.

“Good morning, Ravindra.” The King smiled at him warmly, already finishing off his first, and definitely not last, plate of food.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” He bowed, taking his seat.

“I hope you had a good night?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The King let out a small sigh. He stopped eating. A sight Ravindra witnessed so rarely that he looked up at him in surprise.

“You don’t like me very much, do you, Ravindra?”

He looked away, embarrassed.

“I’m trying to understand why.” The King continued in his smooth, deep voice. “Do you think I’m not a just ruler?”

“No!” Ravindra looked up urgently “You are an amazing king, a fantastic ruler!”

“Then what is the matter?”

Ravindra couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the enormous expanse of belly pooling in The King's lap. He looked away again, pouring himself a cup of tea to have something to occupy his hands.

“Really..?” The King said sadly “I must say I am quite disappointed in you, Ravindra.”

“Disappointed?”

“You can’t accept me just because of my size?”

He felt shame heat his face.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see how someone who can barely walk can defend his Kingdom.”

“My Kingdom is strong” The Elephant King said and his deep voice had an edge that wasn’t there before. He was angry. Ravindra tensed up, staring at the shaky surface of his tea. “My Kingdom is stronger than yours ever was” He continues “I cultivate positive connections of mutual benefit with all the surrounding lands, I have no enemies. My people are happy and long for nothing. They pay taxes, but unlike other rulers, who hoard their wealth, I spend the money they pay me in taxes on giving back to my people. On improving the safety of my cities and villages, improving the roads. Nobody in my kingdom works themselves into the ground to survive. They work hard, but they don’t slave away for a piece of fruit. They work hard and they live in abundance and safety in return. Can you say the same about your own people? People who were famished and riddled with diseases when my kingdom took them in. Did they not all receive housing and resources? Did I not provide for those who were too weak to work and employ those who were ready for labour? Did I not do that?”

“You did, My King,” Ravindra said, his mouth dry like sand.

“I am a good King, My Consort. I am a good ruler and, dare I say, I think I at least try to be a good man. Did I treat you poorly in any way since you’ve come here? Did I disrespect you in any way?”

“No!” Ravindra said, his face burning. He looked up a the king pleadingly “You are gracious beyond belief to me, I thank you for it, My King…”

The Elephant King smiles sadly.

“And yet you disregard all of that, you disregard who I am and what I do, you are cold and distant just because of the way I look.”

Ravindra wanted to cry, rage and shame overcoming him completely. He hung his head low.

“I ask just one thing of you, My Consort. Try to be more open-minded. Try to see past people’s bodies and into their hearts. Try to see into my heart.”

He looked up, finding the King's eyes full of longing and pain.

God, what has he done? How could he be so ungrateful and cold towards this amazing man who did nothing but shower him with compassion and understanding since the day he begged for his help?

Moved by shame and urgency, Ravindra shot up from his seat, falling to his knees by the King’s side. He took his big, soft hand and kissed the dimpled knuckles gently.

“Forgive me, My King. I am a despicable man.”

The King pulled his hand away and for a moment Ravindra thought he was pulling away, but soon the hand came to caress his cheek.

“I am your husband, please, call me Dharma.”

Ravindra smiled hesitantly.

“Forgive me, Dharma. I am a naive fool of a cat.”

Dharma gave a rumbling chuckle.

“I only ask for you to learn to reserve your judgement until you get to know someone, not just assume who they are because of the size of their belly. Can you do that?”

“I will try, I promise.”

Dharma smiled at him and Ravindra felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Sit down, Ravindra, eat. You barely ate for the past week.”

“I was… Preoccupied with my thoughts.” He sat on the cushion next to Dharma, as opposed to the one on the opposite side of the table.

“Eat, husband, you might discover that food has a sweeter taste when you open your heart.”

Ravindra startled at that strange remark but when he looked at Dharma he was already back to his plate. He examined his husband for a moment. He wasn’t that much older than Ravindra, and yet, there was so much wisdom in him, so much compassion. It was true, he realised, what Dharma said before; he was a good man. Yes, he was fat, but was that such a bad thing, really? And why? He traced the soft curves of Dharma’s body with his gaze. Somehow they suited him, Ravindra realised. He had a soft heart and a soft body to go with it. Had he been muscular, or lean like Ravindra, it would be at odds with his calm, gentle character.

Without thinking, he reached out to grab Dharma’s hand, the one that wasn’t preoccupied with eating. The King was startled, dropping a piece of fruit and looking at him.

Ravindra smiled and Dharma smiled back brilliantly, squeezing his hand.

“What should I eat first?” Ravindra asked.

*

The fabric groaned and Ravindra frowned. There was a banquet planned for the evening; some wealthy pangolin merchants were coming to the city to negotiate trade agreements and Dharma requested he wear his best, including the beautiful embroidered waist cincher he wore at their wedding.

But the belt would not close. Not only would it not close, but it was nowhere near encompassing his waist, there were at least two entire palm-lengths between the opposite rows of loops and buttons. Ravindra looked in the mirror and was surprised to see his abdomen changed from what he remembered it to be. There was a definite, soft roundness around his midriff. As he looked at himself now, he realised his entire body was softer all over; but it wasn’t as noticeable as the roundness of his stomach.

“Are you quite ready, Ravindra?” Dharma waddled into the room, his enormous gut on full display, as was the custom.

“I don’t think I can wear this” He confessed, demonstrating by wrapping the waist cincher around himself.

Dharma gave him an adoring smile.

“I told you, my love, food has a sweeter taste when you open your heart.”

Ravindra was much shorter, and so he wrapped his arms around Dharma’s soft neck, pulling him down for a kiss. He pressed himself against his husband’s soft body.

“Is my softening gut a tribute to the King then?” He asked, his stomach fluttering with an unexplainable excitement.

“It is.” Dharma agreed, kissing him again.

*

Ravindra was panting; he shifted and got out for a run in the King’s private garden, but after only a few minutes, he was utterly exhausted. His muscles ached and his stomach sagged, swaying in between his back legs and obstructing his movements. Feeling like he could run no more, he plopped down in the grass, rolling to his side and panting. The sun was pleasantly heating his fur and with a gentle purr, he drifted into a much-deserved nap.

Something was poking him and when he opened his eyes he found himself splayed in the grass, being poked by a trunk of the most magnificent elephant. His heart leapt with joy at the sight of him. He pushed the trunk away with his paw playfully.

Dharma let out an amused huff and shifted. Ravindra did the same. Almost immediately, two servants scurried over with blankets and pillows for them to rest on.

“Bring something to eat, My Consort looks famished,” Dharma said, his fat body settling against the pillows.

Ravindra lay down gratefully, allowing his own body to melt into the pillows. He looked down at his soft breasts and large, sagging belly with satisfaction. His tribute to the King. He’d never imagined he would grow so large, and yet here he was, nearly as fat as Dharma, who was the biggest, strongest elephant in the land, his bulk more a necessity than indulgence. Ravindra’s body on the other hand? Oh, that was pure indulgence. There was no more suffering and fear for the survival of his people, no enemies were threatening their joined Kingdoms. There was nothing for Ravindra to do but cultivate his marriage. And cultivate he did. He ate for the pleasure of his husband, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t his own pleasure also. Ravindra could not be satiated, there were no more days where he felt full, and he found he could always eat more. And he wanted to do so, Gods, did he want to! His and Dharma’s meals lasted for hours, both rejoicing in each other’s company and in the food they consumed. And when Dharma was busy tending to their Kingdom, Ravindra had Rohit bringing in a steady supply of snacks all day long, until at dinner he sat with his husband to eat for hours once more.

