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sun-snatcher · 14 days

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♧ ⎯ THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

summ. Something is wrong with Gambit. Deadpool & Wolverine are attacked— but they aren’t the target. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader , (established in #WELUCKYFEW) w.count. 3.6k a/n. Kickstarting a potential storyline?! I’m gonna be so honest I don’t know either but. Maybe not. C’est la vie. Warnings for canon-violence & gore!

CURRENTLY, IN DOWNTOWN NEW YORK:

WADE HAS A BLADE EMBEDDED through his throat.

He hadn’t expected his Friday night to go like this.

This, by way of meaning: getting glass shards straight to the eyes after some asshole decided not to use the front door, and proceeding to wreak absolute havoc throughout the entirety of Wade’s apartment in an attempt to kill him.

Which brings us to now.

“Can we— eurgh— please ta— ack—!” Wade retches, gargling in his own blood as he slowly unsheathes the sword out his neck.

He spits the metal-tang-curdle of saliva to the floor with a hiss. His teeth and the house carpet stains an ugly vermillion. Somewhere amidst the long fight, Dogpool has scampered for cover with the roomba.

“Canwepleasetakeatimeout?!”

A picture frame shatters above him in reply. Wade dives to the living room, booting the coffeetable onto its side for cover. “Fuck me, this’ll all be a pain in the ass to clean up once we’re done h— ooh, what’s this?”

The tipped over IKEA table Blind Al set up two days ago reveals, stunningly: a concealed Glock 47. And knowing the old lady, these— alongside every weapon she’s likely squirrel-stashed around this house— is probably loaded.

(It’s by no means a gold-plated Desert Eagle from Nicepool— God rest his soul— but Wade makes a mental note to kiss Al on the mouth once she’s back from the laundromat.)

He unholsters the pistol; unclips the magazine; gauges— only 5 bullets. (…Does she kill people in her spare time? He’ll have to ask.) “You couldn’t’ve attacked me in my superhero suit? Would be so much more visually appealing for the audience, y’know.”

The assailant lets out an accented snarl beneath the dark of her hood. “D’ya ever shut th’ fuck up?”

“Uh, no? Wow, it’s like you don’t even know who you’re trying to kill here—”

Wade slides across the floor and fires. With a sharp dodge, the first bullet narrowly misses, bursting brick and drywall instead; The second clips the assassin’s shoulder as she curses.

“You sure you’re not supposed to be after Elektra instead? I mean, the whole hooded ninja-assassin-lady fit is kinda giving edgy early-2000’s era.”

A scowl. Ninja-lady hurtles a dagger just as he stands, slicing a whistle into the air. Wade only just deflects it with a timed swing from the same sword he’d yanked out his neck.

“Aw, all out of steel? This is why you shouldn’t bring a gun to a knifefight, beautiful.” He narrows his eyes. “Hold on I said that wr—”

“All this fuckin’ chatter!” she groans, brandishing another sword. Dusklight scatters through the drizzling rain and the window curtains, glimmering against her blade— and for a moment Wade catches it reflecting in her eyes: crescent-like; amused.

She’s smiling. Purposefully.

“Where did you even—? Did you pull that out your prison-wallet?”

“We been fightin’ a while now, Wilson,” the assassin ignores, looming like a living shadow in the dim of the kitchen. There’s blood splattered against her plain mask and the edges of her cowl. Most of it belongs to him. “Y’know y’self that this shoulda ended, say, ten minutes ago, now?”

“Well, that’s why I politely asked for a time-out, genius.”

“Makes y’wonder if this whole fight’s really ‘bout you, non?”

Wade stutter-steps.

His gut twists.

Logan, he thinks, instinctively. Then: Vanessa, Blind Al, Laura, Gambit, and you— Stray.

This has been… a stall. A fucking distraction.

“Hah! See, now you’ve just pissed me off,” the merc sing-songs, tone falling flat. It’s one thing to come after him; another to come after his family.

He tamps down the worry, rolls his shoulders. “Right, well.”

Deadpool recalls his rounds.

Three remain; one already chambered. More than enough.

“Let’s fucking dance, shall we?”

…ALSO CURRENTLY, SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK:

“WHO—”

Stab.

“THE FUCK.”

Stab.

“SENT—”

Stab.

“YOU?”

The mountain of a man— if Logan can even call him that anymore after the absolute carnage he’d dealt to him in this seedy back alleyway— cries out a desperate ‘Wait, wait, wait!’ just as he rears back for another strike.

“God, wish they never assigned me to the fuckin’ Wolverine. Goddamn suicide mission,” he coughs out. His curly beard looks near black from the fountain of blood dribbling out his lips, and pooling down his neck where it stains his torn hood with gore.

Thunder rolls in the distance. The flash in the nightsky swaths Logan into cutting edges; paints him menacingly in every sharp crease and divot of his features. Rainwater mix with the streaks of red on his arms, dripping down, down, down to the blade-edge of his claws.

“Tell me what I wanna know and I might just let your sorry ass live.”

“I wasn’t told who sent us, okay—?” The answer has Logan snarling. “—Dude, I said wait, I said wait! You pointy prick— Jesus. None of this is personal, okay?”

A grunt. It’s nigh animalistic in sound. “Holding a gun to my head when I was mindin’ my own business is pretty fuckin’ personal to me.”

And they were Adamantium bullets too. He’d come prepared.

“Chill,” he laughs. “We’re not here for you. Or Wade Wilson, for that matter.”

Logan’s hairs stand on end. “What the fuck did y’just say, bub?”

“I said,” the man heaves, head lolling under its own weight and eyes heavy from the bloodloss. “This ain’t about you, or your cancer-fucked boyfriend.”

The crunch that resounds from between his jaw and Logan’s fist is monstrous. He’s half-sure he may have unhinged something, or dislodged a row of teeth.

He snatches the assassin by the collar and slams him against a dumpster, hard enough to leave a dent. “How many else of you are there? Who the fuck are you after?”

“Not enough to be honest,” comes his wheezing answer. It’s a laughter churned in derision and obvious resignation. He knows he won’t survive this. The corners of his vision have already begun to vignette.

“Do you really want to measure your pride against my fucking mercy, bub?”

A huff, akin to the flap of a white flag. The behemoth relents. “Four… of us. Too many… and we’d cause an incursion.”

There’s no time to question what the hell that meant. He’s slipping.

“You didn’t come here to kill me,” Logan repeats, grip loosening. “So why’d you bother trying?”

The assassin grins, teeth shining crimson with fresh blood.

“To buy ‘im time.”

5-ISH MINUTES AGO:

If war had taught you one thing, it’d be that instinct will save your life.

And something is definitely wrong.

It needles over your skin and nape, makes your insides pace like a caged animal— you feel it whenever you turn the cornerstone down 5th Avenue, when you pass the pour of newsstands at the end of the street; feel it at the cafe just opposite the X-Men’s Academy grounds where you go to mark papers.

You tell yourself to shake it off. That it’s just you settling into a new Universe, but—

“Rain caught you?” you ask, between the vinyl-croon in your shared downtown apartment, “Dinner’s ready soon. Allons manger.” *

“Ooh! Smellin’ mighty fine up in here.” The front door is closed shut. Remy slides his coat off and tosses it lazily to the sofa armrest. Your eyebrows shoot up, but you don’t comment. “And oui. Rain caught me out a bit.”

“Them brigands give y’any trouble?” he asks, taking the plates from your hand to set once he’d come up to the kitchen island. *

You make a noise as you shut the fridge door and turn with two beers in hand. Remy laughs. “Mais, y’been dealt a bad hand today, chèr?”

“How could you tell?” you feign a gasp, sliding a bottle his way and leaning back the counter as you sigh. “Students were restless today. And, my phone’s dead too. Drenched in the rain the second I stepped out the school. Stuffed it in rice and praying it’ll live.”

Then, suddenly— your nose wrinkles. You turn sharply towards the stove to check if anything’s burning. “Smell’s like smoke.”

A pop of his beercap. It clatters as he makes a hum of assent. “Probably me. M’sorry, chèr, I’ll change—”

“You smoke—?”

Remy colours a little.

“—Since when?”

There’s blatant surprise in your eyes more than there is confusion. Your gaze flickers to his hand. He has a deck in his palm; Charlier cut. One-handed shuffle.

Anxious tic. You haven’t seen him do it in a while.

“Mais…”

Needles, you’re reminded. That reflexive needling at the back of your mind is creeping at the margins again.

“I, I’m not stopping you,” comes your quick answer. Your hands are raised in surrender; you aren’t here to interrogate or stop him from his will. “Just— I didn’t expect it. Is, Is everything okay?”

“Mais oui,” he nods, trying to reassure you. “S’not often. S’just t’help me blow off some steam. Ain’t gotta worry that pretty lil’ head a’ yours, chèr, I promise.”

Your Remy had been a smoker. You’ve told him this before. Perhaps it’s a Multiversal thing, too. “No smoking indoors, though, deal?”

He purses his lips, looking sheepish. “Deal.”

The topic is dropped; A bated silence falls as he watches you dish dinner for the both of you. His intuition has always been precise, however, and it’d only been a matter of time before he spoke up again after he watched you sidle into your high-chair opposite his and push your food around.

“And you?” he presses, carefully, “Can hear the gears in y’head turnin’ from here, chèr. Talk t’me. Quoi ça dit?” *

It’d be pointless to lie. You glance at the rain pelting like hellfire at the window, then back at him, shaking your head as if in dismissal. “Nothing. I just feel like there’s someone out there, lately. Like we’re being… I don’t know.”

“Watched?” he offers, gauging your reaction.

Yes, you think to say, but you didn’t want to appear paranoid. You’ve had this conversation with Logan before; the thrown looks over your shoulders, the twitchiness, the habit of sitting with your back against the wall; Unending disquiet that simmers to a slow boil in your marrows.

(The war in your Universe may not have killed you, but it’d broken you beyond repair.)

“...I feel like something bad’s coming. Like someone’s gonna break through the window or—” You shut your mouth with a click before that thought goes off on a nervous tangent. “My, my body keeps preparing for a fight. Like there’s something out to get me all the time.”

Remy’s eyes are curious. Observing. He’s stopped fidgeting as he listens, deck resting in ready position.

“Chèr,” he begins, gently taking your hand from across the table and—

You almost yelp.

His touch is cold.

(Needle-like.)

You very nearly pull away.

(Instinct.)

Dread crows like a song; a banshee’s cry in your mind’s eye.

“Easy, hey,” he frowns, worry painting across his face when you slide your hand from his. “Chèr.”

“I—” Panic roars in your chest. Your lungs expand. It’s the beer bottle, you reason, that’s why his touch is cold. Maybe even the rain. Hell, this could just be an anxiety attack.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, sorry, I’m just— tired. Yeah.”

His gaze softens.

“Hey. Look at me, chèr. Y’home. Y’safe. Y’know that.”

You nod. Press your eyes shut. Take a gulp of beer, focus on the burn; on the distant New Orleanian croons of the record player just under the window.

“Gambit ain’t gon’ let anythin’ happen t’you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling tightly. It doesn’t reach your eyes; does little to dispel your razor-edged wariness.

He notices. He always does.

“How ‘bout a game t’clear y’mind, chèr?” he offers, nudging his plate an inch to make way for his deck of cards. “Go fish?”

You laugh. It’s fragile. “You’re gonna let me win, anyway.”

“There’s that smile,” Remy hums under his breath, just enough that you can catch it. “—An’ no, chèr. Cross my heart, Gambit ain’t gon’ let y’win. Mais, y’know how I get wit’ games.”

He does cross his heart, playful, then shuffles his cards. You try to let yourself sink back into familiarity in his flourishes and its sounds; watch his hands work deft to chase away the anxiety still clawing under your skin.

He deals.

You adjust your cards.

…ven of Diamonds, Queen of Hearts, Nine—

Your blood runs cold.

“Is…”

You try to swallow back the horror as you look at the neat fan in your hand. “…Is this a new deck, Remy?”

The next bit of what he says sounded off to your ears; a record scratch, a jerk of a needle.

“Mais non, this the same deck Gambit been usin’ since the start.” He shoots you a confused look.

(It’s like a muslin-thin veil has been lifted:

The nerves and paralysing paranoia, his precious brown leather coat thrown carelessly over the couch instead of being hung reverently on the rack, the grotty scent of cigarette smoke beneath the rain, the anxious shuffling of his cards at the table, the uncanny observation and scrutinising— and perhaps, what should’ve been the most damning of all— his ice-cold touch.

No warmth. To the touch. In his gaze. In his smile. In energy.)

“Chèr? Y’alright?”

No. No, you’re not fucking alright.

Because this deck has a Nine of Hearts. That card has been with you, since the Void; since the start.

This…

This man is not Remy.

“Yes,” you say, and you internally scream at your reply— too quick. Too quick to hide the obvious lie. “Sorry, I just gotta— I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Chèr—?” he frowns, chair scraping as he stands to try reaching out and steadying you.

Your heartbeat skyrockets. Instinct howls inside you. Everything has been recontextualised, and suddenly every difference about him jumps out: the rough edges, the muss of how his hair falls, the cut at the tip of his ear you never noticed.

“No, stay. Stay, I’m fine—” You teeter your way off the stool. It’s not entirely a lie that you felt like throwing up, but the omission is: there’s a gun you keep under your pillow, and another under the bathroom sink.

Your phone is dead. This will have to be a fight.

And against a mutant? You have nothing but a slim chance.

“Stray,” he calls. His voice would be soft to anyone else's ears, but you hear it now— the difference, the rasp, the hardness as his heavy footfalls draw close behind you in the hall. Frustration. Not concern. “Talk to me, chèr.”

You slam the bathroom door shut with a resounding click of the lock. You let the sink run and drown out the noise of your hands fumbling underneath the sink, and once the weight of the 9mm pistol is in your palm, there’s faint comfort.

The rest is muscle memory: confirming a round in the chamber, unclipping to check the remaining 15 in the magazine; recalling the distance to the front door and whether you can even get through this whole thing without firing a single bullet, much less alive.

Remy— or, no, fake Remy? Fake Gambit? —is knocking at the door. His words are muffled. You barely pay attention as you place your pistol by the faucet, and dip your head down to splash water to your face and ready yourself for a scuffle.

“Stray.”

Your head shoots up.

The door’s unlocked and wide open. Gambit’s loom behind you through the reflection of the mirror is harrowing.

You barely have time to scream.

His hand snarls through your hair— then, like a loaded spring, Remy rams your head against the mirror.

You cry out. Glass shatters in a spray.

“Tell me.” A gruff chirp, right by your ear. “What gave me away, eh?

“Fuck… you,” you choke out, cringing when a shard cuts into your cheek.

“Baw, why ‘de bobin, Stray?” His accent is heavier now that the guise has been dropped. “Y’know, I ain’t never understood ‘dat nickname. Where’d’ya come from, eh? Y’aint from ‘round here?” *

“C’mon, Raven,” you rasp, head reeling as red gushes down your face. “Enough games. Drop the skin.”

He laughs. It sounds painfully like the Remy you know. “Mais la, how disappointin’. D’ya really think I’m Mystique? ‘Dat couyon bleue could never nail ‘de Cajun accent even if she trained for it.” *

You don’t care which Remy this is. The distraction buys enough time. Your hands scramble at the faucet; grasping for your pistol until—

“S’Gambit in ‘de flesh, chèr bébé, jus’ ain’t ‘de one y’used t’cuddlin’ with at ni—”

You fire blindly. A tile bursts. The gunshot booms like a church bell.

Gambit recoils with a sharp yell, vision searing white from the piercing ring in his ears. You take the chance to book it past him with a gasp, nearly slipping on the floor as he barely misses snagging the hem of your shirt.

“Son of a bitch,” he grinds out, shaking his head. He springs his collapsible staff, props himself to his feet. “Gotta give it t’you, chèr, y’got bite. Shame ‘de night had t’end ‘dis way. Was hopin’ we coulda’ got on by peacefully.”

Gambit descends like a reaper down the hall. His hand draws a card and you hear the cutting whistle of it in the air.

It’s too quick for you to react. The Ace explodes, and the blast has you rocketing to the floorboards by the record player. The tracks skip from the harsh impact:

“-- ZZzrt -- I been in the right place! But it must have been the wrong time!”

Comically perfect. Life sure likes making a joke out of your situations, huh?

You fire two pointed shots as you turn onto your back. One hits the cornice and the other is a near-miss, dodged by Gambit ducking into your room doorway with a curse. It throws him off his rhythm. His growl turns into a sour grimace instead. “Goddammit, woman.” (You’re a sharp shooter, Gambit admits. He had felt the wind on that one.)

Dr. John still croons his ‘70’s Cajun funk in your ransacked home. “---I been in the right world! But it seems like wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!---”

Pain lances up your leg as you stagger to your feet. You can’t pinpoint where, but nothing feels broken; a small mercy.

You make a break to the front door as you continue firing to keep him back. You’re not out of the woods yet. If you can just get out, dart for the stairs, you’d atleast get a better shot at surviving this insane manhunt—

The front door handle is busted.

Busted, in which: Gambit must’ve charged the handle and melted the lock into nothing from the inside out when he first arrived. Sly bastard.

“---Refried confusion is making itself clear! Wonder which way do I go to get on out of here?---”

Thinking clearly is out of the question, so you think rapidly instead. Fire escape. Right outside your bedroom window.

It’s too late, though. Gambit deals another card the moment you swivel on your feet— and the charge detonates just as you raise your gun.

The flash of purple is lightning hot against your fingers. The force sends you careening to the door and sliding down with a strangled hiss.

Your pistol clatters. You scramble for it—

An aside on all the Gambit’s you have had the (un)fortunate opportunity to come across: all versions of him across the Multiverse are surely relentless. Be it in competition, or charm, or, in this case, pure fucking bloodlust amid combat.

Some of his feats are impressively frightening.

Like charging his staff— and then spearing it straight from across the room and right between your pistol’s trigger guard.

Disarmed in an instant.

Deadly accuracy.

“---I took a right move! But I made it at the wrong time!---”

You really wanted to break that damn player.

“Nice try, chèr,” Gambit says, voice dark as he saunters over to you. The smile that spread across his face is like blood emerging from a quick, precise slit. (In another time, you might’ve considered it attractive.) “But Remy oughta teach you a t’ing or two ‘bout knowin’ when t’fold y’cards.”

That crisp accent of his almost makes the threat sing out sweet. He picks his coat up along the way and shrugs it back on.

“Yeah, well. Not your call,” you snap, scooting to your back with a visceral glare. “What the hell do you want?”

Another aside of Gambit: Like water in a river, Remy LeBeau always takes the path of least resistance. And yet he hadn’t killed you when he had multiple opportunities to do so, and every card he’d dealt throughout the fight was meticulously controlled, just enough to not do any real damage.

The signs are clear— he needs you alive.

“Wanna put a damn gris-gris on you for ‘dis, first of all.” He gestures to his bleeding temple with a wince. Your first shot must have burst his right eardrum. “Mais la, I need me a cigarette.” *

A deep sigh. He fishes an odd gadget out his pocket, and you narrow your eyes. It looks familiar.

“Listen, chèr.” Gambit rips his bō staff off with a grunt, wood splintering out the boards from the force. He lazily kicks the gun away, looming over you with a resigned look on his face. “I ain’t here to kill you, alright? ‘Dat’d make ‘dis a hit, and ‘dat ain’t in the nature of what Remy do.”

“---Head is in a good place, and I wonder what it's bad for!---”

You let out a defeated snort. “So? Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”

“So.” He exhales, triggers his device with a button.

A TVA Time-door warbles open.

…What the fuck?

“Don’t be harborin’ any bad feelin’s on me for what I’m gon’ do next.”

Remy re-grips his staff. You pale.

“Ah, shit.”

You’re out like a light before you register the blow.

No one’s home by the time Wade and Logan barge in, late by a matter of seconds.

*Cajun Footnotes

Allons manger — Let’s eat Brigands — Troublemakers Quoi ça dit? — What’s up? (Literally: “What that says.”) Bobin — Frown Couyon bleue — Blue fool Gris-Gris — a curse/bad luck

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hansensgirl · 9 months

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summary. | Your husband tells you about his rough day at work.

prompts. | Steve Rogers + Mob/Mafia + “I just want to take care of you.” + Stockholm Syndrome, requested by Anonymous.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Steve Rogers x fem!reader.

warnings. | NON/DUBCON, kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, wound dressing, housewife kink, mentions of violence, lying, deceit, mobs/mafias, age gap/difference, mentions of torture (not to the reader), scarring/marking (not self-harm), possessiveness, obsession, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics

He’s beaten and bloody, but you still love him… Right?

You sit on the dining room chair in your dress with an apron on, smiling as hard as you can because Steve asked you to. He hates seeing you upset, and you hate seeing him mad.

“Sweetheart…” Steve starts, watching your face intently. You clean his wounds with much care and love, just as he taught you. He sighs, knowing you’re too caught up in the task at hand. “Don’t be sad… You know it’s part of the job.”

“I just hate seeing you like this,” you tell him, voice shaky with tears. Your husband coming home all injured doesn’t happen often. The notoriously-feared Steve Rogers usually ends the day unscathed unless he’s been ambushed, which is what happened today.

But he still ended the fight victorious. He always does.

“I get that, but you know I do all this for you, right?” Steve asks, and you look up at him. Your eyes are glassy. You nod your head obediently. Steve works so hard just for you—he tells you this daily, especially when he’s exhausted, and just wants you to listen to him. “I– I know…”

You finish wiping the blood off his hands, and you spy a few bruises already starting to form. They litter his knuckles, but his wedding band remains intact.

“Right. And you know I don’t get hurt often,” Steve continues, picking up his glass of whiskey. He downs the rest and hisses from the burn. “You should see the other guy,” he tells you, and you continue nodding.

You’re not sure what to say. You don’t enjoy Steve’s line of work—you never have. You’ve made him aware of this time and time again, but you don’t have a say in what he does. You never do.

“Sam an’ I got him good. I did most of it—left him to rot in that room for Buck to have his fun. Remember those knives I got him as a gift?” Steve asks. You hum, moving forward to tend to the gash on his jaw. He has as many scars as he does tattoos. Your name is inscribed in ink on his chest, but his initials were written with a blade on your ass.

The mention of knives almost has you sighing dreamily. You lost your ‘knife privileges’ a few months ago when you tried to hurt Steve. The idea seems so silly now. Why would you ever do that to the love of your life?

“Wanna know what that asshole did?” your husband whispers, and you meet his gaze. “O– Okay,” you hesitantly agree. You hate all the nitty-gritty details, but you can’t tell him ‘no.’ That’s the number one rule.

“He said he knew you. Just a kid about your age, really. Think his name was Pete,” Steve starts, and you freeze for a split second.

Peter—your old friend who vowed he’d get rid of the mob that wreaked havoc on your city when he was older. Steve’s mob. He hated that his aunt May would always have to give them most of her paycheck and how your parents lost their business when Steve decided to open his own store.

“Said he knew you, but I doubt it. You would never be friends with some spunky asshole,” he laughs, and you’re snapped out of the childhood memories that have always brought you so much comfort and sadness. You’re tempted to defend Peter, but you bite your tongue. You’ve been so good—why would you want to get yourself in trouble?

“He told me to ‘let you go,’ or else he’d ‘make me pay,’” Steve laughs, pouring himself more of his drink. “I told him he was crazy. He kept sayin’ how I was hurting you and that I kidnapped you.” And he’s right—but you can’t say that.

Tears sting your eyes as you bandage your husband up, the one you’ve never wanted a thing to do with. But he’s been so kind to you—he keeps you safe and doesn’t let you worry about anything except for him.

“Yeah, right. I shut him up real quick, but he put up a good fight,” Steve says, sipping on his expensive whiskey. He places his glass on the dining room table and lifts your chin so you watch him in his blue eyes. “You know I just want to take care of you, right, sweetheart? Always have.”

You give him your sweetest smile and nod, blinking away your threatening waterworks. He’s right. Steve Rogers always is.

“Of course, honey.”

#sabs concepts #steve rogers #marvel #the avengers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #captain america #chris evans #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #dark steve rogers #dark!#request #drabble #sab’s dark concepts (2023)

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cosmicdumpling · 19 days

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cursed by the dawn's light » jeong yunho

SYNOPSIS: As a seasoned and solitary student of Jujutsu Tech, you value sternness, strength, and resilience. But when the relentlessly optimistic rookie sorcerer Jeong Yunho bursts into your life like a wrecking ball, his unyielding cheerfulness and enthusiasm begin to chip away at your carefully guarded emotional barriers, bringing a surprising light into your life, whether you want it or not.

PAIRING: yunho x fem!reader

GENRE/S: romance/fluff, angst with a fluffy ending, full fic

THEME/S: jujutsu sorcerers au, definitely a grumpy x sunshine fic, characters include the og jjk characters

⚠️ WARNING/S: profanities, violence (jujutsu sorcerers in action ofc), injuries, mentions of trauma and death

WORD COUNT: 9.7k

➺ MAIN MASTERLIST

You despise sunshine.

By sunshine, you don’t mean the literal sun— its warming rays are irrelevant to you. Rather, personalities like Gojo Satoru, who seem to constantly have a whole reserve of energy even when on the brink of death.

Personalities like Gojo Satoru— the kind that exudes loquacity, laughter, and joy to the point of nausea.

Too bright.

That’s the first thought that strikes you upon seeing Jeong Yunho—a quirky boy trailing behind the exuberant, white-haired teacher as he leads him into the dorm’s common room. Yunho looks positively thrilled, completely unfazed by the environment he’s been thrust into.

Perhaps it’s because, as someone who guards themselves with towering walls of solitude, people like him and Gojo are overwhelming—draining rather than energizing. While you crave isolation, Yunho is the kind of person who bounds around, making friends and probing your every curiosity with reckless abandon.

Now, Jujutsu Tech seems to be home to not one, not two, but three annoyingly sunny dispositions (the other being Itadori save for Gojo and Yunho, of course).

Gojo Satoru is a master of persuasion, able to sway even the most stubborn soul to his side. If he were a bit more malevolent, he could easily be mistaken for an elusive kidnapper, even in broad daylight. As it stands, he’s toeing the line between mischievous and outright dangerous.

Because why on earth would he bring Jeong Yunho—a hopeful rookie with little understanding of curses, grudges, and violence—into the mix?

Then again, Gojo had taken you and Megumi Fushiguro under his wing when you were younger. It’s clear that you and Megumi were irreplaceable to him. Megumi’s father, a notorious sorcerer-killer who had wreaked havoc in the Jujutsu world, was a major influence, and his ties to the Zen’in clan—a powerful and influential family of sorcerers—added to his importance. As for you, your own past was marred by stories of struggle and notoriety, having been born into a world that held its own dark secrets.

So, despite the odds, you and Megumi had more than you seemed to lack. Even if those burdens often felt more like curses than blessings, you had something—something substantial.

But Yunho? He’s different.

Gojo had plucked him from the depths of the Miyagi slums, and you can’t help but wonder why Miyagi seems to breed such impossibly bright, extraordinary individuals. Itadori came from that very place, and he’s nearly as radiant and exuberant as Yunho.

“Hi everyone, I’m Yunho!” the new arrival announces with an enthusiasm that seems to fill the room. “I’m going to be attending Jujutsu Tech from now on!”

The greeting is met with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. You can’t help but frown slightly at the unrestrained cheerfulness that Yunho brings with him. His bright smile, his animated gestures—it’s all so... sunshine-like.

As you stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the interaction unfold, you feel a mix of irritation and reluctant fascination. Despite your best efforts to remain aloof, there’s something undeniably magnetic about Yunho’s presence. He embodies everything you’ve always thought you couldn’t tolerate—yet here he is, challenging your perceptions in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“Yeah, welcome,” you manage to say, though your tone lacks the warmth that Yunho’s radiance seems to demand. “I’m Y/N.”

Yunho’s eyes light up as he turns to you. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Probably not all of it’s true,” you reply, glaring at Gojo, who has an ever-cheeky grin on his face.

“Don’t worry,” Yunho says with a grin, “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. After all, if I can handle Gojo, I can handle anything!”

Yuuji bursts into a hearty laugh, his voice brimming with excitement as he declares that they’re destined to become the best of friends. Nobara, never one to shy away from a bit of competitive banter, quickly jumps in, teasingly asserting that she remains the best and that Yunho will have a hard time surpassing her. Megumi, true to his reserved nature, remains silent, though his quiet presence feels more inviting than your own. You take another look at Yunho and see him already blending seamlessly into the group, his laughter mingling with Yuuji and Nobara’s as they joke and play around. The dorm’s walls resonate with their cheerful noise, and for a moment, Yunho’s exuberant spirit seems to light up the entire space.

God, you absolutely loathe sunshine.

The day Yunho officially begins his first day as a student of Jujutsu Tech is marked by a crisp morning and the usual bustle of students going about their training. You’re leaning against one of the pillars in the courtyard, trying to focus on anything but the inevitable interaction with the new student. The quiet is short-lived, though, as you catch sight of Yunho bounding toward you with an infectious energy that already feels too much for this early in the day.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Yunho greets you with a bright smile, his eyes twinkling as if the world were one big adventure waiting to be explored. “How’s your day going so far?”

You don’t bother to hide the sigh that escapes your lips. “It was fine until now.”

Yunho’s smile falters for just a second before it returns, undeterred by your less-than-welcoming tone. “I’m glad I get to see you! Gojo-sensei said you’re one of the best sorcerers here.”

Your eyes narrow slightly at the mention of Gojo. “Did he also tell you that I’m not a fan of unnecessary chatter?”

Yunho chuckles, completely missing—or ignoring—your annoyance. “He did, actually! But he also said you’re someone worth getting to know. And I’m pretty good at making friends, so I thought I’d give it a shot.”

You bite back a retort, instead fixing your gaze on some distant point beyond the courtyard, hoping Yunho will take the hint and move on. But he doesn’t. He’s still standing there, looking at you with that same infuriatingly cheerful expression.

“Look,” you finally say, “I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to train, fight curses, and—most importantly—be left alone.”

Yunho nods as if he understands, though his expression remains unshaken. “That’s fair. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to or spar with or, I don’t know, grab lunch with. No pressure!”

You glance at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re really not getting the message, are you?”

Yunho grins, a little sheepishly this time. “I get it, I get it. You’re the ‘lone wolf’ type. But everyone needs a little sunshine in their life, right?”

“Not me.” The words are sharper than you intend, but you don’t regret them.

Yunho steps back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll back off. But the offer still stands.” He gives you one last bright smile before turning to leave, but not without adding, “And for the record, I think you’re more like the moon. Quiet, strong, and always there even if people don’t always notice.”

You blink, caught off guard by his unexpected comparison. But before you can respond, Yunho is already halfway across the courtyard, waving back at you as he heads toward the training grounds.

You watch him go, something unidentifiable stirring in your chest. He’s annoying, sure, but there’s something disarming about how genuine he seems. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside. You don’t have time for someone like Yunho—someone who radiates warmth and light like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You’ve built your walls too high, and you’re not about to let someone like him try to climb over them.

But as you walk away, you can’t help but think about what he said. About the moon. About being noticed.

And that’s what annoys you most of all.

It’s late in afternoon when you find yourself in one of the training rooms, trying to focus on perfecting a new technique. The space is quiet, just you, an enclosed space, a huge mirror, and your equipment— just the way you like it.

Or rather, just the way you liked it—until Yunho shows up.

“Y/N!” Yunho’s voice rings out across the room, breaking the silence as he bursts through the door. His face is lit up with excitement, and there’s an unmistakable bounce in his step as he heads toward you. “I finally found you! I was hoping we could train together.”

You barely glance up from your stance, tightening your grip on your weapon. “I’m busy.”

Yunho stops a few feet away, undeterred by your cold tone. “Busy training, right? That’s perfect! I could use some help with my hand-to-hand combat. Gojo-sensei said you’re one of the best at it.”

You sigh, finally turning to face him. “And why would I want to help you?”

He grins, that ever-present spark in his eyes making it impossible to ignore him completely. “Because I’m the new guy, and you’re the cool, experienced sorcerer who can teach me a thing or two. Plus, I bet sparring with someone like me will be more interesting than practicing alone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting? You mean annoying.”

Yunho laughs, the sound echoing in the large room. “You’re tough, but I’m persistent. I’ll grow on you eventually, just you wait.”

“Doubt it.” You shift your stance, preparing to return to your drills, but Yunho’s not done.

“Come on, just one round. I promise I won’t be a total pushover.”

There’s something in his voice—an earnestness that makes you pause. You study him for a moment, noting the determination in his stance. He’s serious about this, even if he’s doing his best to keep things light.

“Fine,” you relent, more to get him off your back than anything else. “One round. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

Yunho’s grin widens, and he quickly drops into a ready stance. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The two of you circle each other, and for a brief moment, you almost admire his enthusiasm. Then you push the thought away, focusing on the fight. You lunge forward, testing his reflexes with a swift jab. Yunho moves quickly, dodging and countering with a speed that catches you off guard.

He’s not just fast—he’s strong, too. You feel the force of his strikes, each one growing more precise as the spar progresses. There’s no hesitation in his movements, no second-guessing. He’s focused, but there’s still that underlying warmth in everything he does, as if even in combat, he’s not just fighting—he’s having fun.

It irritates you, how easily he moves, how effortlessly he seems to balance strength with that infuriatingly sunny disposition. As the round continues, you find yourself pushing harder, testing his limits. You throw a particularly forceful strike, and to your surprise, Yunho blocks it, his smile never faltering.

“You’re really strong, Y/N,” he says, breathing heavily but still managing to sound cheerful. “This is awesome!”

You grit your teeth, not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed. “Focus, Yunho. If you’re too busy talking, you’ll get hit.”

“Right!” He nods, but there’s no missing the excitement in his voice. He’s enjoying this—enjoying sparring with you, despite the fact that you’re trying your best to wear him down.

After a few more exchanges, you decide to end it. You see an opening and go for it, sweeping his legs out from under him with a quick, fluid motion. Yunho hits the mat with a grunt, and for a moment, the room is silent.

Then, as you stand over him, expecting some sort of complaint or excuse, Yunho looks up at you—and laughs.

“That was amazing!” he exclaims, propping himself up on his elbows. “You totally got me there!”

You blink, caught off guard by his reaction. “You… aren’t upset?”

“Upset? No way!” He jumps to his feet, still grinning from ear to ear. “I learned a lot just now. You’re incredible, Y/N.”

You stare at him, unsure how to respond. He’s serious—genuinely thrilled, even after you knocked him flat. There’s no resentment, no frustration—just that same relentless positivity.

“Next time, I’ll be ready for that move,” Yunho adds, his eyes shining with determination.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. You’re used to people getting frustrated with you, annoyed by your bluntness, or intimidated by your skill. But Yunho… he’s different. His optimism isn’t a front; it’s real, and it’s starting to chip away at the walls you’ve built.

“Whatever,” you mutter, turning away to hide the confusion swirling in your chest. “Just don’t think this means I’m your friend now.”

Yunho chuckles, not at all put off by your cold response. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But I’ll still be here, whether you like it or not.”

You don’t respond, but as you walk away, you can’t help but feel that maybe Jeong Yunho is more than just an annoying ball of sunshine after all, and that’s what unsettles you the most.

