#minor spoiler but ruin Knows something's up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 months ago

Text

a/n- 3.5k: boothill comes back to you for a tune up, but instead of his body, it's his heart that needs tending to after you scare the hell out of him [minor boothill story spoilers if you're not caught up on that jazz, but nothing major!]

warning(s)!: boothill is implied to have an artificial tech!eye and he takes it out (not descriptive tho!)

the last time boothill saw you, he was in for a cooling agent refill. it was also during that last visit when he saw that you had fixed up the small robot he had picked up on a distant planet and brought back as a gift. with your affinity for tinkering with things, he knew you'd like it. and he wasn't wrong.

it's been a month, maybe, and while that shouldn't be considered a very long time away considering his goal steeped in revenge would eventually require him to be gone for far longer- or even not come back at all- he damn missed you.

that, and the censor inside his eye has been on the fritz and well... if he can't see, he can't exactly shoot straight. he didn't need to be discharging bullets like a psychopath- he's a galaxy ranger, not some low-ringed IPC lacky who's a bit too trigger happy.

luckily, his eye wasn’t so fudged up that he couldn't see at all. the world around him was all blurs if he moves to quickly, but given the time to adjust, he's able to more or less make out what was in front of him. just don’t ask him to read anything... not that he was stellar in that department to begin with. it's like the crosshair infused with his artificial eye was out of focus or something.

boothill knows the path to your shop- that acts also as your home- like the back of his hand. someone could pluck his eye right out of his head, yet he'd still navigate his way to where you are. it was one of the few roads he has taken time and time again. he hope's it'll stay a place he can keep coming back to in health or otherwise.

stepping off his small, single-man ship after landing it near the junkyard you usually dig around in, he stumbles out of it onto the ground with a censored curse. he wishes he could land the thing closer to your shop, but he had once come in with too much a gusto and scorched a section of your lawn. once was all you needed to prohibit him from landing anywhere near the building again.

the walk from junkyard to the shop wasn't a treacherous one, hardly even a workout. still, the back of his neck just at his hair line breaks out into a cold sweat. it isn't brought on by exertion, but by the engraved instinct that something... wasn't right. something in his gut was telling him something was wrong.

boothill's learned to trust his gut.

his leisurely pace picks up to a more urgent gait and he can smell the 'something wrong' before his unfocused eye can try and see it.

it smells like smoke.

his steps falter at the disgustingly familiar scent- the smell that brings back memories he forces himself remember. memories that push him towards his goal of revenge- his goal in finding oswaldo. memories of his ruined home. he swallows thickly but it does nothing for his throat that's sudden too dry.

boothill hated fire. he's hated fire since his original name died with his family... with his daughter. since he chose to become "boothill" altogether he's abhorred fire.

he's familiar with fire. with its destruction. with its color. with its smell and heat and ruthlessness. its lack of mercy and greedy nature to swallow up anything in its path that can scorch.

the billows of smoke he could barely make out once his long, mechanical legs took him running to your shop could only be explained by fire. where was it? was it large? contained? were you inside? were you hurt? the cowboy didn't see any flames from outside, so it must not be that bad yet. you're fine. you're fine. you have to be.

all formality is left at his heels when he barges through your shop's doors. there's not much smoke in front of the shop when he enters.

"y/n! are you in here!" you don't respond to his shouts. "fudge!" god, boothill wishes he could properly curse right now. screw his synthesia beacon to hell.

the dim lights make it harder to navigate the area around him with the addition of his already busted vision, but just like the path leading him here- boothill is familiar with the inside of your home. he could walk it blindfolded and deaf.

boothill follows his nose. the smell of smoke got stronger the further back into the shop he goes. the ranger starts hearing commotion along with his narrowing down of where the fire was coming from.

clanging. some bangs. you're coughing. you're cursing.

boothill pushes open the metal door that leads into the main workshop with his shoulder. the room is always filled with all sorts of scrap metals, wiring, wielding tools, normal tools, and all sorts of other gadgets and knobs that he's sure you keep cluttered in different drawers and corners.

the smoke he saw outside floods the workshop, filtering out through the windows you had thrown open and up the chimney you don't ever use unless you need to melt down metal. the grey, sooty gas lingers high towards the ceiling. wafting around his head as soon as he enters the workshop, causing him to choke on it before his mechanical insides whirl into filtering it all out of his system.

sometimes being mostly robotic had it's perks. not choking to death on smog was always a plus.

"sugar!" he calls that familiar endearment over all the noise you're causing. the normally sweet, yet playful, nickname he's been calling you since he discovered your unbelievable sweet tooth feels sour coming out of his mouth this time. your coughing is muffled, and he can only assume it's because you're covering your mouth with a cloth or something. you better be, he hisses internally to himself.

"boothill?!" your shock is as muffled as your cough. "hold- gahk! son of a- hold on a second!" he can hear you rushing around the shop's concrete floor. "ore, did you get to the switch!" you direct your attention away from the unanticipated arrival of boothill. instead, you steer it towards the aforementioned, small robot you refurbished into new, mech-life. you had named it ore after the piece of unknown gem used as his power source.

small beeps of affirmation filter through the soot and smoke and you cough three more times into the cloth you're holding over your mouth and nose.