*

“My Love, I must attend a council meeting momentarily, but please, don’t waste any of this wonderful food,” Dharma said, hefting his enormous bulk to standing. He placed a kiss on the top of Ravindra’s head and slowly waddled off their private terrace. They’d been having one of their wonderful long breakfasts until a messenger from the council came to call on the King’s attention.

Ravindra looked at the table still overflowing with food, his mouth watering at the sight of the gorgeous treats; candied fruits, thick milky desserts, sweet honey-drizzled wonderfulness… “Rohit, fill a plate for me, would you?” He asked.

“Of course, King Consort!” His aid hastened to take his last plate from him and begin another.

Ravindra had grown too large to reach the table over his enormous bulk, but thankfully his aid was always there for him.

He received the plate gratefully. Setting it on top of his massive stomach he started eating with relish. They continued this until the table was almost completely empty, save for the few things Ravindra didn’t like; they weren’t sweet enough.

Rubbing his enormous belly contentedly for a moment he sat there, admiring how solid and big he’d become for his King. The blinding light filled the terrace as he shifted; these days walking on two feet was entirely too taxing, and so Ravindra preferred to move around in his animal form.

He slowly began his laborious trek to the bed. His overstuffed, enormously round stomach dragged on the ground, his fat-encased paws shaking and jiggling with every movement.

*

“Where’s the King Consort?” a dignitary from the distant Leopard Kingdom asked one of the Elephant courtiers.

“He will be rolled out in a moment.” She replied, slurping up a juicy piece of fruit.

“Rolled out?”

“There.” The elephant shifter gestured to the Great Hall doors as they pulled open.

“Ravindra, King Consort of the Elephant Kingdom!” The door guard announced loudly. Two elephant shifters in their animal forms appeared, they were pulling a low platform, outfitted with wheels. On it lay stacks of pillows and against them lay a man so enormously fat it took the Leopard Dignitary a moment to take the unbelievable sight in. The King Consort was a mountain of flesh, his belly pooling in front of him and taking up a sizeable portion of the platform, his hips spreading so wide to the sides they were almost spilling over the edges. He lay back relaxed, smiling demurely as his enormous accumulation of flesh shook and jiggled with the movements of the platform. The elephant shifters rolled him right up to the table beside the King.

The King took the Consort’s overstuffed hand and pressed a kiss to it. The look in his eyes was so full of love and overflowing with adoration that the Leopard dignitary looked away, feeling like they were intruding on something private.

“Welcome, all!” The King’s deep voice filled the Great Hall. “Thank you all for coming to join us, for tonight is a special celebration. My beloved, the love of my life and the light of this land, King Consort Ravindra, is celebrating his birth day!”

A ruckus of applause filled the room and the King laughed heartily.

“Thank you! Now, eat, my dear guests! May you find that food tastes that much sweeter when you open your hearts to love.” He said, no longer addressing the crowd, but gazing deep into his husband’s eyes.

[whxtedreams]

Chapter 9 - The Miller Brothers

Summary

Present: Lunch with the Millers

Past: You first arrive in Jackson

CW: Mentions of loss, arguments.

WC // 7,626

Now

The following week's events are a painful and excruciating period as you struggle to regain your emotional footing and find a way to move forward with your life again. The grief and the pain from the loss continues to feel like a knife twisting and shredding your heart into a million pieces with every reminder that the happiness has melted away. You find a dull ache settling deep within your bones and the thought of finding comfort in anything other than what you've lost, simply feels impossible.

Though each passing day brings a sense of progress from your depressive episode and the dull ache continues to soften over the course of the week, the pain and the grief still lingers and you doubt that it will ever fully go away. Over the past few months, you’ve been on a loop. Just as you find yourself amble to enjoy life again, something reminds you of her and everything comes crashing down again. 

You often find yourself with a distant look on your face when your mind wanders and you notice that Joel is perceptive enough to see it. You appreciate the understanding that he displays and you also know that he has been through his own struggles before and can empathise with your pain.Though he's not sure exactly what thoughts are swirling in your mind on these occasions, he simply offers you a reassuring and understanding smile, letting you know he's there if you need him.

Joel's presence in your life is one that you’ve become to appreciate and rely upon. Whether it's simply a gentle squeeze to the shoulder or a side hug, the comfort and warmth of his touch has become a constant and reassuring presence in your life.

Since he found you detached from the world in your bathroom, Joel has become softer with you. Always finding an excuse to touch you. The touch of his leg brushing against yours as you eat together at the tiny kitchen table in the cabin or the subtle physical intimacy of your shoulders touching as you lay by the lake, reminds you of how comfortable you've become with him. You feel safe and secure in his presence and you're content in letting him draw you closer to him as you learn to enjoy and trust his affection and the bond that you two have developed.

Joel has also begun to bring packed snacks that he sets up by the river for the two of you to lay on and relax in each other's company after patrol and before you have to return to Jackson. However, once Maria had to radio in when neither of you returned back on the night you both passed out by the lake, you made sure to not allow yourself to get so relaxed again.

You find yourself now sitting in Tommy's backyard at his outdoor dining table, your legs crossed on the chair as you watch Ellie and her friend Dina laying down in the grass. You've met Dina on a few occasions when Annabel brought her over after their classes before, but their friendship barely had time to blossom before… Anway, Dina saw you as she walked in with Ellie earlier in the morning and she gave you a sympathetic smile and wave, which you returned in earnest. 

She seems like a nice girl.

You lean your head on your knees and glance over at Tommy by the barbeque, his back to you. Neither of you have really spoken much to each other since the night you spent at Joel's and you can't help but wonder if something had happened between the brothers the following morning, but neither of them will talk about it. It's clear that something has changed between them, and you have a lingering feeling that you were the cause of it.

You had once tried to ask Joel while you guys were doing one of your normal patrol walks together, but he evaded the question and made a topic change to the subject of how to acquire honey. You had also tried to ask Tommy about it one night when you ventured over to have dinner with him and Maria, but he too gave you a topic change and asked how you were feeling. Neither one of them seemed willing to elaborate or discuss the situation further and you're starting to wonder if they will ever really tell you what happened between them that morning.

Maria's hand on your shoulder manages to shake you from your thoughts as she leans over you to place a salad down on the table. You manage a small smile in response as she looks down at you and squeezes your shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, he hasn’t told me why they’re not talking.” Her soft voice reaches into your ears and you nod in understanding at her words that she hasn't been told why they're not talking either. It does make you feel slightly better to know that you're not the only one in the dark when it comes to the situation between the two brothers.

As Maria retreats back into the house, you turn your head away from the entrance and take in the surroundings of the backyard. You're feeling a bit out of place now that everything's suddenly become so quiet besides the bickering of the two girls across the yard, with Maria being the only one to really acknowledge you so far. Usually, your attention would be drawn to Annabel in a situation like this, but the seat beside you remains empty. You begin to stare at the empty seat blankly before it's pulled out of the way and Joel finally sits down next to you.