The midday sun casts long shadows across the training grounds, illuminating the dust particles swirling in the air as Yunho and Gojo face each other in the center of the arena. A small crowd of students has gathered around to watch the sparring session, their murmurs of anticipation filling the otherwise quiet afternoon.

You stand apart from the others, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as you observe the match unfolding before you.

Ah, unlucky him.

Gojo had a knack for training his students in the most unorthodox ways. For some unfortunate souls—like Yunho—this often meant being thrust into a sparring match with him before even learning the basics. While Gojo used these impromptu battles to gauge a student’s style and potential, it wasn’t the most welcoming introduction for newcomers. His teaching method involves putting his students through rigorous tests before he actually starts their training. It's his way of assessing their strengths and weaknesses.

Every jujutsu sorcerer harbors a touch of madness—an inner frenzy that fuels their power, and he wants to see what kind of crazy one is.

Gojo flashes his trademark grin, his blindfold concealing the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, Yunho! Show me what you've got!"

Yunho smiles back, his demeanor radiating warmth even in the face of such a formidable opponent. He settles into a defensive stance, his movements fluid but cautious.

The fight begins with Gojo launching forward, his speed blinding as he aims a swift kick toward Yunho's side. Yunho reacts just in time, blocking the attack with his forearm and sliding back slightly from the force. Instead of counterattacking, he takes a moment to regain his footing, eyes flickering with concern.

"Nice block!" Gojo praises, not missing a beat before darting in again with a flurry of punches.

Yunho dodges and deflects expertly, but each time an opening presents itself for him to strike back, he hesitates, opting instead to maintain his defensive posture. His face remains calm, but there's a noticeable restraint in his actions that sets your teeth on edge.

"Why isn't he fighting back?" you mutter under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice.

Yuuji glances at you, "Maybe he's just being careful? It is Gojo-sensei after all."

You ignore the comment, eyes glued to the arena as Gojo ups the intensity, his attacks growing faster and more precise. Yunho continues to evade, but the strain is beginning to show; beads of sweat form on his forehead, and his breaths come quicker.

"Yunho, you're not going to win by just dodging!" Gojo chides playfully, vanishing suddenly only to reappear behind Yunho, aiming a chop at his shoulder.

At the last second, Yunho spins around, raising his arm to block but not following through with a counterstrike. The impact sends him stumbling back, and a murmur ripples through the crowd.

"Come on, fight back," you hiss under your breath, clenching your fists tightly.

Gojo steps back, tilting his head curiously. "What's wrong? Afraid to hit your teacher?"

Yunho chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just don't want to accidentally hurt you, sensei."

A few students laugh at the notion, but you feel a surge of anger flare within you.

Gojo laughs heartily, clearly amused. "Oh? I appreciate the concern, but trust me, I can handle whatever you throw at me."

Yunho nods, taking a deep breath as he readies himself again. This time, he makes the first move, launching forward with impressive speed. He aims a punch toward Gojo's midsection, but his form is still hesitant, holding back just enough to lessen the potential impact.

Gojo effortlessly sidesteps, tapping Yunho lightly on the back as he passes by. "Better, but still too soft!"

The pattern continues, with Yunho attempting attacks that lack conviction, and Gojo easily evading or deflecting them. With each missed opportunity, your frustration mounts, a knot tightening in your stomach.

Anger.

It's what you feel as you watch him spar with the white-haired teacher who seems to be pleased with his defensive support battle style.

Gojo's pleased expression—one you’ve come to dread—is a clear sign of his satisfaction with Yunho’s performance. The boy is undeniably strong and brimming with potential, though he hasn’t yet mastered how to wield it. Gojo’s smirk reflects his delight at nurturing such raw talent, and if Yunho continues under his tutelage, he’s destined to become one of the strongest Jujutsu sorcerers.

But Yunho is a little... different.

One thing Gojo has discovered so far is that Yunho's fiercely protective instincts make him a challenging student. Yunho’s demeanor is typically bright and welcoming, but there’s a depth to his care for others that’s all too natural in his nature. It seems Gojo has to threaten someone to truly provoke Yunho into action.

Gojo’s eyes, hidden behind his signature blindfold, are locked onto Yunho. “You know,” Gojo calls out with a smirk, “I’ve always found that a little extra motivation helps bring out the best in my students.”

Yunho’s gaze sharpens, but before he can react, Gojo's movements are a blur. He’s suddenly in front of you, grabbing you by the arm with a grip that’s both firm and surprisingly gentle.

“Let’s see how much you care about your friend here,” Gojo says, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. “Yunho, if you want to see Y/N safe and sound, you’ll have to earn it.”

Yunho’s eyes widen, a flicker of panic crossing his face as he takes in the scene. Gojo pulls you closer, positioning himself as a barrier between you and Yunho. His voice is calm, almost mocking, as he continues, “I’m not going to hurt Y/N—yet. But how much will you risk to protect her?”

Gojo’s words are a calculated move to trigger Yunho’s protective instincts. The aura in the room thickens with tension, the air crackling with the energy of their confrontation.

Gojo’s voice rings out coldly, “I won’t hesitate to kill Y/N, Yunho.”

Yunho’s reaction is immediate. “You won’t do that… you’re a teacher.”

Gojo smirks, a glint of menace in his eyes. “Yeah, and the old higher-ups won’t execute Yuuji because he’s a student under their instruction.”

"Hey!" Yuuji yells from a distance, obviously not pleased about the comparison.

“It’s safe to say that I can and I will… if you don’t come and save her, that is.”

Yunho’s expression hardens, his fear morphing into fierce determination.

Gojo’s grin widens. “You’re going to have to show me just how far you’re willing to go.”

With a swift, almost casual motion, Gojo shoves you back a few steps, but he keeps you within his reach. Yunho’s instincts kick in, and he lunges forward, his energy flaring as he tries to close the distance.

Gojo’s hand snaps out, catching Yunho mid-air with a burst of cursed energy that sends him crashing against an invisible barrier. The impact is jarring, but Yunho pushes through the pain, struggling to rise.

“You see, Yunho,” Gojo taunts, “every time you hesitate, Y/N gets closer to harm. Prove to me that you’re more than just a bright smile and endless enthusiasm.”

Yunho’s breath comes in ragged gasps, but his resolve is unshakable. He rises to his feet, his eyes locked onto Gojo with a fire that speaks of both his frustration and his fierce loyalty.

With a determined roar, Yunho channels a powerful surge of cursed energy. The arena is engulfed in a wave of raw, golden light as Yunho unleashes a torrent of energy aimed directly at Gojo. The intensity of his attack forces Gojo to release his grip on you, his focus shifting entirely to the onslaught Yunho is unleashing.

You stumble back, catching your breath and taking in the sight of Yunho’s fierce determination. Gojo’s amused expression remains unchanged, but there’s a glint of respect in his eyes as he navigates the barrage of energy.

As the energy dissipates, Gojo lets out a satisfied chuckle. “Well done, Yunho. You’ve got spirit. But remember, this is just the beginning.”

You meet Yunho’s gaze, seeing the mix of relief and exhaustion in his eyes. The fight has tested his limits and brought out his protective nature. As the tension in the room starts to ease, you know this battle was not just a test of strength but a trial of his very character.

Gojo gives you a nod, his eyes gleaming with a knowing look. “Looks like Yunho’s protective instincts are well and truly triggered. Let’s see how he fares in the real battles to come.”

Yunho's not as efficient as Gojo, so of course, you got a little roughed up after getting caught into the training. But that wasn’t the reason why you were angry.

“Y/N! Thank God, that old man-child, I swear… Are you okay? Are you hu—“

“Stay away from me.”

Your voice is a sharp blade, cutting through the air. Yunho’s expression falters, but you don’t care to soften the edge in your tone. Your anger isn’t directed at the fact that you were used to trigger his instincts. No, it’s the sight of him standing there, looking more like a wounded, helpless puppy than a formidable sorcerer.

“I just don’t get it,” you snap, forcing yourself to take a step back, away from his outstretched hand. “You’re strong, Yunho. You have so much potential. But you’re wasting it. You fight to protect others, but what good is that if you can’t even inflict harm on our enemies when it’s needed?”

His eyes widen in confusion, a pained mixture of concern and regret clouding his usually bright gaze.

“I know,” you say, frustration lacing your voice. “I know you’re this big ball of positive energy, always radiating sunlight and believing in the good in everyone. You want to save the world, and you’re all about helping people. But here’s the thing—protecting others isn’t just about shielding them from harm. Sometimes, you need to be strong enough to confront and fight those who threaten them, not just stand in their way. What we’re up against isn’t some playground scuffle. We’re dealing with curses—yes, monstrous, grotesque curses. But the real fight isn’t just with those. It’s with the darkness that lurks within and around us, and you need to be ready to face that too.”

You inhale deeply, your gaze fixed on the ground, “We’re not just fighting curses anymore. We now fight people, too.”

Yunho starts to say something, but the words catch in his throat as you turn away, leaving him with the heavy burden of your disappointment.

“If you can’t summon the courage to fight, even when it means hurting others, or when something is at stake, then you’re not cut out for this. Here, you have to fight with everything you’ve got—no matter how much it hurts. No matter who you hurt.”

“You’re still awake, Yunho?”

The gentle cadence of Gojo’s voice pierces through the quiet of the common room, making Yunho jump slightly. He turns to see his teacher silhouetted in the doorway, a shadow of calm in the dim light.

“Hi, sensei. I was just—um, I couldn’t really sleep…” Yunho’s voice trails off, unsure of how much to share. His thoughts have been tangled ever since the earlier encounter, and sleep feels like a distant possibility.

Gojo steps into the room, his usual carefree demeanor slightly tempered by the soft glow of the evening. He surveys Yunho with a thoughtful look, the playful spark in his eyes dimmed. “Give Y/N some time,” Gojo advises gently. “She’s been through a lot. It’s not easy for her to open up.”

Yunho blinks, caught off guard by Gojo’s sudden insight.

Gojo leans against the doorframe, his expression shifting to one of rare seriousness. “Even when I took her in, it was more about providing for her than truly understanding her. She’s fiercely independent—learned to rely on herself more than anyone else.”

He continues, “I did take her in, house her and train her, bought her things here and there… but she grew up on her own. She’s always been fiercely independent, and she’s learned not to rely on anyone else, despite growing up under my care. Ever since she knew what environment she was getting herself involved in, she trained herself to separate her emotions from her duties as a sorcerer.”

Yunho nods, absorbing Gojo’s words. It makes sense now—why you keep everyone at arm’s length, why you seem so self-reliant.

Gojo’s gaze grows distant for a moment, and his voice takes on a somber edge. “She had a brother... Principle-wise, you could say that he was somehow like you; too kind-hearted for his own good. He was always trying to help others, even at his own expense. In the end, it was that same kindness that caused us to lose him. He couldn’t end things when he should have.”

Yunho’s heart tightens at the implication. He had heard whispers of a tragic past but had never grasped the full extent of it. Gojo’s words shed light on why you’re so guarded, why your heart seems so heavy despite your fierce independence.

A quiet settles between them, and after such a somber conversation, it feels like the night has reached a poignant, emotional clarity. Yunho speaks up after a moment of contemplation.

“Thank you, sensei.”

“For what?” Gojo raises an eyebrow, expecting Yunho to thank him for the advice, or perhaps for revealing something personal about you.

But Yunho surprises him. “For bringing me here,” he says, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’m grateful I’m here.”

Gojo pauses, then smiles—a real, warm smile that’s rare to see. “You’re welcome, Yunho. Now, get some rest. You’ve got a lot ahead of you.”

As Gojo turns to leave, Yunho watches him go, feeling a little more at peace. He may not have all the answers yet, but he’s beginning to understand the people around him—and that’s a start.

The courtyard is bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, the air filled with the sounds of students going about their routines. You’re sweeping a bunch of leaves into a corner when Yunho approaches with a carton of banana milk in hand. His smile is as bright as ever, a contrast to your usual grumpy demeanor.

“Hey, Y/N!” Yunho’s voice is cheerful as he extendes the carton towards you. “I brought you something.”

You glance up from sweeping, taking the carton with a slight frown. “Thanks,” you mutter, not bothering to hide your annoyance. “I guess.”

Yunho’s grin doesn’t waver. “You’re welcome! I thought you might like it.”

As he turns to walk away, Yunho notices Yuuji standing nearby. Without much thought, he approaches him with the same enthusiastic energy.

“Hey, Yuuji!” Yunho calls out, “Do you want to train with me? I’m working on my hand-to-hand combat.”

“M-me?” Yuuji stammers, pointing to himself as if to confirm.

“Yeah!” Yunho nods eagerly, his voice fading as he approaches the flabbergasted boy. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

“I mean it is but… is something going on?” Yuuji asks, lowering his voice as he moves closer to Yunho.

“What do you mean?” Yunho responds, genuinely confused.

“You usually ask Y/N to train you, so I was a little surprised you’d ask me instead…”

“Oh, I’m just trying to give her some space,” Yunho explained with a casual shrug, and his usual smile on his face. “I realized I might have been a bit much lately.”

“I don’t blame him for failing to stay away from her to the point of suffocation; that brat really has incredible talent and charisma.”

Yuuji’s face goes pale at the familiar, sinister voice that rumbles from the mouth protruding on his cheek. “Ah!” he yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Sukuna, you jerk! Shut up and stop that, we’re on school grounds!”

Yunho laughs nervously, trying to shake off the tension. But before he can, Sukuna’s voice pipes up again, this time with a mocking lilt. “I look forward to battling you. Mind if I use a little strength on you, sunshine?”

“Sunshine? Really? You’re disgusting!” Yuuji snaps, trying to suppress the spirit’s influence.

“Why? You wanna be called sunshine too?” Sukuna taunts, his voice laced with amusement. “Don’t be bitter just because I call you a brat.”

“Shut up already!” Yuuji grumbles, his face flushed with frustration as he glances at Yunho, who’s trying—and failing—not to laugh at the exchange.

Soon, the two boys begin to spar in the distance, their movements a blur of energy and intent, while you, Nobara, and Megumi watch from a quiet vantage point, sweeping the area free of fallen leaves.

Megumi's husky voice cuts through the air, laced with a hint of disbelief. “You’re a hypocrite, you know,” he says, raising an eyebrow as he observes you from the corner of her eye.

“Huh?” You snap your gaze to him, caught off guard by the accusation.

“True. Yesterday, you basically told Yunho to fuck off in front of everybody. Just now, you were being sassy about him giving you a damn carton of milk. But now that he’s asking Yuuji to train him, you’re boring holes into the back of Yuuji’s head,” Nobara points out, her smirk widening as she sees your face flush with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

You frown, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh, but I never said anything about being jealous,” Nobara grins cheekily, brows wiggling at your grumpy expression.

Despite your attempts to ignore and refute her claim, you found yourself glancing back at Yunho and Yuuji. Yunho’s laughter rang out, a genuine, carefree sound that contrasted sharply with the frustration you felt. You tried to ignore the twinge of envy and irritation, but it was hard not to let Yunho's infectious cheerfulness affect you. Seeing him so at ease and happy— in his natural element— was strangely comforting.

Despite the frustration, you find yourself staring at the banana milk carton in your hands, reading the messy writing scribbled in front.

I’ll be better, just you wait! :)

The late afternoon light catches the scrawl, making the words seem almost as if they were glowing. Despite the intrigue, a small smirk makes its way on your lips when you snort in amusement.

He better be.

Gojo and Yunho are sparring again—if you can even call it that. To Gojo, it’s probably a way to pass time. To Yunho, it’s a chance to improve.

The training ground hums with tension as you watch from the sidelines, arms crossed, your expression unreadable. You try to convince yourself you shouldn’t care about any of it, but your eyes remain fixed on the two figures in the center of the training field.

Yunho moves with precision, his footwork a blend of careful calculation and practiced agility. He anticipates every attack, his movements fluid and deliberate. Yet, despite his evident skill and potential, it’s clear what’s holding him back. Each strike he delivers is tempered by hesitation, an unspoken worry for the person across from him.

Anger bubbles up inside you again, though the reason remains elusive.

Is it the way Yunho wears that infuriatingly happy grin while sparring, as if the gravity of the situation doesn’t touch him? Or is it his unrelenting sunshine demeanor, that ceaseless ray of optimism that seems to benefit everyone around him but falls short when it comes to his own growth? Perhaps it’s the stark contrast between his vibrant spirit and the grim reality you grapple with daily. Or is it something deeper, a frustration you can’t quite name but feels like it’s gnawing at your insides?

Your frustration deepens as you watch Yunho, realizing that his reluctance to truly fight—to hurt if necessary—is not just a personal quirk but a barrier to his growth. It’s not just that he’s holding back for the sake of others; he’s doing so at the expense of his own potential. And that realization cuts deeper than you’d like to admit.

It’s not just about his fighting style or his incessant cheerfulness; it’s about the underlying fear that he might never reach his full potential because he’s too afraid to inflict harm, even when it’s needed. And that fear, that hesitation, is something you understand all too well.

As Yunho continues his practice, you find yourself grappling with a torrent of emotions—anger, frustration, and an unspoken worry that perhaps you’ve been too harsh, too quick to judge. You want him to fight, to push himself, to embrace his potential fully. But more than that, you realize, you want him to do it for himself, not just to fit into some ideal you’ve set.

Watching him, you can’t help but feel a pang of something you hadn’t fully acknowledged before—a mix of exasperation and genuine concern.

Gojo, as always, looks amused, his white hair gleaming in the fading light, eyes hidden behind his blindfold. He’s not even trying, just evading Yunho’s blows with an infuriating ease. There’s a smile playing on his lips, the one you know all too well—proud and teasing, like he knows something you don’t.

And then you see it again. Yunho pulls back, just slightly, before his fist connects with Gojo’s jaw, as if he’s afraid of hurting him. He’s always holding back, too worried about the impact of his own strength.

Pathetic. Weak.

But you know it isn’t weakness that annoys you so much. It’s something else. Something you refuse to admit.

He’s too soft. Too considerate. That kind of attitude will get him killed.

Your fists clench as the memory flashes in your mind. Your brother—his face pale, eyes wide as he tried to protect someone, and in the process, he had left himself open. His death had been quick, brutal, and the softness in his heart, the very thing that had made him love you so much, had also been his downfall.

The anger inside you twists and sharpens, coiling into a knot of frustration as you watch Yunho, another boy with too much potential and too little self-preservation.

Gojo dodges another half-hearted attack, his grin widening as he taunts, “Is that all you’ve got, Yunho? You’re not going to hurt me, you know.”

Yunho smiles in return, that ridiculous, bright smile of his. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, genuinely meaning it.

You snap.

"Stop it!" The words leave your mouth before you can control them. You stride toward the center of the training ground, your eyes burning with rage. Yunho blinks in surprise, lowering his stance, and Gojo looks at you with raised eyebrows, intrigued.

“Stop what?” Yunho asks, clearly confused.

“Stop holding back!” You shout, the frustration in your voice crackling like electricity. “You’re always holding back, worrying about others instead of focusing on winning! That’s not how this world works!”

Gojo’s smile fades a little, but Yunho takes a step closer, his expression softening. “I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone, Y/N. I don’t want to be like the curses we fight.”

“You idiot!” you hiss, taking another step forward. “If you keep acting like this, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

Yunho’s eyes widen, surprised by the intensity in your voice. He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him. “You have all this potential, and you’re wasting it because you’re too damn soft! Do you think the curses care about your feelings? Do you think they’ll hesitate when they have a chance to rip you apart?”

Yunho’s smile falters. For the first time, there’s something else in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or confusion.

“Y/N…” he starts softly, but you’re not listening.

“You’re weak,” you spit out, and the words taste bitter on your tongue. You don’t mean them, not really. But you have to say it, you have to believe it, because if you let yourself feel anything else, you’ll remember. You’ll remember how someone like him, someone with a heart too big for this world, can end up dead.

Your brother’s face flashes in your mind again, and your voice cracks despite your best efforts. “You’re going to die, Yunho. And no amount of kindness is going to save you from that.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Yunho stands there, his hands lowered, no longer in a defensive stance. His eyes, usually filled with warmth, are now clouded with something else—something you refuse to look too closely at.

“I’m not him,” Yunho says quietly. “I won’t die like that.”

You turn away, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t know that,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Before you can say anything else, Gojo interrupts with a slow clap, his voice light but edged with something serious. “Well, that was a performance,” he says, grinning as he steps between you two. “Ah, young love!” He clasps his hands beneath his cheek, as if to emphasize the scene, clearly relishing in the drama.

You shoot him a glare, but deep down, you know he’s seen through you. Just like he always does.

“Shut up,” you mutter, turning on your heel and walking away, refusing to let them see the emotion simmering just beneath the surface.

The evening air is cool, with a gentle breeze rustling the leaves outside the dorms. The halls are quiet, most students having retired to their rooms after a long day. You, however, are in the common room, curled up on the couch with a book in hand, trying to unwind. The dim light from the lamps casts a soft glow, creating a peaceful atmosphere.

That peace is short-lived.

For once, Yunho doesn’t burst into the room with his usual exuberance—no bouncy strides or radiant smile. Instead, his presence is palpable before you even catch sight of him. You remain engrossed in your book, barely acknowledging the change.

“What do you want?”

He hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “I… I wanted to talk about earlier. I could tell you were upset.”

“Upset?” You scoff, finally looking at him. “I’m not upset. I’m just frustrated that someone with your potential is wasting it by being too soft.”

Yunho steps closer, his voice gentle. “It’s not that I’m soft, Y/N. It’s just… I don’t want to hurt people.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Yunho! In our world, hesitation like that will get you killed. Do you think curses will show you mercy? Do you think they’ll hesitate to kill you? No. They’ll take every opportunity they get.”

He flinches at your words but doesn’t back down. “I know that, but—”

“Then why?” you interrupt, your voice rising. “Why do you keep holding back?”

Yunho stares at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. “Because I don’t want to lose myself in the process,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to become someone who only sees enemies, not people. I’ve seen what happens when you become consumed by the need to fight. You start seeing everyone as a threat, even those you’re supposed to protect.”

You’re taken aback, the harshness in your tone fading. “And you think being soft will make a difference?”

Yunho’s gaze softens. “Not soft. Just… compassionate. I believe there’s a way to defend without losing who you are. I want to be strong enough to fight, but also to remain someone who cares about the people I’m protecting.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. His sincerity hits you harder than you expected. In your battle-scarred world, you’d grown accustomed to seeing only the harsh truths, forgetting the power of empathy.

Yunho takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. “I know you’re only trying to help me, Y/N. But I need to find my own way. Please… just give me a chance.”

You feel the weight of his words settle in, and though you want to argue, you can’t ignore the sincerity in his voice. You let out a sigh, the anger slowly ebbing away, replaced by a reluctant understanding.

Before you can respond, you lose your balance as you shift your weight, perhaps due to the tension in the air, and you stumble forward. Yunho reacts quickly, catching you by the arm. But the sudden movement causes you both to lose your balance, and you end up pressed against him, your faces inches apart.

The hallway is silent except for your rapid breaths. The proximity is overwhelming, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you are to him. Yunho’s grip on your arm is firm but gentle, his expression filled with concern and something else you can’t quite place.

Before either of you can move, a voice cuts through the tension.

"How heartwarming to see such earnest affection!" Gojo’s voice rings out, startling you both. He stands a few feet away, hands clasped together and tucked beneath his cheek, a teasing grin on his face as if he’s watching the most heartwarming scene.

You snap your head toward him, sending him a glare that could freeze over hell itself.

“Sensei,” you growl, barely containing your irritation.

Yunho quickly steps back, releasing you, his face flushing with embarrassment. “It’s not what it looks like, Sensei…”

Gojo waves his hand dismissively, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Sure, sure. Just don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. You need your rest. I'm bound to Miyagi for a mission sent by the higher-ups for a couple of days, so take good care of yourselves, 'kay?"

But before he could fully leave, Gojo makes sure to turn his back one more time and say, "Oh, and no funny business in the dorms!"

"You—"

With that, he turns and saunters off, leaving you standing there, cut off and fuming, while Yunho tries to hide his awkwardness.

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “That man is impossible.”

Yunho chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… but he’s not wrong, you know.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About you caring,” he says softly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

For a moment, you consider snapping back, denying it, but something in his expression stops you. Instead, you just shake your head and start walking away, though your steps are less hurried, less tense.

“Just… don’t hold back too much, okay?” you mutter, your voice barely a whisper. You hesitate for a moment, then turn to face him with sudden urgency.

“Always take care of yourself first before helping others. It’s the only way you can truly be there for them. If you get hurt or worse, I swear I’ll—” Your voice cracks, and you quickly blink away your tears. “—I’ll make you regret it, you hear me?!” You turn abruptly, rushing into your room to shield yourself from the flood of emotions that follow.

Yunho smiles, watching you go. “I won’t, Y/N. I promise.”

Yunho lies in his bed, the dim light from his desk lamp casting long shadows across his room. His thoughts drift to the intense training session from earlier, recalling your frustration and your harsh words about his gentleness during combat. He replays the moment you told him to fight harder, to be more like a true sorcerer, and not let his compassion become his weakness.

He wanted to tell you how he struggles to balance his kindness with the harsh realities of their world. The brief reconciliation was a small comfort, a fleeting moment of understanding, but now, as he lies in the quiet of his dorm room, he dwells on these emotions. The night’s eerie calm contrasts sharply with the chaos of the day. He closes his eyes, trying to push away thoughts of the recent sparring match with you, and remembers the softness in your eyes and the warmth of your smile.

Tomorrow is a new day, and he will try again—try harder to be true to himself while also becoming the formidable sorcerer he aspires to be.

Just as he begins to drift into uneasy sleep, however, a loud explosion shakes the dormitory. The walls tremble, and the sound of shattering glass fills the air. Yunho bolts upright, his heart racing as the serene night turns into a nightmare.

He scrambles out of bed, quickly dressing and grabbing his weapon. The familiar hallways are now a maze of panic and destruction. Students run past him, their faces pale with fear. Curses, their twisted forms wreaking havoc, have invaded the campus.

Yunho’s hands shake as he runs through the corridors, his fear and anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. He had promised himself he would fight, but the sight of his friends and fellow students battling for their lives makes his resolve falter. The magnitude of the chaos makes him question his own strength and purpose.

As he approaches the main courtyard, he is met with utter devastation. Curses of all shapes and sizes assault the grounds, their malevolent energy crackling through the air.

The hardest part is Gojo’s absence. The meticulously planned attack leaves you and the others to fend for yourselves in the meantime.

Determined to overcome his fear, Yunho takes a deep breath and plunges into the fray. His strikes are initially hesitant but grow more confident as he fights alongside his comrades. His actions, though shaky at first, are driven by his resolve to protect those he cares about.

Despite his bravery, Yunho is unprepared for the battle’s intensity. He fights valiantly, saving several students from falling curses and pushing back against the dark forces. As he fights, his attention is drawn to you again, seeing you engage a particularly fierce curse with unwavering focus.

Unbeknownst to you, a smaller, insidious curse sneaks up behind you. Yunho’s eyes widen in alarm. Without hesitation, he rushes toward you, driven by a fierce determination to protect.

“Y/N, look out!” Yunho shouts, his voice urgent. He intercepts the hidden curse, destroying it with a swift, powerful strike. The curse disintegrates, thanks to Yunho’s timely intervention.

Startled by his sudden appearance, you quickly refocus on your battle. Yunho continues fighting, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to prove himself. He pushes through his fear and hesitation, fighting with every ounce of strength he has.

As the battle rages on, Yunho’s strength wanes. His injuries, sustained from the relentless combat, become more pronounced. Despite his exhaustion, he presses on, his resolve unwavering. The fight turns in their favor, but his own condition deteriorates.

Finally, the curses are driven back, and the campus begins to settle. Yunho collapses to the ground, his body battered and bruised.

You rush to his side, your heart pounding with a mix of relief and concern. Yunho’s severe injuries bring tears to your eyes. His breathing is labored, showing the toll of his bravery.

“Yunho!” you cry, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”

Yunho’s eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a faint, pained smile. “I definitely need to work on my hand-to-hand combat," he murmurs playfully, "You'll— ah, help me, won't you?"

Despite his injuries, Yunho’s expression is one of relief. His sacrifice and bravery hits you hard, making you feel both grateful and heartbroken. As his eyes close, his last glimpse of you shows a look of relief, his eyes giving him away in an instant— everything he thought of, everything he felt— he had said at that one moment.

“He’s dead? Aw, I liked that brat…” Sukuna’s mocking tone drifts over as Yuuji and the others approach, his disdain evident.

“Sukuna, shut up!” Yuuji snaps, frustration boiling over. “You’ve got no right to make light of this!”

“No, he’s not dead…” Shoko’s steady voice cuts through the tension. “But it might take a while for him to recover.”

Nearby, the sounds of assessing damage and tending to the wounded fill the air. The reality of the night’s events is sobering, and Yunho’s bravery is clear. As you stay by his side, you know that the battle may have ended, but the emotional scars and lessons learned will linger long after the night is over.

You approach Yunho’s bedside with a heavy heart.

It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself at his side, though it feels like a lifetime ago when you’d come to him for the mundane—discussions about training, messages from Gojo, or dinner orders with Nobara when she would gather everyone’s orders for takeout— you’d come to him for times you couldn’t quite count.

But now, it’s different. You’ve spent countless hours watching over him, praying for any sign that he’s still with you. The days blur together, each one an eternity of worry. Your heart aches with the weight of your fears and hopes.

You gently take Yunho’s hand in yours, giving it a tender squeeze. The pulse you feel is faint, a fragile reminder of the life that still lingers. It’s not enough to ease the dread that tightens in your chest.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let his hand remain entwined with yours. You lean in, resting your cheek against the upper left side of his chest, just above his heart. The rhythm of his heartbeat, weak but steady, brushes against your skin, offering a small, elusive comfort.

He’s still here. But it’s still not enough.

You’ve told him so many times that he shouldn’t do things just for you—that you’d never fully appreciate it, that his actions should be for himself. Yet, as he lies before you, his body motionless and frail, you find yourself swallowing every harsh word you’d ever spoken.

“Wake up… please…”

You want to tell him to awaken and live for himself—to seize every opportunity and experience every joy he’s ever dreamed of. But the words catch in your throat. You’re not one to be a hypocrite, but now, faced with the possibility of losing him, you yearn to tell him everything you’ve kept hidden.

You want him to wake up so you can finally express how much he means to you, how deeply you value everything he’s done for you.

“Wake up…” you whisper, your voice breaking. “For me, please…”

In the distance, Shoko looks at Gojo with a mix of admiration and concern. “You’ve raised quite a lady, Satoru. I’m impressed.”

“Well, I’d like to say ‘What can I say? I’m the Gojo Satoru after all,’” Gojo replies with a wry smile, “but that’d be a lie. While I provided for Y/N as best I could, she’s grown into a remarkable woman on her own.”

“After the battle,” Shoko continues, “she came to see me at the clinic. She knelt in front of me, pleading for me to do everything in my power to save Yunho. She said she would do anything for me if it meant using every bit of my abilities to heal him.”

“I was taken aback at first,” Shoko admits, “thinking, who does she think I am? But then I realized she was desperate, terrified of losing the one person who has wormed his way into her heart.”

Gojo watches as you quietly excuse yourself, slipping out of the room to find a more private space, likely to cry. The past few weeks have been tough, and it’s only now, in the solitude, that you fully grasp how much darker everything felt without Yunho’s light.

The faint hum of the heart monitor is the only sound that punctuates the silence, its rhythmic beeping offering a small comfort amidst the uncertainty. The others are gathered around his bed, their faces a mix of concern and quiet anticipation. They’ve been waiting, just like you, for any sign that he’s coming back to them.

Then, there’s a subtle shift. A slight twitch of his fingers, a flicker of his eyelids, and Yunho stirs. The collective breath everyone has been holding seems to release all at once, and the room is suddenly alive with movement.

“Yunho!” Nobara exclaims, her voice barely above a whisper but full of emotion.

Footsteps pad softly into the room, and soon, you stand at the threshold, watching the steady rise and fall of Yunho’s chest as he's gently greeted awake by the others.

You remain rooted to your spot for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch the others crowd around him. The relief is palpable, washing over you in waves, but there’s something else too—something deeper that makes it hard to move, to speak.

Yunho’s eyes flutter open, slowly adjusting to the dim light. His gaze, though still hazy, searches the room until it lands on you. You swallow hard, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you as you step forward.

When Yunho catches sight of you, his face softens even more. The others instinctively make way, and you find yourself beside his bed.

“Hey,” He greets, a bashful smile on his lips, "I'm so—"

Before he can continue, you cut him off. You reach up, pulling him close and pressing a soft, decisive kiss to his lips. The unexpected gesture silences him instantly, his breath hitching in surprise.

As the kiss lingers, the room fills with a chorus of jesting groans from everyone. They playfully tease, their comments filled with exaggerated disgust and mockery.

“Ugh, get a room, you two!” Yuuji teases.

Megumi just shakes his head, but even he can’t hide the small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Seriously, a bit of respect for us singles, please? Anybody?” Nobara rolls her eyes playfully.

“Ah!” Gojo exclaims exaggeratedly, “And there you were, denying anything about young love every time I preached.”

Despite the playful teasing, the moment between you and Yunho is tender and deeply intimate. Your kiss speaks volumes, conveying gratitude and affection in a way words could never capture.

You pull back slightly, both of you breathless, and see Yunho’s eyes shining with a mixture of love and relief. The overwhelming emotion of the past days seems to melt away in the warmth of his gaze.

As you sit by his side, you hold his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his touch and the pulse of his heartbeat. The ordeal has left you both exhausted and emotionally drained, but the relief of having him awake and safe overshadows everything else.

What truly matters is that he’s here.

And with his presence, the sun seems to shine brighter once more.

Amid the rebuilding and healing, Yunho is finally regaining his usual energy.

He sits in his dorm room, surrounded by cheerful get-well-soon cards, an assortment of colorful fruit baskets, and the soft, comforting hum of healing spells administered by Shoko. His infectious laughter, once subdued by pain and fatigue, now fills the room, a reminder of his resilient spirit.

“Seriously, Yunho, how many fruit baskets did you get?” Yuuji laughs, playfully nudging Yunho’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m not complaining!” Yunho grins, his eyes sparkling with his characteristic cheer. “I think I’ve got enough fruit here to start my own smoothie bar.”

Nobara, leaning against the doorway with a smirk, chimes in, “And here I thought you’d be more into strawberry milk than fruit baskets.”

Yunho’s grin widens. “You know me too well. But this is pretty sweet too.” He gestures to the piles of fruit. “Besides, you all deserve to see me back in action, right?”

Shoko, adjusting her healing spells, glances over with a soft smile. “You’re looking better, Yunho. Just try not to overdo it. We don’t need another round of healing.”

“I promise, no more crazy stunts,” Yunho assures her with a wink. “At least, not until I’m fully recovered.”

You watch from the doorway, feeling a mix of relief and something deeper tugging at your heart. The fight tested you in ways you hadn’t anticipated, revealing vulnerabilities you’d long kept hidden. Yunho’s reckless bravery and his refusal to let others down stir emotions within you that you’ve tried so hard to ignore.