"flick it left!" you instruct ore. another set of beeps before the shop is bombarded with a force that's almost enough to knock boothill off his feet. the smoke was gathered quickly into a vacuum of air that soon collected all of it up then sequency shot it up and out the of chimney.

the room was basically clear now. all that's left after ore flips the switch back to the right to halt at vacuum assault is the mist of remnants that would soon find their way out the windows you intend to keep open for a good, long while.

you lower the rag from your mouth that had been used to keep smoke from invading your lungs and grimace at it. you had been previously using that rag to wipe oil from a machine you were working on. the very same machine that you had kicked a bit too roughly, causing some faulty wiring inside to shift and ignite. that bucket of broken bits was what led to this predicament in the first place!

finally, you look towards boothill. you hardly get a chance to acknowledge him properly since the moment you turn towards the doors he had come through; he was already at you.

crossing the room with urgent, quick strides, his metal arms clad in his cropped jacket and hanging red scarf wrap around your shoulders. one of his hands push against the back of your head and he doesn't care if the threads of your hair tangle into the groves of his fingers. his chin drips to rest his cheek against your crown.

his head dips so low, cheek and face pushing against your head so closely that the brim of his cowboy hat dents against your skull before falling off to the floor. it falls upside down with a soft thwomp and he can't seem to care.

"hey," you whisper in shock as you curl your arms upwards, bringing your hands to rest concerningly against his shoulders. his scarf was soft against your palm. your fingers thread through parts of his long, white and black hair that rest over his hunched back.

you've never seen him like this. not ever. you were certain that if he were completely human with a full body of flesh and blood, he'd be shaking like a leave. "boothill," you call, trying to get him to hear you.

he doesn't answer you. not verbally.

boothill shakes his head in two small shakes, somehow pushing his cheek further against the top of your head. he was taking deep breaths, taking in the smell of oil and rust and work that you always seem to be coated in. the arm around your shoulders holds you hostage and the one behind your head doesn't let your face pull even a single inch away from his neck where he keeps you.

his eye is still blurry and he still can't see properly. he needs to keep you against his body so his censors can make sure you're alive.

boothill can't 'feel' anything anymore from the neck down. the metal frame he calls his body is just that- metal. a shell that doesn't allow him to feel pain externally. so, he needs to anchor your body to him, so that all his internal do-dads can verify to his malfunction vision that you were okay.

you don't know how long boothill keeps you still like this. you don't keep track of the time. ore beeps confused and concerned once it finds its way back to the nearest tabletop closest to both of you. it's digital face with two oval, pixeled eyes that slice in half like a cartoon character's paint the expression clearly. there's even a small dash of pixeled sweat at the corner of it's 'face' that shows just how distressed it is.

eventually, boothill uncurls his arms from you, and you wince at the small strands of your hair that do end up snagged in his hands and knuckles. when you finally get away enough, you look up at him.

his face is down turned and anxious. there's a cold sweat on his cheek that's come from his hairline and slides past his ear (did he still have sweat glands?). he looks empty without his hat on, even though you should be good and well used to the sight. he often gives it to you to wear when he comes by- for whatever reason.

looking at him longer, you notice something off. with squinted eyes, you reach up and touch his cheek.

"hey, is your eye-" the cowboy jolts at the feel of your hand against his flesh and you wonder if he's sensitive to skin-to-skin contact since this small space is all he has left to experience the sensation. you go to pull your hand away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

boothill feels you pull away and quickly stops you. his metal palm that's still warm with the heat of your body pushes against the back of your hand as he leans his face into your warm, soft palm. his bullet earring is cool against the tip of your fingers that he isn't engulfing with his hand. the eye you're so used to looking at shuts at the sensation.

"boothill?" you try again now that you've both had time to calm down. you really have never seen him act like this way. was this really the same haughty, galaxy ranger who waltzes in every few months or so because he keeps jamming his arm gun, or running low on coolant, or just to bug you?

"the fire," he says. you look behind you at the scorched pile of metal that was the sole perpetrator for the whole kit and caboodle. "are you hurt?" the synthetic twinge to his voice is more noticeable when he speaks lowly you notice.

you shake your head before answering. "no. i'm okay."

"swear it." he doesn't ask.

"i swear i'm not hurt. i didn't even inhale all that much smoke." your thumb skates under his eye as he reopens it. you almost go to your toes to look closer at it. it looks different than usual. like something about it is... wrong? "is your eye okay?"

"what caused the fire?" he completely ignores your question in lieu of his own and if he wasn't so distraught right now, you would've let him have a piece of your mind. but you don't. you can circle back around to his eye once he feels satisfied.

"an old rig i found in the junk yard. i thought if i could fix it up, it'd make a decent heater for the winter months. but, i messed it up and it blew up in my face." you pout at the loss of a project since you weren't willing to go through another fire 101 lesson any time soon. you'd dissembled the hunk of junk and place it back in the junkyard where you found it.

"so that's what is was," he sighs. hearing your explanation, his shoulders deflate, and you swear you hear his body hiss out tension. "dadgummit," he curses. "scared me shirtless. don't do that, sugar." he was calming down. thank goodness.

"sorry about that," you chuckle humorlessly, "i wasn't expecting you, so i'm sorry you had to see that."

you don't know much about boothill's past. he's told you bits and pieces, but you've never take the initiative to actively pry into it. you can tell it hurts him to recall, so you just leave it be. you know he doesn't like fire. he hates the ipc- some guy named oswaldo you think it was? he lost his family on his home planet. that's the extent of the man before 'boothill' you know for the most part.

but you were able to put two and two together. the idea of someone dying and homes being scorched must scare him.

you pull you hand from his cheek and raise it so your fingers invade the right side of his hairline. the black curtain of bangs shift with your movement as you comb through the treases once, then twice before dropping your hand again. his bangs return to their black cloaking nature to his face's right side.