As the familiar presence of his company finally takes its place beside you, you're pleased and amused that he's late. Joel apologises and you can't help but soften into a smile as you accept his apology. As he closes the gap between you two, he explains that he didn’t want to come and you softly laugh at his reasoning to be late. It's not entirely unexpected coming from him, but it's still a pleasant sight to see him back to his usual attitude and demeanour without any obvious sign of the lingering tension between him and tommy.

"Yeah? What made you change your mind?" You ask in a soft tone, your voice tinged with a playful teasing in its cadence. Joel leans back into his chair as you ask this question and he looks over at you with a grin. His eyes meet yours for a moment before he answers your question after a brief moment of consideration, 

"Couldn't let you deal with Tommy all on your own, could I?" Joel says in a playful tone, his voice teasing as he lightly nudges your shoulder with his elbow. You shake your head and a soft laugh escapes your lips as you smile at the attempt of teasing. It's nice to see the usual playful side of Joel back again, at least for this moment.

You allow yourself to sink into a comfortable back and forth conversation with Joel, avoiding all topics of his brother. The sounds of meat grilling and the girls laughing on the grass are merely background noise to your ears. You're completely focused on Joel, giving your full attention to him and listening intently to him as he begins to talk about wanting to make a guitar.

Joel tells you that he has finally moved Ellie into the garage and is starting to think about making her old room into something for himself. He specifically brings up your suggestion on converting it into a woodworking room for him so that he can have a space to tinker and build things, which lights up your face as he mentions it. Joel mirrors your bright expression and a warm grin crosses his face as you find that he agrees with your idea.

“What do you think?” He asks.  

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” You reply, your head resting on your knees as you smile up at him.

"Lunch is served!" Tommy's voice breaks into your conversation and you look up to see him arrive with a plate of meat. He places it down on the table in front of you, disrupting the conversation between you and Joel.. You look over the plate that has been presented to you and look up at Tommy as he frowns at Joel. “Didn’t think you were coming.” he mutters. 

Joel grunts in response to Tommy's comment and turns his attention to Ellie who jumps up from the ground with her friend, racing towards the food. She reaches the table and her eyes widen and her expression lights up as she spots the plates of food that has been placed out for them to eat.

Ellie exclaims "Fuck yeah!" as she hurries to take a seat next to Joel and claims her spot at the table. Dinna softly giggles at her outburst and takes a far more relaxed approach, calmly sitting on the opposite side of the table from her with a smile on her face.

Ellie.” Joel utters her name in a warning with a sigh at her reaction and Ellie responds with a simple point towards the food, as if that explains her outburst in that her excitement at the sight of the food warranted her enthusiasm. Joel shakes his head in mild annoyance as he looks over at you and shrugs, "teenagers" he mutters with a roll of his eyes.

Tommy has settled across the table from you while Maria sits between her husband and Dinna as Ellie grabs a fork and picks up the biggest steak. Ellie's eyes seem bigger than her stomach as the large steak sits on her plate. She starts digging into the steak, biting off huge mouthfuls before she pauses to chew, reaching for her cup and taking a drink of water to wash it down. 

Joel openly stares at Ellie as she devours the large steak, a small smile washing over his face as he looks at the girl. He continues to watch her in amusement, clearly finding her behaviour to be endearing and amusing. Joel finally breaks his stare before leaning over to dish up his own plate, a small smile still plastered on his face.  

If an outsider were to look at the table, they would see Ellie's undivided attention focused on eating her food as quickly as she can. They would also notice the amused and adoring look on Joel's face as you smile at him. They would also notice Maria nudging Tommy and telling him to lighten up as Dina laughs at Ellie and her enthusiasm. 

As everyone starts to push their plates away and Ellie lays on the floor groaning in a state of food-coma, you softly pull out a map from your jeans pocket and slide it over the table to Tommy. Tommy waits for Maria to stand and excuse herself before he picks the folded paper and realises what it is, briefly examining the map before nodding his acknowledgement.  

"I found papers in the church mentioning a town on the other side of Missouri River, a high school they're working out of." You pull out another folded-up paper from your pocket, handing the letters over to Tommy who examines them with a deep frown, his mind processing this information.

"Maria won't like us going that far, you know that." Tommy dryly states, his words indicating that his wife won't appreciate the idea of you two venturing out that far. His head is bent over as he flips the papers around, his eyes never really meeting yours. The frown remains etched on his features as his thoughts shift towards Maria and her probable reaction.

Maria has reluctantly allowed Tommy to accompany you on your quest for vengeance, knowing that he needed it just as much as you did. As the hunt began to move further and further away from Jackson, however, she began to object. Tommy had gone with you regardless, and while Maria resented you for this, she understood that Tommy needed this to make peace with his past and overcome his own grief of losing Annabel.

"I'll go alone." You reply in a confident manner as his head snaps up. The table grows silent with every pair of eyes upon you. Instead of sinking back into a shy and withdrawn state, you sit up straight and continue to meet his eyes. There is no hesitation or uncertainty as you repeat yourself, standing firm to your decision.

Tommy rises from his seat, leaning over the table and points his finger at you, his tone serving as enough of a warning. 'Like hell you will,' The intensity of his expression and tone leaves no doubt as to how serious he was, his firm stance demonstrating his authority. There is no room for discussion or debate, his words ending the conversation before it could even begin.

Joel stands from the table and your eyes shift towards him, your head snapping in his direction, surprised by this sudden change of pace. The tension in the air builds as the brothers glare at each other across the dinner table. Tommy's glare is unwavering in its intensity while Joel remains just as intense with his gaze, seemingly determined to not let his brother win this staring contest.

Maria's voice rings out from the back porch and sends a sudden chill up your spine. "Inside." Her voice commands, demanding. No one at the table budges from their positions. She once again makes her demand as she says, " Now ." 

Tommy pulls his glare from Joel, his attention shifting towards you. Joel begins to move but Tommy stops him with a warning look and orders,"You stay here." He says with a tone that's almost a growl. Joel's eyes narrow but he does as he's told, sitting back in his seat at the table as Tommy turns to face you. "You, inside." He orders in a harsh tone before storming up the stairs past Maria.

You slowly push your chair backward as you rise at Joel's questioning look. He grabs your wrist in a gentle grip but his eyes betray a sense of concern as he continues to look into yours.

You okay?

You smile down at Joel and nod to him as a reassurance that you'll be fine on your own as you walk away from the dining table, his hand slipping from yours. As you walk up the stairs past Maria, she quietly guides you into the dining room. He is pacing when you first enter the room, but he comes to an abrupt stop when he spots you. 

You flinch at the sharp, loud sound of Tommy slamming his hand down on the table. This sudden reaction is more startling than you had anticipated and it takes a few seconds to process this sudden bout of aggression. Tommy's expression is dark as he stares at you, the anger and intensity of his glare makes you feel a bit anxious. He hasn't quite frightened you yet, but he's close and the air is thick with the tense atmosphere his demeanour brings to the room.

“You go on one more suicide mission like the church, and I will lock you up and make sure you never leave Jackson again,” he threatens, his intensity suggesting that he means every word, tone becoming serious and dark as he issues the warning. His eyes search your face for any hint of rebellion as he tightens his jaw, and his glare deepens.

You rarely see Tommy in this state, specifically directed towards you.