“Hey,” Yunho calls out, catching your eye. “Come in and join us! You’re missing out on the fun.”

You hesitate, then step inside, feeling the warmth of his presence like a gentle embrace. As you move closer, Yunho’s cheerful energy wraps around you, lifting the heaviness you’ve been carrying.

“You’re looking a lot better,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual.

Yunho’s eyes soften, and he flashes you a bright smile. “Thanks to all these amazing people,” he says, his gaze briefly meeting yours. “And you, too.”

You’ve always thought you knew what love was—something practical, perhaps even utilitarian. But Yunho shows you a different side, one that is vibrant and full of warmth. He embodies everything you once thought you couldn’t tolerate: the unwavering optimism, the radiant smile, and the incessant cheerfulness.

As you watch him interact with the others, a warmth spreads through you, a sense of contentment you haven’t experienced before. In Yunho’s sunny presence, you discover a new understanding of love—one that is as powerful and transformative as the very sunlight he embodies.

In the gentle light of the morning sun, as Yunho’s laughter echoes through the hallways, you accept the truth with a serene smile. You love him not just despite his sunshine-like personality, but because of it. He has become a source of warmth and joy in your life, a reminder that even amidst the shadows, there can be light.

As Yunho reaches over to grab a fruit basket, he spots you and grins. “You know, I thought of something for you.” He pulls out a small, brightly wrapped package from one of the baskets. “A little something to brighten your day, just like you’ve brightened mine.”

You unwrap the package to find a small, hand-carved wooden sun. It is intricately detailed, its rays spreading out like a warm embrace.

“Thank you,” you say softly, touched by the gesture. “It’s perfect.”

Yunho’s smile widens, his eyes reflecting the same warmth as the sun.

As the days grow brighter and recovery continues, you find solace in the fact that you are no longer alone in the darkness. Yunho has, in his own unique way, brought you closer to the warmth and love you had been missing.

Hell, he should be practically everything you hate.

But God, did you love him even more than the things you always loved.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: wow, it's been a year since i've posted HDBJABDH making up for lost time with this new fic i recently wrote after finally getting to rewatch jujutsu kaisen in my free time! i hope you guys enjoyed this one, especially my co-otaku-tinys out there! lmk what you guys think ♡

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jujutsukgojo · 6 months

Text

The Fourth Leg

chrollo lucilfer x reader

Summary: No matter how fast you ran, the Spider's leg cannot get far. No matter how long you hid, you were bound to be found, dear number four. WARNING: toxic relationships, mentions of murder and torture, bullying, murder plot, smut, idk what else? yandere? 18+ Smut scene is based on Fear (1996). I saw it and it crept up on me Chapter one

You’ll always be able spot the blond haired boy from a mile away. His blond locks are longer now, and his eyes are colder. They aren’t the same light grey they used to be when he was around. A small smile comes across your face when you look to see what your boy is wearing: his traditional Kurta attire.

When the massacre happened and you had run into Sheila, she informed you of everything there was to know about the Kurta. So, while he was housed by you, you made those clothes for him. And now that he’s a little older, he still wears the clothes you send him.

Kurapika left home to get his hunter’s license. He was determined and able. Just like you shaped him to be. Alas, there is something there that you once again failed to save. Just like before, like always.

That rageful bloodlust that confuses the host for justice and vengeance when it is neither one. It is darkness that lurks into them and finally settles into their souls.

He is falling for the same trick as you and your dearest friends had. They entered a place and left every smidge of hope they had. What was supposed to be for justice, protection, and Sarasa, resulted in a numbness that is too disgusting to handle. It’s too brutal and vile. Bloody without a thought of washing their hands with repentance.

No matter, the tightness of your chest has you think of one thing: is it too late to save Kurapika?

You go back inside and wash the dishes that you dirtied from cooking his favorites. He had let you know he was coming. It is such a rarity to even be able to contact Kurapika. He’s just so busy lately. That, and he acts like he has never worked a phone before in his life. The little shit.

Thunder and lightning strike, shaking the ground beneath you. A slight rumble under your bare feet. You look out the window again and see a ghost from your past. Tall, silver haired, and just as beefy as before: Silva Zodlyck. You haven’t seen him since he killed you.

If he spots you, it will be a brawl. Another side of you that you have buried, not exorcised, all these years are calling out for his blood. To wreak havoc once more and see the fear in his eyes again. The bad thing about that is, is that you are a non combatant. An exorcist, a priestess of sorts. Not at all suited for the front lines. You can defend yourself and fight, but not on the level of him or the others.

Hell, maybe not even Kurapika now, and you wiped that boy’s tears and snot.

What you can do now is remain low. As much as you want to see that little brat and talk to him, to find out how he’s been, to fuss over him and see if he’s eaten yet, right now you can’t even consider that. Not when he is close to finding out. Besides, he can take care of himself for a bit. As it appears, Silva isn’t after him.

Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on me, trust in me.

Your breath hitches. That smooth voice is in your head. One you haven’t heard of in years. With all the power inside, you tried to push it out. To wipe their faces from your memories.

You see the trash can and can only think of Little. Oh, how you tortured that boy. Putting him in trashcans and sitting on the lids and gave him noogies. Little would always retaliate but had to be held back when that one showed up to protect you. God, why are you thinking of this? There is a beast of a man who almost ended you and your dumbass is reminiscing of your bullying days.

Had you not pulled that one trick up your sleeve, you truly would have died by the hands of Zoldyck. It has been years since you’ve fought seriously. You trained Kurapika, but you never went full throttle. Nothing but rust is on your nen and hand-to-hand combat.

Just sit back, don’t hide your presence or anything. That's what he’s looking for. Any kind of blip in the atmosphere. Hell, he may not even remember you!

_____________

You know what you have to do. There is no hope here. No compassion for others at all. The Kurta clan, Sarasa, you, no one. It is now or never.

You jump at the bolder of a man. Crosses paint themselves on your palms as a holy prayer escapes your lips. Your veins line with the brightest blue and the rubble around you lift off the ground from your aura. Directly, your hands clasp onto Silva’s. He looks confused and the most surprising of all, scared.

He lets go of his hatsu. In the back, there is a bloody scream. A roar that a lion can never compare itself to. A bloodlust from the roar that made Silva’s eyes widen. It is too late, the hatsu hit you straight on. Two balls of electricity and power collide with your fragile body.

When you came to, by pure nen, you could vaguely see your dearest. His eyes watery, voice hoarse, blood trinkling on his face. Silva is not in sight, not a single thing left behind. Did he kill him?

“No, no, no, damn it! Fuck!” He shakes you ever so slightly as you lay in his arms. “Heal yourself, please...”

You have to leave. He has no regard for you or anyone but himself. Chrollo, the boy who is only a few years older than you, yet you still bullied him, is gone. He didn’t care that you’re a non combatant. He was willing to sacrifice your life and his for his ego.

He only wants your ability, positively. Chrollo is gone. It is only the spider left. You have always hated spiders anyway.

________________

Nah, Silva remembers you. He almost died too. How can he forget that he was sent to kill the man responsible for the annihilation of an entire clan? It's hard to forget a case like that considering the brutality of the deaths.

And if Kurapika finds out that you are Number Four, the lost spider, he’ll lose it. He'll demand to see the tattoo, no doubt. You can’t show him that. Especially since you lost a bet with Machi and Paku and put it on a place that he just has no business looking at.

As long as you remain calm and blend in, no one will notice. If Kurapika comes in with Silva, you’ll leave before. Pretend that you are out of town or something. Actually, that’s a good idea. You quickly write a note telling your boy that you had to rush out and that you’d call him later. To help himself to the food and make sure to rest.

There is another rumble under your feet. It feels different. The screams are louder, the air more ominous by the second. What is this? It touches you like a familiar hand. Something cold and clammy. Is that...Nobunaga?

Don't panic, don’t panic. It's been years since you faked your death and abandoned them. They probably don’t remember you, right?

Nah, you pantsed Nobunaga in the middle of a dubbing. He was wearing the ranger’s underwear. He always vowed to get revenge, but he was stopped by Chrollo, of course. You’ve known these people for years and fought with them side by side. You saved him several times and healed him. He will remember you.

There is a deathly silence. Your skin raises goosebumps all over. You can feel him. Your old friend knows or is at least trying to figure out what’s going on. You take a deep breath and remain calm. It has always been easy to trick him. How many times did you do such a thing and lead him to embarrassing situations? And how many times did Chrollo get you out? Every. Single. Time.

You sure were spoiled rotten by Chrollo in every way. It drove people nuts. When you were dropped off in Meteor City at the age of five, you were a terror due to pain and heartbreak. There was only so much a child could take and you weren’t able to express it properly.

The priest held onto patience as much as he could, but no one could ever hold a candle to Chrollo’s patience. It is as if he is a saint. You'd bite, kick, and talk over him. When they dubbed the tapes, you would always turn the tv off just because it wasn’t what you wanted to watch. Uvogin was so close to beating you so many times, but Chrollo intervened and explained to them what empathy was.

However, he went overboard and spoiled you rotten. In the Troupe you got part of Chrollo’s shares including what was actually yours. He made sure that you were the most taken care of out of them all. He always helped you up and protected you the most. You weren’t able to go on a mission by yourself and had to have at least two people with you, just like him.

He always held a soft spot for you, you think. Even before you shared special moments. Until he stopped caring and went somewhere where you can’t follow.

Now that you have abandoned the Spider, Lord only knows what’ll happen. Will he spare you for old time’s sake? Or will Feitan, also known as “Little”, finally get his revenge because of the trash cans?

Or Machi’s cut up clothes, and Paku’s shaved head, or Uvo’s wedgies and bites, Phinks’s eyebrows that never grew back, Shalnark’s broken nose and the tack in his sho-

Oof, you’re going to die. And that was all done when you were like, six? There were plenty more years that you were just onery. Chrollo...that poor guy. The hell he went through before and after the Troupe...the patience of a saint.

Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled, rotten.

You were ungoverned and got away with things that the rest couldn’t. But this, rejecting the Spider, rejecting him, sheltering the last Kurta descendant...you’ll die.

Or be in a lot of pain.

Suddenly, you feel a sharpness crawling up your arm. They're coming. Another rumble occurs right when you back away from the sink. In the distance is a large body flying in the air with a trail of red following it. What?

With a gross thud that you swear everyone heard, lands Silva. Beaten, bloody, gone.

Well, there goes that problem. On to the next, which is Nobunaga. You're caught in his en somehow. Or whatever the hell that's called. Anyway, never did you think he’d grow and be able to stretch it out this far.

You start to leave calmly so he doesn’t suspect anything. Just a calm person that his en is confusing for someone else! Finally, you hear the even more terrible commotion. You know Kurapika is okay if the rumors of the powerful chain user are true. And he seemed to have a lot of help. Once you shake the Nobunaga off, you’ll make your way to Pika.

He doesn’t know that in your past you were one of the Spider’s legs. The fourth one, to be exact. The one who died by the hands of Silva Zoldyck, years ago. Soon after the Kurta’s extinction and after the fight with the Spider’s leader, the devil himself.

You lock the backdoor and head to the woods where there is a safe spot that Kurapika used to train. As you pass by the branches and the shady trees, you are blinded by the harsh memories of your dear friend, Sarasa. She and the Troupe are a few years older than you. They spent more time with her than you did but the memories of her, those precious moments that you wanted to last for years to come, that innocence, was stripped from you. You hold onto the specks of what was left of your childhood, before the truth of hell appeared.

A trash bag, a child inside, the Troupe, and Chrollo who faced it first and has never recovered.

You weren’t there to find her. It was broken down to you because of your youth and denial, you were staunch in the belief that it was a lie and that she was alive. The only one who had patience for you was Chrollo. The tantrums were the tipping point to the realization that she had suffered in her last moments.

When it hit you, he held you as you remained in shock. He catered to your every whim to fill in the shoes of the missing people in your life. And you left him.

How could you not? He left you first, abandoned you for a darkness that you couldn’t shine a light through. Chrollo believed that he was a messiah to the city and to his friends. They follow blindly when you can’t. You are a thief, not a heartless killer. The Kurta didn’t deserve their fate.

You push past a couple of thick bushes to be startled.

“Come here, now.” His voice is as smooth as you remember, just a little deeper now and more commanding. Although you know him and his quirks, the atmosphere is off. A creepy feeling of nothing in the air. You can’t sense him of his anger at all. Only a chill and a hair-raising sensation that doesn’t match anyone you know. Perhaps, this is fear.

You walk to him as you spot him in a clearing. “Chrollie.”

“A dead spider, huh.” He stands tall but casually with his hands in his pockets. His hair is slicked back and the tattoo on his forehead is more prominent. He’s shirtless and wears an odd coat. His style choice is different now than it was back then. Before, he would throw on normal Meteor City clothing, which consisted of whatever was around. Looking back, his favorite was a white shirt and plain black jeans. Now, he looks like he wears designer.

“Here I thought that you were squashed,” he looks you up and down, eyes narrowing. You feel vulnerable under his gaze. “All along you were here. Raising a devil that killed two of your own.”

You know about Uvogin and Pakunoda. Kurapika felt so guilty, after the events he vented to you. He sounded as young as he did when you took him in. Of course, you were hurt and cried when Kurapika wasn't looking. You mourned them as anyone would.

“I know about that-”

“And you still didn’t come back?” Chrollo is shaking, desperate to calm down. His fists are clenched so hard, you think they’ll bleed. This, you think, is the most anger he's ever shown. And it's toward you. “Could I? You would’ve killed me!”

“I would have accepted you with open arms, Number Four.” Would have.

Number Four. He didn’t even call you by your real name. “No, you would react just as badly as you are now.”

“Oh, my darling spider, you have no idea. All you had to do is trust me.” He shakes his head in disappointment.

_____________

“I’m not joining, Chrollie. I’m not calling you Boss, either.” You were disappointed that they actually went through with this. Years ago, you came across their little meeting. Chrollie looked at you and asked if you wanted to join but you called them all stupid.

“Why not? I'm the leader.” You roll your eyes. “No, you’re a theater nerd.”

You jump and sit on the desk. He comes up to you, only inches apart. Chrollie gently cradles your face. “That part of me is gone, darling.”

“Darling? Pretending to be all manly now? A gentleman? That's what 'darling' reminds me of. Those books you read.” You acknowledge that he’s grown up. He broader and stronger. His hands no longer smooth but are calloused and bigger than your own.

He erases how gentle he was caressing your face and replaces it with a commanding and firm touch on your cheeks. “Join me.”

“No.” You answer as well as you can with your cheeks squished. Suddenly, his lips touch yours. It is your first kiss. It sends shocks to your special place. He parts from you. Embarrassingly, you follow in his direction.

Quickly, you snap out of the trance of your first kiss. You shake your head in defiance. “I want to travel! I want to get out of this city and experience the highs. I've already touched the lows. I don’t want to get deeper.”

"You think we’re lower than you?” There’s an edge in his tone. One that tells you to tread carefully. However, you’re not shy when it comes to Chrollie.

“No. But I worry that you will be.” He tilts his head and asks, “Because you think I can’t take you to the there?”

He grabs your hand that is so much larger than yours. It's weird now. You are used to him leading you places but now you just realize the difference between you two. He’s...a man now. It’s all so new. You'll never admit that he makes you feel some type of way.

“Let me show you.”

Just like in the movies, you see a roller coaster for the first time. There are lights everywhere and smiling and laughing people. And not at you! Just the joys of life without worrying where the next meal is coming from. You spot the balloons in various animal shapes and see the fluffy candy. The pretzels are soft, and the fried dough the size of your head is to die for. You have never witnessed such freedom. The last time you have seen an inkling of joy was when you were a child and Chrollie was dubbing tapes.

The two of you get on the back of the ride. You cling onto his arm. “Scared?”

“No!” In truth, you were. Never in your life did you ever see one of these in person. Only on the videos Chrollo would pick up. It showed the ride going fast and high with screaming people. There were twists and sharp turns on the tape. And now, you get to be one of those people to experience it.

The ride starts. He wraps his right arm around you. The roller coaster shoots out causing you to flinch.

“I got you, trust me.” You curl into him as the ride takes a sharp turn. Right after it happened, you feel tracing between your legs. You look down and see Chrollie’s fingers rubbing against you.

It's...feeling really good. Your breaths become quicker as his fingers do figure eights through your underwear. You let out a little shriek when he pulls them down. Now, there’s nothing blocking him from you. The ride takes a sudden left.

You don’t know how it happened, how it led to this. What exactly did you say to him that incited him to massage your bud and insert a single finger inside you. Slowly coaxing moans that blend in with the screaming of everyone else. Never have you been so grateful for that. He places a kiss on your head. “Join me, swear to me.”

Another finger enters you. His palm rubs and presses against you. How are his fingers so long? Why are they bigger than yours and feel so much better?

You start to really moan as he goes faster. You lift up slightly to follow his motions with your hips. Chrollie bites and sucks on the spot under your ear. The ride starts to go up.

“Holy sh-oh God...” You breathily cry. He growls in your ear at the sound. “I’ll take you there, to the highs. So high you’ll never see the ground.”

You grab his wrist and move furiously, spreading your legs a little more to give him as much room as possible. You want more, need more. There is a feeling there that is about to pop. One that he can take.

“Swear to me.” You watch as the stars get closer. People make noises of excitement different than yours, but it blends. “Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no! I trust you!” You grab onto anything in reach as you give up trying to keep up with him. He's cradling you, his dominant hand relentless and lips sinful. A goose bump raising feeling starts. It's cold and is making you shake even more. Chrollo feels it too.

He's smiling when you gasp and your head goes back.

Everything is happening at once. Two different sensations, both caused by the boss, by Chrollo Lucilfer. And he knows it, he’s waited for it.

“Swear to me, trust me!” You grab his leg and squeeze it. “Let me take you there.” He whispers in your ear.

As the ride reaches the peak, so do you. Loudly, you swear to him. To the spider and his name. His hands and whatever energy is rushing to you, cause your eyes to go back. The squelching sound is loud, but your euphoric moans of his name are louder.

From what you gather in this state, the ride was supposed to stop. Supposed to stay on the rails rather than bounce a little. You didn't even notice that your aura was the cause for the ride's disruption.

When your high leaves you, you’re in a daze and glowing. He withdraws himself and sucks on his fingers. You gasp at the sight. It is pornographic, the hungry look in his eyes. The grey that you have known for years has become so dark and just by a lick. He grabs your hand gently and leads you away to finish what he started. Your legs shake along the way and for the rest of the night when the two of you are satisfied. The way he licked and sucked and swirled his tongue on the most delicate of places and thrusted himself inside had him gain the scratches on his back.

The two of you created a memory that neither of you would ever forget.

It wasn’t until you learn about the nodes do you hold a slight bitterness towards him. He caused yours to open wide because of this. Your aura nodes and a nen pact that binds you together. For the Spider.

____________

You swallow at the memory and plenty more of similar situations with your former boss. For years you trusted him fully. But somewhere along the way, he had lost it. “Chrollie, please understand. I just didn’t agree with it anymore.”

“Really?” He scoffs. He knows you are hiding the words to describe how it really was, how it is. You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“When you killed that entire clan...tortured them, mutilated them...I couldn’t do it anymore. You wouldn’t listen to me. You only thought of yourself.”

“Excuse me?” His voice is low, and his eyebrows are raised. He's gotten so intimidating now. Before, he was someone you pushed over even when he was your boss. It has always been that way. You admit, you are spoiled. Undisciplined and rebellious to the Spider.

To Chrollo Lucilfer.

If you are going to die today, you are leaving with giving him a piece of your mind. A dose of reality that he no longer has.

“You completely lost yourself. How can you make dumb decisions like that?”

“Their eyes gave Meteor City a profit that helped millions. I did it for our city.” You shake your head no. “No, you did it for yourself. As some kind of sick powerplay! And everyone follows you blindly, and to do it without a thought. You guys kill for no reason. It didn’t use to be that way.”

Your lip wobbles at the memory of that day. You had gone up to Chrollo and went against the mission. It was stupid to you. It didn’t make any sense. They were going to kill these people because he wanted their eyes? You understand that he is greedy and increasingly vicious. But not cruel, not before the end.

He didn’t yell at you, but he did put you in your place with a stern yet calm voice. It was scary. Just as scary as he is now. You still couldn’t do it though. The thought of it made you cry.

So, he commanded you to keep watch and capture any stragglers. There were none. You ran away from the screams and ran into a boy with blond hair and blue clothing. A Kurta. The last one, to be exact. You begged him not to go over there. Afraid of his fate or him seeing the gruesome crime.

The Troupe were not there, only corpses. Eyes gouged out, bruises and bloody. Even the children. Lucilfer had become the devil himself.

You, without thought, took the boy in. You found a little village not too far away and raised him in a cottage. Unfortunately, you weren’t there every single day because of your “job”. One he knew nothing about.

Until your last day. You and Chrollo had been walking in Meteor City when Silva Zoldyck came. Someone called for him to eliminate the Troupe. Your dearest didn’t care that you aren’t really suited for fighting. Especially a Zoldyck.

That was your chance! So, when Silva had hit you with his Hatsu, you hid inside your energy and faked your death. It looked so real, felt like it too. It took a lot of healing and purifying to survive.

You had to do it. Your friends had lost their way. You couldn’t go along with it anymore.

“You left.” You whimper.

“Are you kidding me? I believe the one who abandoned the Spider, your friends, me, is you. My spoiled little brat .” He takes a few steps closer to your standing frame.

“You went to a place where I couldn’t follow. It was no longer about finding Sarasa’s killers or protecting the city. The Spider turned evil. I knew it was happening but I didn’t face it until years later when you committed a pointless massacre.” He ignored you and talked over you.

“You swore. And here I find you healthy, alive. While we are dying. We needed you and you left!” That ended with a powerful yell.

“You didn’t care about me either. I was no match for Silva yet you were willing to sacrifice me. You went to a place I just couldn’t -can’t- follow.”

A tear drips down your face. His face is furious and slicked back hair is coming undone by him running his hand through it. He stops when he sees your tear. Instinct takes over and he wipes it.

“Uvo, Paku, Shalnark, Korotopi. All gone and you could have stopped it. I was cursed by that boy to never talk to the Troupe again. We had to find an exorcist in Greed Island of all places because you decided we were trash.” His voice deceptively hushed and smooth. You shake your head no.

“Not trash. Just bad leadership.”

Chrollo’s eyes widen. This is the first time anyone has insulted his leadership. He immediately pulls your hair. You yelp and try to get out of his hold.

“And yet you do not complain of the riches I gave your greedy ass.” He growls.

“You are a profitable leader. A good provider. An excellent one. I hadn’t a need or want in the world,”

You struggle to get out of his grip. It loosens as you speak. “But you aren’t a true leader. A true one would never endanger his people like you have. Never would view them as replaceable.”

He tosses you on the ground. You accidentally land on your wrist. Chrollo paces back and forth. “Replaceable? Bad leader-ha! Oh, love you are something.”

He grabs your arms roughly. You try to yank your arm out of his grasp. “You’ve already replaced me!”

Chrollo shakes his head no. “I could never.”

“I’m sorry, Chrollie. I just-you-,” You take a deep breath. “Everything went downhill. We stopped looking for the killers like you promised. We weren’t Robin Hood anymore, either. Remember that story you read me? Take from the rich and give to the poor?”

“I remember.”

“It wasn’t that anymore. What was left was coldness and blood. And a boy whose life and childhood were taken from him. Just like ours. It wasn’t fair.”

“We support and provide for our home, not some random people.”

Frustrated, you retort, “You like to listen to the sound of your own voice too much. That's why you don’t listen! You don’t realize actions have consequences until shit like Uvo and Paku happen.”

He raises his hand. You flinch to brace for it. This is the first time he will strike you.

Time is frozen as you wait for the pain. You open your eyes and see what’s the hold up. Chrollo stands frozen with his hand still in the air still. His face is no longer hardened, but shocked. His mouth is slightly open and eyes have widened. He stares at his open palm as if it had a mind of its own, and he couldn't believe it.

Then he clears up once again to return to his previous deadly expression. Rather than striking you on your face, he lands his hand on your ass. You yelp at the impact.

“ Ow!” You rub the cheek he hit. “Why? Of all things?” Like him hitting your ass was supposed to be better than your face? It's demeaning!

He grabs your face with one hand and kisses you harshly, passionately. A confession, a return. Stupidly, you get lost in him like always.

_______

“No! You play this instead.”

“But I want to dub Cleanup Rangers...” Chrollo rubs his arm as he looks down at the nine year old. You were dropped off at the front doorstep of the church about a couple of years ago. Ever since then you’ve been a little terror. Always picking on people, on the priest, the entire city.

You are a tiny bully pushing everyone around because you’re hurt. Only Sarasa could fully calm you. While everyone else just visited the church from time to time, you were a child that had to live in it because no one liked you. You never got a nanny or substitute siblings. All you had was yourself and a priest who was often at his wits end. You had to follow him around and practice his teachings and study them. You were often times bored and thus angry at everything.

Sarasa was a God send in his eyes and yours. Chrollo was someone who tried to follow in Sarasa’s footsteps with you but lacked the ability to tell you no. He was a patient and caring boy, but one you walk over.

“I don’t care! This one!” You stomp your feet.

“Don’t let her push you around like that, Chrollo.” Uvogin recently hit a growth spurt, so he towered over you two completely.

“No! What I say goes. This one!” You show Uvogin the tape. “Do you even know what’s on it?”

“No. But I want to see.”

Chrollo hums and places the tape inside. It turns out, it was blank. You pouted as Uvogin teased you. His smile is wide and practically glows. The laugh is boisterous and bounces off the walls. Immediately, you hit him in his most sensitive spot, causing him to buckle and groan.

You scream at the top of your lungs. “Stop laughing at me!”

Laughter and a smile like that remind you too much of your parent when they dropped you off in this God forsaken, dirty, and polluted place. You hate it. “It’s okay. Here, we’ll do the Clean up Rangers and you can help if you want!”

Chrollo took out the blank tape and put it aside. He picked you up and placed you on the desk closest to him. Uvo hisses and glares at you. You frown and stick out your tongue.

“Listen, you can play the-”

“No. I'm scared of that.” He knows good and damn well you don’t listen. He looks at you confused until he deduces the problem. “Stage fright?”

Confused, you ask, “What’s that?”

Uvogin groans in the background with every dirty word he can muster. He curses Chrollo for being so gentle with you and a “pushover”. You quickly tell him to shut up or you’ll hurt him even worse.

“It’s when you get scared to talk in front of a bunch of people.” You sat in front of him and nodded. “Okay, how about you have a front row seat then! Make sure you cheer us on, alright?”

You're still pouting. He rubs your cheek. You want to play with the rest of them too! They never let you play normal things. He hugs you and rubs your back to console you.

“Trust me. It'll be fun!”

___________

You wrap your arms around his neck, gently tugging at his hair. What was a proclamation of dominance, turned into an embrace of passion. You part from him slightly. You rub his chest and ask, “Why did you lose your way? Killing all of those people?”

“Why did you stop trusting me?”

“You are willing to sacrifice everyone, even me.” That day with Silva Zoldyck was proof of your accusation, of your observation. He sucks on your neck with the intent of a mark. You give him a gasp. Slightly muffled, “Why do you doubt me? Do you honestly think I would have? You stopped trusting me.”

He nibbles on your ear. You try to pull away before you are totally caught in him. “The Kurta-”

“Are responsible for Sarasa’s death and for some of the trafficking of children. Getting rid of them was necessary. Do you understand?” He continues to kiss down your neck, making sure to suck on the best places. He holds you a little closer.

You want to believe there was a deeper reason for the extermination of the Kurta. “You barely remember it, so it can’t be true. Hell, how can I believe you when you don’t care about anyone?” He slaps your ass again. You are this close to smacking the shit out of him. You rub your bum in hopes to stop the stinging.

“Stop that! That’s not funny!” You pull away to see an indifferent face for a split second. Chrollo grabs the back of your hair and pulls you in once again. His personality flips like a switch. The sweetness is gone and back is the bloodlust and anger. Honestly, it never left. It was just hidden to trick you. He's a good actor like that.

____________

“What are you guys doing?” Phinks groans at the sight of you. Recently, he had to pull Feitan out of the trashcan again. Next to him is Feitan saying words in his native tongue that would have made a sailor blush. You blow a kiss to them both just to antagonize them.

“Enough, she’s part of the Spider now.” Chrollo, right on his forehead, has a cross tattoo that kind of resembles a web. You don't know where he got it done at.

“Her? What can she do?” Machi crosses her arms. You always wondered if she liked Chrollie. If she knew what the two of you did last night, she’d scream.

You’re still a little sore and flustered. But happy and satisfied. Never have you felt so good. At first it was so sweet and dare you say, loving. Then as the night went on it became animalistic.

Rather than sit around him, waiting to hang on to his every word, you sit next to him, chomping on some chips you found. You hear some groans and mumbles about how you are and how you’re going to get away with everything. Again.

You stick your tongue out and say, “That’s why I ain’t sharing...bitch ass.” Phinks crosses his arms. “Damn it...”

“Enough,” He stares down at you. “Like I said, she is a leg. And an exorcist.”

You feel his eyes on you again. You look up to see his eyes. “The fourth leg.”

________

“You are coming home, now.” He drags you by the back of your neck.

“Wait, stop!”

“Shut the ever living fuck up.” He squeezes you harder. Wasn't he just loving on you like two seconds ago? You have always wondered if he was all there. He seemed genuine when he was a kid but seeing the man he's become, you may never know.

“Hold on! You said the Kurta killed Sarasa. How do you know?”

“Sheila told us.”

You see the rest of the legs. They look unbothered until they see you. Shock is painted on their faces so vibrantly.

“I thought...I thought she hadn’t seen you in years?” You have a sense of confusion and suddenly, dread.

____

Sheila limps to a cave. You see her as you run away from the Troupe and their horrific actions. This happened right before you would spot a blond boy. “Sheila?”

“Oh my God!” She hugs you tightly. Her leg has always been messed up since she was a child.

You feel like crying at the sight of her. It has been you and the Spider for so long now, you were forgetting what Sheila was like. She was the closest thing you had to Sarasa. You had your own way of loving someone, but Sarasa seemed the most natural. A big sister, a mother even. A girl who always shared stickers with you and sang you to sleep.

“What’s going on?” She asks as you hug return her hug. “T-they’re killing them!”

“Who? Who’s dying?”

“The Kurta!” Sheila gasps. “I was just with them. Oh no, did I-”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes. “No, no. This is on them.”

“And the Kurta were so nice too. Harmless, peaceful.”

____

Why did she say that if she knew they killed Sarasa? When did her and Chrollo talk? You were with Chrollo the whole time, so it couldn’t have been that day.

You see Sheila in the background. She is looking down at the ground, then looks up with the most wicked smile and gleam. What? You stare back with horror. Never has she had that smile. It is foreign and totally misplaced. This is Sheila, not a Troupe member. Why is she even here? She isn’t a part of it and disapproved of the group.

Then, everything is falling together.

Everyone’s faces are that of monsters.

You don’t understand. She told them of their whereabouts. She said something completely different to you. And of course, you believed her. Her and Sarasa were like sisters. They were so close it was like looking at twins. Never would you have thought she could commit such a sin. The Kurta were innocent, but...what’s going on? Everyone was desperate to capture Sarasa’s killers-oh no. You stop moving your feet, only to be dragged by Chrollo Lucilfer. He moves his hand from your neck to your arm in a tight hold, tripping you along the way.

“No, no, no!” You’re trying to yank free. How can he not see it? He’s the smartest person you know. How can he not see what had taken place that day? The horror, the blood and mutilation. Chrollo, you must see this!

The Kurta and Sarasa were innocent. Kurapika...your boy.

“Chrollo, don’t you see?” You whisper for only him to hear. He looks down at you as the rain begins to fall gracefully.

You can feel the tears swell.

Does he know what happened that day? That the Troupe and Sheila are monsters. And not just because of the Kurta’s extinction. You may not have all of the puzzle pieces, but by the reactions alone, it becomes clearer.

Out of everyone here, you struggle to read him. Always have, even when you were kids. You only catch the truth from time to time when he gives it to you. They are few in between.

“Have they made a fool of you?” It is rare to one up Chrollo. His power can wipe nations, his aura is powerful and vast, his commanding tone is one that cannot be ignored.

“Sacrifices have to be made.” He bluntly answers without a hint of remorse or second thought. His tone is final and dead. Like he has nothing else to say about it.

_______

“I’m fucking sick of her-!” Uvogin plops down on the chair. It creaks under him. Before Uvogin can continue his ranting, another voice pipes up on the matter of a certain little girl.

“She’d...be fun.” His voice is recognizable to anyone due to his lack of pure fluency. His hair is choppy right now because a brat got her hands on a pair of scissors. The thick, black, strands are being fixed by Pakunoda. It isn’t the best, but at least it wouldn’t look as bad as it did.

Machi taps her foot. “She would be, huh?”

“It can’t be us, though. Too obvious.” Shalnark points. Collectively, the friends are beginning to plan and imagine a better Meteor City.

“Are you guys being serious, right now? This is a child you’re talking about.” Pakunoda taps on Feitan’s shoulder, signaling that she’s done. He turns back to look at her and answers, “Deadly.”

Machi sighs. “You’re right, Shal. It is too obvious. And we have rehearsal with Chrollo, too.”

Pakunoda crosses her arms. “This isn’t sitting right. Something is going to go wrong.”

“Remember your shaved head?” Machi asks. Pakunoda tenses up at the memory of you butchering her hair. Who keeps giving you scissors? You would be cute with that crooked smile of yours if it wasn't caused by the loss of her hair.

“There are a lot more bad things going on in the city. Accidents happen all the time, Paku.” Nobunaga puts his hair into a bun. Pakunoda remains silent. “We can’t let anyone else know. Only ones in this room.”

As said, bad things happen to kids in Meteor City all the time.

Sarasa decided to go find a tape instead of you since you have a habit of picking blanks. You stomped your foot in protest. You wanted to go! You’d finally had the right directions to pick up some good tapes, anyway. Alas, Sarasa went while Chrollo soothed you.

She skips along and sees a few men ready to welcome her in the worst way.

“Is it her?” Uvogin’s heart is racing. It's pounding so loud it’s in his ears. The rain is the only outside noise as Chrollo reluctantly opens the bag.

Chrollo opens the bag and sees the face of Hell. Uvo grabs him and demands to know what is on the note since he can't read it. The wrong face is behind that letter, that much is known. The wrong directions were given to the wrong child. Everyone needs to know. To hear the mistake and pain, the truth.

The words on that letter will never be spoken.

_____

“The Kurta is an isolated clan with special eyes. They'd be a good cover, no?” Sheila asks. Lately, Sarasa’s murder is being brought up more and more. Chrollo is turning into the leader that Meteor City needs. And an omnipotent being. A terrifying, controlling, mastermind of a god. One that demands respect and cooperation, devotion to what he’s created: a spider. But that spider has one weakness that at a drop of a hat, can cause this god to wreak havoc on everything.

Calm and collected he appears, but thunderous when he strikes. Loyal to what is his, but horrible in all.

“So, the Kurta. Agree?”

“Aye.” They say in unison. “It’s not like anyone would miss them.”