"it's all okay now. isn't that right, ore?" you look over your shoulder to your small assistant robot. its concerned expression it has been favoring shifts into jolted delight as its square head nods with a series of affirmative beeps. a bright green, pixelated thumbs-up pops up on its face before disappearing into curved eyes that blink open reassuringly.

you take both of boothill's arms gently and lead him to the small sofa that's full of mismatched patches of fabric from all the patching up and repairing it's needed over the years. you let him sink into the cushions first before following, you knee touching his.

your hands find themselves in your lap, finally disconnected from boothill and he's just about sad over it. but, he was calming down. and he didn't need to cling to you like that- honestly, he's almost embarrassed over it. acting like a scared dog like that? god, he wishes he could overheat into a full system meltdown.

"feeling better?" you ask. he takes a deep breath and can taste the lingering smoke in the air. still, he nods.

"yeah," he sighs. "yeah, i am." the sound of small metal taps rush around before coming closer. looking down, ore had taken it upon itself to jump from the worktable to the floor. grabbing the brim of boothill's fallen hat, it began the mission of dragging it all the way back to its rightful owner. ore's digital eyes curve up again when boothill and you look down at it from the sofa.

you chuckle before leaning down and offering your hand with your palm up. ore steps backwards up your fingers, dragging the hat that is five times its size and hanging onto the brim as you lift it and the hat into the air. ore offers the hat back to boothill with a smile he can see better now that the little guy is closer to eye level.

the galaxy ranger accepts his hat back, flipping it over and dusting the top of it off. he didn't need his eye to work to know it was probably covered in dust from ore dragging it across the concrete floor you most certainly haven't swept yet.

"thanks, lil buddy." ore chirps happily at the praise.

you lift your arm to let ore rest on your shoulder where it takes the small carabiner you fashioned onto a small guard you wear in the shop and clasps it to his back. you made this so the robot wouldn't constantly be falling off your shoulder since it often makes itself comfortable there.

"so," you clear your throat, "about your eye." you try and get down to business now that the situation has passed. "does it need refocused?"

"sure does." if memory serves, you have a machine for autofocusing equipment around here somewhere. you lean over the back of the sofa, snagging your laptop you keep behind it on a roll away desk that way it doesn't get harmed by all your other tools or dirty by a strong pump of oil or something.

you unclasp ore from your shoulder carabiner. "could you go and find the adjustment scanner? i think it's in the toolbox drawer, top right. if not there, try two rows over." ore chirps and slides down your arm to your lap, then down your leg to the floor.

boothill can't see but can hear the little metal steps run off across the room.

"how does it get onto your tables?" he's asking partially to fill the silence, but also because he's genuinely curious. "figured you'd be cartin' the fella around everywhere."

"i usually do," you admit. "but, i did install small pully lifts with extra wiring and metal pieces i had laying around." you open your laptop and open the screen to unlock the device. "once on one of the metal pieces, ore can pull himself up manually with the designated wire."

the man chuckles at the image of you macgyvering something like that up. "you're dang cute," he chides. he can imagine you sitting on the floor, eyes squinted and leaning in so far, your spine would scream while installing those things. you don't respond. you usually don't to his passing words of flirtatious intention. whether deliberately or obliviously, he doesn't know.

soon, ore returns and hands you the piece of tech you need. hooking the scanner into your laptop, boothill can hear it whirring as the fan of your laptop kicks on to prevent any overheated crashes.

"alright," you let ore back on your shoulder and the robot hooks itself on safely via that carabiner. "let's see what's wrong."

you stare at boothill's unfocused eye. boothill looks back at the blurry image of you. you huff after a solid fifteen seconds of still silence.

"if you expect me to pop your eye out myself, guess again cowboy."

for the first time since he got there, boothill barks in laughter. oh what a mental sight that would be! it's slightly horrifying to picture having the person he's so infatuated with pluck out his eyeball thought.

boothill turns his back, a series of hisses and deep breaths later, he turns around and with his empty eye socket closed, offers you the tech eye he was installed with when he underwent his initial cyborg transformation.

it took 20 minutes and some light jabs from you- 'how did you uncalibrate it this badly?'- before the scans show a recalibrated and refocused eye. you hand it back to him before he's reconnecting it with his socket. the wires hiss and attach into place nicely.

"now that's better!" he cheers when he blinks and is able to see clearly again. he looks at you for the first real time in a month and he's never been happier to see the soot covering your nose and cheeks. oh, you're too cute.

the hat he's kept on his lap the whole process is relocated to your head the moment he could see your face and recognize it again. it plops over your skull and you sigh as- once again, he's making you wear his oh so precious hat.

"if i ask," -you flick the brim of his hat on your head- "will you tell me why you insist i wear this thing every time you're here?"

"nope," he pops his p before lifting his arms to rest his elbows on the back of your sofa. finally getting comfortable. he stares up at your ceiling. "it's a secret."

the fire made a sooty mess up there. it'll be a bitch to clean no doubt.

the hatless cowboy chuckles to himself as he hears you huff with an eyeroll. "naturally."

a/n pt.2: okay wow. this got a bit outta control. whoops? also, i didn't want to gender Ore so hopefully reading the lil guy as 'it' isn't as confusing as i think lol

#boothill #boothill x reader #boothill angst #boothill hurt/comfort #boothill comfort #boothill fluff #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #boothill hsr #hsr boothill #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #honkai star rail boothill

387 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 26 days ago

Text

Coming Home to You (m) | pjm

It’s been five years since Hyun was arrested, and you’ve done a lot of healing to get where you are in life; married, finally opening your very own yoga studio. But when the shadows come crawling back, and old memories resurface, will Christmas be ruined?