You tear your eyes from Tommy and find yourself looking at Maria as she stands in the doorway. Her expression is equally stern as she nods in agreement with Tommy's words. Maria only further amplifies the seriousness of the moment as she adds to her husband's words, "You're going to get yourself killed." You stare at Maria in shock and dismay as Tommy continues to stare at you in a hard and intense manner.

"Okay so Tommy comes with me." You reply with firm confidence. Maria's expression remains rigid and unyielding as you look back at Tommy for confirmation. Instead of answering, Tommy's eyes dart away from yours and he remains silent. Your frustration grows as you look back to Maria, feeling as though your friend won't back you up on this.

"Tommy's not going with you anymore." Maria's tone is firm, unyielding, and decisive as she declares this fact with the confidence in her voice. Your body feels like it goes cold as all hopes of Tommy backing up your stance are shattered. your attention shifts towards Tommy, who still won't meet your eyes. No. This isn't happening. You feel as though you can't breathe. This isn't something you had anticipated at all and you feel utterly hopeless right now. 

"Is that true?" Your voice breaks as you choke on your words. Tommy's eyes remain averted from yours, still refusing to meet your gaze. It just seems wrong to have your closest friend and family turn his back on you now, after everything you've been through together and how far you've come in avenging Annabel. "Tommy, look at me!" You demand, frustration coursing through you as you demand his attention. Your emotions are on the verge of tears as your anger spikes, your heart racing with each new beat and your body shaking slightly in rage. 

"It's too far. We need you here. Maria needs me here. We can't keep running out, because one day – one of us won't come back." Tommy's reply hits you hard and the truth in his words make it all the more clear why he's made his decision.

"What happened to You and I?" You question angrily, pointing a finger at Tommy as he avoids your gaze. You continue to express your dismay as your voice grows louder and angrier with every word you speak. "You promised me. You said we would find them together, make them pay for what they did to Annabel. What happened? You don’t care anymore? Is that it?" Your fury is palpable and no longer contained within a small space as you continue to verbally assault your friend with these accusative words.

"Of course I care." Tommy responds with a snap, finally meeting your angry and hateful gaze with his own. Your chest heaves with anger as you stare at him with nothing but contempt and rage. There is little room left for forgiveness and understanding here and that only fuels your anger more. You feel as though you cannot move an inch from your spot, your fury has completely taken over your senses at this point.

“Then act like it.” 

"I'll go with her." Joel interjects and all eyes shift from Tommy to him as he stands beside Maria in the doorway. You feel the tension in the room relax ever so slightly with his words, glad that at least one of you is still willing to go with you. However, you can just as quickly feel that same tension return to the room as Tommy and Joel exchange glances with one another.

“You’re not a part of this.” Tommy snaps.

“She’s going to go even if you don’t let her, Tommy. You want her to go alone or with me? Since you’re so adamant you’re not going.” Joel snaps back at his brother.

"You’re not taking her anywhere. She's staying in Jackson where it's safe." Tommy shoots back, his words dismissive and the tone firm as he waves off Joel's offer. He pushes himself away from the table and crosses his arms as he shoots Joel a harsh look.

Your mouth drops in disbelief, your anger temporarily fading in the face of Tommy's bold statement. You quickly regroup your defences and respond with a firm declaration, "I'm going with Joel." These words are spoken with a complete disregard for how Tommy responds or reacts to your decision. You've made up your mind and you will not be swayed on this. No matter what Tommy says, he will not prevent you from going on this journey with Joel now.

“That’s settled then.” Maria lets out a resigned sigh as she stands from the wall she was leaning on, seemingly settling this argument once and for all. Tommy begins to speak again, but she shakes her head at him to cease his protests. Tommy seems to understand her message and the outcome of the discussion, as he storms passes you without another word, exiting the room.

"I should probably go." You softly say as you stare down at your feet, feeling a bit lost and overwhelmed with all that just happened. You can't even look anyone in the eye after the heated and emotional exchange that took place moments prior. Before anyone has a chance to reply you make your exit, leaving the room in dead silence as you quietly depart. 

You sit by Annabel's grave, the late afternoon sky turning orange and the sun receding downwards with each passing moment. Your back rests against the tombstone set over her final resting place on this earth, the fresh flower held in your hand a perfect testament to the beauty of her soul. You remain there for what feels like an eternity, lost in your own thoughts and memories as you stare up above and watch the sky grow darker with the encroaching night.   

You find yourself musing over Tommy, his bold audacity to try and restrain you to the confines of Jackson. You feel stuck and suffocated by the very walls in which you reside. This feeling of being trapped makes you feel as though your skin is too tight. The thought of letting the cult go without justice for their crimes burns at your soul. Annabel's death and the senseless cruelty by which she was killed cannot be left unanswered.

You can’t let them live, not when she's laying six feet under you. 

And if Tommy wont come with you, Joel will.

You begin to make your way around the streets, guided by the glow from the fairlights strung from the buildings that light your path. The soft shine of these lights brings you some comfort, reminding you of the life you once had before everything changed. Before death began to follow everyone around like a hawk. 

You allow yourself to wander the town, letting your mind wander while your body instinctively carries you through the familiar walkways. You find yourself on Tommy's doorstep once again, a place you frequently end up when seeking an escape from your own mind. However, this afternoon’s argument, it feels wrong to be here. As your hand reaches for the front door to knock it feels heavier and harder than it ever has before. 

"I need you here!" You hear from the other side of the door as Maria's voice echoes through the thick wooden barrier. You feel your hand instinctively lower away from the door and take a single step back.

"You know if I don't go with her, she'll get herself killed." Tommy responds, his tone firm as he continues to argue with Maria. You hear his boots moving from one room to another, the steady tapping making the intensity of the argument even clearer. You feel as though you are eavesdropping on a heated discussion that should be private, but you remain outside the house and try your best to hear what else they may be saying. “Anna was like a daughter to me, I can’t lose her too.”

"Joel said he would go with her." Maria replies to Tommy's words, speaking with a tone that displays her concern for you but also frustration with her husband. It's clear that this argument is becoming quite the intense and serious predicament for both of them, but your ears only catch short snippets of their words coming from behind the locked door.

"I don't trust Joel with her, I don't trust anyone with her." Tommy retorts, standing his ground. You close your eyes and try to take another step away, but Maria stops you in your tracks with her next words as you struggle to comprehend what is being said inside.

"You need to be here for your own child." Maria's shout echoes through the door and the sudden halt to Tommy's pacing causes you to be equally speechless. Your breath catches in your throat once more, the intensity of the situation rising exponentially with each passing moment that this heated exchange continues to escalate.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.” 

Maria is pregnant. 

Tommy is going to be a father.

With your mind in a whirl, your feet move before you can hear another word and your feet race down their steps and back home. You realise there was no other option; Neither Tommy or Joel are going with you. You are going alone. You were okay with taking Tommy from his wife on your hunt, but a child? You can’t do that. And Joel, taking him away from his niece or nephew, you can’t do that either. You can’t let them choose between your revenge and their family. 

You move before you can hear another word from Maria or Tommy, escaping the situation as your feet race down the stairs and back home. You have come to the realisation that there is no more discussion to be had. Neither Tommy or Joel will come with you on this excursion and you can't bring yourself to tear either of them away from their families for such a dangerous venture. Joel has Ellie to look after and Tommy now has his wife alongside their unborn child.