_____

The more you study him, the more you wonder if he knows. Was he blind or was he in on it and spun that story of him finding her? How could any of them do this?

“Please, not you...” You whisper. Chrollo’s book is open to a page fit for an exit. A green portal opens. “No! No, no, no!”

You struggle even more as everything, except for Chrollo’s role, becomes clear. You are not the smartest, but you are stupid. Years in that blasted city has taught you valuable lessons of reading people. Years of knowing these people have given you an advantage on top of that. Well, not everything obviously. “Chrollo, what did you do?”

He glances down at you once more. “I am the Head, my fourth limb. But even a spider has a treasure to keep.”

His grey eyes are dull but with the slightest hint of possessiveness. You'd recognize it anywhere. It is the same look he gave you when you saw him today, it is the same when you first met him and he had decided to keep you under his wing, it is the same as when you finally joined the Troupe.

This wicked gleam has always sought you, always found you. Unfortunately, you could never read them other than that. Like you said, he only shows what he wants you to see and even then, it is blurry. God, you wish you could. If only for a moment to answer your question. Just a straight answer, the truth, about how or why Sarasa died. She was innocent and sweet. She was your friend! Everyone’s, actually.

So, why? What could she have possibly done to deserve such a fate? How can he not see the true culprits? What about the Kurta? Did he know and went with it anyway?

No, that’s a bad deal. It can’t be just one question and one answer. You have too many questions. And not a single one will be answered, you bet.

He drags you to the portal. The Troupe starts to enter it. Phinks looks at you for a split second. For that one second his eyes look...sad? No, that’s not possible with someone like him. Like them. You are accepting that you’re in danger, but not that these beasts have a heart or a capability of remorse.

You look around frantically. Where's Kurapika? Is he dead?

Would he save someone like you?

“(Y/n), who are you looking for?” Chrollo asks. He doesn’t even look at you. You want to call out for Kurapika, but that’d expose him to danger. No, if your boy hates you let that be so. At least he’ll be okay. Hopefully he has learned to make his own attire.

“You can’t do this, Lucilfer.”

“But dear, I can, I have, and I will.” A few more steps to the portal. “Lucilfer, I don’t want to go.”

You yank your arm out of his grasp. “Stop this! I don’t want to go. Do you know what they did?”

He calmly turns around and stares at you. He expected this behavior from you. He walks to your frozen form, causing the few survivors of the village to jump. Once again, he cradles your face and places the gentlest of kisses on your lips. They're still soft, you note. Still full and masterful.

Right as your eyes are about to close, you see that he is looking at something past you as the kiss begins to get more intense. More possessive by his hold and the movement of his lips. His grey eyes are narrowed at something that you can’t see.

Is this a claiming? What the hell is he looking at? Done being curious, you turn to look and see your boy Kurapika’s horrified and furious expression. You have no thoughts other than your impending fate. Your vicious crimes and relentlessly cruel past have resurfaced in the form of a wicked man. The boy you took care of and never verbally admitted you loved him as your own, is ruined even more. His heart is broken.

Sarasa is gone, the Spider reigns supreme, and you are stuck. There are more questions than answers at this point. Too many lies from a group that cling together in some sick and twisted loyalty. You have accepted that in the middle of that is the boy you admired and maybe even loved.

And you finally understand what Phinks meant. It wasn’t remorse, it was pity for an old and spoiled friend as they are pushed onto the spider’s web.

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh #chrollo x reader #oof he's got me #angst #slight yandere #yandere #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hxh #smut #mild smut #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #hxh fanfic #q #cant be the only one who thinks the cross tattoo looks like a web??

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alwaysmicado · 8 months

Text

predator & prey

8.6k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader

Warnings: consensual non-consent, restraints, manhandling, face slapping, hard choking, rough p in v sex, biting, creampie, pain kink, degradation/praise, subdrop, aftercare, soft(ish) Nathan Summary: Nathan fulfills your fantasy of being taken in the woods. Can you handle it? A/N: Living in the middle of nowhere has its perks...Can be read alone or as an extension of in control. I'm so beyond excited to finally share this with you!! It's been wreaking havoc in my brain for months now. Enjoy the ride and let me know what you think! 🖤

As the last rays of the setting sun dip below the horizon, casting the world into a deep indigo hue, Nathan grabs the neatly folded pile of clothes, your trail running shoes, and his backpack. Still in your sweats, you’re taken aback when he steps into your office, his hand finding your shoulder.

“Put these on,” he tells you, his voice betraying no particular emotion. He hands you a pair of jeans in your size and an oversized, white t-shirt, along with a nude bra and panties. You swallow and look up at him, catching the subtle glint in his eyes.

“Time to go.”

You dress as instructed, your fingers deftly lace up your shoes, and the two of you set off.

The crisp air gently nibbles at your cheeks, and the faint glow of twilight casts a soft ambiance as the crunch of leaves and gravel beneath your feet echoes through the stillness around you. The air holds a charged energy, and each one of your steps carries a weight of anticipation. Your muscles are tense, your senses heightened, acutely aware of what lies ahead.

Nathan’s demeanor is casual. He’s smiling, asking about your day, about the project that’s been giving you a headache for the past two weeks. You give him a semi-honest answer, admitting that you’ve been stressed, but omitting the fact that you’ve cried yourself to sleep over it more than once.

“You’ll figure it out,” he reassures you with a soft smile. Your furrowed brow meets his confident gaze, and for a moment, you study his face. He’s sincere.

You’re used to discussing your work with Nathan, it’s what you’re living with him for, after all. And despite your…complicated relationship with him, he has never questioned your professional skills.

That’s all on you. Your perfectionism is draining.

As you reach the edge of the woods after a half-hour march along the river, darkness begins to cloak you like a shroud. The trees whisper secrets, and the unknown looms like a specter in the night. Nathan activates the small portable light attached to his backpack, rolls his shoulders, and fixes his gaze on you.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and excitement courses through your veins, fueled by a potent blend of curiosity and trepidation.

“You know what’s about to happen,” he says calmly, tilting your chin up with his gloved fingers to search your eyes. “Take a deep breath. We’re not starting until you’re ready.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, inhaling the grounding scent of earth and pine, your eyes locked onto his.

“Choose a path and make sure you memorize it. Be aware of your surroundings and where you’re going. Do not look back.” He rubs your cheek softly with his thumb as his dark eyes pierce your soul.

Sensing the rough leather of his gloves against your skin sends a chill down your spine as memories of pain and pleasure flood your mind.

These gloves have choked you until you passed out, just to slap you awake again. They’ve penetrated all your holes simultaneously, teasing you, stretching you, making you come over and over again. They’ve split your lip, caressed your cheek, spread Nathan’s cum all over your face, wiped away your tears.

There’s no part of your body they haven’t thoroughly explored in a tantalizing dance between violent and soft touches.

And Nathan only ever wears them for you.

As you study the man in front of you, the only man you’d willingly follow into the unknown, his presence feels both reassuring and elusive—a paradox you’ve come to not only accept but cherish. The intricate interplay of familiarity and mystery that shapes your connection is not just comforting; it’s irresistibly alluring.

In his all-black attire, he presents an effortlessly handsome yet imposing figure. You appreciate the boots on his feet, a deviation from his usual habit of walking around barefoot, and how they seamlessly blend into the darkness of his tactical pants secured by a familiar belt.

While the physical marks from your last encounter may have healed, allowing you to shower and sit down again without writhing in pain, the mere sight of the leather item makes you wince and sends a jolt of electricity through the muscles in your ass cheeks and thighs.

Provoking Nathan is fun, but the consequences hurt. Badly.

Your gaze wanders further up, drawn to the hoodie that tightly embraces his broad frame, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the defined contours of his chest. It’s one of your favorite sights, second only to seeing him completely bare. Beneath his glasses, dark eyes fixate on you with a keen intensity, silently assessing the anticipation evident on your face.

Finally, your eyes reconnect with his, and the magnetic force of his gaze draws you into the depths of his desires. You see the lust in his eyes, the look of raw hunger etched across his face. It’s a look you’ve grown to both crave and fear, a look only you bring out of him.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Alright.” He nods and takes a step back from you, his scowl deepening. “Ten.”

You’re up and running before ‘nine’ even fully leaves Nathan’s lips. You don’t look back as his booming voice echoes behind you. Do you remember the path you chose? Do you know where your feet are carrying you into the mist, through the labyrinth of trees, fast, faster than they’ve ever carried you? You better run, little bunny, run, run away from him.

Ignore your racing heart, ignore the weight of his presence, ignore the forest closing in around you. You need to run. Run through the shadows, run away from him. Can you feel his eyes on you? The predator’s eyes locked on his prey?

Your time is up. He’s coming for you.

Nathan’s eyes follow you, vigilant, watching as your silhouette disappears into the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. Swiftly, he fastens the chest strap of his backpack, tightens his gloves, turns off the light, and lunges into a run. He’s on your trail.

Can you feel him? Can you feel him chasing you, drawing nearer with every frantic beat of your heart? He’s not going to stop until he catches you.

And you know what happens when he does, don’t you?

You’re sprinting, the crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs beneath your shoes creating a frenzied symphony in your haste. Panic creeps in, its icy fingers tightening around your racing heart. The air, now cold and damp, clings to your skin, making you shiver. You run further along the path you’ve chosen, quickly, as quickly as your aching muscles will allow.

Are you scared? Is that why your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your eyes shimmer with unshed tears? Ah, yes. Yes, you are scared. That’s good. You should be. Let the tendrils of fear wrap around your every move, and embrace the primal instinct that tells you to run, run like a rabbit chased by a hungry fox.

He’s going to sink his teeth into your neck and tear you apart, tear you to shreds.

Your cold feet carry you along the path you chose, deeper into the woods, deeper into the darkness. Trees blur past, bathed in moonlight, casting enigmatic figures on the path ahead. You can’t stop. He trails behind, a shadow in the darkness, tracking your scent, treading the path your feet imprinted moments before. Can you hear him panting, can you feel his hot breath on your neck? He’s on your heels, inching closer, so close to catching you, so close to having you.

You’re a fast little bunny, Nathan quietly acknowledges, his hungry gaze capturing a glimpse of your shirt. It only heightens the thrill for him, pursuing someone deserving of his dominance.

Oh, how he’s going to enjoy devouring you.

He’s behind you, pacing himself, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’s calm and calculated in his hunt for you, his feet carrying him swiftly towards you. You must hear the branches snapping under his heavy boots, you must feel the heat radiating off his body.

How do you feel? Are you afraid or turned on right now? Be honest. He’s not going away, you’re not going to escape him, he’s going to get you. Have you made peace with your fate?

You should have listened to him. Fuck. A fleeting glance backward is all it takes for you to lose your balance and trip over your own feet, twisting your ankle. The harsh ground rushes to meet you, hands breaking your fall, immediately sending a sharp pain through your arms and shoulders from the impact. Gasping for air, on the brink of tears, you fumble back to your feet, rising as quickly as your sore knees permit.

Where are you? Where has fate led you? The urgency to run grips you again, urging you to flee, escape. Start moving—now. Away from him. Are you sure you chose the right path? Darkness envelops you. Your vision is blurry, you’re tired, your body hurts. The echo of your breath lingers, a haunting reminder of your vulnerability. He’s so near, closing in. Why are you doing this?

A surge of adrenaline in your bloodstream propels you forward, numbing the pain in your ankle and legs. You push yourself into a sprint, using all of your determination and strength, ignoring the heart in your chest threatening to explode. Do not stop. No matter how suffocating the open space around you feels now, no matter how much the cold wind bites your face, no matter how much you yearn for respite.

Do not stop.

You keep running, heart pounding, panic rising. You hear him, feel him, know he’s toying with you like a cat playing with the mouse it’s about to rip apart. You like that, don’t you? The anticipation. Dull pain in your muscles slows you down, slows your desperate escape.

Exhaustion and vigilance intermingle, fear collides with excitement, and amidst the confusion, a strange clarity emerges. This is it. He’s here.

He’s on you – you’re free.

Nathan’s weight bears down, the forceful impact knocking the breath out of your lungs, his hands and knees pressing you face down into the unforgiving, cold ground. The weight of his breath, heavy and labored, blends with the earthy scent on your lips, clouding your mind.

“Caught you,” Nathan growls into your ear, his dangerous tone of voice causing your whole body to shudder with an urgent sense of dread. He’s panting, his teeth clenched as he grabs your neck, his gloved fingers painfully digging into your skin, putting his weight on you as you scream and thrash under him. He caught you, he has you, you’re his now.

Your brain races in overdrive as the primal fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, telling you to ‘fight, fight, little bunny’.

Go on, act like you don’t want it.

“No, get off me,” you scream at him, clawing at his hand on your neck, writhing and struggling to escape his grip. You can feel the sneer on his face, can feel his satisfaction with your predicament. Do you really want to resist him? That’s not true, is it? You don’t actually want him to stop, don’t want him to listen to the pathetic pleas leaving your lips. No, no, you don’t want that.

You want him to have you, to take you, to ravage you.

What a sick girl you are.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Nathan snarls, his knees pinning your legs down, his grip on your neck intensifying while his free hand retrieves something from one of his pockets.

“You’re mine now. Mine to take, mine to hurt,” he grabs your chin roughly, his dark eyes boring into you. “And you better believe I’m gonna make it hurt.”

Are you scared of him? He’s stronger than you. He’s going to hurt you. You made him chase you, made him chase what’s his. You’re going to pay for that, little bunny. You’re going to pay for trying to deny him. Can you see the fire burning in his eyes? That’s all for you.

Grabbing your wrist, he forcefully twists your arm behind your back, ignoring your pained groan as you struggle and try to resist. With practiced efficiency, he repeats the motion with your other arm, his gloved fingers digging into your flesh. He needs to use all of his strength to keep your hands in place as he fastens the zip tie tightly around your bare wrists, effectively immobilizing your hands.

You’re bound, restrained—like a little present on a plate, primed and ready for the taking. Does it hurt? Does it hurt to be this helpless, this vulnerable? Struggle all you want. There’s no way you can escape now.

Your fate is sealed.

Nathan manhandles you onto your back, grabbing you by your shoulder, then immediately straddles you and sits on your thighs to keep you pinned down. You can see the dark glint in his eyes and the violent desire painted across his face. Does that make you wet? The lust, the hunger, the raw need he has for you?

He knows, little bunny. You’re so pathetic.

“Fuck you,” you defiantly spit at him, as the subtle smirk on Nathan’s face stirs the rebellious voice simmering in your mind.

It’s the same inner voice that urges you to provoke him when your ass is already black and blue, the voice that tells you to deliberately graze his cock with your teeth, so he’ll grab your neck and fuck your throat harder, the voice that tells you to come without permission, so he’ll overstimulate you until you’re too weak to cry — the voice that tells you you need more.

Nathan strikes you hard across the face, splitting your lip. Tears spill from your eyes, and a surge of adrenaline floods your veins. The impact on your cheek is so intense that your head recoils, seeking refuge away from him, eyes clamped shut in an attempt to find solace in darkness. He denies you that respite.

“Look at me, whore!” His hands are on your throat in an instant, knocking your head against the ground, ruthlessly pressing on your veins, crushing you, choking you.

His eyes blaze with a wild fervor, pupils dilated to an almost feral intensity. The lines on his face contort, a mixture of raw desire and twisted pleasure etched across his features. Desire and dominance intertwine as his gloved fingers tighten even further around your neck, each breath he denies you heightening the predatory satisfaction he feels.

The crushing grip on your throat sends shockwaves of panic through every fiber of your being, alerting your body to resist. Resist him. Resist him or die. With your hands bound behind your back, your struggles are futile, your desperate squirms and frenzied kicks against the unyielding ground only fueling Nathan’s arousal.

Can you taste your own fear on your bloody lips? Delicious, isn’t it?

The world around you blurs, your head spinning, your heart racing, the dark grip of unconsciousness tightening around you. Dumb little bunny, willingly jumping into the fox’s den. What did you think was going to happen?

You’re so helpless under him, so vulnerable, so utterly…human.

Nathan’s cock is so fucking hard it hurts.

Right on the edge, as the vacant look in your eyes hints at a mind detaching from reality, he lets go of your throat with a growl, and takes off his gloves. Convulsing, you desperately gasp and cough and splutter as precious air revives your lungs. Your vision gradually returns, and as you gaze upward through tear-filled eyes, the vast expanse of the night sky unfolds above you, a celestial canvas painted with a myriad of stars.

It’s beautiful. Chaotic. Intimidating. Soothing.

Then, his eyes come into focus. Those deep, dark, intense eyes you could drown in. Wouldn’t that be nice? You see fire in them, hunger, calculated power, and…something else.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re scared,” you hear Nathan pant, his bare hands gripping your cheeks firmly, before he leans in and presses his lips on yours in a messy, violent kiss. You’re still gasping for air, but he doesn’t care. He needs to taste you, to devour you, to claim you as his.

He’s frenzied now, moaning into your mouth, gripping your jaw, sliding his hand under your shirt, along your belly and further up, pulling your bra down. He bites your lip, tasting your blood on his tongue, bruising you, marking you. You sob against his lips, out of breath, in pain, mind reeling, so desperate to be close to him you’re shaking.

He laughs at the pathetic sounds you make as he sucks and bites at the sensitive skin of your neck while hungrily groping your tits, his hand exploring your soft skin, squeezing, twisting, punishing. He tugs at your erect nipples, loving how you arch your back and how your cries echo in the night.

“Scream all you want, baby,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck before peppering soft kisses along your jaw, his free hand moving down your belly and into your pants. “Nobody’s coming to save you.”

You cry and whimper as blood, spit and tears stain your face, giving Nathan exactly what he wants. God, you’re perfect.

He slips his hand into your panties, groaning at the feeling of your wetness, his fingers sliding through your folds, making you moan and clench around nothing when he brushes your swollen clit. You beg him to stop, twisting and pulling your arms back and forth under yourself, trying to wriggle your hands free to push him off. But it’s no use, is it? Poor baby. You’re bound, you’re, ensnared, like a fly caught in the spider’s silk, each struggle only tightening the threads around you.

What are you so afraid of? Why are you trying to resist so hard? Is it fear or is it the fact that you’re sopping wet from being violated?

The truth hurts, little bunny, it really does. But you can’t escape it.

Overwhelmed with Nathan’s assault on your senses, you gaze up at him with pleading eyes, his wicked grin widening with every agonizing second as he’s relishing the betrayal of your body. You’re such a depraved whore, letting him hurt you and getting off on it. He loves that you are, and he wants you to know that. He wants you to know how much he fucking loves hurting you, how much he wants you. All of you.

He can’t take it anymore. He needs to feel you.

Sitting up straight, he kneels between your legs, momentarily abandoning your tit and your pussy to hastily fumble with the button and zipper of your jeans. Can you see how hard his cock is straining against his pants and how hard his chest is heaving? Can you see what you’re doing to him? He’s in agony and he’s finally going to get his relief from you.

If only he hadn’t underestimated you.

A split second. A split second of lust-fueled distraction is all it takes for Nathan to give you an opportunity to get out. And you take it.

It all happens so fast.

The forceful kick you deliver to his abdomen shocks you both. He gasps as the unexpected blow catches him off guard, and he stumbles backward, crashing onto the backpack strapped to his shoulders. The impact jars through his spine, making him groan in pain as he feels the sturdy surface of the thermos he brought pressing into his back. Hearing his pitiful groans stuns you for a fleeting moment, a hint of concern creeping in.

You catch a quick glimpse of Nathan’s dark eyes and that’s when the flight instinct finally kicks in, telling you to get the fuck up and run.

Oh, what have you done, little bunny?

You wriggle on the ground, pain pulsating through your body as you scramble to your feet, wrists still bound behind your back. You run, feet pounding against the uneven forest floor, frantically, unsteady, driven by a primal need to escape.

Your eyes, wide with terror, dart wildly in all directions, desperately searching for an escape route. The whites of your eyes stand out starkly against the backdrop of fear, reflecting the moonlight that filters through the trees overhead. Each breath is visible, quick and shallow, as if the very air you inhale carries the weight of your anxiety. The cold air stings in your lungs, each breath hurting your sore throat.

“You fucking bitch!” Nathan’s furious shouts echo behind you as he pulls himself up with a pained groan, a relentless pursuit that adds to the drumming rhythm of your heart. “Running won’t save you, you stupid girl. You’re mine. And when I—fuck—when I catch you I’m gonna hurt you like I’ve never fucking hurt you before.”

Your blood freezes in your veins at his words, but you don’t respond, focusing solely on the path ahead. Running, panting, gritting your teeth, trying to keep your balance with bound hands. Twisting and turning through the dense foliage, you try to outsmart your pursuer, relying on instincts honed by fear. The shadows dance around you, leaves crunching beneath your feet. You better run, little bunny, run, run away from him.

You think a little groping and choking was bad? Oh, you naive thing. That was nothing. He means it when he says he’ll hurt you like never before. But you know that, right? That’s why you’re running now even though your body is threatening to collapse. You just had to be defiant, hm? You just couldn’t accept that you fucking loved what he did to you.

Now look where your pride got you. Was it worth it?

He’s catching up to you, determined to win, his quick feet carrying him through the mist, his angry shouts getting closer. Can you feel his anger, his hot breath on your neck? Can you feel the venom with which he spits his threats at you? There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.

“You think you can escape me, you dumb bitch?” Nathan’s voice is a predatory growl, following your every move.

His cruel laughter chases you like a haunting melody, spurring you on to push your aching muscles harder. The forest seems to tighten around you, an inescapable labyrinth closing in as the predator hunts its prey. And then it happens again. He’s got you.

As you dart left, he anticipates your move, and your bodies collide with a force that knocks the wind out of you. You both tumble to the ground with a thud, intertwined, leaves and dirt swirling around you in a chaotic dance.

“No, no, no,” you scream, thrashing about like a wounded animal caught in a bear trap.

You’re so much stronger than Nathan anticipated, it’s incredible. He knows you have a high pain tolerance, but your resilience is honestly amazing. You truly are the perfect prey.

You squirm and struggle to get away again, but Nathan puts all of his weight on you, pinning you face down under him, your face pressed into the mud, his fingernails digging into your arms so hard you’re making yourself bleed when you desperately try to pull away from his grip. His eyes burn with a mixture of fury and triumph as he pants against your neck, his knees digging into the back of your thighs, one hand moving to press on your neck.

“That’s enough,” he growls through gritted teeth, as you just won’t give up, even though he can feel your exhaustion.

He slaps your exposed cheek as he holds your neck steady, the sharp crack of the impact echoing in the oppressive darkness. A surge of pain courses through you like lightning, leaving a heavy imprint on your senses. Before you can fully register the sting, he ruthlessly yanks on your shirt’s collar, revealing the vulnerable expanse of your shoulder.

Without hesitation, he bites into your flesh, dragging his teeth, breaking your skin. His assault is akin to a wolf sinking its razor-sharp fangs into prey, tearing into your body with a savage hunger. It hurts worse than anything you can remember. Your body’s in shock and your cries come out soundless, weak, futile. He’s pushing you to your limits.

When he’s had his fill, he wipes his bloody mouth, sits up and turns you on your back, immediately straddling your thighs as one of his hands constricts around your bruised neck. The pressure is not yet enough to completely cut off your air supply, but it’s enough to evoke vivid and terrifying memories of how he choked you just moments ago. The implied threat is enough to keep you still.

Nathan slings off his backpack in a swift motion using his free hand and turns on the light. He then takes a few seconds to look into your wet, glazed-over eyes, caressing your tender cheek with an unexpectedly gentle touch, tracing your soft skin with his palm. He can see it in your dilated pupils, he can feel it radiating off your body, he can hear it in your trembling voice as you can’t hold back the pathetic little whimpers escaping your lips.

You’re flying.

Seeing the need in your eyes, his handprint on your cheek, his bite mark on your shoulder, and the blood on your lips makes his cock throb in his pants. He can’t wait anymore, he needs you.

He lets go of your neck with a menacing growl, moving back to sit between your legs. His unwavering gaze remains locked onto yours, stripping you of any semblance of agency. He quickly grabs the waistband of your jeans and drags them over your ass and down to your thighs like you’re a doll — like you’re one of his androids. Sentient, but not in control.

It’s so peaceful, isn’t it? Being his toy. His little slut to play with.

You feel your panties being yanked down, feel the cold breeze on your pussy as Nathan lifts and bends your legs for better access, feel him holding your thighs with a tight grip. He can see how wet you are, how swollen your clit is, how much your body craves his violence. And he’s going to give it to you. All of it. Because he craves it just as badly. His cock is aching for you, rock-hard, pulsating, desperate to feel the warmth of your cunt.

He hastily pulls down his pants with controlled movements, revealing just how much his body wants you. You can see his cock through your wet lashes, causing your walls to clench around nothing and your hips to jerk at the sight; a conditioned response from the hours upon hours of ecstasy he’s given you.

“All for you, my little whore,” Nathan says with a sly grin as he follows your hungry gaze and reaches down to grab the object of your attention. Locking eyes with you and searching them for a second, he strokes the tip of his cock up and down your slick, puffy lips once, twice, and then pushes into your cunt in one forceful thrust.

You whine pathetically as he stretches you open with a loud groan, your toes curling in your shoes, the feeling almost too much to bear. He gives you no time to adjust before he pulls out completely and slams back inside as hard as he can, pushing your body up on the cold ground.

“F-fuck yeah,” he groans as he bottoms out deep inside you, savoring the delicious feeling of your wet pussy sucking him in. “That’s it…Now, be a good whore and take it.”

You can’t hold back your moans as he starts fucking you at a relentless pace, holding on to both of your thighs, putting his weight on them, pressing them against your torso. The angle makes you incredibly tight and allows him to go deep, deep inside of you.

Nathan’s gaze penetrates yours, watching in awe as the need in your eyes grows bigger and bigger with every inch of his cock stretching you, with every snap of his hips against your thighs, with every demeaning word he spits at you as he takes what he wants, reducing you to a toy he can use and abuse.

You take it, take everything he gives you, take it so well. You take it until you can’t anymore.

“Please stop,” you whimper as his deliberate, continuous hits to your cervix cause you immense pain.

Nathan laughs breathlessly. You’re so cute when you pretend that’s not exactly what you need. What hurts more, huh? The pain of him using you or the fact that you’re close to coming from it?

“Can’t take it, slut?” he pants as he can feel his cock swell deep inside of you, your pussy gripping him like a vise. You feel so fucking good. “What happened? I thought you wanted this.”

“Hurts…” you whine as fresh tears run down your temples. You writhe under him, trying to move your legs, but it’s no use. You’re trapped.

“I know it hurts, baby,” he coos in response, his voice deceptively soothing. “But I need you to be good for me. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Yeah, you do. You wanna be my good girl. That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

His words send heat straight to your core, causing your walls to flutter around his cock. God, you’re a perfect little fuckdoll.

You yelp in surprise as Nathan suddenly leans in, putting your calves on his shoulder, crushing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. You instinctively open your mouth for his tongue to slide inside, wanting to taste him, to feel him, to have him claim you completely.

The coil in your lower belly is wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You’re so close. You moan into his mouth as his tongue swirls around yours, and he groans in response, his hips picking up the pace, slamming into you feverishly. Your pitiful cries evaporate in his mouth as his cock hits your cervix over and over again, determined to make you come from pain.

He can feel you burning up against his body, can taste the desperation on your trembling lips, can feel your pussy gripping him so hard it hurts. You’re fucking loving this. He chuckles against your lips as you start jerking your hips, trying your hardest to get more friction on your clit.

Poor little bunny.

He’s not going to touch you. You’re going to come like this or not at all.

Not giving you even one second to catch your breath, he draws back from your lips and immediately grabs the base of your neck with a firm grip to pull himself deeper inside you with every harsh thrust. Lightheaded, mind reeling, your overstimulated body is screaming for release.

“Nathan…” you sob, your voice a mere whisper as tears stream down your temples.

“That’s right, slut. Keep fucking crying,” he groans, his hips stuttering for a moment when he feels your pussy twitch around his cock. You’re so close. Your whole body is trembling and your moans are getting louder and louder as he’s picking up the pace, thrusting into you relentlessly, telling you what a depraved little whore you are for coming on his cock.

It only takes a handful more of Nathan’s measured thrusts before the coil inside you finally snaps and you crash into your orgasm at full speed. Your walls clamp down around his cock so hard he can barely keep moving, and the overwhelming ecstasy that spreads through your body and mind makes you forget who or where you are. You feel weightless, free, whole as he fucks you through your high, drowning you in his touch that masterfully blends pain and pleasure.

He almost comes instantly when he sees and feels you fall apart so completely, your blissed out expression the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

As you start to come down and all sensations begin to blur into an elusive haze, you feel the edges of your vision start to blur and Nathan’s groans seem distant and muffled. On the precipice of your consciousness, in your delirium, you feel the gentle touch of Nathan’s lips on your skin, you see him smiling at you, you hear him whisper in your ear that he lo–

A sharp slap to your cheek wakes you up and has you turning your head to cough and gasp for air. After a few seconds of trying to catch your breath, your chest heaving, your head spinning, you notice that Nathan’s still moving, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs with a relentless ferocity that borders on primal.

“You don’t get to pass out on me, baby,” you hear him chuckle. “I want you to feel it when I fill you up.”

He can feel it building and building, winding tighter and tighter, his cock swelling and twitching inside your cunt. He pants and moans your name, telling you what a perfect little whore you are, how fucking good you feel, how much he enjoys hurting you.

“Holy shit, that’s it. Fuck. Fuck.”

He explodes deep inside you, cum painting your walls, still thrusting as he twitches and pulses, making sure your pussy swallows every last drop. He sits up, panting heavily, sweat running down his temples as he looks down at where your bodies are connected. He slowly pulls out of you with a strangled groan, watches with satisfaction how his cum leaks out of your swollen pussy, and at last lets his spent body collapse on the ground next to you.

“Fucking unreal,” he sighs deeply, covering his face with his hands for a moment before wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath and to wait for enough blood to flow back to his brain, then turns his head to look at you.

You’re lying on your side, turned away from him, your knees pulled up to your chest in the fetal position. Nathan’s eyes are immediately drawn to the burns on your wrists, the scratches covering your arms and ass, and the blood he can see on your shirt’s collar.

Seeing you in this state has his cock twitching on his belly.

He did this to you. He beat you, overpowered you, took you, fucking destroyed you. You were so sure of yourself before, and now look at yourself. Pathetic.

What hurts more, little bunny? Your body or your mind?

Your pitiful sobs cut through the still of the night, interrupting Nathan’s thoughts.

“Shit.” He snaps out of it and immediately sits up, haphazardly stuffing his cock back inside his pants before opening his backpack to get out the shears he packed. He grabs them, then kneels behind you.

“I’m gonna cut your ties, okay? Don’t move.”

You give no indication that you can hear him, but you don’t move your hands as he cuts the ties around your sore wrists. You lie still, limp, even now that your hands are free again.

Concerned with your body temperature, Nathan quickly reaches for his backpack again to get out a woolen blanket. He drapes it over you, shielding your exposed body from the cold wind blowing around you.

He tries to turn you around, so he can look at you and talk to you, but you start thrashing about and crying violently when he puts pressure on your arm.

“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s over,” he says calmly but firmly, pulling you up into his lap with your back against his chest despite your protests. His strong arms hold you close, the blanket tightly wrapped around you. “Shhh, it’s over, you’re safe.”

He can feel you stop resisting and your muscles relaxing in his arms after a minute or so, your head falling back against his shoulder, your breathing getting calmer.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, rocking you gently.

After a short while of sitting in silence, he decides it’s best you two get going, so he can clean you up and take care of your wounds. But first, he wants you to drink from the tea he brought, to warm you up and rehydrate you.

With a careful maneuver, he reaches into his backpack while keeping a supportive hold on you, retrieving the thermos that left a lasting impression on his back. He takes a sip to make sure it’s not too hot before encouraging you to do the same. He smiles to himself when you don’t bother asking what’s in it this time, too exhausted to care, apparently.

You feel the soothing warmth trickling down your sore throat, warming you from the inside. A gentle cough escapes your lips, a testament to the wear and tear your body has endured. When Nathan’s satisfied with your intake, he stows the thermos and helps you stand up. He pulls up your panties and pants without any protest from you, then picks up his backpack.

“Here,” he murmurs, wrapping the blanket tightly around you, so it stays put without you having to hold it. He then hands you a blue cool pack for your swollen cheek and lip and guides your hand to the affected area. You wince and groan when the pack makes contact with your tender skin.

“Keep pressure on it, okay?”

You nod and press a bit harder, the throbbing pain prompting a new set of tears to well up in your eyes, silently expressing both pain and relief.

“Can you walk?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Mhm.”

“It’s not far,” he murmurs, prompting you to walk in front of him. The flashlight he brought illuminates the path, but exhaustion causes you to stumble a few times. When Nathan has to catch you for the fifth time, he realizes this isn’t going to work and finally opts to rearrange the blanket, so he can guide you with a supportive hand under your armpit.

You’re not really here, so you don’t notice that he’s leading you down a different path than the one you came from.

The cold night air is filled with unspoken truths as you walk in silence, the sound of gravel and leaves crushed beneath your feet echoing the muted conversation you’re not ready to have.

Your body is beginning to hurt more and more with every step you take, as you can feel the adrenaline slowly leaving your body. The fog in your mind begins to clear at the same time, revealing a storm of conflicting emotions you’re utterly unprepared for.

Nathan’s just fulfilled a fantasy you’ve had forever but could never find the right partner for, either due to lack of sexual compatibility or lack of trust. And despite having you climbing the walls with frustration many times over the past few months, you trust Nathan and know he would never seriously harm you.

Not physically at least.

So, why are you pouting right now? He gave you what you wanted, didn’t he? This was your idea and you wanted it so badly.

Is it because you didn’t think it would feel so real? That it wouldn’t hurt so much? Hmm, that’s not it, is it? No, no. What you’re feeling is shame. You’re ashamed. Ashamed at how much you loved it. How much you loved the thrill of the hunt and the pain of being beaten and used.

What kind of fucked up person would enjoy something like this? What is wrong with you?

– – –

“I had it built over the past week,” Nathan murmurs as he’s opening a new pack of sterile wipes. “Pretty great, huh? I designed every room myself, feng shui included.” You dig your fingernails into your palm and suck in a sharp breath when the alcohol makes contact with the bite mark on your shoulder.

You’ve been in Nathan’s new cabin for half an hour now, and he’s been trying his best to make you feel comfortable—turning up the heat, helping you take off your dirty shirt and jeans, preparing a cup of tea for you while you were on the toilet, giving you pain meds a non-billionaire could only dream of getting their hands on, and carefully disinfecting your wounds in the bathroom. He’s even refrained from misquoting Oppenheimer or exclusively talking about himself.

He is trying.

You, however, have remained unresponsive, eyes vacant, lost in the echoes of your scene. Vivid memories pulse through your veins, and when Nathan notices the subtle tremors wracking your body, a flicker of concern shadows his eyes.

“Looks good,” he goes on as he’s done cleaning the mark his canines left on you. “It’s not as deep as I thought. Still looks like it hurts though.”

He can’t help but smile at the sight, the evidence of what he did to you. Beautiful. He puts the wipes down onto the wooden bench you’re sitting on and studies your profile. Silent tears are slowly rolling down your swollen cheeks, your bruised neck, over your breasts, pooling in your bra. Your lip is quivering.