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: detective!au, christmas!au, holiday!au, married!au, → Trope: best friends to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / angst / thriller / comfort / action → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 11.7k → Warnings + triggers: stalking (original character that stalks MC), action/fighting, weapons (guns and knifes), mention of abuse, mention of past s*xual assault, tiny description of assault (but not in too much detail), justice, healing after trauma, fluffy love and comfort, hugs and kisses, unprotected sex that is very quick and vanilla-ish. → Author’s note: wow. It’s been over a year since I wrote and published this series. I was never quite happy with its ending, so while I was making my different Christmas stories, these characters just begged to get a second chance, so here we are! Please proceed with caution; this story is dark, but also very very fluffy and sweet. I’ve tried to balance the two. Enjoy 🙂 → Read the spoiler? [their text message] → Read on AO3? [link]

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |

It’s been five years since Jimin knelt before you under the soft lantern glow of the couple’s retreat, a promise in his eyes as steady as the stars. Since that night, you’ve woven your lives together, married and rooted in the warmth of his childhood home—a place brimming with memories, both tender and raw. Every room here holds pieces of your past, as if the walls have absorbed every laugh, every whispered secret, every tremor of pain. The familiar comforts you, yet it’s tinged with shadows. Some memories cling like stubborn echoes, ones you’d sooner silence forever—like that night, here, when Hyun’s violence shattered your trust in safety. Even now, an unexpected draft can send an icy shiver down your spine, and you're transported back, heart racing, wishing that day could be unwound and rewritten. You wish you’d taken a different path, not walked home alone, not been stalked and broken by him. But the past is fixed, carved into your story, unyielding as stone. All you can do is move forward—and you have, step by step.

Jimin, ever your protector, signed you up for self-defense the moment Hyun was locked away, knowing that peace of mind is something you now earn, not inherit. “It’s good to know you can defend yourself,” he’d said, his voice a blend of reassurance and determination. And he was right. Now, you walk with a quiet strength, knowing you’ve wrestled with darkness and won, a warrior forged from fear into power.

Meanwhile, Jimin fights his own battles, tireless in his role as a detective, tracing the city’s shadows to keep others safe. You admire him deeply—how he gives himself so fully, despite the long hours, the late nights, the gravity of December’s cold cases. This month, where joy is promised but rarely found, wears heavy on him, and on so many. December holds a peculiar ache, doesn’t it? Beneath the glitter and false cheer lies an undercurrent of despair, a fragile season where people often find themselves adrift, succumbing to loneliness, sorrow, even violence.

And yet, in this same season, you’ve created a sanctuary. Your yoga studio, born from the healing you found in stillness and breath, is your refuge, and you offer it now to others—to ground them, to lift the weight of silent burdens, to let them escape, if only for an hour, from the hollow echoes of December’s cheer. Here, people can shed the pressure of forced smiles and indulge in quiet solitude. You understand, perhaps better than most, the importance of spaces where vulnerability can breathe freely. After all, you’ve been there. You’ve survived the darkness and emerged stronger, and now, you offer the gift of peace to those still searching for it.

“How are you doing, babe?” Jimin’s voice crackles through the phone, warm and familiar, softened by the gentle rustle of papers in the background.

“I’m good,” you reply, a soft smile touching your lips as you glance at Hoseok, your friend who lights up any room, carefully arranging plants in sunlit patches to bring life into the studio. “Hobi’s here, helping me make this place perfect.”

“That’s great! Tell him I said hi,” Jimin sings out, his voice laced with love, a warmth that fills even the empty spaces. “I’ll be home around eight, so go ahead and make dinner, okay?”

“Of course, Minie,” you reply, the nickname rolling off your tongue like a familiar song. “Keep fighting the good fight, detective.” You chuckle, blowing him a kiss that floats down the line before you hang up.

Hoseok spins around, catching your playful mood, and clutches his chest as if the sweetness is too much to bear. “Blowing kisses over the phone? You two are too much,” he teases, his eyes alight, his grin brighter than the winter sun. Goofy as always, Hoseok has been your constant—a bright anchor in dark waters, the first person you confided in after you escaped the darkness. He had listened, his presence steady, his paramedic instincts kicking in to heal your wounds, visible and invisible.

“You’ll find your own moon, Hobi,” you reassure him with a smile, your voice soft with hope. “Someone who’ll love you just as much as you love everyone around you.”

He sighs, his shoulders dipping in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I know. It’s just, sometimes I can’t help but be a little jealous, you know?” His words trail off, filling the room with a quiet ache.

You stand and fold him into a hug, looking directly into his eyes. “Everything has its time and place,” you whisper, offering him the kind of solace he’s given you time and time again.

The two of you spend the rest of the day crafting the studio into something magical, every corner an invitation for peace. Tomorrow marks the grand opening, and you’ve chosen to offer free classes to anyone willing to step into this sanctuary of calm, hoping to bring yoga’s quiet power into their lives. Hoseok agreed to change shifts and lend a hand; his kindness surrounds you, a bright echo in a world that often feels hollow. As the evening draws to a close, you embrace him once more, feeling his warmth and the comfort he brings.

“Thank you, Hobi. I couldn’t have done this without you,” you say, voice heavy with gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, his smile soft as he waves you off, “and you deserve every bit of it.”

Locking the door behind you, you head toward your car in the near-empty lot. Shadows stretch long under the dull streetlights, their yellow glow casting ghostly halos in the foggy December night. As you fumble with your keys, an uneasy feeling prickles at the edge of your senses. The chill digs deep, sharp as a needle, and your heart quickens. It’s been years since you’ve felt that lingering, ghostly presence—the kind that turns your breath shallow and your steps quiet. You glance over your shoulder, searching the dimness, but there’s nothing there… only the hollow emptiness that seems to breathe with you. You shrug it off, telling yourself it’s the cold, the dark, the way memory sometimes pulls you back against your will.

Sliding into the car, you grip the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, feeling relief only as the streetlights blur by in the rearview mirror. When you pull up to the house, you spot Jimin’s car, parked and waiting like a beacon in the night, and your heart lifts. Home at last.