You can’t bring yourself to tear them from their families to find vengeance for the loss of yours.

Because what if they don’t come back. What if Ellie loses Joel, or Tommy’s child loses their father.

This is your fight and yours alone.

You return home and prepare for the trip, organising everything you need into your backpack. Once you are finished packing the required supplies for the journey, you change into your usual patrol clothing. You don't opt to wear shorts this time around, opting for jeans instead so that you may have more pockets to tuck away weapons and other necessities. You run down to the garage, unlocking the lockers and taking out your holsters. You buckle your weapon holsters onto your thighs and hips, adjusting them so that they sit snugly against your clothes and your weapons rest comfortably within.

Finally, you reach for your knives and firearms, carefully packing them into their respective slots on your body before locking it back up.

You tear a piece of paper and write Tommy a note. You lean against your kitchen counter, deciding to just write sorry on the paper and leaving it on the fridge. 

If you make it back alive, Tommy is going to kill you himself. 

You take a final look around your home, unsure whether or not you will return. Your eyes sweep up and down the familiar room, taking in everything you will leave behind if your mission proves fatal. You breathe in the lingering scent of your surroundings, memories of home and safety filling your thoughts as you look at this living space that you may never return to.

For Annabel. 

You sling your bag around your shoulders and rest the strap of your rifle just above it. You managed to steal a baseball bat from the weapons storage room a couple of weeks back, as you had broken too many bats prior and had been officially banned from signing them out from the collection. You snuck into the arsenal at night while the guard was fast asleep, successfully stealing the bat and avoiding Maria’s disappointment of stealing. You smile to yourself as you grip the bat securely in your hand before leaving your home to embark on this risky endeavour.

You reach the gates of the stable, the calm and quiet of the night settling around you as you approach your regular horse. You reach up to gently caress her mane and the horse nuzzles you in response, as if she knows and understands the journey you are about to embark on.  

“Had a feeling you'd run off.” The unexpected and rough voice suddenly interrupts your actions and you abruptly spin on your feet to face the person speaking. As you look at the man emerging from the shadows of the stable, your expression softens when the light of the street lamp finally reaches his face.

Joel .

You look at Joel as you lift the saddle from the wooden fence, your voice filled with confusion. "What are you doing here?" You ask him as he leans over the same fence. 

"Making sure you don't do something stupid." Joel replies with an exasperated sigh as he grabs a saddle and moves to the horse beside yours.

"What about Ellie?" You reply, raising an important question to Joel as you proceed to strap a number of your belongings to the saddle of your horse. You are careful to secure these necessities with firm straps so that your ride is as smooth and comfortable as possible. You take some of the burden off your own back by transferring the weight to the saddle of your horse, an effort to conserve strength and energy as you embark on this journey that could take a number of days, if not weeks if something goes wrong.

“She’ll be fine. She got her friends and told her to go to Tommy or Maria if she needs anything.” Joel answers your question with an assurance that Ellie will be taken care of in his absence. He begins to lead your horse by the reins, making preparations to depart as you finish securing the last few items to the saddle.

You nod in response to Joel's comment regarding Ellie, glad to hear that she is being well taken care of. You pause for a moment to stroke your horse's mane, feeling a sense of comfort and familiarity with her presence. You follow Joel's lead as he moves the horses out of the stable, asking him a serious question. "You sure you want to do this?"

You want to tell him about the conversation you overheard, about the news that he's going to be an uncle. It feels wrong though, to tell him at a time like this when he's preparing to possibly never come back. You don't feel comfortable sharing with him this significant information about his future while he is focused so singularly on ensuring yours. It’s not your news to share, you think as you exit the stable.

He pauses just outside the stable as he ascends the saddle of his own horse, his gaze fixated on you as you climb onto your own mount. He meets your eyes with a stern look and firmly states his words that provide you with a measure of reassurance as you both prepare to venture forth together. "I told you I'd go with you, didn't I?" The words are spoken with strength and conviction, and you feel a measure of confidence with his presence at your side.

You offer a playful and humorous reply to Joel's comment, nudging your horse forward as you move into a light trot beside him. "I guess I get to finally see you in action then." 

“The person I am out there is not the same person I am in here." Joel warns, drawing a look of curiosity from you as you raise your eyebrow in response.

You chuckle softly in response to Joel's warning, already knowing all too well the darker sides that lie beneath the surface of each of you. You both keep certain sides buried and hidden while you're in a familiar and comfortable setting such as home, but the outside world is a darker and more unforgiving landscape. There is no doubt that you both will have to tap into your less desirable traits and sides and reveal them while on your mission, so his warning is not one that bears any surprise for you.

“I know, and I’m okay with that.” You softly reply back. 

Before

Mid Winter 2019

As you arrive in Jackson you find yourself mesmerised by the beauty of the town draped in white. The snowfall has a peaceful appearance, bringing about a tranquil serenity to the air. The warmth of the fire pits scattered in the streets adds to the ambiance, as the people gather in groups to enjoy one another's company. You stare up at the fairy lights wrapped around the various poles and trees in the main streets, finding the sight to be breathtakingly beautiful and infinitely calming. It is something you have not seen since the outbreak, and it stirs a sense of wonderment within you.

You reach out to grab Annabel's arm, only to have her dart out of your reach and dive into the snow, attempting to make a snow angel. You turn in disbelief at the unexpected change in situation, only to find Tommy laughing beside you as he gestures for you to relax. He takes your outstretched hand and carefully interlocks your arms together, the warmth of his grip a reminder of his calming presence. "You can relax, she’s safe here." He smiles down at you, attempting to pacify your nerves as you find the town to be a much calmer environment than your typical surroundings.

"How can you be so sure?" You nervously ask, your eyes darting around the street to take in the sights and sounds that are unfamiliar to you. The warmth of Tommy's grip still resting firmly on your arm provides a small measure of comfort, but you are unable to fully relax or trust that the people, town, or environment is as safe and secure as he claims it to be.

Tommy's gentle touch upon your face causes your gaze to meet his own and you find yourself unable to resist the comforting yet intense power behind his eyes. You stare at him for a moment and he softly asks, "Do you trust me?" You are momentarily taken off-guard by the directness of his statement, but you cannot help but notice how his presence soothes you and makes your nerves settle a bit. You give a slight nod, indicating that even in a strange place like this you can still trust in him.

"More than anything." Your answer is true and honest, and his smile is small but reassuring. You do find that you could trust him more than practically anyone else at this moment. The gentle and calming way he is speaking to you instils a sense of comfort despite being in a new place.  

“Then trust me, Sunshine.” 

“You must be Tommy!” A woman greets Tommy with a warm and confident smile upon her face as she reaches her hands out to shake his own. Tommy releases your arm and you feel a sense of loss and insecurity as you feel disconnected from his reassuring presence. He responds to the woman confidently and enthusiastically, reaching out to meet her hand with his own and returning her smile.

Tommy nods his head excitedly to the woman, clearly pleased to be making her acquaintance. He motions to you and Annabel and introduces you both with his words. "And you must be Maria, it is lovely to finally meet you as well. Thank you for taking us in,  I hope it's ok that I've brought some friends." Tommy asks as he gestures to you and Annabel.

Maria returns his enthusiasm and warmth with a genuine smile, her eyes settling on you with a welcoming and friendly expression.