You hear him say your name. “Can you please look at me?”

When you don’t react, he says your name a little louder, his patience waning as he grapples with his own sense of helplessness.

He’s not used to feeling this way—unable to fully understand or solve a problem that’s presenting itself. He’s a genius for God’s sake. Concern turns to frustration, his eyes mirroring the helplessness he’s experiencing—an unusual and uncomfortable sensation for someone accustomed to being in control.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. But your silence persists, and his frustration peaks. With a sudden resolve, he reaches for your chin, intending to force you to look at him. As soon as his fingers make contact with your skin, you slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” you hiss at him with such venom in your voice that he’s momentarily stunned. Your eyes meet his for the first time since you left the woods, bloodshot and watery, pupils dilated.

The sudden break in the stagnant atmosphere startles both of you and you immediately regret what you did when you see the look on Nathan’s face. Your palms are clammy, the bathroom suddenly feels far too hot, and every scratch on your body burns and pulses in time with your racing heartbeat.

“I–I’m so sorry,” you stutter, your eyes wide, your trembling hand reaching for his arm.

“It’s okay,” he says calmly, studying your face with a furrowed brow. “Are you in pain? Is that it?”

“No—well, yeah. Of course I am, what the hell do you think?” A small smile tugs at Nathan’s lips, amused with your answer. “But, uh, that’s not it.” You avert your gaze and absentmindedly rub your right thumb over your left thumb in your lap.

“Was it too much? Did I do some–”

“No.” You vehemently shake your head and look into his eyes. “It was perfect, Nathan. I liked it, really.”

He can see in your eyes that you’re telling the truth, but that just confuses him more.

“It’s just,” you go on, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “What’s wrong with me?”

A lightbulb flickers to life above Nathan’s head, and suddenly, it’s crystal clear what your pleading eyes are trying to say.

“Why do you think anything’s wrong with you? You just said you liked what we did.”

“But why?” you blurt out. “Other people don’t ask their boss to chase them through the woods. They’re not perpetually bruised. And they wouldn’t get off on half the shit you do to me.” Your voice is agitated now, your hands wildly gesticulating between the two of you.

Nathan can see how distressed you are, but he genuinely doesn’t understand why. This isn’t like you. He sighs and puts his hand on your naked thigh. You let him.

“Pain, humiliation, submitting to me,” he says softly, his eyes locked onto yours. “That’s your thing, okay? Now, why is that your thing? Because you did a detailed analysis of all kinks and you cross-referenced that analysis with a points-based system? No. You’re just into pain and humiliation. You like submitting to me. It’s how you were programmed. Nature and nurture, baby.”

You hear the words he says, but your tired brain and your aching body make it so you’re not really processing them. His logic isn’t what you need right now.

“But…don’t you think that’s weird?” you murmur, your eyes filling with tears again.

Nathan sighs deeply, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “This is your insecurity talking, this is not your intellect,” he says sternly. “You’re better than that.”

He gets up with a suppressed groan, clutching his abdomen, and holds out his hand for you to join him.

As soon as you’re standing, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. Your lips still sting, but you don’t mind. Nathan’s lips, his warm body against yours, and his hands roaming your naked back feel too good to care. You’re losing yourself in his touch again.

He directs you backwards toward the sink without breaking the kiss, pressing his growing erection against your core when your lower back hits the sink. His tongue swirls around yours, his low hums vibrating against your lips as his hands find your hips.

Breaking the kiss, out of breath, he turns you around, so you’re in front of the mirror.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, his lidded eyes watching you. He slowly traces your skin with his fingertips, appreciating the marks on your body. A shiver runs down your spine and you moan softly at his tantalizing touch.

“I did this. I did this to you.” Nathan kisses your neck with his warm, soft lips, his beard tickling you. You close your eyes and hum at the feeling, resting your hands on the sink.

“And you took it so well, baby,” he murmurs against your skin between kisses, his hard cock pressing against your ass. “You earned every single bruise. You’re such a good little whore.”

His right hand moves down your belly, down between your thighs, cupping your mound over your panties. Gently but firmly. He keeps kissing up and down your neck, his warm breath and soft groans making you wet. You let your head fall back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck, and rocking your hips against his hand.

“Nathan…don–” you murmur, but he cuts you off.

“Shh,” he purrs against your neck, sliding his hand inside your panties and finding your clit with his fingers.

“Look at yourself.”

You reluctantly open your eyes. His gaze meets yours in the reflection, your brows drawn together, your lips slightly parted. You still wince at the sight of your swollen face, the mark on your shoulder and the bruises and scratches you can see. But all of your thoughts are quickly washed away when Nathan’s fingers start rubbing your clit, his dark eyes never leaving you.

“That’s it, baby. Look at what I did to you. Look at how much I hurt you.”

Speeding up the movement of his fingers, he can feel your legs starting to tremble as your orgasm approaches rapidly. He wraps his left hand around your front, his hand splayed over your tense belly, holding you against his chest.

Sweet release. You can already taste it.

Your moans are becoming louder and louder, and right when you’re about to tip over the edge, Nathan roughly grabs your throat and simultaneously pushes three fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out of you hard and fast. Your eyes widen in shock and your hands instinctively grab at his, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but he’s undeterred.

He knows you’re sore, so he’s not going to fuck you with his cock. But you need this.

“There is nothing wrong with you or with what you want,” he growls into your ear, his eyes boring into you as he feels you coming around his fingers with a desperate moan.

You ride out your high on his hand until your knees buckle and your limp body collapses against his, your walls rhythmically pulsing around him. Holding you upright, Nathan presses a soft kiss to the mark on your shoulder and nuzzles the crook of your neck with his nose.

“You’re such a fucking good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you.

“Now, how about a bath?”

– – –

Lying in the softest bed you’ve ever laid in, feeling the comforting embrace of the satin sheets around your body, and thanks to the pain meds working their magic, you find yourself in heaven. Floating on a fluffy cloud. Mind empty. Content.

“Feeling any better?” you hear Nathan’s voice behind you before the bed dips under his weight as he joins you.

“Mhm. Great meds,” you murmur into your pillow.

“Yeah, right? I feel like I’m floating.”

“Huh?” You turn around to look at him, his face illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the trees and the wall-to-ceiling window opposite the bed. “What the fuck, Nathan? You can’t mix those with alcohol.”

“No worries. My liver’s been training for this.”

You scoff. He’s unbelievable. “Why did you take them anyway? It’s not like you got hurt.”

“The big, purple bruise on my abdomen begs to differ,” he chuckles. “You got me pretty good.”

You can’t hold back a little laugh. “You’re a baby.”

“And you get a little too bold when you’re high. I’d watch it if I were you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, your eyelids beginning to droop.

Nathan smirks and shakes his head at you. “Hey,” he lightly taps your shoulder, “wanna see something cool? Check this out.”

He flips a switch on the wall next to the bed, and suddenly, the roof smoothly retracts, unveiling the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

It’s breathtaking.

“Pretty amazing, huh?”

“It is,” you whisper as your thoughts float away like dandelion seeds carried by a gentle breeze, dancing into the realm of dreams. “Thank you.”

The quiet in the bedroom stretches for a few minutes as the soothing embrace of sleep begins to claim you. Suddenly, Nathan breaks the silence with a soft murmur.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Hm?”

He sighs. “About your masochism. You never told me.”

“Hmm. I don’t always. Only sometimes.” You turn onto your side, your face buried in the pillow. A content sigh escapes your lips. “Can’t help it.”

“Don’t keep stuff like that from me. Tell me next time.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m serious, it’s–” He stops when he hears your rhythmic breathing. He leans over you and looks at your face. You’re sleeping. You look peaceful.

Nathan rolls onto his back and stares at the stars overhead for a few minutes, contemplating the universe and his role in it until your breathing lulls him to sleep.

– – –

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hornyjorny · 1 year

Text

𝙞 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚

river ward x fem! v

warnings- fluff with smut??? mostly gross fluff18+, this is seriously nasty lovey dovey shit, soft sex, v is tired, sad as fuck and injured, v and river are disgustingly in love, johnny cameo bc he's annoying as fuck, gentle dom!river, sub!v, slight angst but mostly fluff, creampie+fingering+oral (f receiving)

wc: 5.1k

It’s been a shitty day.

Your body aches. Aches from the constant misfiring of your brain. Your head feels like it's on fire, each thought a searing ember tearing through your consciousness. You’re bloodied, battered, bruised and exhausted— but shit, at least you’re almost home— and River’s there waiting for you.

Tonight was supposed to be a respite from the chaos, a date night with River that you had been looking forward to for days. But as the hours stretched on and the assignments piled up, it seemed like time had betrayed you. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve taken a break.

Your eyes blur as you step into the elevator— your legs begin to wobble. Your head hurts— and you feel like you can barely fucking stand. Your eyes flutter shut as you step through the doors, immediately slouching against the wall to soothe your aching muscles before your eyes flutter shut.

Your condition was worsening.

Johnny's presence in your mind is no longer just an annoyance—it's agony. He's there, unable to do anything but watch himself wreak havoc upon your brain.

All you ever wanted was to make it big.

Friends you’d laughed and fought alongside with are now fucking gone, swallowed by the unforgiving streets of Night City. Your job as a mercenary isn’t much better- it ensures that danger’s your constant companion, a perilous dance where survival was the one and only goal at the end of the day. And now, you found yourself entangled in Arasaka's web, tethered to the engram of the long-gone Johnny Silverhand—a construct that was slowly eroding your very existence from within.

But amidst that darkness, there was River Ward.

River's presence at your side was the one solid, the one steady anchor amidst the turmoil of the world. His arrival in your life was a bittersweet revelation, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’d always be that little glimmer of light. He was a constant amidst the chaos, a steadfast presence that anchored you in a sea of uncertainty. His kindness, his unwavering support, had chipped away at the walls you've built around yourself.

With River, you had found something you couldn't, and wouldn't, let go of. But the weight of your own impending demise pressed heavily on your chest, a reminder that time was slipping through your fingers like sand. Everything you’d ever known was slipping away, slowly but surely.

Your thoughts are pushed aside as the metal elevator doors open with a ‘ding!’

“Time to snap out of it, sweetheart. Cop’s waiting for ya.”

You hadn’t even noticed Johnny until now. Your eyes flutter open— and for just a moment, you’re grateful for your digital companion’s presence. You step through the looming metal doors, your mind buzzing, your tired legs beginning to tremble as you attempt to navigate yourself to your apartment. You’re fucking determined to make it home to River, even as your muscles scream and ache in protest.

Finally, you reach your apartment. Your heart pounds in your chest as you unlock the pneumatic door with a shaky swipe of your thumb.

“V?”

Sheer relief floods over your senses at his voice alone. Before you know it, you’re met with the warmth of River's presence in front of you— worried gaze bearing into yours, before his eyes slide down to examine the rest of your bloody, weak body.

“Hey," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress that swept over your tired senses. The soft white glow of his mechanical gaze captured every nuance of your exhaustion. But beyond that, he saw the pain you carried, the knowledge of your own impending demise that weighed heavily on your shoulders.

A shaky smile forms on your lips. The sight of him, his unwavering presence, was a balm to your aching soul. Fuck, you were just glad to be able to come home to him. But then your weakened trembling legs finally gave way beneath you, the exhaustion hitting you like a tidal wave. As you began to sink, River's strong arms were there to catch you, his touch steady and reassuring.

“You know..” He holds you up with a tenderness that spoke volumes, his hands gentle as they brushed against your weary frame. His eyes met yours, concern and love intermingled in their depths. "..I would’ve picked you up, V.”

You let out a shaky breath, your facade cracking as the weight of the day and the pain you were in threatened to overwhelm you, tears burning at the corners of your tired eyes.

“You don’t have to deal with this all alone.”

That was the catalyst for you.

River wasn't the type of person you were used to. This time, you had found someone who really fucking cared. The love you felt for him was real—a force that pushed you forward even when everything else seemed to be falling apart and crumbling around you.

"I know," you admitted, your voice a soft admission of vulnerability. "But I just... I really wanted to see you."

His embrace tightened, and you felt as if he could shield you from the world with his arms alone. Tears finally spill from your burning eyes, falling down your bloody cheeks as you let out a choked sob. You didn’t want to have to lean on him. Didn’t want him to see you like this. All you wanted, all you’ve been looking forward to all week, was a night alone with River.

“Oh, V..” He sighs, reaching up to your face with his ganic’ hand to wipe away the tears that dampened your cheeks, metal hand holding your waist in place. His touch was so soothing and warm that chased away the pain, if only for a moment. “What am I gonna do with you?”

You took a shaky breath, emotions slowly ebbing as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know, River..”

Your voice was a whisper, fragile and raw, as you admitted what you needed most. What you craved. You wanted him— needed him.

“But I need you, I know that.”

As if sensing your need, River's huge arms envelop you, pulling you into a hug that's both comforting and electrifying. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm against your ear, and you cling to him as if he's your lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.

A little weakened whimper escapes your throat as he wraps his big arms around you again. “I just… I need you to love me.”

His response was immediate, his fingers intertwining with your hair as he held you close. "I do love you, V. More than you know. I don't need you to be perfect, V," he murmurs against your hair, his breath a warm whisper that ignites a fire within your bones. "I just need you."

Your lips press against his, and in his arms, you finally feel ready to let go, surrendering to the vulnerability you’ve avoided for so long. The weight of the world, of the engram's presence in her mind, of the looming threat of your very own mortality, becomes a burden you two share together. River's love is a lifeline, grounding you in the midst of your shitshow of an internal storm.

“Need you to show how much you love me,” you whisper.

In that moment, vulnerability meets strength, and River's eyes hold a depth of understanding that surpasses words. He smiles at you so sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead that makes your heart swell. “Course, V. That’s all you need to say..” He whispers.

“But first, we gotta clean you up.”

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

River’s attempting to help you undress in the most gentle way possible as to not disturb your scratches and bruises. His deft fingers work to shrug off your strapped jeans, and you’re able to shrug off your jacket and peel off your top with no problem. And for a second, he can’t help but to stare at you bloodied, broken skin, and his heart just fuckin’ breaks. Of course, it’s your job to do dangerous shit, you put your life on the line all the time, but it still fucked him up whenever you came home like this. It wouldn’t be the first time you have, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

He moves on to cleaning up your cuts as carefully as possible, doing his absolute best as to not cause additional discomfort.

The familiar burn of desire burned through you as his warm hands traced over your bare skin, taking great consideration in mending your wounds, even occasionally pressing his lips to your damp skin now and again. But you push it aside for now— you just want to enjoy his presence.

He helps your trembling body into the shower, and the warm water cascades over your bodies, soothing your sore muscles and washing away the remnants of the night's chaos. The soothing scent of lavender washes over you as his gentle hands cascade over your skin away from the wounds. Your cuts sting against the hot water, and your legs ache a little from having to stand, but you push the pain aside— you’re focused on River, and River only.

The quiet intimacy of the moment speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding that exists between you two a lifeline you never expected to find.

His big hands trace over your skin, and every little touch is gentle, reassuring as he washes away the blood and grime, calloused fingertips brushing against your lower stomach and setting your mind aflame with burning desire. His touch is soothing, tender— and it sends little shockwaves of heated desire through your core.

You lean into his chest, a little whimper escaping your lips as his metal fingertips trail down your sides finding comfort in his embrace despite the pain that courses through your body. It's the one fucking moment you’ve been waiting for all week—and you cherish it with your entire heart.

Both of River’s hands slide down to your waist. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before letting out a soft murmur against your wet skin.

“Still need me to show you how much I love you, or do you wanna settle down?”

You’ve wanted him, needed him, for so long now, you just can’t hold back any longer. You need him— and you need him now. “No,” you rasp. “Want you.”

His hands slide torturously slow up past your waist, torso, and up to your chest. With a little hum, his big hands move up to cup your breasts before sliding his rough fingers against your nipples before stopping abruptly. “Y’sure?”

You nod enthusiastically, a raspy and desperate “please” escaping from your tired lips.

“I’ll be gentle tonight. Promise,” River mumbles in your ear.

At this point, you need him. In River’s arms, the world seems to still— and you can only focus on him— the way he lets out soft groans whenever you accidentally grind against him from his consistent teasing, the way he towers over your much shorter frame, literally holding you up with his strong arms alone…

“Well shit, at least you can die happy now.”

You swear you need to get this motherfucker out of your head as soon as possible. You’re too tired to fight Johnny right now. You don’t even open your eyes at this point— River’s making you feel too good enough for you to care.

His hands move down your chest, tracing away every little cut and scrape as his hands glide against your lower body, carefully observing the way you whimper and shudder underneath his careful touch. Metal fingers dig into your ass as his other hand trails between your plush thighs, spreading them apart as his finger carefully slides between your soaked folds.

You don’t know why every single one of his touches send electric shocks to your core. A high-pitched whine escapes your lips, and you don’t even notice the way your legs shake violently underneath you— you just feel too good.

You do, however, notice when he pulls away— left arm wrapping around your waist to give your weak legs some rest as his other hand reaches over to shut the shower off. A little whimper escapes your tired lips, and his metal fingers tap against your cheek. “Let’s get you comfortable first, ‘kay? Don’t want you to fall.”

When you two step out of the shower, your body feels tired yet renewed, the pain momentarily eased by the care he's shown. River wraps your trembling body in a warm towel, his embrace a promise that transcends the challenges you two face together. You allow him to scoop you up into his big arms, and it’s almost laughable how vulnerable you really feel. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cherish it.

River's arms remained steadfast around you as he lifted you gently, cradling you like a fragile treasure. Your head rested against his chest, your body bone-weary and battered, but in his arms, you found a sanctuary. He carried you to the bed, each step a reassurance that he was here, that you weren't alone in this struggle.

Gently, he lowered you onto the bed, onto the soft pillows below, his touch tender as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The dim light cast soft shadows across the room, the neon glow from the city outside seeping through the windows. The world beyond may have been chaotic, but here, in this moment, it was just you and River. Not even Johnny dared to fuck with you right now.

A soft hum escapes his lips, leaning down to cup your cheeks with both of his hands. His steel fingertips dance across your cheek as your lips crash into his, before he pulls away from you. His hands trail down the sides of your body, carefully making sure to avoid any cuts or bruises, oh-so-gently.

He smiles when a shiver wrecks throughout your body, before he sinks down to your damp thighs, shut tightly as he looms over you.

“Open up for me?” He taps his mechanical hand against you, and with a shaky breath, you open your legs— exposing yourself to the cool night air.

“Pretty girl..” River whispers, spreading your soaked folds apart with a smug grin, before licking a firm stripe up to your clit. He presses his tongue up against it, and laughs when his lil merc gets flustered at the vulgar sight. He looks up at you again— the soft glow of his metal eye bearing into yours, and fuck, he’s so cute, smiling like a dumbass as he devours you whole.

His gaze leaves yours as his gaze trails over your tired body, admiring every little scar, every little bruise, and every little freckle. He can’t help it— he just fucking loves every little bit of you.

River loves the way you tremble underneath the soft touch of his cold metal hands— cherishes the way you look up at him with your cheeks flushed red.. hair messy and your makeup all smudged, hands fighting for purchase against the sheets as your chest heaves, and you let out tiny whimpers..

River loves how he’s the one you seek solace from— how you allow him to help you relax after a long, shitty day, allowing him to spread your pretty thighs for him.

Internally, River is so grateful for your presence— so fucking grateful that you’ve stayed by his side, aiding him and his family. But beyond that, he loves you for you. Loves you for that stupid goofy side of yours— he genuinely enjoys your presence.

River loves his lil’ mischievous, dangerous mercenary. He loves the person underneath that rough n’ tough exterior you hold yourself to.

He doesn’t even know where he’d fucking be without you. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he never met you. Never would’ve had a chance at saving his nephew— wouldn’t have a chance to experience those sweet summer nights laying in the back of his truck, miles away from the City just to admire the stars… never would’ve had the chance to spend countless nights just enjoying one another’s presence— and loving one another like it was your last fuckin’ day on earth.

Except the last part rings far too true.

You’re his person— how can he deny it?

He sees your strength, the physical and mental scars from long ago, the pain, and the fire that burns within you like akin to the likes of nobody else. It fucking hurts him, so desperately so, to see you struggle like this. Fucking hurts to see the cursed cards life has given you.

So tonight, he’s determined to show you just how much he loves you.

He’s brought back to reality by your cute sniffles as he continued to toy with your aching cunt.

“F—Fuck, River…” An errant moan escapes your lips, back arching as your hands scramble for purchase on his big shoulders as his tongue fucks you dumb.

He looked so proud, so smug as his eyes fluttered half-shut, a dumb grin plastered across his face. He uses his metal hand to pin your thigh further apart— your leg beginning to shake adorably as he continues to lap at your drenched cunt.

He doesn’t miss a single spot—kissing up and down your plush thighs, then back to your dripping folds. Each time you would whine, he’d just make out with your throbbing clit before it turns to unfair sucking and slurping.

His nose brushes against your folds and it makes sweet little whimpers and cries of his name fall from your pretty lips.

When his tongue and jaw begin to ache, he gazes up at you with the entire bottom half of his face completely soaked. He rests his chin on your thighs for just a moment— a smug little grin plastered across face before he presses a single thick digit between your folds, before he looks up at you again.

“You sure you can handle this tonight, V?”

You gush a little at his words, and you nod back, the burning desire in your chest ready to burst at any fucking second. “Don’t wanna stop,” you whine.

River smiles again, his large finger slipping into you again. The sight alone of his finger pumping against your tight walls, the sight of him flicking his tongue against your desperate aching clit, was far too much for you to handle at once. Soft little shivers escape your lips as your body trembles, this time not out of hurt, but out of the sheer overwhelming pleasure River provides you.

He insets a second finger, stretching out your tiny hole. He’s too much— and you love it. His tongue flicked against your throbbing clit before he closed his lips around the bud, all while his thick, long, rough fingers pump in and out of you.

The way your tight hole clenches around his thick fingers nearly sends him over the fucking edge. He’s painfully hard at this point, but by God, is he ever so determined to help his little merc cum after a hard day.

“Rivveeeeerrrr,” you hiccup, your hands coming down to attempt to grab and claw at his big wrists, but River just looks up with a smug grin on his face, his cock beginning to throb in his sweats again. “m’ close..” You whisper into the night air. But River just stares up at you to watch the way you unfold for him as your cunt trembles below his tongue.

“So soon, baby?”

You love it, but by fuck, it’s just too much for you. You’re literally ready to burst any-fucking second now. At this point, you’re so, so out of it. Purely just fucked dumb by River’s tongue and fingers alone— and you’d have it no other way. Your cunt’s starting to tremble and shake, and you can’t control the wetness dripping down your plush thighs. Your hips squirm and buck up against his face, desperately trying to ride out your high, and he only groans against your wetness in response. “L-Love youuuuuu….” You whine weakly. River responds back with a groan against you.

The burning knot inside of you finally unravels when he latches his lips onto your clit. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and the high-pitched whines and begs for more escaping your lips are damn-near unrecognizable. Your hands claw desperately at his big beefy shoulders, tears rolling down your flustered cheeks as you finally let go of your orgasm— and you gush into his mouth and soak the sheets below with cute whimpers and whines of “thank you’s” and “m’ sorry’s” as he spreads your shuddering legs further apart beneath you— still lapping at your soaked hole.

“Mmm… that’s my girl.”

His voice is raspy and low before you whine. River growls against you as you pant and shake beneath him as his tongue swipes against you to clean up your mess. You look down at yourself, at River— and fuck, you’re both soaked.

…And so are the sheets below.

You’re a shaking, whiny, wet mess when he pulls away, a string of your slick connecting to his lips as he places a sloppy kiss to your wet folds. Fuck. But you didn’t want him to stop. Sure, you’re sore as hell, but by God, you just wanted, you fucking needed more.

“Riveeerr…” you hiccup again.

His big hands drop your thighs onto the soft mattress below, and both of them come up to rest against your flushed cheeks, soft eyes bearing into yours, filled with a soft, genuine concern as you let out a desperate whimper.

“Need you to fuck me. Please.”

A little dumb smile forms on his face.

“I’ve gotcha.”

He positions himself between your soaked thighs, lining his fat tip against your puffy and swollen folds, metal hand sliding down to guide his throbbing cock into your tight soaked hole.

His cockhead nudges your clit accidentally, and you moan before staring deeply and intensely at each other for just a brief moment— eyes filled with nothing but pure adoration for one another.

River pushes the rest of himself inside, and he almost knocks the fucking wind out of you as your hole attempts to take the stretch. After nearly two weeks, you forgot how fucking big he was, and you can barely form a coherent thought as he drags his hips so deliciously against yours as he softly reassures you.

“Fuck, V— always takin me so well,” River sighed softly while balls deep inside, internally noting your heavy breathing and shaky legs as you struggled to take him. It’s been a little while.

A squeal falls from your parted lips as he splits you in two so softly, hands moving to wrap around your ankles as he slowly thrusts his hips into yours. His eyes are focused on the way your tight cunt takes him soo nicely. Your little whimpers and sobs for more cause him to bite into his lip— you’re so fucking cute like this, and he’s so fucking lucky to have you. He loves to fuck his little mercenay nice and thorough, just wanting to treat you good after a tough day at work.

He almost loses his composure when little begs of “harder, please!” escape your lips. Truthfully, he’d love nothing more than to pound you senseless into the mattress, but shit, he doesn’t wanna hurt you tonight. Your body was already sore enough. Even he knew that.

“Can’t, V. Don’t wanna hurt you,” River’s voice rasps against your ear in response to your begs.

A little disappointed whimper falls from your lips, and you wrap your weak arms around the back of his neck.

“I know, I know..” River bows forward, almost mounting you entirely, and this slight movement pushes his cock further in. You whine, wiggling your hips against his slow thrusts to chase the fleeting pleasure that stemmed from his movement. Internally, you’re so so grateful for him. He looks so fucking cute, you swear it— your heart flutters at the sight of him, attempting to move as gently as possible but absolutely struggling to do so, the occasional whimper escaping his lips.. fuck, it kills you.

You’re so fucking grateful for the way he makes you feel. The way he distracts you from your pain with soft licks and gentle thrusts is just entirely unmatched, and so is the way he loves you oh-so-gently. The sheer amount of pleasure he’s providing you with is insane, and your eyes can’t help but to flutter shut as shockwave of euphoria shoot through your entire body every time he slowly bottoms out within you. You love River Ward, and you couldn’t have it any other way.

River’s thrusts refuse to relent, even as your tight cunt squeezes around him. He huffs, feeling fully endeared. You look utterly fucked dumb— your hair’s all messy and splayed out on the pillows below you, your eyes are shut tight, nothing but little whimpers escaping your lips. River just wants to make sure you’re okay before he starts to move again.

“Hey,” he whispers down at you as he pats your cheek gently. “Anyone home, V?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, fucked-out eyes slowly zoning back in on your boyfriend.

River smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There's my girl.”

Then, he straightens back up again, his hands returning to their purchase on your ankles. You keen to the ceiling when he drags his cock out slowly, and you unconsciously squeeze your thighs around him before he gently separates your legs again.

River’s eyes are confused and glazed over as he pushes himself into you again. He allows you to latch onto him— he swears you’re so fucking cute when you whimper into his neck, sharp nails clawing at his back.. It’s just fucking addicting. He’s too focused on the way your cunt takes him in so well— your cries and tears of pure bliss causing him to bite his lip back in a groan.

River’s buried deep inside when you begin to clench around him, and he’s shoved deep inside of you when you feel your second orgasm approaching, and you let out little cries of “I’m’ close again!” and he’s staring down at you as your hips attempt to crash against his, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull— tears streaming down your cheeks. You could barely breathe. Your breaths are shaky and weak against the cool apartment air, and you’re just so so fucking needy— you can only focus on him.

You lean up as best as you can to hide your face in the crook of his neck and he lowky moans— his hands moving to guide your hips.

“C’mon, baby. Let it out for me.”

Your lips fall ajar at his command, feeling how his cock massaged your walls oh-so tenderly before your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you gushed again. You relish the whimper that escapes his lips as you cum again, but he refused torelent, the sound of your cunt squelching filling the room as he continues to fuck himself into you. The pressure inside of you finally snaps— and you let a loud high-pitched cry escape your lips as your back arches against the mattress. His rough hands move down to dig into waist before your little bucks begin to slow—gushing still all over him dumbly.

His thrusts finally begin to falter, his eyes fluttering, the soft mechanical one flickering a little bit as he bites into his bottom lip to keep himself from whimpering. Fuck, you’re just so good— he can’t help the needy noises that escape his throat. He swallows back a whimper— and a low “m’ gonna cum” falls from his lips.

“Please,” you whimper weakly against him— cunt clenching again as he continues to fuck you. “Need you, Riv…”

Your words were the catalyst for him. With one more harsh thrust, he pushes himself into you, allowing himself to deep inside. River’s large body trembles as he cums, euphoria washing over him as both eyes flicker shut. You’re both fucking exhausted, and you two stay still— chasing the remnants of your long awaited euphoria.

The world around you seems like it’s stilled— it’s been replaced by a sense of calm that settled over you like a soft embrace. River's steady breathing beside you was a soothing rhythm, a lullaby that lulled you into a peaceful state of mind.

“Thank you..” you weakly mumble as he pulls out, his seed spilling from your weak hole, slipping down your thighs.

He flops onto his side as you flop back against the pillows, pulling your trembling and sore into his big arms with ease as your eyes flutter shut and your chest heaves. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead— his hands reaching up to sweep your hair away from your dampened skin.

“Let yourself get some rest.." he whispered, his voice a calming melody that enveloped you. "You’re safe with me tonight.”

Fuck.

His words cause tears to burn at the corners of your eyes, a testament to the weight that you had been carrying. Your walls had crumbled, the armor you had worn for so long had fallen away, and in this vulnerability, you felt a strange mix of relief and fear. River had always been there, a constant amidst the chaos, and now, as he held you in his arms, you allowed yourself to lean on him.

“I love you, V,” His metal fingertips brush against your cheek, wiping away remnants of stray tears. “You don’t need to be afraid to lean on me sometimes.”

A tremor ran through your body, a mixture of exhaustion and the emotions that had been pent up for far too long. You turned into his touch, your head finding the crook of his neck as you nuzzled against him. His scent, a comforting blend of familiarity and safety, enveloped you, and you allowed yourself to fully let go. “I know.”

“I love you too, Riv.”

And as his arms held you close, you allowed yourself to embrace the solace he offered, to find comfort in his embrace, and to let go of the burdens that had held you captive for so long. You allow yourself to drift off to sleep, nested in his embrace, allowing the world to dissipate around you. In the silence of the room, the distant hum of the city's chaos seemed to fade away. It was just you and River, bound by something deeper than the turmoil that surrounded you.

#this fic is 100% purely self indulgent btw #river ward x reader #cyberpunk smut #river ward #cyberpunk 2077 fic #joce writes #river ward romance #v x river ward #river ward x v

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slowd1ving · 2 months

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Hello, I could request a Jaegyeon Na x Male!reader who is androgynous and brother of James lee please

NO STRINGS ATTACHED ・゜゜JAEGYEON NA

"I got so much to lose, so please don't ruin my mood." Unfortunately, taking your brother's motorcycle for a spin does mean you now have idiots and prospective debt collectors looking to make the man pay for whatever havoc he's wreaked, including pretty boy Jaegyeon Na, who perhaps is not the smartest when it comes to tailing someone. yo this is actually the first request I got on here so thanks nonnie :3 I hope whoever requested it actually likes this scenario (I only remember bits and pieces of the scenes he's in so it might be a bit OOC) also sorry anon if you wanted it in drabble/headcanon form honestly idk how I wrote it this quickly but same day delivery is crazy... it must've been the urge to wife this guy pairing: jaegyeon na x male reader warnings: some violence? male reader, lowkey crack since I can't take this man seriously, he's got a nice face though, do misunderstandings need a warning wc: 2.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

On all accounts, it should be a good day. Wind tousles your clothes as you speed the forgotten roads on your younger brother’s motorbike, while the sun’s never beat down brighter. To some, the arid weather cloys and sticks uncomfortably to their skin—but for you, this day is nothing more than bountiful beach weather. Even the last lollipop you stole from the stash in his kitchen seems more saccharine than usual; evidently, your mood isn’t the only thing that’s sweet on this wondrous day.

Or at least, it should be a good day—but it’s not, because some idiot’s been following you through Incheon in the ugliest car you’ve ever seen. It’s hideous: so much so that you’re troubled more by its primary-colour chromaticity than the fact that it’s been cruising past you as you wind your way through the quiet of Nambuk-dong. Seriously, which child lost their toy car because of this nitwit?

The cherry flavour grows distinctly more acerbic in your mouth as you make several turns experimentally—and yep, he’s still following you.

Question is, why?

Well, Jaegyeon Na’s seething behind the wheel as though the answer is horribly obvious. It’s only been a week since Mr. James Lee himself wrecked his new ride, a week since he was forced to take a taxi back to Incheon, and a week since he sobbed his pitiful heart out in his garage.

Mr. James Lee did not, in fact, pay for wrecking his car.

And Mr. James Lee probably never would, not unless the King of Incheon wanted to lose his hands to that monster. Perhaps his tongue, as well, for daring to ask for what he was owed in that freak’s presence.

No, he festers with barely-bridled fury. He’s not a wimp—which is precisely why he’s tailing after the sleek bike. It’s not often his informants actually have useful scraps to report to him. It’s also not often (read: never) that the freak’s licence plate is spotted in his home turf.

Naturally, Jaegyeon does the obvious: following the mysterious rider as he weaves through the streets like he actually knows this place. It strikes him as strange that James Lee knows where he’s going, but it seems the blond dye has seeped into his brain. Just a little, because common sense doesn’t seem so common for him anymore. For a moment, it seems like he’s making his way to the Incheon Airport, but then the route diverges onto the highway and he’s even more puzzled.

Where the hell is this bastard going?

What seems to be hours later (because he has been tailing you for about three hours) the motorcycle finally comes to a screeching halt.

Where?

At Wangsan Beach, because of course Mr. James fucking Lee came to sightsee after causing him immeasurable grief. In his own turf, too. He scrambles out of his car, fuming, as the man parks neatly on an isolated road just a minute or so away from the sand.

“You’re pretty angry for someone stalking me.” The voice resounding from the helmet sounds muffled and disembodied, which is perhaps why it doesn’t carry the same mocking cadence James Lee’s does. Or perhaps, it’s not James fucking Lee behind the helmet.

“Stalking you?” he sputters. His face is all twisted with rage, which is quite a shame since he’s so pretty. Like some foul-mouthed, wretched fairy, anyway. “You wrecked my car!”

“I did?” The confusion in the voice is so salient that Jaegyeon almost believes it. Almost, because everyone and anyone knows what a slippery, lying turd James Lee is.

“Yes, you fucking did,” he hisses. He nearly stamps his foot, but he settles for petulantly jabbing at your chest instead. Once more, there’s a slight discrepancy—this time in your build, for he could’ve sworn James Lee was the same height as him. But the helmet looks down upon him, and he’s blind with rage at how condescending James Lee is.