As you open the door, the air blooms with the rich aroma of spices and warmth, curling around you like a long-awaited embrace—Jimin’s cooking, you realize. Smiling, you slip off your shoes, the soft hum of a quiet evening unfolding as you make your way into the kitchen. There he is, framed by the golden glow of the stove, stirring a pan with practiced ease. You step behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“It smells heavenly,” you murmur, feeling his chuckle reverberate beneath your hands.

“You think so?” He turns just enough to meet your eyes, a flicker of concern softening his expression. “And you’re not feeling queasy today?”

“No, not today.” You lean up and kiss him, tasting the hint of laughter on his lips.

“That’s good,” he hums, turning his attention back to the pan, its contents simmering and bubbling in the low light. He stirs with gentle, rhythmic motions, as though coaxing comfort from each ingredient.

Yet that shadow from earlier lingers, stirring something unsettling deep within you. Without thinking, you ask, “Jimin, do you know if Hyun got released?” The words feel strange in the warmth of the kitchen, unwelcome as winter air creeping through a cracked window. That strange chill you felt in the parking lot refuses to let go—an echo of a memory, a feeling you wish you could brush off. By all accounts, Hyun should still be locked away, yet something in the back of your mind feels suddenly exposed, vulnerable.

Jimin pauses, turning to face you fully. “No, I haven’t heard anything,” he says, brows knitting together. “Didn’t he get a long sentence?”

“Eight years isn’t long, Minie.” You cross your arms, frustration flaring. “The law’s too forgiving, too willing to grant second chances.” Your voice trembles slightly, carrying the weight of those years—the years that man stole from you, the scars he left. How could the scales of justice tip so unevenly, leaving you with a lifetime of healing, and him with a mere eight years? Sometimes you wish you’d had the strength to end it that night, to ensure he’d never breathe free air again. But you’re not a murderer, not someone willing to stain their soul—even for justice. You took the honorable path, trusting the law, though part of you wonders if that was enough.

Jimin reaches out, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re completely right,” he says, his voice soft yet laced with a sorrow he rarely lets show. For a brief moment, his hand clenches into a fist, a glint of steel in his eyes. “I should have ended it myself—to make sure you’d never have to worry, not even for a moment.” His words surprise you, not in their meaning, but in the honesty of his anger. Jimin’s a man who believes in the law, in justice served through rightful means. To act outside of that would shatter something essential in him, an integrity you know he holds dear. And yet, his love for you runs deeper than those lines, testing the boundaries he’d never thought he’d consider crossing.

With a breath, he steadies himself, the warmth returning to his gaze. “I’ll look into it tomorrow at work, just to make sure,” he offers, his voice calming, his hand soft against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you sigh, exhaling the last of that tension, allowing it to blend with the warmth of the kitchen, the comfort of Jimin’s presence. “It doesn’t hurt to check.” Leaning in, you brush a kiss to his cheek, feeling his silent promise lingering between you, unspoken but clear. Then, moving with quiet purpose, you begin setting the table, the simple act grounding you as Jimin finishes preparing dinner.

Tonight, the weight of the past lingers, yet in this big, familiar kitchen, you find a peace that holds you, a love that softens the edges of memory. Here, beneath the golden light and the scent of spices, you feel safe. And tonight, that’s enough.

It’s Friday morning, and the air in your yoga studio hums with the quiet promise of new beginnings. You and Hoseok move together in the spacious room, arranging mats on the polished wooden floor, each movement precise and grounding, as if setting intentions for the day. Only thirty minutes remain until opening, and excitement tingles under your skin, mixed with the flutter of nerves. Will they come? Will this space—your sanctuary—become theirs too?

“You’re fidgeting!” Hoseok grins, catching your restless hands as he lays mats in neat rows. “Everything’s going to be fine. Trust me.”

You draw a deep breath, letting the calm settle within you like dust in sunlight. Yes. Everything is going to be okay.

Time slips past in a blur, and when you glance up, your heart skips. There, just beyond the glass doors, is a line—a line of people waiting to enter. A thrill runs through you, and Hoseok’s laughter bubbles up beside you as he grabs your arm, both of you practically floating to the door to welcome them.

“I told you it would be popular!” he chuckles, and together you swing open the doors to greet the eager faces. You offer warm smiles and greetings as people file in, and by the time they’ve settled, thirty mats are filled. Thirty. The sight sends a rush of gratitude through you, filling every corner of your heart.

“We’re going to need more mats,” you whisper, half in awe, and Hoseok is quick to gather extras, laying them out with practiced ease. The low hum of conversation fills the studio, blending with the gentle notes of mindfulness music, creating a cocoon of peace within the room. You take your place at the front, grounding yourself in the present, wearing your favorite flowy top and comfy tights—ready to share the gift of calm with those who’ve gathered.

A smile spreads across your face as you welcome them. “Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming to the grand opening of Journey of the Mind Yoga Studio.” Your voice is soft yet steady, carrying over the room as you scan the faces, each person a new journey unfolding. “Today’s class is free, a taste of what we offer here. I hope that after an hour of mindful stretching and release, you’ll feel inspired to join us again next week, just in time to find a bit of peace before the holiday rush.”

Appreciative nods and murmurs ripple through the crowd, and you feel the energy shift—a sense of community already settling over the room. You introduce Hoseok, your steady companion, who will offer modified versions of each pose, and together you begin. Your body flows naturally, guiding them through stretches that release tension, each pose a door opening to calm and clarity. The music sways through the room, a gentle river of sound, and as you lose yourself in the movements, your mind drifts, reaching that faraway place of tranquility that yoga always brings. For a moment, everything melts away—there is only breath, flow, presence.