“Of course. Let’s get you all settled into a house, get a fire going.” She proposes before shouting towards a group of people standing around a firepit. She excuses herself for a moment, explaining she needs to get some things prepared for your house and she steps away.

"A house?" Annabel interjects abruptly, her eyes filling with an air of sheer shock and disbelief. "Like a real house?" She asks, her voice filled with excitement and enthusiasm. Tommy responds to her with a simple nod, which only seems to add to her disbelief as she stares at him with eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. “No way.” 

Tommy laughs and wraps his arms around her in his hug, using his hands to warm her body in the snowy weather. "Yes, way." He responds confidently, finding his statement validated by her evident shock and awe at the sight of the town and its inhabitants. He pulls her in tight with his embrace and speaks again, "Told you this place was cool." 

Tommy's smile grows broader as he continues to see how genuinely astonished she is by their surroundings, clearly thrilled that he was able to introduce her to this town and provide her with a safe space to stay. He gently strokes her back as she gazes up at him in awe and whispers,“I’m so glad you found us.” which softens his expression and stirs a sense of pride within him. 

Tommy looks over at you and beckons you forward, inviting you to join the hug and be a part of this special moment. You roll your eyes playfully before stepping forward to join the embrace, finding yourself pulled into the embrace and your bodies huddled together in the warmth. You feel a sense of security and safety within Tommy's embrace, as he reassures you both with his words, and even seemingly himself as he looks down at the three of you together in the snow. "We're safe now." He repeats his words quietly as he holds you close. 

As you venture along the streets with Tommy and Maria leading the way, you ask Maria if it would be possible for you to move into one of the houses on the edges of town. She nods in understanding and walks you and Annabel in front of a two-story house, its facade covered in a fine layer of snow that blankets the exterior and adds to its quiet charm. Maria motions to the house and says, "You can have this one if you like.”

Annabel's reaction to the house is filled with a mixture of awe and wonderment, and her excitement is infectious as she stares up at the two-story mansion. Maria smiles at the girl's awe-inspired expression before turning back to Tommy. 

Maria notes that the furniture inside the house is limited, but she also mentions that more can be found in the town centre should you wish to decorate and make it more homey. You thank her for her guidance and kindness and follow Annabel as she runs up the porch stairs and into the house with reckless abandon.

You glance back briefly towards Tommy and Maria as you trail after Annabel. As you look back towards them, you catch a glimpse of a brief moment of embarrassment and shyness on Tommy's face, his blush making it evident that something has transpired between them. He gazes at you briefly, his eyes widening as if caught.

"Hmm, Maria huh?" You tease him with a playful tone, a light and gentle mockery directed at the shy and embarrassed look that crossed his face when talking to Maria. As he walks past you and into the house, you find it difficult to not chuckle at his reaction. 

"Shut up." He mumbles in reply, his voice conveying a mild sense of irritation at your playful teasing and mockery. You follow him into the house, taking in the interior together with him. You observe the sparsely furnished interior, noticing the lack of furniture that Maria had mentioned and thinking of the additional work you'll have to undertake in order to make this place feel more cosy and homey.

Annabel runs down the stairs, her body moving with such a lack of caution that causes you to flinch in anticipation of her falling and causing injury. She jumps at the final few steps and manages to find her footing on the floor without incident, and she quickly shoots you a pleading look as she asks, "Can I have my own room?"

"Of course you can." Tommy nods in agreement, his tone carrying a gentle and kind demeanor as he readily agrees to Annabel's request. She quickly smiles back at him and runs upstairs, no doubt eager to begin decorating her new room and make it a place of privacy and warmth where she can relax and feel comfortable.

The sound of her footsteps echoes around the halls and you hear her running between rooms briefly before eventually finding herself in the room of her choice which must be satisfactory and to her liking. Your ears are greeted by a boisterous shout coming from upstairs, Annabel's voice carrying a mixture of amusement and excitement as she calls dibs on the room of her choice. 

You both glance down from where you had been staring at the roof and find yourselves smiling towards each other.The two of you share a gentle and light-hearted laugh as your eyes meet and you find yourselves sharing a mutual appreciation for this lively and spirited young girl.

Feeling neither comfortable nor safe enough to sleep separately, Tommy sets up a mattress in the living room beside the fire, moving the coffee table from the room. The living room is certainly the most convenient and comfortable place to sleep for the time being as it offers the option of warming yourself in the glow of the fire as well as staying close to each other for the sake of comfort and safety.

Annabel had scoffed, declaring that she would sleep upstairs in her new room rather than staying downstairs with the two of you. You understand and respect her stubbornness and her desire to settle into her new room as quickly as possible, but you cannot lie that the prospect of her being far away from the two of you does make you feel a bit uneasy and worried.

"Bets are that she's down here with us within the hour." Tommy confidently declares, clearly wagering that Annabel will not be able to resist the urge to come downstairs and be with the two of you in the living room rather than settle for sleeping alone. You echo his declaration with a playful chuckle as you get comfortable under the blankets on the mattress.

Tommy settles under the blankets beside you, your head resting on his shoulder as his breath brushes against your hair and offers a soothing and comforting feeling. The warmth of your closeness and the warmth of the fire around you create a cosy and inviting atmosphere that is relaxing and calming. You hold conversation for a while, your voices echoing and amplifying in the confines of the room, and as the fire burns low you find yourself slowly and gradually drifting towards sleep with comfort and relief washing over you.

As if on cue, the sound of Annabel's footsteps echo down the stairs and you find her body appearing in the archwayway of the living room. “Told you," Tommy chuckles ans you gently nudge him in the ribs, a lighthearted and playful jab at his previous declaration for the bet.

"I'm not scared or nothin'!" Annabel mumbles with a slight air of indignation despite her words not carrying much conviction as she crosses her arms over her chest and attempts to present a tough and stoic exterior in the face of your teasing. Her words are undermined by the way she looks a bit sheepish and nervous, her eyes wandering nervously and her body language betraying her feelings of uncomfortability and insecurity despite her claims otherwise.

You lean on your elbows and raise a hand to her, smiling in a gesture of reassurance and comfort as you beckon her over to you. She moves across the room and climbs under the covers beside you, finding that your body provides her with a sense of warmth and safety that she seeks. She nestles into your side and takes a deep breath and allows her body to relax as her legs wrap around yours.

"We're safe." Tommy whispers again, but this time you cannot help but notice a shift in both his tone and his expression as you can tell that his words are more for himself than they are about reassuring you or Annabel. 

You reach down and take his hand in yours, your fingers entwining with his as the glow of the fire fills the room with a warm and soothing light and provides a comforting and inviting setting. He gazes over at you, his eyes finding your own as you gently squeeze his hand in a reassuring gesture, and he closes his eyes as a sigh escapes his lips. You repeat his own words back to him, and he relaxes a little more, as if he is relieved to be comforted instead of solely comforting and reassuring others.

“We’re safe.” He repeats. 

And this time, you believe him. Truly believe him. 

How wrong you were to believe such foolish things.  

Chapter 10

Notes

this was a bit of a filler, leading up to the next stage of the story where you start hunting the cult with Joel.

Not really much to say about this chapter, excpet I swear Tommy means well.