Maybe it’s your visor that’s clouding your own vision. You wipe the plastic with your sleeve obnoxiously—then peer at the car stalling only a couple of metres away. It looks… fine. Fine, if not egregiously, offensively repulsive.

“I would’ve remembered such an ugly fucking car if I’d wrecked it,” you grimace. I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole. “I think I would’ve been awarded a medal of honour for it too. Real brave to approach that.”

“You conniving, duplicitous bastard,” he grits his teeth, and he swears he can hear a molar crack in his pretty mouth. That’s it. “It wasn’t this car, but another one!”

And I didn’t touch it! But whoever did, did the world a service, you want to say—but the cretin looks catatonic with rage. Any further, and you think his poor face might spontaneously explode.

“You are a scammer,” you conclude, but perhaps that, too, was the wrong thing to say.

“How shameless can you get, you jackass?” he yells, practically trembling with his fury. Like those little blond dogs you see yapping, you fear he might lunge at you any minute now. “You know you trashed it! You laughed about it while you did so!"

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” you yell back.

“I’ll kill you today, James Lee.”

Woah—your eyes widen at both his words and how his body spins into motion. He’s fast; practically phasing out of sight like a spectre as his hands reach for the lapels of your leathers to grapple them. But unfortunately for him, he did announce his vengeance before he committed to the deed.

Thus, he, too, built his villainous end—cliché by cliché.

Well, it’s not really the end. That little warning gave you ample time to twist out of the way—using his momentum to spin his own body and pin him to the ground with freakish strength.

It also gave your eye ample time to twitch as the words hit home. Of course this was that snot-nosed brat’s fault—you almost felt bad for the blond beneath your heavy boot.

But then you look at the car again. It’s still hideous.

And just like that, you fully support that brat’s wrongs.

“Um.” With that, you step off his designer shirt, awkwardly brushing the footprint left behind. “I’m not James Lee.”

This exchange took such a short time—three seconds, in fact—that these words don’t register until the grappler has already locked himself around your legs and pushes you flat into the dusty street. Your helmet hits the asphalt with a sharp crack, and you wince as you almost bite your tongue instead of the lollipop stick. Actually, it was a wonder you hadn’t already bit your tongue.

But you digress.

This leaves you in a particularly awkward position. He’s wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, and as your words finally hit, he’s letting go in surprise—while you’re finally shucking off the helmet.

Sure, the candy in your mouth is the same, but he’s currently sitting between the legs of someone who decidedly is not James Lee.

“Who the fuck are you?” he blurts out, but his tongue feels especially dry as he stares up at your face.

“That’s what I’d like to ask of you,” you fume, and though your expression simmers red-hot with irritation, your tone is cold now that it’s not muffled by your helmet. He can feel his cheeks prickle under your glare. “Get off me, you dumbass.”

God, he’s never felt like such a fool—sheepishly, he scrambles off you, while you mutter something that sounds suspiciously like ‘look at this fucking idiot who doesn’t fucking check to see who the fuck he’s tailing this is how movie serial killers find their prey because fucking hell what a witless worm.’

“Uh,” he starts, and can’t bring himself to finish. He’s never felt so intimidated: practically cowering before you as you corner him against the wall you slammed him against earlier. Even with the syrupy scent of cherries from the candy in your mouth, there’s nothing about the man before him that’s friendly. Not even his pretty face—those eyes are only glaring daggers at him.

Of course, part of the intimidation is due to his anger dissipating instantly at his mistake. And the exhaustion of tailing the wrong person for upwards of three hours. And the embarrassment that, naturally, comes with tailing the wrong person in the first place.

“Do I look like someone who cleans up after whatever my younger brother gets himself into?” The question practically trembles with rage, punctuated by a harsh crack as you bite into the sweet. He knows better than to ask who the younger brother is; it’s not like his brain is that damaged from the bleach.

He swallows, then tentatively answers. “No?”

“That’s right,” you take a deep breath, as though you’re calming yourself back down—but he’s entranced by the way your hands massage your temples, soothing the tension headache he’s no doubt brought on. “That’s right.”

You don’t look like your younger brother, and he’s staring at the man in front of him, slightly enraptured.

“If my younger brother wrecked your ugly ass car, what does that have to do with me?” you seethe, and the illusion is shattered.

“It is not ugly,” he argues back for the first time, chasing after you as you dust your helmet off and head towards the beach. It’s why you came here in the first place—though, you groan mentally when you see that the sun’s about to dip cautiously past the horizon. Of course, the irritation couldn’t possibly be because of the idiot floundering after you.

“Don’t care what you think.” You bin the candy stick, much like you bin his opinion. “Your thoughts are rubbish.”

“Sorry, man—” and he’s still trailing you, just like some puppy now that all his bark’s gone. “—I really thought it was him.”

Irritably, you halt on the spot, and his nose collides right into your back. It’s almost comical how quickly you grab his stupid collar—how wide-eyed the arrogant blond gets, how flushed he becomes.

“I don’t care about your grudge with my brother.” You’re just about nose-to-nose with him, and his brain short-circuits. If it hasn’t already. God knows he doesn’t have the most brain power. “Quit following me, you moronic stalker.”

“Can’t I make it up to you?” he wheedles, trying to prolong your proximity for as long as possible.

“Yes,” you deadpan. “By learning from your mistakes and not stalking me.”

“Can I at least get your name?” he takes hold on the wrist currently wrangling him for dear life. “Since you’re so close and personal right now.”

“No,” you sneer, letting go in disgust. “Fucking pervert.”

This day was not a good day.

゜・

When you next see your brother, you hand his keys to him and vow to buy your own bike. James stares hard at you—the harrowed gaze you sport, the mild twitch in your eye, and finally, the noticeable dent in your helmet.

“What the fuck happened?” he utters finally, staving off any traces of laughter. Alas, judging by the look you shoot him, it seems he is not destined to be an actor.

Your jaw clenches.

“Fuck Incheon, man,” you mutter, dragging a scraped hand across your weary face. He does the maths. Incheon. Blond. Narcissistic king.

“James,” you intone. Seriously, this time, and all his predictions of what you’re about to say next shatter to dust. “Next time you see that stupid pretty-boy bastard, destroy whatever car he’s in.”

His brows raise, not just because he wants to grin, but also from a certain adjective nestled between the pejoratives.

“Stupid fucking prick with no brain, no shame and no future,” you seethe. Well, maybe he just imagined it, then.

゜・

Meanwhile, a certain blond leans against the hood of his car, absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the metal while he waits for his call to finally go through. True to his word, he did let you go—driving back morosely to his apartment while you continued down to the beach for the last shreds of the day.

But for some reason, his mind can’t let your face go. It’s out of irritation, he rationalises. That’s why he’s ringing Jichang Kwak for information, because Jaegyeon’s dubbed the King of Chungcheong the most intelligent (after himself, of course).

Is it because the man wears glasses?

Maybe.

Regardless of the status of Jichang’s intelligence, he knows his heart’s racing out of anger. His skin’s flushed due to rage. He’s twirling his hair because of the complex coils of revenge.

When he asks the king about James Lee’s brother, there’s a long-suffering silence on the other end of the line that makes him feel slightly foolish. Just very slightly.

“Do you have a fucking crush or a death wish?”

“Death wish?” he scoffs. “I could take him.”

It’s only then does he remember the former part of the question and his absence of a denial.

At the same time, Jichang processes the response given and keeps both his silence and his peace.

“And I don’t have a damn crush,” he adds, but it’s perhaps a heartbeat too late. For the King of Chungcheong, anyway—he doesn’t think the man’s noticed either his earlier double entendre, or how comedic he sounds.

“Uh-huh.” He’s a bit dumbfounded by this turn of events, hanging up almost reflexively. Indubitably, he might’ve replied monotonically, but there’s just something about being in proximity (even just audibly) to that cretin that has him losing his own brain cells.

For a few more moments, he stares contemplatively at his phone. Then, at last, he prays for the poor soul of James Lee’s brother—for there is something so deeply disturbing about being the recipient of that moron’s affections he can’t help but feel pity.

゜・

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twstbookclub · 8 months

Text

Unexpectedly Cute

Summary: You were grumbling about Grim and his absurd eating habits, when you found a small cactus in the courtyard. When you picked it up, you didn't think you'd see another side of Jack that day. He didn't expect to see another side of you, either. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romantic/Platonic, Tiny Cactus!!, Tsundere Jack Howl (that's putting it superficially), MC is a short and feisty firecracker in this Word Count: 1, 879 hi, i'm alive. i genuinely have a hard time writing jack, ngl. prompts for him were being switched around, and college is still kicking my ass. it's been months, really. although, i want to thank everyone who stuck around and waited for us to post fics again. i'm going to be busy again some time soon, but i hope i get to my drafts before i have to go back to the grind. again, thank you so much and i hope you enjoy reading 💕

Jack Howl has always been an enigma to you. He was an open book most of the time. His cheeks flushed whenever you pointed out his concern for others. His eyebrows pinched together every time you called him kind. He always averted his eyes and turned away from you whenever you smiled knowingly, as if you held his secrets in the palm of your hand.

Yet, he never talked much about himself. He always tagged along with your unusual, ragtag group of friends. Even if Ace and Deuce’s fights annoyed him sometimes, he still stayed. His ears twitched at every little noise. His tail wagged whenever he was happy, and it slowly swayed from side to side whenever he was content. You always noticed the little things about Jack, but he never breathed a word about his life outside of Night Raven College nor his personal preferences.

He was an open book, but the pages were inked with ciphers and riddles that hid all of his secrets.

“Why the hell…?” You trailed off with a raise of your brow. In your hands sat a small pot with a succulent in it. Its soil was a rich brown, surrounding a round and prickly cactus. Judging by the soil and the color of the cactus, it was well taken care of.

Your hand hovered over the thorns, but you pulled away with a shake of your head. As mesmerized as you were by the tiny and cute plant, you had your priorities.

For example, why the hell was a succulent—that was given this much love and care—lying on the courtyard?

You were on your way to Sam’s store for a quick restock of tuna cans for Grim (that tiny rascal got greedy and ate a month’s supply), when you found this little thing. It laid on its side on the grass near the stone pathway. The moment you held it in your hands, you couldn’t help but admire how adorable and pretty the cactus was.

“Now, what are you doing here?” You mumbled to yourself as you continued on your way to Sam’s store. “You look like you’ve been really loved by your owner, so how did you end up here?”

With how engrossed you were in admiring the little cactus, you failed to hear a choked noise and the abrupt halt of footsteps behind you. You continued to give the succulent all of your attention with gentle hands and more murmurs.

You were an enigma to Jack Howl. You rarely talked about yourself, yet you revealed so much of yourself. He remembered how a scowl always marred your face, specifically the times when someone annoyed you. He remembered the fire in your eyes when you gnashed your teeth at Leona’s insults. He remembered the curses that spilled from your lips, whether it was spite for the assholes in NRC or your everyday self-expression. There was never a day that you spoke without cursing like a sailor drunk on booze and the salty sea air.

Jack was reminded of a wildfire every time he saw you. You wreaked havoc everywhere you went. A single touch—maybe a glimpse—from you seared your presence into someone’s mind, like an ember swelling into an inferno among a sea of trees. Like a moth to a flame, he gravitated towards you despite that faint voice warning him in the back of his mind.

The Savanaclaw freshman watched you smile, a miniscule quirk of your lips. The hands that cradled his potted cactus were the same ones that punched a sophomore, who mocked you for your short height. The eyes that held so much contempt and rage were looking at that succulent with quiet admiration, as if you were looking at the stars rather than a single plant.

Just now, you reminded Jack of a pure, white dandelion whose seeds danced and twirled in the wind.

Before Jack realized it, he clapped a hand on your shoulder with a gruff, “Hey.”

You jumped, clutching the little cactus close to your chest with a loud, “Son of a b—Jack!” One of the wolf beastman’s ears twitched, catching a hint of relief and exasperation in your voice. His eyes never missed the way you pulled the plant close to you, as if it was a child that should be protected. The soft admiration in your gaze was replaced with harsh and guarded eyes, the usual. Jack noticed how much he paid attention to you, and he became a bit embarrassed at the thought.

“That’s, uh, mine,” he stammered. Your eyes were drawn to the light flush on his cheeks. His gaze averted to the side, and he raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. Subtly, you glanced at Jack’s tail.

It was wagging from side to side, for some reason.

Looking back at the taller beastman, you drawled, “I didn’t know you have a green thumb, Jack. Maybe I should ask you to help me with gathering ingredients for Professor Crewel next time.”

The embarrassed blush grew worse, darkening his cheeks. The sharp edges in his eyes returned with a glower. You couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face when you heard Jack growl.

“... Don’t push it, Prefect. It’s not like I’d help you out every time you call me.”

Yet, he always did.

You shrugged and laughed with a playful nudge to Jack’s side. Careful hands returned the succulent to him as you chirped, “You say that, but you always come running whenever I do. Just admit it, Jack.”

He shot you an unimpressed look, and you laughed as he took the tiny pot from you. Jack’s ears twitched again. His eyes drank in the way your smile lit your face; how your irises hid behind the chub of your cheeks. For someone who’d pounce at anyone with murderous intent in that petite body, he didn’t think he’d see you smile like that.

Jack’s tail wagged behind him, fast enough to fan cool air to anyone who stood behind him. You silently mused about how it could sweep the dirt off the ground if it wagged any faster.

“It’s not like you to lose something,” you pointed out with that grin still on your face.

Jack clutched the pot with a stutter and a furrow of his brows. You nearly laughed at his embarrassment, and you couldn’t help but muse to yourself.

Jack can actually be cute like this. He’s even being gentle with the pot. Cute.

“I-I was taking the cactus out for some sun,” Jack began with a frown as the blush was fading from his cheeks, “when Ruggie found me and told me that Leona needed me for something. The next thing I knew, it's in your hands.”

“The little guy took a tumble, then,” you concluded with a look at the cactus in Jack’s hands. “It was on the ground when I found it. Where did you leave it earlier?”

“On that bench.” Jack nudged his head towards one of the benches in the courtyard. A patch of sunlight shone over one of its edges, while the shadow of the tree stretched across the grass.

Jack watched you stare at the bench with a hum. With your attention occupied like this, he observed you without warranting unwanted embarrassment.

You bit your lip, pulling the bottom into your mouth. A million thoughts seemed to run through your mind behind that gaze of yours. A faint breeze rustled your hair and tickled your skin—and Jack couldn’t look away, for some reason.

Your eyes darted towards Jack, and he nearly flinched from getting caught staring at you. Although, you didn’t seem to think of it that way.

“I tried to scoop back some of the soil that fell out,” you told him with a lopsided smile. It looked awkward on you, as if you’re not used to smiling this much in a day.

“You’re lucky that the pot’s made of plastic. Maybe some jerk decided it was funny to ruin someone’s day like this.”

Jack continued to watch you mumble speculations under your breath. He didn’t realize it, but his hands gripped the pot and his tail wagged faster.

Who knew you could be this mellow? Your concern for his plant was kind of cute.

“Thanks,” Jack told you with a small smile, “for finding my cactus.”

You stopped mumbling, and you looked up at Jack again. You looked surprised at his gratitude, as if being thanked was rare for you. While Jack drank in the foreign expressions you made, a thought suddenly dawned on him.

“By the way, what are you doing out here?”

That seemed to snap you back to reality. The familiar frown returned, one that Jack vividly remembered from the little time he spent with you.

“Grim ate too much tuna,” you grumbled with an annoyed glare. It was as if you could see the monster-cat right in front of you.

“Now, I gotta buy more from Sam. That little bastard, I swear to the Seven—”

Jack noticed that you mentioned the Seven, rather than the usual God. You were getting comfortable with the lingo here. The corner of his lips twitched at that. Still, he made sure not to smile. If he did, you’d just tease him more, and this conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere.

“I’ll walk you there. It wouldn’t feel right if I left you after you helped me out.”

You paused at Jack’s words. A closed-lip smile lit your face, and the beastman couldn’t help but admire the sudden change in expression.

“Really?” You asked, and he caught the relief in your tone again. “Thanks. You sure you wouldn’t mind? I mean, you still have that little guy to take care of.”

You kept calling his tiny cactus a little guy. Cute. That was all Jack could think about. For someone who was callous and confrontational like you, you were being cute right now.

“I don’t mind. Besides,” Jack slightly raised the potted succulent to make his point, “think of it as returning the favor.”

You saw Jack’s tail wagging and his ears perking up. He probably didn’t notice, and you grinned at that.

“If you insist!” You chirped, before slipping an arm in his and leading him towards Sam’s store. He stumbled and stuttered again, before he exclaimed, “O-oi, hold on!”

“No can do.” Your grin grew wider, as you tugged the taller and larger freshman with you. Even if he was stronger and stockier than you, Jack let you drag him around.

“You put yourself in this situation, so I’ll make you carry the rest of the cans!”

Who knew he could seriously be this cute and earnest? For someone as intimidating and quiet as Jack, his reactions are earnestly cute.

You and Jack fell into another conversation—teasing him and earning an embarrassed blush—as you two walked to Sam’s store. The silence in the courtyard was disrupted with amused laughter and mortified grumbles.

As the afternoon sun showered the two in a golden glow, the cactus seemed to look more lively and vibrant in Jack’s hands now. It basked in the two’s company, as if it was the sunlight it needed all along.

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arabaka · 1 year

Text

ᰔ ̗̀➛ CHAPTER O1. INDULGENCE

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸

nsfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. dubcon (you 'n reigen drink beforehand). power dynamics (he's your boss). oral sex (both ways). 6k word count.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. author's note ⤸

excited to get into my first multi-chapter fic for my favorite of all time and i hope you all enjoy this as much as i had fun writing it. please be on the look out for further installments and i will be making a chapter index post once the second chapter one is out.

ᰔ ̗̀➛ MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

“I feel bad, making you work on your birthday.”

“You’re not making me.” You tease him with an eye roll. “You offered me the day off, remember? Buuuutttt I have nowhere else to be right now so might as well. My plans are in the evening anyways.”

Well you’ve certainly piqued his interest. “Oh? What are you going to do?”

“My friends want to take me out drinking. They do this thing where they order the same drink at every bar to rank them and there’s a bar they’ve been talking about for ages…”

“Is that something you want to do?” There he goes again, being thoughtful in a way that shouldn’t strike you like one of Cupid’s arrows to the heart but it does. It stings a little that way too, because you’ve been ruminating over feelings you have for your boss, feelings you shouldn’t have in the first place, for a while now and there’s no hope for that going anywhere. But you manage a convincing enough smile and a lighthearted laugh to throw him off your scent.

“Oh yeah, of course! It’s better I leave it in their hands anyways. I’m only good at organizing when I’m on the clock.” You give him a wink and when he laughs, you let your gaze linger on the man. You aren’t about to miss that smile on his face, the kind that travels north, giving him a delightful crinkle by the eyes as his whole face just lights up. And over something you said.

The moment passes but you keep thinking, even as you retreat to your work on the company laptop. It’s easy for your mind to wander as you sift through the drivel that is Reigen’s email. Sorting requests by type and urgency, the task’s drudgery can’t distract you like you want it to. So the gears keep turning, subjecting you to thoughts of him, him, him until–

“Would you want to come?”

The way Reigen whips his whole body around, face cast with a look of surprise with raised brows and his mouth slightly agape, makes you shrink in your seat. God, why did I ask? Of course he wouldn’t want to come, he hardly drinks as it is, he’s probably busy, he’s –

“Sure– I mean, yes!” His hands wave about, hoping to dispel any doubt in the air, “S-Sorry, I just– Didn’t expect you to ask.”

A weight’s been lifted off your chest, that much he can see by the way you unclench your jaw and smile at him. Your smile. Makes his heart pitter patter, rumbling awake feelings of his own he’s been trying so hard to deny. Professionalism first, he struggles to tell himself but the heart is a funny thing; it does what it wants and as of late, it’s been wreaking havoc every time you come into the office.

“Oh, good!” You cheer and the way you clap your hands together is more adorable than you realize. Hand clasped over his mouth, digits conveniently covering the dust of pink on his cheekbones, Reigen clears his throat. “Where’s it by?” He asks, hands now occupying themselves with the purportless shuffling of papers with his back turned to you– another means of hiding his blush from you.

Not that you even noticed in the first place. You’re much too busy trying to mask your own excitement. “Not from here, actually… But it is by my place.” Now you’re using the laptop as a crutch, gluing your eyes to the screen when you suggest, “If you want, we can go together… And then walk to the bar?” Your lips pressed into a tight, thin line, you still your breathing for Reigen’s reaction. You’ve never been alone with him after work, where are you getting this bravery from?! If you can barely survive asking him, how are you going to handle him stepping into your home? Your brain starts to unravel, questions of when the last time you cleaned and tidied your place swirling about and there are no good answers to bring you peace.

Spine jerking upright, Reigen stammers, “Y-Yeah, that works!” He nearly avoids cracking his voice, one surprise after the other doing damage to his psyche you’re not even aware of.

“Good– Great!” You, however, are not so lucky. Your pitch is obviously notes higher than the last time you spoke and god, do you wish you would stop embarrassing yourself. Now you’re welcoming the silence between the two, however awkward it may be, because it’s a reprieve from making a fool of yourself.

Okay, time to get back to those emails. You can do this.

✩ ̗̀➛ Spirit photo - Is it dangerous? ✩ ̗̀➛ The spirit of my ex-boyfriend keeps showing up! Help me! ✩ ̗̀➛ I’ll believe you’re real if you answer my 3 questions…

You can’t help but snort at that last one. Into the Obvious Troll folder it goes.

One page down. Just a few more to go.

The next array of requests loads, but you don’t get any farther than the first one.

✩ ̗̀➛ Perv Master - We got a fresh batch of pervy videos for you! Now you can be a perv master…

SNAP!

You slam the laptop shut, only now you wish you hadn’t because you’re met with an equally shocked look from Reigen, his attention squarely on you and your very loud reaction to what you just saw. “What happened?! Something wrong?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing!” It’s not very convincing, but it’ll do. “Just– Needed some updates is all. Figured I’d let it rest. Don’t want it overheating!” The laugh you muster is weak, barely leaves your lips with an exhale but it’s all you can give. “I need a smoke break.”

You leave before Reigen can even think of a reply.

Since when do you smoke?

You don’t. You just needed to get out of there and fast. What the hell was that? Maybe you were seeing things; you didn’t give yourself a chance to read it over but what else could it have been? You stumble back against the building’s hard surface, hand over your heart as if you couldn’t already feel it pulsate like mini earthquakes in your ears.

Does Reigen really go on sites like that? You didn’t pen him down as the type. You gulp but your throat aches, the prospect of Reigen’s lascivious activities a jagged lump you can’t seem to swallow. Not that there would be a problem, he’s free to do what he wants but… You’re contending with that wild imagination of yours and you’re picturing Reigen, late at night when no one’s around but his urges, the hand you’ve had on your shoulder many times before reaching into his draws to relieve himself and—

Your heart rate quickens and you feel dizzy.

But what if it was a spam email, and you’re out here frazzled for nothing? You have to laugh. You might just be making a mountain out of a molehill, jumping to conclusions… As you’re wont to do.

“Sorry about that.” You come back as abruptly as you left but Reigen can’t help but notice your sheepish expression, along with the faint sheen on sweat cast alongside your features.

And the fact that you don’t smell of smoke at all.

“You alright?” He asks from the end of the short corridor, gaze following you as you get yourself situated.

Fingers drumming along the laptop’s edge, you hesitate opening it up under Reigen’s watchful eyes. Surely he wouldn’t be able to read the text from where he’s standing but you’re paranoid now, already wanting a reprieve from this awkward moment. The last thing you need is diving head first into another one. “Yeah, totally.” You rub your lips together and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, mannerisms Reigen knows better than to dismiss.

You wear your heart on your sleeve, your anxiety even more so. Everyone has a tell and Reigen’s just so happened to memorize yours. But he won’t pry; if you want him to know, you’ll tell him. So he gives you your space, retreating to his own desk but not before offering up a warm smile– not knowing that right now, his charm could very well be the death of you.

Laptop open, the email stares back at you. No mistaking it, the correspondence is definitely from a porn site. But should you open it? It’s none of your business, none of Spirits and Such business but… Your pointer finger trembles crazily over the touchpad. Guilt welling in your very soul, contending with burgeoning curiosity, you hesitate.

And then you click.

It could be spam. Maybe someone signed up using Reigen’s email as revenge. These are all options swiveling in your mind before the email loads but when it does, there’s no mistaking it.

It’s 100% intentional.

Hello REIGEN ARATAKA,

There are new videos in some of your subscribed categories! Catch up on what you’ve been missing!

SUBSCRIBED CATEGORIES:

JOI STOCKINGS UPSKIRT FACESITTING PUBLIC

Oh, what were you thinking? Embarrassment flares over the apples of your cheeks, veins down the column of your neck flexing with tension as your eyes dawdle over the very, very explicit thumbnails accompanying each genre. You’re no prude but this… You’re viewing porn at work. And not just any porn– porn your boss, the man your heart and brain have been clouded with lately, is so interested in, he receives email updates.

You’re frozen to your seat, the only thing of yours capable of making any sort of movement being your eyes– you drink in the sight before you, the little voice in your head be damned. This is an insight into what Reigen is into and can you really deny the intrigue infiltrating your bloodstream? You’re only human, after all.

So you look, chest tightening and thighs rubbing with every image. Some of the stills are innocuous, for porn that is. Take for example the stockings category– most of the previews are focused on the legs, each thumbnail featuring a different pair. Some are lacy, featuring ornate designs while others are simply opaque, the allure being in the glimpse of garter straps just beneath the skirt’s hemline.

You gulp. Does he really like them that much? You can’t help but scour your closet in your mind’s eye– you must have a few pairs yourself, right? You swallow harder. What if you wore some to your party tonight?

Flustered but still inquisitive, your eyes flit through the other categories, taking in the sights and trying not to make a peep. You see it all: women with their hands on dildos of varying sizes, a worm’s eye view of a woman’s bottom, her skirt a mere curtain around her plump thighs, and a man’s face just before he’s to be obscured by the partner hovering above him.

The mouse jitters on the screen, mimicking your real life twitches, as you panic over what to do now. Do you mark it unread? Delete it? After concocting a scenario where Reigen looks at his inbox, sees the email, and then approaches you with an apology, you decide it’s better to trash it… And then empty the trash, digitally wiping your hands clean of the situation entirely.

If only you could purge your mind the same way… Although… Would you want to?

You can’t deny that it was jarring at first– getting an eyeful of exactly what your boss gets up to when no one else is around. But you have to admit, that when the initial panic washed away, what you were left with was…

Temptation.

Intrigue.

Arousal.

It’s dirty, feeling the way you do but god, there’s something so liberating about it. All this time, you hadn’t an inkling of what Reigen, the object of your affection, was into but now it’s like an open book, all about him, has plopped onto your lap. It’d be a shame to waste such an opportunity acting like you’re so innocent.

Because let’s face it, you liked it. Liked knowing what gets Reigen to fish his cock out in a hurry after a long day of work, loved imagining those overworked hands being put to good use. You thought you would spend the next few hours on the clock riddled with worry but oh, your brain was far too deep in the gutter to even consider that at this point.

Maybe this was just the push you needed because now that you’ve seen, now that you know what Reigen is into, you can no longer be satisfied with your boss-employee relationship. How can you? You know what makes him tick, maybe the only one that does and you want to keep it that way.

And when you flip the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, you know there’s no turning back.

You’re making a move on him. Tonight.

“... and to this day, she still brings it up! I was seven!”

“Didn’t know you had such sticky fingers– do I have to keep an eye on you? Been wondering about some missing pens…”

You giggle, fishing for your keys as the two of you near your apartment door. “I took it back to the store! I have a conscience, you know. Steal dagashi once and you’re a pariah for life.” You hear Reigen mumble something or another but you laugh all the same, shoving your key in the lock and letting yourself breathe in the normalcy of the moment surrounding you. It feels nice.

And your apartment is clean. Perfect.

“You have a …. Really nice place.” Reigen comments, hands humbly in his pockets as he realizes… He’s never really imagined what kind of house you would keep: whether you set out coasters and if they’re personalized, what you kept in your fridge, what you put on display, etc. But everything he is seeing– it’s so you and that makes Reigen smile.

“You think so?” You can’t deny the surge of pride that spreads like a blanket of warmth over the pitter patter of your head. “Thanks! I couldn’t wait to get my own place so I could spruce it up the way I like. Couldn’t really do that when I lived at home.”

“Strict parents?” Reigen broaches the topic with a little trepidation, though within his words there’s a subtext of compassion.

You don’t mind the gentle nudge in your personal life, reassuring he’s alright with a returned tone of care, “It’s more like… Realizing as an adult, it means you can do whatever the hell you want.” You smile tenderly at Reigen, “I should… I should get ready. I won’t take long. Remotes are over there, if you’re thirsty I have waters in the fridge. Make yourself at home, really.”

Reigen chuckles under his breath, waving you off, “Thanks but take your time.”

You skitter off to your room, a rush of excitement surging your system as you shut the door behind you. You don’t think you’ve ever moved faster to change, having already long pieced the perfect outfit in your head since your big resolution. You roll up your favorite pair of thigh highs over your plump thighs, smiling to yourself as you admire the way your own legs look covered by the sheer, black fabric. These are the winners, alright.

You stumble and shimmy into the rest of your ensemble, whole body jittering at every beat. Your stomach winds, butterflies struggling to flutter but you allow yourself a breath, really let the air fill and expand your lungs, before your hand is on the doorknob and the rest of you is on your way to the man you’re going to do your best to woo tonight.

And when you come out, there’s no mistaking it; he’s doing more than just the courtesy glance you do when a friend gussies up. He’s drinking in your appearance, trying to fight the obvious drift towards your legs, the absolute territory of your thighs showing just a peek under your skirt. He has to clear his throat, as though that in itself wasn’t a tell, before finally piping up, “You look good– great.” He corrects his wording, but it’s still not enough. But going beyond that…

That would be an issue, wouldn’t it?

He’s… He’s your boss. He’s here in your house, sitting like a friend, ready to go out with you like one but…

He’s certainly not looking at you like either one.

But that’s okay. That’s what you want. And soon he’ll know that too. Because tonight, you want to cross boundaries. You want to erase them altogether. You don’t want to think about the potential mess you’ll leave when the limits are blurred and streaked.

So you let him ogle, relish the way it feels to have his attention so obviously tuned into the erotic stretch of your socks, the fabric turned gossamer under the delicious expanse of your thighs. You can already see the effects of your outfit clear as day on Reigen’s face; he’s never been great at concealing his surprise, or in this case… His flustering.

A bead of sweat attempts a path down his temple but he swipes it away, framing it as fixing his hair but you see through him. Try as he might, those dark brown irises always find a way back to your absolute territory. Because after all, your stockings are stretched so thin, they’ll rip if you’re not careful.

Good thing tonight isn’t about being careful.

“Can I get you anything?”

Reigen shakes his head a little faster than normal, struggling to maintain eye contact. You think it’s cute. “Uh, actually,” He ends up croaking, resisting the twitch in his fingers to adjust his tie, “Just a glass of water. Thank you.”

The stark crack in his voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard, at least from him. The foray into the unknown is already beginning with a series of firsts, the next being a stir in your belly upon seeing your boss so on edge and all because of you. A power trip.

The confidence may have left him, but not you. Because when you turn to leave, the pleats of your skirt swaying and descending around you in a sinful halo, you can feel his eyes boring into you, Reigen falling headfirst into the brief moment of reprieve to quell his curiosity.

You could get used to this.

He, on the other hand, is spiraling. Sure, he’s stolen long looks at you when you’re greeting clients or working on the computer but all that was harmless. This? This is dangerous.

His composure coming undone and his head steaming like a pot with water boiling over, being left alone with his thoughts is a much worse decision than Reigen anticipated. He sits in the unbearable thick silence, back hunched over with his hands together and fingers splayed, unable and not wanting to erase that image of you in his mind.

He swears he’s not a bad guy. He liked you before this, he tells himself. It’s not out of left field for him to ogle you in your natural element. Absorb what he can. Besides, there’s more to you than just the sashay of your hips, the peek of supple flesh just underneath your chic skirt… But god if that isn’t the only thing clogging his thoughts.

A new batch of perspiration starting to build up in his pores, Reigen fights it with regular inhales-exhales, telling himself he’s fine and can manage. But even he knows that’s not the case.

You have to know– there’s just no mistaking the gloss of sweat that streaks down from both temples, even after he tries to get rid of the evidence with a tissue he’s nabbed from your coffee table. And there’s no cloaking the frazzled expression flush over his face, cheeks a subtle pink when you return, glass of water in hand.

You so badly want to ask if everything is okay, make him answer you with a warbled voice and put on a show like he does for clients that catch him off guard, but even you have a limit.

You sit next to him, leaving a cushion space between the two of you. Your smile is angelic, so much so that Reigen feels bad. He feels terrible because he wants to bring you down to his level, make you fall just like you did him.

Because there’s just no way you feel the same.

Your living room is humble but still bigger than his studio apartment; there’s pictures in varying frames and sizes aligned on your wall, featuring people he doesn’t know. Featuring a side of you he doesn’t know. A sick feeling in his gut sinks like an anchor, chains of jealousy falling in clumps all around him but then you look at him with your eyes absolutely sparkling with intrigued enthusiasm, and he feels the weight leave just as quick as it came.

You smile but really, you don’t know what to say now that your run of temptation has slowed down. Do you talk about work? Do you play 21 Questions? Do you talk about yourself?

Much to your relief, it’s Reigen that cuts through the silence after a much needed half-glass of water. “So, any of your friends,” An open palm gestures towards the wall of memories, “going to be there tonight?”

And surprisingly enough, it’s this simple question that gets the ball rolling because then it’s talking about some of the events portrayed in the pictures, sharing of stories, and most importantly, shared laughter.

You don’t know why - and neither does he - why it took you two so long to do something like this.

So much so, you’re a twinge disappointed when your phone rouses awake on the coffee table; it’s your friend.

“Oh, that’s them. Hold on.” You get back on your feet, ambling to your kitchenette and giving your friend the usual greeting before asking, “So where are you guys? Are you there yet?”

Reigen watches you walk away, surprisingly able to resist the urge to visually devour your legs once again because now he’s thinking about something else: that this is already inherently different from the many group outings the Spirits and Such family has had since you came on board, but not just because it’s you and him and you and him alone.

It’s because with just the two of you, the chemistry you have is undeniable. It’s not clouded by conversations from two or three different people. It’s not interrupted by bursts of laughter, of which either one of you is swept up by the buzzing fun. It’s real, it’s organic, and it’s… It’s going to be difficult to ignore moving forward.

Even more so now because when you return, with one of your hands idly playing with the bottom hem of your skirt, you give him a game-changing update.

“Soo, they all have food poisoning… Real glad I turned down their lunch invite.” You say, relief whistling from pursed lips with only a small shrug slumping your shoulders.

You don’t look… All that upset, Reigen notices. Shouldn’t you? It’s your birthday after all… “I’m sorry to hear that… We can still go, if you’d like?” It’s not a pity offer. It’s very real. He hopes you know that.

You do. But… “I have something a little different in mind… If you’re up for it.”