An hour slips by as if in a single breath, and when you rise to close the session, you see faces glowing with newfound peace. Gratitude fills the room as they linger, a few stepping forward to sign up for paid classes. You watch them with pride and joy, knowing this day is just the beginning.

A thirty-minute break passes, and then another class begins, and another, each session flowing effortlessly into the next. By the end of the day, it feels like a dream—one filled with kind faces, gentle energy, and a hundred tiny transformations.

Before the last class, you find Hoseok at the front desk, flipping through a stack of sign-up sheets. His eyes widen, and he looks up at you, grinning. “Have you seen this? A hundred people signed up for classes today!”

You step closer, scanning the forms, disbelief melting into pure, unbridled happiness. “A hundred?” The number echoes through you, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You blink them back, laughing, unable to contain the joy swelling in your chest.

You can’t wait to tell Jimin—about the line that stretched outside, the calm that settled over your studio, and how, at the end of this first day, a hundred souls have chosen to join you on this journey.

It’s the last class of the night, the deep blue twilight casting shadows over the studio floor, and only one more hour separates you from home, from Jimin’s safe embrace. The soothing notes of the background music play on, grounding you as new faces trickle through the door. You greet each arrival with a wave, directing them to mats. Then, suddenly, the sight of a man draped in black—a hood pulled low over his eyes, dark sweats swallowing his form—stops you in your tracks. A chill sinks through you, and you feel your heart lurch.

Those eyes.

Dark, unrelenting, too familiar—ones you’d memorized against your will, forced to hold their gaze when all you wanted was to look away. Your stomach knots, twisting tight. Hoseok, ever attuned, glances over and catches the change in your expression, worry shadowing his own face as the man settles on a mat in the back row, lingering like a storm cloud.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, eyes flitting between you and the figure in black, his own posture tensing.

Your voice is a murmur, low enough that only he can hear. “It’s Hyun,” you manage, feeling your pulse thunder in your throat.

Hoseok’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of recognition. “Hyun? The one who…?” His words trail off, but his face says it all. He shifts, dropping down beside you and pulling you into a quick, fierce hug. “I forgot his name. Do you want me to throw him out?”

You take a breath, trying to still the quake inside you, and shake your head. “No. This class is open to anyone, and I don’t want a scene.” But even as you speak, you feel the storm of tension in your limbs, the instinct to flee. Hoseok holds your gaze, and in that moment, you draw strength from his steady presence.

Jimin hadn’t confirmed Hyun’s release, but you have your answer now—he’s here. You remind yourself of the years spent rebuilding, of every inch of progress carved out of moments like this. Even with every fiber of your being itching to run, you anchor yourself to the space you created. It’s yours, and he cannot take that from you.

With a final inhale, you center yourself, allowing the soft music to pull you inward, body flowing into each pose like water, each stretch drawing you into peace. Gradually, you lose yourself in the rhythm, the silent connection with your students and the gentle pulse of your breathing. And, for a while, Hyun fades away, a mere shadow swallowed by the calm you find within.

The hour evaporates, and as the last pose ends, your students begin to gather at the front to inquire about signing up for future classes. When you look up, he’s there, standing apart from the others, a sinister calm in his gaze as he steps forward. Hoseok intercepts him, a wall of silent strength, hand raised as Hyun tries to add his name to the sign-up sheet.

“Hold it right there,” Hoseok says, voice low but firm, a quiet line drawn in the sand.

Hyun cocks his head, feigning innocence. “What? I’m allowed to sign up, aren’t I?” His eyes find yours, and a sickeningly familiar smirk pulls at his lips.

The air feels thick, each breath heavy, but you step forward, not retreating. “I don’t want you in my class,” you say, voice clear, each word a stone dropped into silence.

He doesn’t flinch, though his smile twists into something mocking, his voice dripping with that old, poisonous charm. “Oh, hi, Y/N. Long time no see. Miss me?”

Your stomach churns, but your voice is calm, steady. “No.” With a resolve you’ve fought for, you reach forward, collecting the sign-up sheets before he can so much as touch a pen. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, but you don’t look away.

He may have stepped into your studio, but the power is yours now. He has no place here.

“How’s that detective boyfriend of yours?” His words slither out, and you flinch as if struck. How dare he even speak Jimin’s name? Rage blazes up inside you, hot and sudden. You’re no damsel anymore, no victim to be cornered and toyed with. Hoseok catches the fire in your eyes, and you see his gaze sharpen with quiet caution.

You clench your fists, jaw set like iron. “Detective husband,” you correct, voice edged in steel, as you gather mats with controlled fury, each motion meant to keep you from shattering the silence with something far less civil.

Hyun’s smirk deepens. “Oh? Well, congratulations, then. A shame I couldn’t attend the wedding.” His voice dips, sickly sweet, heavy with implication. “Maybe I’ll swing by with a gift.” His presence feels like a noose tightening around you, air thickening as if his mere proximity could smother you. Your pulse hammers as the realization creeps in—he’s marked you. A warning, thinly veiled, wrapped in poison.

You glare at him, the question cutting through your clenched teeth. “Is that a threat?”

His brows lift in mock surprise. “What? No, of course not.” But his smirk widens, his words a sham, oozing with menace beneath the feigned innocence.

“Don’t you dare come to my place!” you snap, and the challenge fires through your voice, every bit of strength you’ve built since his prison sentence fortifying you. Your finger lifts, pointing sharply at him, defying every shadow he’s tried to cast over you. Hoseok’s hand on your arm is gentle but grounding, a reminder to hold back, to stay in control.

“We’re closed. Leave,” you say, already moving to the door, holding it open like a shield. “And don’t come back here again,” you add, voice steady but laced with finality as you close and lock the door behind him.