Divider by the beautiful saradika

[johnslittlespoon]

Find the Word

Rules: Share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

thank you @nicijones AND @counting0nit for the tag aaa, this is gonna be a long post because double the words oops <3 My Words: arrange, prisoner, world, risk / hurt, shining (or shiny), comfort, scent Your Words: heart, choke, teeth, sun

Arrange:

Gale lets his elbows fold beneath him when John pulls him closer, pressing the back of his head to the mattress, arching into John’s hands like he conducts the way his muscles contract, like he arranges the curve of his spine, pulling puppet strings as one of Gale’s hands finds his dark curls. [collab pwp wip]

Prisoner:

John thinks that Icarus would be jealous, if he knew how close he was able to stand next to the sun. He knows one day he’ll go too far and the wax will start to melt, a prisoner of his own making, but for now he lifts his face to Gale’s glow and worships. [yad(iym) john's pov wip]

World:

Curt feels like there’s nothing in the world that can make him feel fully stated in that moment, nothing that can dull the craving deep in the pit of his stomach for more, nothing that can quell the urge to be known and touched and seen inside and out by the two men he calls his own. [the fuse to my fire – ao3]

Risk:

John slips his thumb over Gale’s bottom lip, pressing down on it to part his lips, opening his own just enough to exhale diluted smoke into Gale’s mouth. Their lips don’t touch– Gale’s too skittish to risk that, and John’s not sure he’d be able to keep himself together if he got a taste of what he’s been aching for. But the noise of surprise Gale makes so close to his face sends him reeling, almost coughing on the smoke at the same moment Gale does. [breathe me in (exhale slow) – ao3]

Hurt:

John’s hand just barely settles with uncharacteristic softness on his jaw before Gale gently pushes him away, keeping his eyes kind, resting his hand on his arm for a beat longer than necessary before he drops it. His heart thumps in his chest when John opens his eyes, hurt and confusion and frustration painted clear on his face as he stares at Gale, disoriented. [you're a dog (i'm your man) – ao3]

Shining:

"Can I get your name, pretty thing?" The stranger asks, teeth catching the club's pulsating lights when he smiles. Curt can see the blond watching the two of them from where he leans against the bar, and his interest is piqued by this unorthodox duo. "Maybe," Curt hums, pretending to think before he makes his counter–offer. "Buy me a drink first?" He tilts his chin up, coyly batting his mascara–clumped lashes at the brunet, feeling a thrill run through him when his boldness has the man's eyes shining. [curtbuckbucky nightclub au wip]

Comfort:

Something is pushing at Gale's arm, and he huffs, rolling onto his stomach and tucking his limbs in closer to his body. But the nudging is persistent, dragging him fully from the comfort of sleep, and he almost jumps out of his skin when he squints into the dark, not expecting to be greeted by another set of eyes looking back at him. “Christ, John,” he breathes out, running a hand down his face. John just looks at him blearily, tugging expectantly at his blanket, and Gale stares back. [i don't wanna be alone tonight – ao3]

Scent:

Sometimes Gale worries that if it weren’t for him coaxing John back to their barracks every evening, he’d sit out on the wing of a plane all night, like a loyal dog waiting at the front door for his man to come home, unmoving until his bones locked into place. He’s drunk almost every time Gale clambers up through the cockpit to sit quietly with him that first week back, but Gale doesn’t mention it, hiding the way his nose wrinkles at the scent of whiskey, or vodka, or rum, whatever his vice of choice is each night. [you're a dog (i'm your man) – ao3]

that was such a struggle but so fun lol. <3 tagging @air-exec, @eternallytired17, @triggerlil, @bcolfanfic, and whoever else hasn't been tagged yet/wants to participate! :-)

[duraznita-frescante]

hi!

is it possible that you could do an agere oneshot where scar gets chronic pains and regresses with a mumbo cg? /nf

🌱 — "to be loved (is to be seen)"

⇒ regressor! scar & cg! mumbo

⇒ word count: 1.3k

...

🌿 — this was the very first request sent in and my first ever time doing a writing per a request so thank sm!!! i hope i did okay with the prompt, i tried my best drawing from different sources on living with chronic pain so i really hope i did it justice with the right amount of sensitivity and respect. i love writing for cgmumbo so i hope you enjoy my writing of him as well. thank you!!!

(also also my computer kept changing mumbo to mambo so a really hope i caught all of those LMAO)

The idea of flaking out once again on a plan set weeks ago forced this rolling feeling in his stomach. Was that dread? He’ll go with dread. Scar was dreading the idea of telling his friends that he couldn’t build with them today despite being one of the ones to pitch the idea in the first place.

But standing in the middle of his kitchen, he could barely will the strength to make himself a proper meal. Or even one at all.

A soft whine bubbled up from throat and he rubbed his face as the deep-set thrumming of his joints came to a brief crescendo before simply sitting on the cold tile. His head thumped gently on the cabinet behind him and he wondered if he could get away with sitting here all day, letting the tile cool down his aching legs. The pattering of little feet quickly dismissed that idea though, he turned his head just as Jellie rounded the corner, an indigent meow filling the air and hitting sharply against his ears.

“Hi, Jellie,” Scar greeted with a smile as she came over, butting her head across his knee and up to his waist, leaving her soft grey fur on his pyjama pants in her wake. Eventually, she settled in his lap, this time to meow directly into his face. “I know I’m supposed to message someone by now,” he says quietly, letting his hand run down her back, another meow follows.

“But asking him is hard…” he whined as Jellie jumped out of his lap and bumped her body against the cabinet next to him that she knew held her cans of food. The idea of popping open a can made his fingers ache. “But Jellie needs breakfast…” Scar concluded, watching as Jellie paced the kitchen to better project her demands for breakfast.

He pulled out his communicator and typed out a message to the lesser of two evils. Evils, in this case, was breaking the news to his friends that he was having a bad pain day or telling Mumbo the same. He needed Mumbo first, for Jellie of course. What with how his fingers ached as they did, opening a tab can would not go too well for him.

[GoodTimesWithScar] come o ver [GoodTimesWithScar] jellie is askin for you

It didn’t take long at all for Scar to hear his front door creak open and the familiar light footsteps of Mumbo Jumbo, slightly clicky from the dress shoes that he insists are comfortable for everyday wear.

To someone unfamiliar with Scar and his fluctuating pain levels, the sight upon entering the kitchen might’ve been concerning. One might think he’d fallen, maybe they would fuss over him and insist they check him over for injury. And in some distant past that was Mumbo as well– that was everyone who’d joined in those early days. But now Mumbo knew, and all of his friends on the server knew, this wasn’t an ordeal that needed to be dealt with urgency and pity.

“Bad pain day?” he asked with a reassuring smile, squatting down to Scar’s level. Scar confirmed with a soft huff that might’ve been a chuckle or indication of pain. It didn’t really matter, they both knew what it meant. Scar held out a tin can that he managed to get out of the cabinet while waiting for Mumbo.

“Fingers too bendy ‘n Jellie hasn’ had b’eakfast,” He slurred out, his mind relaxing at just the sight of his caregiver. “Open, please?”

“Of course,” Mumbo took it gently and spoke as he peeled off the metal top and placed it to the side for Jellie to enjoy, “And what about Scar, has he had breakfast?”

A definite shake of the head that threw Scar’s fringe over his eyes was what he got in response.