Because you’re not going to let anything hold you back– not friends, not food poisoning, not even an act of god. No, you’re going to make your own plans.

It is your birthday after all.

“... And you’re sure you want to spend it with your boss?” He asks you with a chuckle when the two of you raise the first glass of the night.

“No.” A clink and a giggle and you say the words that seal your fate for the night, “I want to spend it with you.”

Oh. Well, who is he to deny the birthday girl?

And that’s how one drink turns to two. Then three. Then… You’ve lost count.

But Reigen hasn’t. He’s only one drink in and that’s by choice; the lightweight is already slush with alcohol all the same.

Besides… He wants to remember you like this.

How you laugh a little louder, smile a little wider…

How you touch him… Touch him a lot more than you ever would sober.

Stripped of your inhibitions and loosely guarded, your hands travel where they want and he lets them. A pang of guilt rattles his ribcage because he should be stronger than this. But he tried, he promises– he’s a good guy, but even that thought is strained when you scoot so close you’re leg-to-leg with the man and you can only produce a look of disappointment when he tries to add in some distance.

Because… You feel the same. He sees it now, so clearly even through the blur of a lemon sour.

So this is… This is fine, right?

Letting your hand make a lazy clasp around his thigh. Letting your alcohol-spotted lips coo in drunk marvel at the defined muscle you’ve just squeezed. Letting your fingers walk up his suit until they’re hooked around his tie. Letting you help him out of his suit when you slur about him being overdressed.

All of that is fine, right?

So then it’s okay for him to do the same, for his much larger hands to mimic the actions of yours. For his fingers to play with the elastic band of your stockings, dipping underneath to feel for himself the supple flesh he’s been eyeing all night.

Reigen has to stifle a groan, harbor it in his throat, when you clench your sweet thighs together, smushing his hand into an open palm over your leg. The way you feel, how much of your softness comes to meet his touch is making the room feel so, so much smaller.

He doesn’t have to wonder if it’s you or the alcohol that’s making him so dizzy. He knows.

You watch as his fingers curl in, daring to give you a squeeze. The room is quiet. You swallow thickly. Head heavy with what feels like cotton balls, your eyes are slow to wander up Reigen’s body but when they finally get to his face, you find that his gaze had been waiting for you the entire time.

The next few seconds are a motion blur.

The urge to kiss him at its peak, you move in… And so does he. It’s a kiss that quickly comes to house a chorus of groans from the both of you, both your lips quickly wetting with spit and clumsily sealing the lewd tremors from your throats.

Noses brush together. Teeth clatter when they bump. But your veins crave more. Through the fog of the alcohol, you try to will your legs to move but for better or worse, your muscles seize up.

That’s okay. Reigen tells you, not with words but with hands on your waist that can’t help but dig in as he guides you on your back. Let me.

He huddles over you, breath dense with want. You watch his chest cave in and release, that’s how heavy he’s panting over you and all just before he dives in for another kiss that feels as important to him as breathing. The kiss is somewhat discoordinated again – your mouths nearly miss and there’s spin staining your cheeks – but who can blame either one of you?

After all, for how long has this been in the making?

How long has it been since you started daydreaming of this very moment? And how could it be so much better than your imagination already, spirits and all? Reigen kisses you at a feverish pace, knees closing in on your hips and his hands at either side of your face, holding firmly as though you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise.

He gives you a hungry groan to swallow and you return the noise in kind with a whine that rumbles all the way from your chest, your hips pushing up and out to try and grab some friction. Something. Anything.

You taste like candied alcohol; sickly sweet, Reigen thinks but pushes his tongue in your mouth anyways. The way you just give in his hold, the noises he manages to lick out of you, it’s making his slacks hurt fucking terribly.

You giggle loosely against the corner of his mouth, droopily kissing a path of kisses to his jawline. “You’re really enjoying this.” You observe cheekily, openly teasing your boss as though you aren’t just as culpable, just as dirty. As if your panties weren’t already giving way to your slick.

“I – I can stop.” Reigen mumbles, though he isn’t convincing anyone with the way he’s already leaning up against your lips, relenting in the way your mouth so greedily latches onto him. Your mouth… It just feels so good…

He’s said the last part out loud, he realizes it now from the way your lips purse and suck around his tender flesh. You’re going to leave him a mark. He should stop you.

But he doesn’t stop you, because he doesn’t want to.

His hips start their attempts to meet yours, Reigen humping into the air like an animal. He knows it’s pitiful, can feel the shame trickle down his temples in slithering beads of sweat, but he just can’t seem to get himself under control.

“Please,” He rasps, “Please tell me you want this.” He’ll allow your kisses, your hands to memorize his body if you just –

“Yes, Reigen.” You say so hushed, “Of course I do.” The words tumble together in a slur. But your intention is clear when you suddenly yank his hand and direct him to your dripping cunt from underneath your wrinkled skirt.

His breath rasps in his throat, his fingers curling into your seductive heat. He wasn’t expecting you to hold him there, jump right into goading his fingers to take a peek under the innocent hemline of your panties. Hell, he hasn’t even gotten to fondle your tits yet.

“You’re crazy.” Reigen is kissing to the side of your face, lips dragging as he shifts focus to getting his fingers under that pesky mesh band that rubs up against his fingertips from in between your legs. His cock throbs, aches from the unsatisfactory friction against his briefs.

You sweep your lower half up in a waving motion, loosely running your puffed clit along Reigen’s hand with a beautifully blissful sigh waiting for him at every peak. Eyelashes fluttering, your vision is a little blurry but you can just make out the staunch outline of his member straining through cotton fabric. Back lifting off the couch, you reach over and cup a squeeze, lips popping apart for a gasp as you get a taste of just how hard he is.

You grope and feel, pull and squeeze, all to satiate your perverted curiosity. Reigen’s cock… His shaft is slender but his girth is taut and as you run through his length, every time making him whimper and buck in your hand, you also discover just how much precum he’s already leaking out. “You feel so good,” Your voice is drawn out with a lewd whine, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Reigen groans, mostly in pleasure but partly because he can’t believe it. “Oh?” His mouth at your ear, he clamps down on the shell for a nibble. “That makes two of us then.” He pants with an open mouth when you start massaging his twitching erection, “G-God.” He pulls away to spoil himself with another look at your plump legs cuffed by the sheer socks. “How’d you know I love thigh highs?” He grunts, one hand sliding down your body.

At this, you laugh. It’s airy and it’s short but gives Reigen pause. He pulls away, though still lets you rub firm strokes down his dick with just your thumb. He looks confused and in the haze of your drunkenness, you realize that you just gave yourself up.

How– How do you explain that to him? You remember being so damn sure earlier, with your goal to finally start something with your boss taking root earlier that day, but that was when you thought you could keep your advantage under wraps! You hiccup, “U-Uh, well…”

He’s looking at you expectantly. What are you going to say?

“I saw your porn earlier.”

The truth. You decide to go with the truth.

“My what ?!”

You realize now how that sounds, so you scramble to explain, “E-Email! You got an email. I, um… I opened it.” Shame’s got a chokehold on you right now. “I-I’m sorry! I was just curious! I wanted to know what you liked so I could– so I could get your attention! I w-wanted… I wanted you to see me that way.”

You watch Reigen’s throat tense on a hard swallow. He’s thinking.

Well, you did already confess your feelings, feelings he returns and then some…

With a small tremble, Reigen lurches forward until his lips are at your ear. You can’t hear him take a breath but you can feel it: it’s hot and sharp on your skin, making your pores bead up with sweat. “D-Did you want to do… Anything that you saw?” His voice is husky and several shades desperate. Rubbing against you is his hard on, throbbing and unashamed. “I-I– I already saw– see you that way.” He says in a deeply strained croak after a hearty pause.

That’s what gets you where you are now, still on the couch with your knees wedged up to your ears and Reigen crouched face deep into your plump cunt. Hungry swipes of his tongue over your panty-clad folds send shivers up to your mind. You grit your teeth in pain and pleasure– it’s close but not enough…

Reigen seems to be enjoying himself though, tongue nice and flat dragging slobber up your nether lips, every exhale accompanied by a tempered groan over your pussy. “Tastes so good…” He whimpers and sniffs, sucking on your lips with juicy puckers through the fabric. You watch his beautiful brown eyes start to flutter back, watch just how much of a lush your boss is for your warm cunt.

Still in awe, Reigen just barely gets to prying your underwear from your sticky inner thighs with the hook of one finger. “Mmmm,” He’s humming into your bare skin now and it makes you raise your hips off the couch right into his mouth, “Such a sweet pussy…”

Your hand finds refuge in his hair, pushing his choppy fringe back and holding on, something Reigen seems to enjoy if the muffled sound of his moaning is any indication. His gaze flickers upwards, the man currently lolling his velvety warm muscle through your labia minora, ending every cycle with a flick to your swollen clit in a strike that has you seeing white. He gives nasty, wet and loud kisses to your bud, drawing your tender collection of nerves between his lips until your aroma is thick in his mouth.

“Could eat you out all day.” Reigen huffs, coming up for air and looking so disheveled, your pussy throbs. His hair is all out of sorts, sticking up where it shouldn’t with sweat. His chin is dripping with your fluids and his. He looks so fucking good.

Your foot wobbles as it winds up Reigen’s outer thigh and your voice is a wispy shadow of your usual volume but you still manage to tease, “Then why’d you stop?”

And with a sheepish chuckle and his cheekbones aglow, he admits, “I was… Really close to cumming.” You giggle but the way your tongue wipes over your bottom lip tells him you like that.

“You wanna ?” Syllables blurring together, you turn the tables as you rise to your knees, cushions dipping under the weight shift as you lean closer and closer until it’s Reigen’s back along your couch and you between his legs.

… He doesn’t last long. How could he?

Your mouth was pure heaven on his cock, sucking up the pre-cum that was still driveling down his pinkened shaft. You had just gotten to the base, mouth leaking with saliva when all of a sudden, his hands were on the back of your head and his hips were pathetically rocking spurts of hot cum down your throat.

“Shit– I’m sorry I didn’t–”

His cock springs out of your mouth (his decision), spouting spit and cum with it. His hands flit about in the air; he’s trying to come up with something, anything that could redeem him but then he sees you, finger running across your lips and scooping up every last dribble of his load for swallowing, and his blood runs south.

And all you have to say for yourself is: “Can you go again?”

#reigen #reigen arataka #reigen x you #reigen x reader #reigen x y/n #reigen arataka x reader #reigen arataka x y/n #reigen arataka x you #reigen smut #reigen arataka smut #mob psycho #mp100 #mp reigen #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho reigen #mp100 reigen #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 📝 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ marie writes! ꒱#.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for reigen. ꒱

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yanderecrazysie · 5 months

Note

Could you do yandere hantengu clones x reader? Thanks

Title: The Winner Takes It All

Pairings: Hantengu Clones (Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu, Urogi) x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, descriptions of death

Summary: Maybe you weren’t meant to be a demon slayer. Either way, you’ve bitten off way more than you can chew.

“The winner takes it all

The loser's standing small

Beside the victory

That's her destiny”

-From “The Winner Takes It All” by ABBA

The trees seem to press in on you, their tall branches arching over your head to cage you in. The darkness is all-consuming- inky blackness coats everything outside of the light of the village. The light is brighter than it should be, seeing as many of the buildings are ablaze, the fire casting flickering shadows across the dead grass.

The wood of the houses is dry from the lack of rain and catches fire like boxes of tinder. The inhabitants run screaming from the area, praying that they will reach the next village over and find refuge there. After all, their home is no longer safe.

The air is thick with the scent of demons.

You watch as your crow flies off, back to the safety of the demon slayer corp headquarters. Hopefully, it will return with a hashira, instead of more lower ranks like you and the only other two slayers that still stand.

There had been twenty-something of you to start.

Blood coats the ground in puddles and splatters. The bodies of demon slayers and villagers alike litter the streets and are picked apart by rats. Neither the innocent villagers nor the trained warriors were sufficiently prepared for this battle.

The two slayers that stand are both young men, a rank or two above you at most. You do not know them, but you beg the gods to keep them alive. It’s not for their sake, no, it’s a selfish wish.

You don’t want to be alone.

Chaos rages through the village from four completely different sources. The initial demon has disappeared, the false excitement of taking off his head long since faded. He was, no doubt, alive and hiding somewhere as the four new demons that had come from the beheading wreaked havoc on the burning village.

You want to go back to the headquarters, where it was safe, and find a job that didn’t involve actually fighting man-eating demons anymore. You had cut off the heads of 47 demons, but none of them had been a part of the 12 kizuki, much less an upper moon.

You had seen the “Upper Rank Four” kanji written on his wide red eyes as he begged and pleaded to keep his head. Such a pathetic demon didn’t seem to fit in the upper ranks, and it seemed like it would be a quick execution.

Now, you wish none of you had fallen for that trap. From his head grew another and another until four completely different, extremely powerful demons were wielding their destructive power on the helpless village.

“Hey!” a voice sounds above you, one filled with a boundless joy that does not belong here, “Isn’t that the girl Hantengu’s always watching?”

Slowly, you look up. You’re the only girl around, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re the topic on his tongue, but you wallow in denial. Hantengu? Isn’t that the name of the whiny demon we were sent to slay?

Above you, flapping his wings, is one of the four demons that now plague this village. His golden eyes stare playfully down at you, his mouth open in a smile so wide that you can see the word “joy” written in black on his tongue.

“I’m so excited! I’ve always wanted to meet you!” Suddenly, the half-bird man is folding his wings and diving straight down at you, cackling gleefully.

You swing your sword upwards desperately but he dodges the blow with ease, his hands- or, rather, his talons, grip your shoulders and rip you off the ground with a kick that sends dust flying and the pair of you into the air.

You have nothing to grab onto but your sword and it takes all you have to hold onto that when the shock of your feet leaving the ground hits you. His talons dig into your skin through your uniform, the nails thick and sharp. Unable to do much else, you let him do what he wants.

He flies to the tallest building’s roof and drops you a few feet above it. You land awkwardly and feel a pain shoot through your ankle as you struggle to find purchase on the slanted ground. Finally, you come to a stop near the edge, heart pounding as you take your sword in both hands and glare at the avian man soaring high above you in the night sky.

A clang startles you and you swing around to face yet another demon. This one has red eyes that glare daggers through your very soul, and his Khakkhara staff bangs ominously against the shingles of the flat roof he stands upon.

He looks much less friendly than the bird-man and suddenly you wish you were in the air again.

Even worse, the other two demons approach from your left and right respectively. The golden-eyed joyful bird-man lands behind you, so that you are completely surrounded by the demon clones.

“You have a good eye, Urogi,” the demon to your left speaks to the bird-like demon with a grin. He has emerald green eyes and carries an Uchiwa, which you recognize as the reason behind most of the destruction in the village houses. You remember him waving the innocent-looking leaf and wrecking a huge hole through several homes at once with just the air alone.

He catches your eye and sticks out his tongue playfully. You are able to easily read the word “pleasure” written on his tongue and cringe in disgust. He laughs, “Aww, she’s so cute! I just want to eat her up!”

The red-eyed demon with the deadly glare raises his Khakkhara and looks down on you with disdain, “I’ll finish her off quickly.”

You prepare for death, closing your eyes and forcing back tears. If only a hashira had come…

“But won’t Hantengu be sad?” a soft voice asks. You open your eyes and look over at the demon to your right. He has big, sorrowful eyes and he looks down, carefully avoiding your gaze.

The scary red-eyed demon holds his Khakkhara in the air, mercifully keeping it from touching the ground and releasing the electric bolts that had spelled the end for several other demon slayers. He lets out an angry huff and his glare turns even crueller, “Maybe he will be happy to see her in pieces.”

“No, he loves her!” the blue-eyed demon insists.

“What demon loves a human?” the red-eyed demon questions in disgust.

“The one we split off of apparently,” the green-eyed demon snickers, taking the information in stride, “‘means we can’t kill her, Sekido.”

“Fine, kill the remaining two scum,” the red-eyed demon, Sekido, commands.

Urogi spreads his wings and cackles, “Gladly!”

“With pleasure,” the green-eyed demon agrees.

The two of them leap off of the tall building, landing uninjured on the ground far below and charging the other two demon slayers. You watch in horror as Urogi opens his mouth, a yellow light glowing brightly in his mouth, paired with a feral screech from his throat before shooting out and hitting the two men square in the face. They fall back, paralyzed, completely helpless as the green-eyed demon descends upon them and…

You look away as the first blood splatter hits the ground. You can’t stand to watch them in their final moments, torn literally limb from limb. There is no hope for them. You know before the final scream that they are doomed to die.

Your trembling legs give way beneath you and you fall to your knees. You slide a little closer to the edge and you almost wish you would fall to your death. Surely that would be quicker than whatever these demons have planned for you.

The sounds of squishing flesh and splashing blood fills your ears. Tears drip down your cheeks and fall from your chin. You’re truly alone now. Or, rather, you’re the only human around.

“Hey, do you think Master Muzan will let us keep her?” an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you close. You look up tearfully and shudder when you see the pleasure demon looking down at you with excitement.

“How sad, maybe she would prefer death,” the sad demon says, “I fear that we may break her.”

The red-eyed demon walks up to you and grips your chin tightly, tilting it upwards so he can study you. He is quiet for a moment or two before he lets you go.

“I can’t deny she is quite attractive,” he admits, angry frown still not leaving his face.

“So we can keep her?” the green-eyed demon asks.

“Ahh, my heart is singing with joy!” Urogi crows, “She’ll be ours forever!”

“Until she dies, of course…” the blue-eyed demon moans sadly.

“Don’t be stupid,” the angry demon huffs, “Master Muzan will turn her into a demon.”

“What a sad fate…”

Urogi smiled widely, “Well, why not begin forever now?” He turned to you, smile morphing into a smirk, “Sorry red riding hood, the big, bad wolf is winning this time around.”

He opened his mouth and a yellow light began to glow inside it.

In a moment, you’d be unconscious and completely at his mercy.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere demon slayer #demon slayer

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crazyunsexycool · 11 months

Text

My Little Love

Chapter 27

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced!Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Fluff, angst, explosion, implied character deaths

A/N: So here we go!!!

Series Masterlist

With a deep breath and a small stretch you begin to wake up. You smile when you realize that Bucky is still laying next to you. It’s a small comfort knowing he’s getting his much deserved rest since he tends to be awake earlier than you. Turning your head you take in his muscular back. It’s riddled with scars, scars that you’ve kissed many times already and will again. You shift slowly so as to not wake him and drape your arm around his midsection. Many nights it was Bucky pulling you into his chest and making you feel safe, at this moment you get to do the same. It makes you smile and you can’t help but lean forward and kiss his left shoulder blade. One kiss turned into two and then three and so on. By now you knew Bucky was awake but he stayed still as he accepted your affection.

“Good morning, baby.” You whisper into his ear.

Bucky turns his head to look at you with a lazy smile and sleepy eyes. He was beautiful and all yours.

“It’s a great morning, Sugar.”

Bucky turns in bed and lays on his back. You take the opportunity to straddle him and lean down to give him a quick kiss.

“I have a date planned for us today.” Bucky says when you pull back.

“Really?”

“Yup. Just the two of us.”

“Have you informed our daughter? You know she’ll want to go with us.”

“I did talk to her about it. She did pout but she knows it’s a surprise so she’s ok.” Bucky chuckles as his hands slip under your sleep shirt.

“Let’s get up, old man, before those two can wreak havoc on the compound.”

“Give me five more minutes with you just like this.”

“Just five?”

“Fine,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ten.”

“Happily.”

****

“Uppies.” Lottie says with a yawn, it’s still early and you’re surprised to see her awake.

With her hair sticking up in all directions and her purple princess footed-pajamas still on Lottie clings to Bucky. Hiding away from the light by sticking her face into the space between his shoulder and neck she holds onto her pink teddy bear. You wave Bucky over to the couch since he won’t be able to do much now that Lottie has decided to fall back asleep. You smile as you watch Bucky smooth out her hair as he sits down and gets comfortable.

“Morning mama.” Henry walks into the kitchen. He’s still sleepy too but he smiles in your direction as he holds up a hair tie. “Can you help me?”

You grab it and pull his hair up into a manbun.

“Have you thought about getting a haircut?”

“No, I don’t want it short.” Henry covers his head with his arms.

“It was just a suggestion, sweet boy. I won’t make you do something you don’t want.” You kiss the top of his head. “You know your dad had long hair too and he looked very handsome with it.”

“Do I look handsome with it?”

“So handsome. Now why don’t you go cuddle up with dad and Lottie on the couch.”

“Ok.” Henry smiles and gives you a hug before he walks away while you work on breakfast.

“Hi Buce.”

“Hello Charlotte, how are you today?” Bruce asked as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Am good. Can habe uppies?”

Charlotte stopped right in front of Bruce, her hands busy with a paper plate while you trailed behind her. He picks her up and sets her down on one of the free spaces of his table.

“Habe pwesent Buce.”

“You do? Who’s it for?”

“Fo’ you.” She holds up the paper plate full of glued down dried macaroni pieces and painted cotton balls all laid down to look like him. You even helped her make the frame for his glasses out of construction paper.

“Is this me?”

“Yup.”

You chuckle as Bruce holds it up beside his face and asks if he and the macaroni art look alike. Charlotte giggles and nods happily.

“We’ve been playing around with different arts and crafts.”

“Habe this too.” Lottie holds up a bracelet made of green beads.

“Well this is so nice of you Charlotte. Thank you.”

“Now that we are done with the gift giving, here are my files that you needed.”

“Thanks. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can. I also have those reports on those people that received the same shot you did. If you can look at them and give me your opinion, that would be great.” You nod while he pulls out two lollipops from his lab coat pocket. Something you realize he started doing recently. “And this is for you and your brother, Charlotte.”

“Wook mama.” Lottie holds up both lollipops.

“I see that. It was very nice of uncle Bruce, can you say thank you?”

“Oh, Tank you Buce.”

“You are very welcome.”

“I’ll see you later Bruce.”

“Bye-bye Buce.”

“Bye, Charlotte.” Bruce says as he sets her back on the floor.

****

“Here are the reports you needed.” Bucky holds up a stack of files and places them on Steve’s desk.

“Thanks. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods but then sits down on one of the chairs across from Steve’s desk. Henry takes the other one but is distracted playing with Alpine. “I’m taking Y/N out on a date tonight.”

“Nice, want me to watch the kids?”

“Nat volunteered, said something about you hogging up their time.” Bucky shrugs. “But I’m kind of nervous.”

“Nervous about what?”

“Steve, it's the date.”

“Oh. Wow ok so it’s happening tonight. When you come back you’ll be an engaged man.” Steve says with a grin. “This is great.”

“You don’t know that. Y/N could say no.”

Henry scoffs. “Please, mama would never say no to you.”

“I second that. I know she won’t say no, she loves you way too much.”

“Mama talks about how much she loves you all the time.”

Bucky nods slowly and takes a deep breath. It’ll be easy. All he has to do is ask a simple question. Although the thought of being rejected is really making him have second thoughts. It’s not about the rejection but the person doing it. He really can’t see his life without you now and he wants to give you the perfect evening and end it with the perfect proposal. Something small and intimate, just the two of you.

You were standing in the living room waiting for Bucky and saying your goodnights to the kids. Charlotte was giggling as she clung to you like a koala.

“Are you going to be good for auntie Nat?” You ask while smoothing out her hair.

“Am good mama.”

“What about you mister?”

“Yup.” Henry said between taking sips of his juice box. “You look pretty in your dress mama.”

“Thank you sweet boy. I just had to wear the dress you got me.”

“Yeah, so pwetty mama. Wike a pwincess.”

“Do you think daddy will think I look pretty?”

“Stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, bewitching. Should I go on?” Bucky says from the door with a fond smile. He closes the distance and wraps his arms around you and Charlotte, who is now sandwiched between you.

She giggles as she looks up at both of you.

“Dada am here.”

“I didn’t see you there, doll.”

Charlotte giggles some more before Bucky scoops her up. He peppers her cheeks with kisses and sets her down on the couch next to Henry and then places a kiss on Henry’s head.

“We have to go or we’ll be late to our reservations.”

“Ok well, have fun kids.” You wave at them as Nat walks in. “Thanks for watching them.”

“You’re welcome. Now go and have your own fun.”

Bucky drove you into the heart of the city. He was nervous, you could tell but you didn’t know why. Still he’d look over at you every few minutes and flash you his most charming smile. It wasn’t until you got to your destination that you knew something was up. Getting reservations at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the most exclusive hotel in New York City was no easy feat.

Bucky parks at the entrance and jumps out of the car to open your door. You admired how handsome he looked in his all black suit and t-shirt combo. He holds his hand out to help you up and out of the car and then offers you his arm.

“How did you manage reservations here?”

“Had a little help.” He winks as you walk toward the elevator to the top floor.

****

The view of the city was spectacular from the top floor where the restaurant was. The hostess led you from the entrance off to the left and onto a private balcony. There was only one table at the center and a bar at the end. Bucky pulls a chair out for you and a server is there in an instant to take your drink order.

“This is beautiful.” You murmur as you look out over the city.

“You’re beautiful.”

Bucky takes one of your hands over the table. His cheeks are tinted pink as he looks at you. You squeeze his hand to reassure him everything was ok even though you were trying to figure out why he was acting the way he was.

“Y/N, I-“ Bucky’s cut off by the ringing of both of your phones.

“Maybe it’s the kids.” You say as you fish yours out of your purse.

Bucky mutters a curse in Russian and grabs his phone. He stands and walks away to a corner so you won’t hear his conversation.

“Hey Nat, is everything ok?” You answer your phone.

“So sorry to ruin the date but we need you both back here immediately.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s a mission, can’t say more.”

“Fine, we'll be there as soon as possible.” You look up at Bucky just as he turns to look at you. He frowns and hangs up the call.

“Sorry Sugar, guess we’ll have to reschedule the date.”

“It’s ok.” You say as you take his hand and start walking back toward the elevator. You wrap your arms around Bucky’s midsection and rest your head against his chest. “Don’t be upset.”

“I just wanted tonight to be special. I even had a room reserved for us.”

You pull back to look at him.

“Oh really?” You give him a mischievous smirk.

“Mmhmm. I wanted you all to myself tonight.”

“We will definitely reschedule then.”

Bucky smiles and kisses you. He feels like the ring is burning a hole in his pocket. Maybe he should have asked you right before leaving the restaurant anyway.

Everyone was already in the conference room when you walked in. Lottie and Henry were in a corner with noise canceling headphones and tablets unaware of what was going on.

“Sorry for ruining your date guys.” Steve gives you an apologetic smile. “But trust me you’ll want to be here for this.”

“What’s going on?”

“As you know since the moment we found Charlotte and then Henry, Hydra has been trying to get them back. That included the trap they set up for Y/N, Sam, Clint and Nat and the one they set up for me and Steve.” Tony says as he pulls up some images on the large screen at the front of the room. “These people were responsible for developing the future winter soldier program. While most of them have died or retired, the program is still going strong. Right now their focus is getting the kids back.”

“They’ve mostly stayed underground.” Steve adds. “It’s been hard to track them but finally after all these months we have intel that they will be meeting tomorrow so we have to leave tonight if we want to get all of them.”

“If we do that, that means it’s over?”

“No one will be after the kids anymore?” You ask hopefully as you reach for Bucky’s hand.

“Exactly, we can get rid of this part of hydra for good.”

“I’ll call my dad and we can go.”

“I’m sorry but you won’t be able to go with us, Y/N.” Steve says.

“Why not?”

“Because Hydra has a hit out on you.” Tony presses a button on the remote in his hand and up pops up multiple communications from hydra officials wanting you to be dealt with. “Since you were the one to carry the kids out and the one to kill one of the highest ranking members in hydra you’ve painted a big old bullseye on your back. If you went with us well…”

You sit back and nod as you realize that they’re right. If you go on this mission it will just make it easier for hydra to try and kill you.

“Ok. I’ll stay.”

“Everyone suit up. The faster we get there the faster we can end this.”

****

“Good wuck.” Charlotte tells everyone on the team as they walk into the jet. Henry stands beside her and offers everyone high fives.

You stood not too far away from the kids and watched as everyone got on. Steve walked up and stopped next to you.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, don’t worry.” Steve places a hand on your shoulder.

“I know you will, just don’t get too reckless because I’m not there to keep my eye on you.”

Steve chuckles before giving you a quick hug and walking over to the kids. Bucky’s hands wrap around your waist as he pulls you into his chest. He presses a kiss to your shoulder as you both watch Steve hugging Lottie and Henry.

“Once this is over we can actually do things with them outside of the compound.” Bucky says.

“I’ll be making a list. They’ll be so excited when we take them out.”

“Not too excited when they start school though.”

You turn in his arms and perch your hands on his shoulders. Bucky rests his forehead against yours.

“It’s almost over.”

“Be careful out there.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You tell him before giving him a kiss.

Henry and Charlotte run towards you and Bucky. He pulls away from you and grabs Henry before the latter can run into him. There are hugs and kisses for both kids before Bucky finally and reluctantly pulls away from you. With one final wave goodbye Bucky gets on the jet and you watch as it takes off.

“Alright kiddos, let's go inside.”

“Mama can habe mobie night?” Lottie asks as she takes your hand.

“That sounds like a fun idea, sweet angel. We can get in our pajamas and get our favorite snacks and watch as many movies as we can. We can even make a pillow fort in the living room. What do you say Henry?”

Henry nods. “ Can we watch Cars?”

“Of course we can.”

“Tonight is going to be awesome.”

“Yeah it is.”

After an almost 10 hour flight the team had finally made it to the facility where hydra was meeting. Bucky was anxious to get this over with and go home. Home to his family to finally start a new chapter in his life. One that would begin when you said yes to his question. He couldn’t wait for that moment.

“Gear up team, it’s time. Don’t forget the plan.” Steve says.

Everyone double checks their gear before finally starting the mission. Tony, Sam and Vision head out first as they do a fly over and lay down cover fire. The rest of the team drops down soon after while Bruce stays on the jet as back up. A small group of hydra agents fight to protect the building but it’s no use and it doesn’t take too long for the team to regroup in front of the main doors.

“Does anyone else think that was too easy?” Nat speaks up as she looks around the area.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they have all of the other agents protecting these sick sons of bitches.”

“Just be prepared and stay focused, there’s no turning back if we lose these people now we might never find them again.” Steve says. He takes his shield and hits the lock on the door handle to break it open. As soon as it’s open everyone runs in to complete their objective.

****

Every level of the building is checked and nothing. The building is practically empty with the exception of a few agents that were taken care of easily.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam says as he and Bucky walk into the control room to meet up with everyone else.

All of the monitors in the room lit up at the same time. A video of you and the kids walking through the compound halls starts playing.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Bucky asks as he looks around.

Tony and Nat begin to type furiously on some of the computers as they try to figure it out.

“Has anyone heard from command central? I’m getting radio silence.”

“It’s not radio silence.” Steve answers Nat as he realizes what’s going on. “It’s a trap, like your first mission after we found Charlotte.”

“Soldat.”

“What the fuck?”

“You should have given our assets back when you had the chance.” The voice said. “I hope you had fun playing house.”

There are several pictures of the kids playing outside from days and months prior. Bucky pulls out his phone to try and call you but there’s no connection.

“Tony please tell me you got something.”

Steve and Sam head for the doors but when they try to open them they can’t.

“We’re locked in.”

“Tony!”

“I’m trying here.” He shouts back.

“Say goodbye to your family, Soldat.” The voice says.

A missile hits the living quarters. It’s as if the air had been sucked out of the room as the team watches the compound get hit.

“No, no, no, no,no. Please tell me this isn’t real.” Bucky cries out. “It can’t be real. They’re in there.”

“We’ll figure it out, Buck, but right now we have to get out of here.”

“What if they’re gone?” Bucky watches as the footage of the explosion replays over and over again.

“Bruce, we need your help getting out of here.”

A few minutes later the building is practically destroyed as the Hulk smashes his way through. Everyone rushes to the jet. The whole flight Bucky can’t stop pacing. Steve and Sam try to calm him down but nothing works. He’s a mess and rightfully so. It takes halfway through the flight for them to finally have some type of connection to the outside world again. Bucky immediately starts to call your phone but it goes to voicemail.

By the time they finally get to the compound Bucky’s worst fears are realized when the jet lands and he sees that the compound is completely destroyed. Bucky felt his chest seize as he took in the damage. Any hope he had that you and the kids were ok is gone.

Ch. 28

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nerdybluephoenix · 11 months

Note

Aliens meet a cat. Cat does not like them at all

I'm gonna answer this prompt with my usual ocs, because it gives me an excuse to redraw some old artwork I made in 2020

New version:

I might finish this drawing another time. Old artwork at the bottom of the post.

///

Captain Evek stepped into the room. Inside, two of her crew members were hunched around an open cage. The human, Constance, was cooing at whatever was inside. Evek could hear a horrible hissing noise inside followed by a low growl.

“I’m sorry - this is the animal you’ve been comparing me to?” Tix, the other crew member, did not look pleased. “It looks nothing like me.”

“What did you drag on my ship this time?” Both crew members looked up at the captain.

“Evek!” Constance happily waved her over. “Look what I found! It’s a cat!” Evek stayed rooted where she stood. She wasn’t going to step closer to some creature making clear warning noises like that.

“...remind me what a cat is?” Evek said. She thought over Tix’s words and her face scrunched up in amusement. “Oh, is it the Earth creature you say looks like Tix?”

“It does not look like-”

“It looks exactly like you!”

Now Evek was curious enough to step closer. If at least cautiously. She got down on her knees to get a better angle at whatever was inside. It was hard to make out with the poor lighting, but it seemed to be a ball of fluff.

“I can’t see it very well,” Evek admitted. “Why is this thing on my ship?”

“I found her. On the ship,” Constance said. “I think she snuck on after our last stop. I can’t believe humans are losing their pets in space already.”

“Are cats dangerous?” Evek said. On the firm “no” from Constance, Evek made up her mind to step over and gently tilt the cage so the cat slid out.

“Wait! You really shouldn’t do that!” Constance said.

It was too late. Upon being slid out of the cage, the animal popped to life like a firecracker. It flailed about the room, bounced off on walls, and knocked several items over. Tix fled underneath a table and let out a low growl that was much like the cat’s warning sounds. This only spurred the small thing more and it continued to wreak havoc until it finally clamored up a wall and onto a bookshelf. Constance cursed.

“Sorry, I just wanted a better look,” Evek said. She stood to look around the torn apart room then up at the creature on the shelf. From Evek’s height, the cat sat perfectly eye level. She stepped closer. It hissed. “Tix, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Constance is right. It looks a lot like you.”

“It does not,” Tix said from under the table.

“How do we get in back in the cage?” Evek said.

“Carrier,” Constance corrected. “And I have no idea.” She picked up the carrier and brought it closer to the shelf. The cat slunk away until she sat herself between a corner.

“She’s trapped now. Why don’t I just…?” Evek stepped forward and snatched the cat up in two hands. Much like before, the cat burst into panic. Captain Evek held the animal out as it bit and clawed at any skin it could reach. Okay, ow! “I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous?”

“As in, won’t kill you,” Constance said. “You should put her down.” She tried, but trying to place the cat back onto the shelf ended with more flailing and biting. Evek was stuck in an awkward position where if she wasn’t careful, she could drop the cat.