Hyun offers nothing but a wave, his smile sick and twisted, the kind of look that stains your thoughts long after it’s gone. Your stomach knots, and before you can stop it, bile rises, and you double over in the parking lot, dry-heaving, sickness flooding your body with the aftershock of his presence.

Hoseok is by your side instantly, his hand a firm, steadying weight on your shoulder. “Y/N, are you okay?”

You straighten, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to steady your breath. “I’m fine, just… a little sick.”

“Let me drive you home,” he says, voice filled with quiet concern. You nod, passing him your keys as the fatigue of it all begins to settle deep in your bones.

The car ride is silent, words seeming too heavy to pull into the space between you. The tension clings, raw and open, until you finally reach your driveway, the warm glow of Jimin’s car waiting like a beacon. Hoseok walks you up to the door, the both of you stepping into the soft, familiar warmth of home, leaving the shadows outside where they belong.

Jimin’s gaze snaps up from the television as he catches the sound of more than one pair of footsteps entering. He rises quickly, worry flickering over his face as he takes in the strained silence between you and Hoseok, the exhaustion etched deep in both your expressions.

“Hoseok, what happened?” His voice is tense, yet gentle, sensing more than just the weariness in your eyes.

Hoseok shifts uncomfortably, glancing at you, hesitant to steal your voice from what needs to be said. “Y/N… she threw up,” he murmurs, trailing off as the words catch in his throat.

You swallow hard, your voice raw as you push the words out, barely a whisper. “Hyun was there.” Tears prick your eyes, and despite all the strength you’ve gathered, you feel it unraveling now. The weight of the encounter, of old fears returning, pressing down like a weight you thought you’d left behind.

A flash of steel darkens Jimin’s expression. “Hyun…?” His voice falters, regret layering his tone. “I’m so sorry. I meant to tell you. He was released recently. ‘Good behavior,’” he adds, voice bitter with an edge of apology.

“Good behavior?” Hoseok spits out, disbelief lacing his words. “How’s that even possible?”

You feel your composure slip as nausea stirs again, dragging you toward the bathroom, leaving their voices distant and blurred behind you.

Hoseok watches you retreat, worry stark in his eyes as he turns to Jimin. “Will she be okay? He was taunting her. It was… ugly.”

Jimin sighs deeply, clenching his fists before releasing them with a slow exhale. “She’ll be okay. She’s just worn down. Probably a bug, and—thank you, Hyung. For everything.” He pulls Hoseok into a brief hug, a silent exchange of gratitude.

After Hoseok leaves, Jimin locks the door, the click echoing in the quiet house. He moves down the hall, following the quiet sounds of tears and finds you on the bathroom floor, knees drawn up, head resting against the cool tile as your breathing comes in shaky waves.

He crouches down beside you, gathering you into his arms, his warmth an anchor against the chill of the evening’s shadows. “It’s going to be okay, love,” he whispers, his voice a steadying calm. “He won’t come near you again.”

You let out a shuddering breath, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “He said he’d come by the house,” you murmur, the words tasting of dread, each one a reminder of the past you’ve been fighting to escape.

Jimin’s hand rests firmly on your back, grounding you. “We’ll get a restraining order,” he says, his voice quiet but determined, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back, trying to slow the erratic beat of your heart.

You shake your head faintly, skepticism clouding your gaze. “A piece of paper won’t stop him, but… yes, let’s get one,” you say, your voice breaking as another wave of nausea churns in your stomach. Jimin stays by your side, his hand never leaving yours, his presence a reminder that you are not alone in this—never again.

You spend the weekend with nerves stretched thin, every sound outside tightening your pulse like a taut wire. A single creak, a rustle in the yard, and you freeze, bracing against the shadows in your own mind. No matter how much healing you’ve embraced, the sight of Hyun pulled you straight back into those dark beginnings, and the steps forward now feel fragile underfoot. You hate the way your mind oscillates, flitting between fear and sharp, practiced vigilance, ready for him if he dares to cross that line.

But the days pass without a sign of him. By the next week, your hours are full, carried along by the rhythm of classes at your yoga studio, a flurry of smiling students, and Jimin’s comforting presence. He’s taken to working from home more often now, lingering in the warmth of your shared space. You’ve told him he doesn’t have to—reminded him you’re okay, that you’re safe, and that the gun is exactly where it needs to be. Still, he stays as much as his job allows, though the detective in him calls him to the streets more often than either of you would like.

Another Friday comes, winter resting like a hush over the town, and this evening you’re hosting your parents and Jimin’s mother for an early holiday dinner. You feel that strange flicker of a shadow behind you as you lock up the studio, but when you turn, there’s only emptiness. You brush off the feeling, slipping into your car and driving home, where warmth and the comfort of Jimin’s cooking greet you at the door.

The scent of rosemary and roasted vegetables fills the air as you step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around him from behind. “I think that restraining order might be working,” you murmur against his shoulder. “I haven’t seen Hyun all week.” You tell him about that lingering shadow, though, the chill it brings, because nothing is hidden between you anymore.

Jimin sighs, his voice firm. “Good. I hope he stays the hell away.”

The doorbell rings, and for once, it doesn’t spike your anxiety—your parents’ familiar voices float in as you welcome them with warm hugs. Moments later, Jimin’s mother arrives, her eyes lingering with approval on the home she once knew, touched by the renovations Jimin’s loving hands have made over the years.

While he puts the finishing touches on the meal, you and his mother set the table, her gentle warmth as comforting as it was on your wedding day, radiating that kindness she passed down to her son. At last, Jimin brings out the food, setting down a beautiful feast. He pours a rich red wine, and the conversation flows as easily as laughter, the air alive with the simplicity of joy and the sheltering presence of those you love most.