Mumbo chuckled lightly and Scar grinned at the sound, letting his hair be pushed to the side to make way for the kiss pressed onto his forehead. Those same hands settled on either side of his face, holding him.

“I think…” Mumbo drew out in that exaggerated way that he knew made a little Scar hang on to every word, “It is a wonderful day for a bedroom picnic, what do you think?” Bedroom picnic was this fun activity that the duo made up many moons ago in which you bring everything entertaining and enough snacks to last you the day into somewhere comfy, usually a bedroom, and stay there. It was reserved for days like these when being anything but stationary was far too laborious on Scar’s body. He could spend the day napping and being small in between to try and ignore the aches.

“I can’t! I’m ‘posed to help Gri and ‘mpulse to build today and– and I don’t want them to be mad at me,” Scar pulled himself from Mumbo’s gentle hold and oh did that hurt Mumbo more than it should have.

“What? Why would they be mad?” In Mumbo’s anxiety-ridden mind, thoughts of the worst flooded his brain. Had Grian or Impulse said something rude? By mistake or otherwise? Did someone else say something rude? Someone new? Had Mumbo himself said something off and he didn’t even notice?

“I just– I said that I could an’…an’ I can but I can’t even though I p’omised,” Scar rambled on half coherently and just like that, those irrational thoughts drained from his mind. Yes, of course. Of course Scar wasn’t upset over what anyone else would have said, he’s had a lifetime of experience to tell him that what others say about him doesn’t matter. But it seems he’s in his head today and this is clearly something that’s been on his mind for a while. To Mumbo, there were a few options on how to handle this.

The first, well, wasn’t viable and would not even happen now that he was here. The first option would be to just let Scar exert his body with the idea that he had to in order to please his friends, an option that could only happen if Scar were in the headspace for it– read, an adult headspace that was at suboptimal mental health.

But Scar isn’t entirely an adult right now and as young as he is right now, he doesn’t have the mental power right now for the nuance of overexerting himself for the sake of others. If he did, he would not have called for Mumbo in the first place.

“I see…” Then there was the second option, “Well, those two in particular know Scar very well,” Mumbo continued, “and I think they’d be very sad if they knew their best friend was hurting because of them, hm?” Play into Scar’s endless sympathy. Nobody can be sad on Scar’s watch, be it while he’s big or little, everyone must be happy. He designed and built a whole theme park for the sole purpose of seeing his friends happy.

And it worked like a charm

“I don’t want Gri to be sad!” He exclaimed loudly, the idea of his best friend being gloomy just unbearable.

“Just… Grian?” Mumbo couldn’t help himself, he had to tease a little bit if Scar was going to cling to one idea at a time.

“Or Impulse!” Scar tacked on as well, the lighthearted jab flying over his head.

“Gosh, I don’t want them sad either, now that I think of it,” Mumbo pretended to fret, knowing just how much the little one needed some dramatics to get the whole message. “And if a hurting Scar makes them sad…” he trailed off, looking off to the side with a finger on his chin.

“I know! A Scar that’s not hurtin’ will—will make them happy!”

And with a little bit of storytelling logic, Mumbo is victorious in fixing this issue without a single tear shed.

“What a clever lad, I think that will make them very happy,” he says softly, letting himself fall away from the exaggerated way of speaking. “Let’s head back to bed and then tell them this great news together, yeah?” Mumbo stood from his space on the floor and extended a hand toward Scar. In response, the younger raised both of his arms in silent request.

And who was Mumbo to deny him?

[the-type-a]

Duncney Week 2023

(9•15) Day 6: Protective

AO3 | FanFic | TikTok | Twt

Testing the Limit

(Read under break)

Courtney periodically looked past the pages she read to the man standing by the window. His arms were crossed as he scanned the room before settling on her. He gave her a flirtatious smirk, which she returned with a vulgar gesture. She missed her old bodyguard but couldn’t say anything because her Papá was the one who hired everyone. Her old bodyguard minded his damn business and did his job correctly. This new guy? All he was good for was giving her a major migraine on a daily basis.

Her muscles ached from the pure irritation this man gave her. Courtney rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath. She focused on her book while waiting for the family room to be unoccupied. In reality, Courtney should have been in her room, far away from whatever was happening behind the closed doors, but she refused to feel afraid in her own house.

Courtney Rosales was the daughter of a wealthy man, Mateo Rosales, whose business ran deep underground, earning him several enemies. Her new bodyguard, Duncan Robustelli, was apparently the only vile man smart enough to complete her Papá’s extensive boot camp. Ever since Duncan set foot in her home, he had taunted her and called her a ridiculous pet name. On top of that, he had simply refused to wear the uniform her Papá had given him.

He’s quick on his feet and knows how to hold his own. The words her Papá said to her echoed in her mind. Courtney had tested that statement on her own. She had sent alarming messages to Duncan, hoping he would barge into the room to prove why he was given the position– but he never did. In fact, Duncan would walk in casually and raise his eyebrow at her. As if he knew she was testing him and refused to give in to her stupid games. She prayed to God she was never in real danger if that was how he would react.

“You’re a shit bodyguard.” She mumbled.

Duncan laughed as he stepped toward her, the natural light that gave her the perfect reading setup being drowned out by his shadow. “And you’re a shit client.”

Her book snapped shut as she looked over her shoulder, her nose scrunching up at him. He smelled like mint and firewood, but she would never tell him so. “You could always save us both some misery and quit.”

“And by quitting, that would mean what exactly?” Duncan teased as he leaned down to her level. His breath tickled the back of her neck. “Oh right, it would give you satisfaction that I walked away. I think I’ll pass.”

“I wish I could fire you.”

“You’d miss me too much, Princess.”

Heavy thuds shook the ground before them as Courtney turned fully around to remind him what her name was. Duncan moved so fast Courtney barely noticed the doors swinging open with random people running out holding onto fresh wounds. Before she could even scream, Duncan had her securely behind him as he whipped out a gun to finish off whatever was left of these men. Courtney screwed her eyes shut and held her hands over her ears, waiting for the awful popping sound the gun would release, but nothing came. She took a peek and instantly regretted it. Bodies were sprawled across the floor, pooling in their own dark blood as her Papá casually walked and inspected one of the men on the ground.

She realized why Duncan’s gun had not sounded off as she watched him tuck it back into his waistband—a silencer. Everything had happened within a matter of seconds. Courtney didn’t know how to handle the heat racing up her neck at the thought of almost being a target to these men. This is why you stay away, her mind screamed at her.

Duncan’s body concealed her perfectly as more guards rushed into the foyer and into the room. They ordered Duncan to keep watch as they cleaned up the mess and then shut the door. Courtney’s Papá nodded at Duncan before turning towards his room to clean himself up. Only then did Duncan move aside. His hands were immediately on her; Courtney would have slapped him if she hadn’t realized Duncan’s hands weren’t feeling her up but making sure she was intact.

His palms were cold against her skin as he inspected her arms, neck, and face, but Courtney swore her skin turned darker with every touch.

“Wh– you saved me?”

“It’s my job.”

“You could have died!”

Duncan finally let his hands fall to his side. He took a deep breath to get his thoughts right. He had been in this position plenty of times but with Courtney? Something in him knew he would have massacred the entire house if anything happened to her.

“You could have died.”

Something sparked within those icy eyes that froze Courtney’s mind. Maybe he wasn’t such a terrible guy after all.