Maybe from exhaustion, the cat suddenly froze in Evek’s hands. It seemed to be glaring at Evek. Judgment practically seeped out of it. She could feel it’s little heartbeat running rapidly in its chest.

“Aww!” Constance cooed. She brought he carrier over and quickly scooped up the animal and closed the door. “She likes you!”

“That doesn’t even begin to be true,” Evek said. She rubbed at her hands, now covered in bite marks and scratches. “I’d like to get that animal dropped off at our next stop. Maybe we’ll find a human who wants it.”

“N’aww, but I kinda want her,” Constance said. She placed the carrier on the table. The cat was curled up in the back again.

“You already have Tix,” Evek said.

Tix came out from under the table to jump on top of it instead. His ears were back and his tail flicked in clear annoyance.

“I am not a cat!”

/// Old Art Under the Cut ///

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jeonqkooks · 2 years

Text

our beloved summer | jjk (03)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, obs3 is kinda oc centric 🤔, a mention of death but like a hypothetical death??, mentions of being *emotionally* haunted, taehyung almost dies 😭, someone so hot and cocky and petty that you might die, oh and tswift references because obviously

rating: PG-13

word count: 7.8k

note: asdfghjkl it’s been a hot minute guys. this was supposed to be longer but i decided last minute that some bits would probably work better in obs4, so no jimin and hobi today 🤥

vote for the revenge 🍆 😈 here before obs4!

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young

Cardigan - Taylor Swift

Sometimes, you cry in your sleep.

When you were a kid, aged four or five, you often had nightmares about going to kindergarten. It was all very dramatic. You would wake up with tears and snot running down your face, wailing like someone was taking your candy, calling for your mother until you made sure that you were in fact at home, instead of locked away in the absolute hell that was preschool.

As you got older, you started having nightmares about a wider variety of things, but it was usually about someone passing away – your mother, to be specific – and your body would always shake itself awake as the imaginary devastation wreaked its havoc, taunted you, toying with the idea of losing a person you loved. You used to think your brain was a special kind of fucked up.

Regardless, you noticed a pattern in how your subconscious worked. Instead of monsters and demons and every horrifying urban legend mentioned on Creepypasta, it would plague you with your greatest fears and your own worst memories. You tend to burst at the seams just like that, tortured by your own damn mind.

When you opened your eyes this morning, a tear immediately rolled down your cheek onto the pillow, and a hollow, stricken feeling greeted you good morning as it settled in your ribcage, making a home next to your heart. You felt it seep into every vein and every pore before you were even fully awake.

Though this time, it wasn’t a dream about someone dying. Quite the opposite, actually. In fact, it was a nice moment that your brain chose to replay in your head as you slept, though the memory seems to have slipped your mind now that you’re trying to escape the sudden anguish in your chest.

You can’t recall what it was, but you remember the feeling. You remember that it was nice. A nice and happy memory, with Jungkook.

You don’t know why your subconscious has to agonize you like this. Every time it forces you to remember Jungkook and who he was, it adds another invisible scar that only you can see. Fantasy keeps making you relive him, and reality keeps ripping him away from you.

You aren’t an emotional person, or you didn’t use to be anyway. You think – no, scratch that, you know – that it must be the result of your mother’s emotional unavailability throughout your whole childhood. Whenever you tripped and fell, or accidentally burned your tongue on a hot drink, or got teased by the neighbor kids, your first resort is to cry because that’s what children do. They get hurt, and they cry. But then your crying would cease after a few minutes, because your mother would scold you into stopping. She conditioned vulnerability out of you since you were a kid.

Even as you’ve grown up and learned to distance yourself from her, to separate her wants from yours, to be your own person instead of someone that your mother was trying to revive her long lost dreams through, you still hear her words sometimes. You can’t be anyone if you’re weak.

You can’t say that it’s entirely her fault. That’s the generational difference between the two of you, and the hypocritical standards to which the world operated in her time are really to blame. In a way, she was just a victim, a byproduct of that hypocrisy. But she tried to pass that onto you, and for some reason, you can’t let go of the fact that she did manage to instill in you some of her aversion for vulnerability.

By the time that you met Jungkook, you had already been away from your mother for a while. You weren’t estranged, but you weren’t on the best terms that a mother and her daughter should be on. You started to be independent from her halfway through high school and gradually, because she stopped being the person who gave you the clothes off your back and put food on your table, you took away the right she thought she had to rule over every aspect of your life.

And despite that disdain for vulnerability that you at a young age had no choice but to internalize, you became the one to decide what to feel, and how to feel it. You decided that maybe being emotional wasn’t the worst thing after all. It’s normal to cry when you’re sad, or in pain, or when you’re neither but you just simply need to let out a good cry.

You reckon that’s where it came from – your need to be in charge, to be in control of everything. If you’re the one in the driver’s seat, then other people have less power to hurt you.

But not Jungkook. Never Jungkook.

It applies to everyone else, but you don’t suppose Jungkook has ever played by your rules.

Being with him was easy. You were surprised how little effort it took to let him in because you were once convinced that there was no chance you would ever be able to stand him. Loving him made breathing seem hard.

In your relationship with Jungkook, there was nothing to decide. You didn’t have to choose to be happy; he just made you happy. As long as you were with him, every house was a home. Until he pulled the rug and you reverted to being that little kid again, on the ground with bloodied knees. He was the calm, and he was the storm.

You had no say in him leaving you, and you had no say in how his swift exit from your life would affect you. For the longest time, there was just a lot of heartache that demanded to be felt.

In the first few months after it happened, you were practically debilitated by the sadness. Taehyung still remembers it all too well. You spent your weekend evenings drowning your sorrows by knocking back drink after drink until you couldn’t remember who you were trying to forget. You could barely even function, and it was fucking pathetic. It was the most helpless you had ever felt.

It wasn’t until Taehyung and Jimin took away your most effective distraction that you started choosing again. If your mother made you choose to feel, then Jungkook made you do the opposite. He taught you that maybe your mother wasn’t so wrong after all. Maybe she’d been hurt before. Maybe she was only keeping you from having to experience it. Maybe this was how she loved you.

You took it one day at a time. Baby steps. Because the only way to condition your heart to not love Jungkook, was to convince yourself that you hated him. You forced yourself to internalize it until you believed it.

You hated him.

And it worked, because he wasn’t there to tell your heart otherwise. Choosing not to love Jungkook is choosing to love yourself.

But in your dreams, in your sleep, however, it’s another story. The difference between feeling when you’re awake, sober, and feeling when you’re asleep, is the control. When your lines of defense are down, all hell breaks loose.

Your subconscious is a strange place. If the hurt was a house, then you’d be its most treasured occupant. But this house is haunted. You walk through the halls every day, and down the stairs, and into rooms that are filled with memories of you and him. The walls echo I love you, the curtains rustle with whispers of I miss you, but every night, when you settle into a bed that is only warm on one side, you feel the distinct absence of an I’m sorry.

Jungkook didn’t even say sorry to you, not when it mattered the most.

Funny enough, right across the street is the healing, but you’ve never really been able to get close to it. With every step you take, the distance seems to stretch longer and longer, until you’re just running in place trying to get to the other side. Eventually, you get tired of trying, and even though the hurt is a hellscape purely designed to make you suffer, you think you would rather go back to that house than be stuck in the hollow limbo in the middle of nowhere, looking at a better future just within reach but never really getting there. It’s cold in the void, and it’s warmer in the hurt because there, at least it’s familiar.

Sometimes, you’d stand in the bedroom, wrapped in a blanket of your own insecurities and regrets, and look out the window. The floorboards beneath your unsteady feet creak with the voices of everybody who has left you, everybody who was taken from you, everybody who deemed you unworthy of their love and time.

You’d stand there and see a glimpse of yourself in a better world, where you’re a little less lonely, a little less hollow, a little less of a shadow of your former self. You could see yourself be happy, even.

You know that it’s there. It’s all about making the active decision to move forward. But the brighter future that awaits you just ahead is one without Jungkook, and… you’ve never been sure if you really want that.

It takes some more effort than usual to breathe, and to sit up, and to get out of bed, and to start your day like everything is fine and like you aren’t knee deep in one of your unwanted sad girl hours. It’s unwanted because you didn’t choose this. You’ve been actively choosing to not be sad about Jungkook for so long that you almost forgot there was a time where you had no choice but to be sad about him.

He only came back into your life recently, and he hasn’t done anything – not really – and yet, he’s already threatening to undo what you’ve taught yourself and all the progress you’ve made.

You don’t know if he kept his promise of leaving first thing in the morning since you aren’t exactly an early riser, but he did leave before you woke up. And when you paddle out into the kitchen, for some reason you feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

You’re surprised to see Taehyung there, looking at you awkwardly and holding a bag of pastries in his hands. On the kitchen counter next to him is a plate of toasts and scrambled eggs with a side of kimchi. An odd combo but it’s your odd combo. There’s some steam that’s still rising from the food.

Taehyung nods toward the counter and sets his croissants on the dining table. He addresses an elephant in the room but not the elephant in the room.

“I got your favorites, but it looks like you already have your breakfast.”

“Oh, uh…” You purse your lips and swallow, recognizing that Taehyung didn’t buy food to bring over and then made you some more food. You’re hungry, but you don’t feel like you can stomach anything right now. “You can have that… I’ll take what you got me.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything else. He maneuvers around the familiar space of your kitchen to get some orange juice from the fridge. Taehyung offers to make you a cup of tea even though it’s your apartment, but you decline and choose to munch on the croissants dryly.

The atmosphere is off at your dining table.

Yours and Taehyung’s love language is food. It’s sad how you can’t even share this nice thing with him today.

Taehyung takes a hesitant bite of the eggs, as if he’s scared that you’ll jump over the table to take back your plate. It’s just breakfast.

Neither of you says anything about who spent the night on your couch just out in the living room, nor about who made the food that Taehyung is eating.

To anyone else, there probably isn’t even something to talk about. You provided someone shelter and they made you some food as a gesture of appreciation. And maybe that really is the case with this. You gave Jungkook a place to stay so he wouldn’t risk his life in the heavy rain and in return, he scrambled some eggs and toasted some bread for you.

You’re overthinking it. There’s no deeper layer of meaning here.

You’re half present and half somewhere far away. Words slip from your mouth as you converse with Taehyung but you don’t know what the conversation is even about. One of those times where you’re talking but not really saying anything.

“So…” Taehyung trails off unsuredly. You chuckle, knowing what he’s trying to do. It’s warmer in your chest, where your heart soars with affection for Kim Taehyung. You love him so much, you love him wholeheartedly. You cannot even begin to fathom what life would be like without him.

You’re grateful that your friend doesn’t press for information; he must sense from the way you’re idly picking at the flakes of your croissant that you would talk about it in your own time. You take the reins that he’s handing you, letting you steer the conversation in whichever way you want to.

“You went off about private jets last night. What was that all about?”

“Celebrities these days, man,” he grumbles, sounding exaggeratingly aggravated. “Did you know that Kylie Jenner takes flights on her jet for less than 20 minutes? Twenty whole minutes? I mean, what the fuck is up with that? Complete disregard for the environment.”

With a scoff, you pretend to be annoyed. “I knew you weren’t listening to me. I told you about her 3-minute flight last month, you ass.”

He leans back, still chewing, and thinks, though after approximately fifteen seconds, he announces with no remorse, “Yeah, I don’t really listen when you tell me celebrity gossip.”

You gasp and chuck a croissant flake in his direction. It doesn’t make it very far, and lands on the eggs instead.

“Then why are you suddenly so invested? How do you even know who Kylie Jenner is now, and how she uses her jets?”

“Hey! I know who Kylie Jenner is!” He seems offended, but then adds in a smaller voice, “Sort of.” Classic Taehyung, always living under a rock. “The point is, my sister kept sending me articles about it and I thought, “Huh. Private jets. The environment. Billionaires. Celebrities.” We– well, you, aren’t that far removed from that. You’re working with one of them right now.”

You give him a look.

“What?” Taehyung shrugs. “Jin must have his own jet too, right?”

You don’t know. It isn’t a topic that would casually come up in conversation, nor does he go around bragging about it. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he does own a jet, though. The amount of zeroes decorating his very Googleable net worth makes you woozy if you think about it too much.

You shrug. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I bet he does,” Taehyung says, leaning forward on his elbows as if he’s got some insider scoop you aren’t privy to. “And I bet you won’t remember this conversation when Jin offers to fly you to award shows on his jet.”

Maybe there’s some truth about speaking things into existence and the universe conspiring to make it happen. Manifesting and all that. The law of attraction and whatnot. Speak positive things into existence and you shall receive positive outcomes. Think negative thoughts and you will attract the shittiest things the cosmos has ever birthed.

You aren’t really a believer in this, but you’d rather not take your chances. Not if everyone and their mother are screaming about the universe and its infinite possibilities all the time.

You suppose that’s why you haven’t really talked to Taehyung lately when it comes to your Jungkook predicament, not since he reentered your life oh so gracefully. Talking about it makes it seem like a bigger deal than you want it to be. Talking about your feelings makes it harder to ignore that they’re there.

Jungkook certainly isn’t making things easier for you. You thought that he was getting too buddy-buddy before, but if last Saturday proved anything, he definitely has room to crank it up a few notches. It’s fair, because he did spend the night, and if this was a romcom, the two of you would have successfully sailed past the ice breaking point. This would be the part of the movie where the characters grow closer, and where the romance blooms.

But this is not a movie and Jungkook doesn’t seem to fucking remember that he’s the person that broke your heart.

Not once has he addressed the elephant in the room, which you suppose isn’t something you can complain about. You don’t want him to bring it up either, the fact that you once knew him better than anyone in the world, and he knew you. You all know how that story ended.

Actually, you don’t. You just know that it ended.

“Good morning,” a voice greets from beside you. You register who it is even before you turn around, and you register that as of right now, you’re the only ones standing here, waiting for the elevator.

“Morning,” you say, though your voice is considerably less enthusiastic. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though. He smiles, and the curl of his lips looks almost as inviting as the coffee you’re holding in your hand. The beverage is full and warm against your fingers. You’ve yet to take a sip, and you tell yourself that the weariness fogging up your brain is the reason why you think his expression is just a little bit endearing, and why your heart rate picks up just a couple beats because of it.

The elevator dings. When Jungkook steps in, you hesitate.

“You coming?” he asks, slightly confused.

You wait for a beat, your grip tightening on the paper cup, like you’d be able to summon someone else to waltz in there right this second just so you wouldn’t be alone with him. On a Monday morning at that. Life is truly testing you.

And because life is testing you, no one shows up to rescue you. If you concentrate hard enough, maybe Taehyung will magically materialize out of thin air…

You suck it up and step in though, because you don’t want to look like a weirdo in front of your ex, and whoever might be watching the security cameras.

The doors close, trapping you in this metal death box and its commercial background jingle.

“How was the rest of your weekend?” Jungkook asks. Small talk – it’s one of the things you dislike the most. And coming from him of all people?

“It was fine,” you say curtly, but you know he’ll keep prodding.

And he does. “What did you do on Sunday?”

“Y’know, just catching up on sleep, catching up on some TV shows…”

Jungkook frowns, and he’s glad that you aren’t looking at him to see it. That night, you were kind to him. You managed to have a good conversation or two. You made him dinner and you let him sleep over. Granted, you might have only done it out of politeness and not genuine hospitality. You could’ve let him go when he was packing up to leave, but you didn’t. You were kinder to him than he ever expected you to be when this project forced you two together again, and he knows that he’s in no position to hope for anything else.

But here he is anyway, asking for more.

In the time that he takes to think of what else to say to you, to goad you into actually speaking to him, the elevator has already reached your floor. You step out without a word, and Jungkook sinks just a little bit.

But he carries on. He follows you to where the studio is, though he deliberately keeps himself a few paces behind you to not crowd the space you’re silently asking from him. It’s barely 9:30 in the morning; he can see that you’re tired, and you haven’t had your coffee, and the last thing you need is probably Jungkook trying to push it when he has the option not to.

He watches you open the door and promptly stop. Seokjin and Namjoon are already there, animatedly conversing with someone whose back faces you. Seokjin’s manager and an unfamiliar older woman stand in the back of the room, engaged in their own chat, though theirs seems much calmer and formal than the three men in the center.

Jungkook watches your brows slightly furrow in confusion. The gears in your head turn until everything clicks. Your eyes light up immediately.

“Oh my God…” You almost drop the latte in your hand once you realize who it is, and why Namjoon is fawning over him like a teenager. The mysterious man is the second most famous person in the room just after Seokjin. You rush forward, your entire body buzzing with so much excitement that it makes all traces of fatigue evaporate. “Yoongi!”

Everybody in the room turns to the sound of your shrill voice as you squeal loudly, grinning from ear to ear to see your friend again after so long. It’s been, what, almost half a year now?

“Hey, kiddo,” Yoongi greets you, his voice even and cool though he’s sporting the same bright smile as you are. His hair is longer than the last time you saw him. He looks even more handsome than you remember. “Long time no see. How’s my favorite poet doing?”

Jungkook quietly makes his way past the two of you to drop his stuff on the table in the back before he shuffles to the circle of conversation, opting to stand next to Yoongi. He gives Seokjin and Namjoon a small smile and a nod in greeting, and watches on as the scene before them unfolds. You seemed too tired to even give him two sentences in the elevator, but you definitely don’t look anything like it now.

“When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me?” You punch Yoongi playfully in the arm, and he pretends to clutch the point of contact as if he’s been severely wounded, just like how you used to joke around together in the studio. You roll your eyes, and he shoots you a wink in return.

“Relax, I just got back a few days ago. I wanted it to be a surprise for you. You should’ve seen the look on your face. It was so worth it,” Yoongi admits, still smiling. He takes the coffee cup from your hand and unceremoniously knocks it against the chest of the person on his left – Jungkook. A firm Hold this, like he was merely passing it to a personal assistant. “Are you at least gonna give me a hug, little one?”

Yoongi opens his arms, awaiting your embrace which you give him after half a minute of pretending to consider it. Your arms go around his middle while his own wrap around your shoulders. He’s warm, and his scent is comforting. You’ve missed your connection with Yoongi, and the friendship he’s given you. You’ve missed him.

The thing that makes your relationship with Yoongi different from your relationship with Taehyung, or Jimin, or anyone else, is the context through which your friendship bloomed.

You met him when you were starting to come into your own as a writer, when you were developing your voice and style. Working with him gave you your big break, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t play an important role in helping you find your identity in this sphere of life. Yoongi understands you in ways that Taehyung and Jimin never could because they don’t know what it’s like to do what you do, no more than you could understand what it’s like to be a museum curator or a dancer. And Yoongi understands you in ways that Jungkook would have if he had been there.

When you pull away from the hug, Jungkook is quick to thrust the coffee back into your hand. You mutter a small Thanks without even meeting his eyes. Yoongi ruffles your hair affectionately, and it makes you shuffle away in faux annoyance, even though you’re laughing.

“Before you so rudely interrupted us, I was introducing myself,” Yoongi chides, shaking his head in your direction like a disappointed teacher. He turns to his left then, a smug grin on his face as he looks Jungkook over. “If he’s Namjoon, then you must be the famous Jungkook? What a pleasure to finally put a face to the name.”

The confusion flashing in Jungkook’s eyes has you stiffening slightly as you watch their interaction. You were so delighted by Yoongi’s surprise appearance that you forgot he’s one of the three people in the room who knows about your history with Jungkook.

The younger man straightens his posture and extends a hand in Yoongi’s direction, his expression blank and his voice flat as he says, “Yeah, that’s me. I’m very much looking forward to working with you, Yoongi.”

“Oh please,” the rapper laughs, taking the offered hand and shaking it vigorously. It’s too much, almost comical. He knows exactly what he’s doing and you want to dig a hole to crawl into because this is not what you expected at all. “Call me Mr. Min.”

Seokjin and Namjoon break into chuckles alongside Yoongi, but you only purse your lips. Jungkook doesn’t seem to find anything humorous either, because his hand stops as he stares at Yoongi, and you don’t have to stand between them to feel trapped in the middle.

“Oh come on, it’s a joke. Lighten up, buddy,” Yoongi finally says. That grin is still on his face, and his tone is almost patronizing. “Jeez, this guy must be fun at parties.”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker to you for a second, his tongue poking into his cheek. You can tell that he’s annoyed. You’re not sure if Seokjin and Namjoon notice it, but even if they do, you doubt that they would think much of it.

Someone that you recognize as Yoongi’s manager says to Jungkook in a calm voice, “You’ll have to excuse him. Yoongi takes some getting used to.”

In the end, Jungkook forces out a laugh to ease the tension, so you all can move on.

Before you can slither away to your own corner of the room to put down your bag and coffee, Yoongi pulls you back to his side with an arm resting comfortably around your shoulders. You give him a warning glare that you know he understands, but he just shrugs against your body. Underneath that smug and phlegmatic exterior, Yoongi seems almost protective, and it’s almost unsettling.

“So fellas,” he says confidently to the room, “what’s the first order of business?”

“What business?” You frown. “You have one feature, and we’re not finished writing yet.”

Seokjin steps in to address whatever it is that’s making Yoongi look like he could be the king of the world. “Actually,” he starts, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about today.”

The second surprise of the day is Min Yoongi calling himself the Jack Antonoff to Kim Seokjin’s Taylor Swift. The second surprise is Agust D being a much more prominent part of the album than just a simple feature. The second surprise is Yoongi practically begging Seokjin for a job much below his pay grade just because he heard your name and Jungkook’s in the same sentence. The man actually dove right into this after his tour ended, without even a moment to catch his breath, just because he’s petty. And it’s weird because your situation doesn’t even concern him.

That’s another thing that you and Yoongi have in common: You’re both petty.

When Seokjin first announced the news, you were practically vibrating. Yoongi as a producer? Get the fuck out. The other artistic pea in your creative pod? You were already overjoyed when you thought you would only be getting him for a feature, but for him to actually hop on board as producer and you get the chance to make another album with him? You’re elated, because the man is brilliant.

But then the excitement died down when the realization set in…

“Yoongi.”

“Y/N.”

“Yoongi!”

“Y/N!”

You huff out a breath and groan internally. He has never been shy to show that he enjoys teasing you. Every time he gets a reaction out of you, he would coo like you were a baby and call you adorable.

Yoongi leans back as he watches you pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. The two of you are sitting in the booth that he always requests, in the back of his favorite restaurant. You managed to pry him away from the studio earlier, telling the guys that you’d love to grab lunch with him to catch up.

It wasn’t a lie; you do want to sit down with your friend and listen to everything that has transpired in his life since the last time you saw each other. But he’s been here for a few hours and he has already made your job so much more difficult by being a passive aggressive dickhead to Jungkook. You can’t focus on making a good album for Seokjin if you have to run interference on Yoongi and Jungkook all day.

“What was that this morning?” You cross your arms as you stare at him.

“What was what?” Yoongi tilts his head innocently.

“You know what, Min. All the nicknames, the cocky attitude. Treating Jungkook like he’s your secretary. You made him get coffee for you!”

He scoffs and reaches forward for his glass of water. “Come on, that was funny. I thought you’d enjoy that.”

“Well, I didn’t. It’s exhausting enough to be around him all the time. I don’t want to have to babysit you too.”

You see where he’s coming from, you really do. If your friend had an ex who flipped their entire world upside down, you certainly wouldn’t be the friendliest gal toward that person either. You appreciate Yoongi looking out for you, but he has to understand that this is your place of work, and while you and him are friends, you still live in different worlds. You aren’t a world-renowned, jetsetting heartthrob like him and Seokjin; you can’t afford to screw up opportunities because you know they don’t grow on trees.

Yoongi softens when he sees the look on your face, but he stands by his actions. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he murmurs across the table, “but can’t Jungkook handle a few jabs here and there? The guy deserves it. If you could listen to yourself when you told me everything that went down between the two of you–”

“I was drunk,” you interject, as if that counterpoint would ever hold up. Drunk words are sober thoughts, or whatever it is that people say.

“Being drunk was the only reason why you were honest with me,” Yoongi says with a low chuckle.

“It’s…” you sigh, “it’s not even about whether he deserves it or not. I just don’t want everyone at work to know my business.”

A waitress comes over to your table with your orders then. Your eyes follow her movements as she sets the plates down, while Yoongi’s eyes follow you. When she’s finished, you thank her with a smile, and Yoongi compromises.

He rubs his palms and clasps them together. “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll put him through the wringer, but I’ll keep your name out of it. No one will know about your history. Let Jungkook think I’m just an asshole, I don’t care.”

It’s not ideal, because you would rather have Yoongi act like he doesn’t know anything at all. Like he’s just as clueless as Seokjin and Namjoon and like to him, you and Jungkook have never been more than a pair of coworkers. But this is the most that Yoongi would settle for because he’s annoying like that sometimes.

“Fine,” you agree with great reluctance. You pick up a fork and point it in his direction. “Since you’re an asshole, you’re paying for lunch.”

He swats your fork away, laughing. “It’s cute that you thought I wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard you and Jungkook went to college together, right? Were you close?”

Were you close?

This is a normal thing to ask. Anyone would ask this if they knew two people who had a prior history with each other. When you found out that Yoongi ran in the same circles as Seokjin, you asked him if they were close too.

But when the question came from Seokjin much later that afternoon, while the four of you were just sitting around, enjoying a much needed break after three nonstop hours of testing Seokjin’s acoustics and an instrumental demo that Jungkook worked on last week.

You don’t even know how Seokjin got to that question from you mindlessly recalling the strenuous process of learning music theory in college, but nevertheless, here you are, put on the spot.

It’s a simple yes-no question, though saying no would prompt even more queries, and saying yes would… well, what would saying yes mean?

Seokjin and Namjoon are looking at you. Jungkook is looking at you. You’re glad that Yoongi left after he dropped you off. If he were here, he would be awaiting your answer too.

There’s a lot you wish you could let out. You swallow thickly, but the words just won’t go down.

You want to say… Yes, we were close. We were close in the same way that the name of someone’s first love can be inscribed on their heart and never fade away. If you could hold my beating heart in your hands, and if you had a key to open it, I think you would find his initials there. The letters might be messily scribbled, might be crossed out by harsh lines of ink and rewritten again in a different font, but they’re still there, and they will always be there.

Yes, we were close. He knew me inside and out, better than the back of his own hand. He knew me like we came from the same star, destined to find one another before we were even us.

Yes, we were close. He was the person I loved the most, my favorite person in the whole entire world. I think, and I hope, that I was someone he loved too…

Despite the words lodged in your throat, you aren’t in a position to voice any of it. So you push them down — a conscious and routine decision — and shove them into your box of memories again.

You scratch the back of your neck as you look at Jungkook and he looks at you, eyes conveying something you’re not willing to understand. In the end, you settle for a response that doesn’t really answer Seokjin’s question. But even if your words don’t clear anything up, your hesitation ought to have given something away.

It’s the opposite of what you told Jungkook when he showed up at your door for the first time in five years.

“We were… friends.”

When Taehyung comes home from work the next day, he almost fucking dies.

It’s a regular evening. On the drive home, he thought about the leftover pasta waiting for him in the fridge because he was absolutely starving. He thought about which documentary he was going to watch while he ate his dinner. He thought about telling you that his sister got an acceptance letter from her dream college. You’ve always loved her, and he knows you would be over the moon to share her joy as if she was your own family.

Yeah, just a regular Tuesday evening.

Until he opens the door to his apartment and screams loud enough to alarm the entire building.

“What the fuck!” His keys clatter to the floor as the man clutches his chest in an attempt to calm his heart. Laughter bounces off Taehyung’s walls, in total contrast to his heavy breaths from almost going into cardiac arrest.

“Hi, bud,” you manage to say through tears from your place on the couch in his living room, where you’ve been waiting for the past hour and a half in complete silence and darkness. Your ears hurt from him almost taking out your hearing and your eyes have to adjust to the sudden brightness in the room when Taehyung switched on the lights, but it was so worth the laugh. You wish you could’ve captured his face on camera.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Your friend grumbles as he hangs up his jacket and picks up his keys to throw in the ceramic bowl by the small entryway.

“I texted you to come over but you never replied.”

Taehyung fishes his phone from the pocket of his slacks and throws it in your direction, which you clumsily catch. “My phone died.”

“Where’s the powerbank I got you for your birthday?”

He walks over to plop down next to you on the couch. The cushions dip under his weight, and you scootch over to make more room for him.

“I left it at home.”

You slap a hand over his pec, your face unimpressed. “There’s no point in getting you anything.”

“Don’t do that,” he bemoans, rubbing the spot on his chest that you just hit. “My heart is still racing. You scared the fucking shit out of me.”

You reach over to pat his soft hair as an apology before you tip your head back in another fit of giggles. “Sorry! But in my defense, you know I do shit like this. This is not the first time you’ve gone through this.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung mutters. “Why did you need me to come over? I was looking forward to a relaxing night all by myself.”

You shuffle closer until your head can rest on his shoulder. “I have gossip.”

“Celebrity gossip?”

“My gossip.”

“Gossip?” He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Or gossip?”

You take some seconds to decipher which category the Yoongi news would fit into, and which category the revelation that Namjoon dropped in your lap earlier today would fit into. “Both,” you conclude.

“Namjoon told you that Jungkook lied?”

“He didn’t know that Jungkook lied. I pieced it together.”

“Hmm.”

Your fingers curl around the steaming mug of tea that Taehyung made for each of you. You bring the ceramic close to your face to breathe in the soothing scent of jasmine rising from the beverage.

Taehyung takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “And how do you feel about that?”

You don’t answer right away, though you knew this question was inevitable. How do you feel about it? The fact that Namjoon didn’t actually have a family emergency when he dropped Jungkook at your apartment when the three of you were supposed to brainstorm together. The fact that when they pulled up in front of your building, Jungkook told Namjoon that he could go home if he wanted to, that Jungkook didn’t want to make him work on a day off. The fact that despite Namjoon saying it was completely fine, Jungkook practically insisted that he go home.

When Namjoon told you about it a few hours ago, your first thought was to tell Taehyung. It wasn’t Namjoon’s intention, of course. He didn’t know. He was asking you about some of the edits to the lyrics made in his absence, and it just came out.

You deliberately waited until you could sit down and talk to your best friend to sort through your thoughts because if you did it alone, you would surely spiral. Because this isn’t Taehyung’s first Jungkook-related rodeo with you; he knows how to handle you in times like these.

“I think this is fucking me up again,” you say honestly. Taehyung is the only person that you’ve admitted any of this to; the only person that you can admit any of this to. “I just want to do my job. Jungkook shouldn’t be allowed to maintain any kind of relationship with me outside of work! But all of a sudden he’s spending the night and asking me about my love life. It’s been years. Why is he still affecting me? Why am I still here?”

Here. Between the past and the future. The limbo parallel to the present.

Sure, maybe it’s for the better that Jungkook doesn’t bring it up. You would rather that this stay between the two of you (and, cue a heavy sigh, Yoongi). You know Seokjin and Namjoon are decent people, and their opinion of you wouldn’t change if they knew about this, but you would rather your place of work be drama-free.

So yes, maybe it is better this way. But it would be best if Jungkook treats you like a mere coworker. If he acts like you simply don’t exist outside of the studio. If he could stop making your already messed up heart even more confused. All of that would be better than whatever the fuck he’s doing now.

Asking about your love life. Being attentive. Smiling around you. Bringing you the drink you once loved. Lying so he would get you alone!

It doesn’t even matter if he wants a blank slate, because he can’t undo the damage he caused just by batting his eyelashes at you and pretending like everything is fine and dandy.

Maybe Jungkook hasn’t said anything because he himself would rather forget all about it too. You could understand this to a certain extent, because no one wants to be reminded that they’ve hurt others. But he did cause you pain. He did hurt you. The scars that your soul bears are proof of that.

To not say anything at all and have the nerve to act like he cares about you. It’s… cowardly. He’s still continuing to hurt you by doing this. You always thought you deserve better than this.

“Because you keep saying that you hate Jungkook, but you don’t,” Taehyung says. He’s right, you know he’s right. This lie might have been your lifeline before, might have worked once upon a time but Jungkook is here to call your bluff now. “Because you didn’t get any closure.”

Sometimes you forget that Taehyung can be quite the relationship guru despite never having gone through a serious relationship himself. There’s something wistful about him whenever you two have a serious talk like this that makes you wonder if his heart has ever experienced the same kind of sorrow that yours did, and if he just never told you about it.

You pout, despite the gravity of his words and the tension that weighs heavy on you. “I should hate him.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees with a chuckle and a sip of tea, “you probably should.”

“I can’t just throw myself into work this time,” you think out loud. It isn’t lost on you that the thing you’ve been using to cope, to distract yourself, is the same thing that has led you back to square one.

The scented candle that you lit and put on the coffee table is burning out. You watch the small flame flicker wildly around the charred wick, like it’s holding onto its final moments of life before time inevitably runs out. You feel oddly sad just looking at it struggling to keep its light, until it finally dies in a tiny whirl of smoke.

“Maybe I should start dating again.” You mean this as a joke, because god knows the last time you tried getting out there again, you were left with a memory so mortifying that sometimes when you reminisce on the experience, you still shudder with embarrassment.

It was the first time that you had gone out clubbing in a while, with a few girls from your internship, and with the intention of capping the night off with a handsome stranger who would make you feel things you hadn’t for some time. Courtesy of lame dating advice you found online.

A few shots in, and through the haze of smoke and booze and busy bodies illuminated by an array of colorful lights, you did manage to find the someone that you were hoping for — tall, handsome, oozing so much charisma that it should’ve been a huge red flag. But you weren’t looking for a big sparkly diamond on your ring finger or a tropical honeymoon somewhere with crystal clear waters. You were just looking for someone.

It went surprisingly well, until it didn’t. Until you started sobbing on the dancefloor of a crowded club, in front of a man who looked at you like you were crazy and like he couldn’t wait to make you someone else’s problem then. Until you had to call Taehyung to come pick you up at 3 in the morning when the entire world was dead asleep. All because the stranger had asked Your place or mine? and a sobering thought washed over you, a sharp reminder that home was not somewhere you could return to anymore.

You knew it then, and you know it now, that even though your world once revolved around Jungkook, it doesn’t always have to be. There is life after him. There is still a you after him.

“You would really consider that?” Taehyung asks.

“I mean, I kinda have to at some point. I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to die alone. You have me.”

You chuckle tiredly. “No, you’ll find someone who is as big of an art geek as you are, and you’ll have lots of babies and grow old together. And I’ll be the kooky lady with 13 dogs who comes around every once in a while to give your children candy.”

Taehyung sets down his empty mug before settling into a comfortable position on the couch, his back against the cushions and his feet propped on the glass surface of the table in front of you. He reaches across the couch to hold your hand. He skirts around the part about the future love of his life.

“13? That’s a specific number,” he comments.

“I like Taylor Swift.”

You both laugh lightly at the reference. Days of badgering him about one of the greatest songwriters of our generation have finally paid off.

Silence envelopes the room for a moment as you both wander off in your own bubble of thought. Until Taehyung knocks his knee against yours and you both fall back into reality again.

“Did Jimin text you about the grand opening on Friday?”

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