A gentle quiet has settled over the table, filled only by the warmth of shared glances and the comfort of a good meal, when your mother’s voice breaks the silence. “So, Jimin, Y/N… when can we expect grandchildren?” Her words hang playfully in the air, and you nearly choke on your water. Jimin chuckles, his hand soothingly rubbing your back as his eyes find yours, twinkling with that familiar, soft affection.

Jimin’s mother joins in, her laugh carrying a hint of nostalgia. “Yes! You’re both getting older, you know. People these days wait so long… not like us, having kids in our early twenties!” She beams at you both, her gaze filled with warmth.

You feel a surge of emotion and rest your hand over your stomach, a tender touch that doesn’t go unnoticed. You glance at Jimin, sharing a look that’s brimming with unspoken love. Your father, keen-eyed and quiet as always, spots the gesture first. His face lights up with a dawning realization. “Wait—don’t tell me… you’re pregnant?”

All eyes are on you, hopeful and bright, and you can only nod with a smile that grows as the news settles around the table like a warm blanket. “Yes,” you whisper, happiness spilling from your voice as Jimin’s hand finds yours beneath the table. His fingers interlace with yours, and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, his gaze brimming with pride and love.

“Congratulations!” Your mothers erupt with joy, voices a mix of laughter and tears. They dive into discussions of baby names, nursery colors, and whose eyes the baby might inherit, their delight a bright flame you’re content to bask in. Across the table, your father sits quietly, his expression full of a soft pride that words wouldn’t quite capture. He’s always been a man of few words, but in his gaze, you feel the depth of his happiness for you.

You savor the moment, spoonfuls of Jimin’s lovingly prepared meal mingling with the joy of your family’s celebration. Hours slip by, the conversation growing more animated, laughter blending with gentle memories and future dreams, until the night draws to a close. Your parents and Jimin’s mother, reluctantly but joyfully, gather their things to head home, lingering in the doorway for one last hug and a few parting words. They fuss over tidying up, but you and Jimin wave off their offers, sending them off with smiles and waves as they disappear into the night.

When the door closes, the world shrinks down to just the two of you. The kitchen is dimly lit, the last traces of laughter lingering in the air as you work together to clear the table, each movement wrapped in unspoken affection. Jimin carefully rinses dishes and stacks them in the dishwasher, his gaze soft when it drifts to you sitting on the countertop, your legs dangling as you watch him, feeling the quiet joy of simply being here.

“Tonight was wonderful,” you say softly, a gentle smile curving your lips.

Jimin glances over, the warmth of his smile a reflection of your own. “Yeah… a perfect start to the holiday,” he agrees, placing the last dish in the washer and wiping his hands. He steps close, his hands finding yours once more, as if grounding both of you in this quiet, beautiful moment.

You lean your head against his shoulder, letting the peace and warmth of the evening settle over you like a blanket. It’s in these little moments that everything feels right, the future unfolding in each shared glance and gentle touch, and in this quiet stillness, you can feel it—life, love, and everything beautiful, blossoming right where you are.

He shifts his full attention to you, gently parting your legs to make space as he moves closer, bringing you face-to-face, your gazes locked at the same height. Your smile mirrors his, a gentle curve of affection that makes his eyes deepen with warmth. Leaning in, he brushes his lips against yours, a tender kiss that soon grows hungry and consuming. His hand slides to cradle your face, fingers tracing softly as though memorizing the moment, while the other finds its way over your heart, savoring the feel of you, pulling you closer as you wrap your legs around his waist.

Your breath mingles as you whisper his name against his ear, each word trembling between desire and intimacy. The way he looks at you, dark eyes glistening with both love and want, sends a rush through you. “You’re beautiful, love,” he murmurs, his voice weighted with meaning, and despite all the time you’ve been together, you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your cheeks. His words have always had this effect, ever since the two of you were children, growing up side by side. The love that sprouted so simply back then has blossomed into a romance that still fills you with wonder.

He lets his hands explore your body, caressing gently yet firmly, and you’re lost in the soft rhythm of his lips against yours, feeling every kiss ignite something deep and primal within you. Your fingers find their way into his soft, blonde hair, tugging slightly, which earns you a low, muffled groan from him. The world fades, leaving only the intensity of the connection between you.

“I’m so wet for you, Minie,” you murmur, feeling him pressed against you, the heat building as his mouth finds your cheek, his hands anchoring around your waist.

“And I’m already lost in your ocean, beautiful,” he replies, breath catching as his lips graze your skin. Every touch, every kiss sends waves of warmth through you, until the longing turns into an urgent need. You’re both enraptured, no barriers, just pure feeling.

The rest of the world falls away as he slides his hands down to remove the last of the barriers between you, his movements tender yet filled with intent, every gesture echoing the love that began all those years ago. And here you are, together, woven tightly in each other’s arms, the love between you more radiant, more alive, and infinitely more powerful.

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and instinctively, you wind your legs around his waist, feeling the warmth of him pressed against you. With steady strength, he lifts you, likely intending to carry you to the bedroom, but you stop him, breathless. “Take me here against the wall,” you whisper, voice edged with urgency as you tug him toward you, feeling the hard press of his cock.

He pauses, his gaze meeting yours with a question, “Are you sure?” His voice is soft, considerate—he’s always careful with you, gentle by nature, respectful of the parts of you that have been hurt before. That care has only made you fall for him more, and while you love his tenderness, tonight you need his fire. You nod, eyes shining, and he’s helpless to resist.

In one fluid movement, he presses you against the wall, his hands anchoring you there, firm yet tender. You can feel your heart racing, every nerve alive under his touch. He shifts, aligning with your entrance, and with a slow, steady push, he fills you, sparking a surge of pleasure. A moan escapes your lips as you grip his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin, grounding you both in the intensity of the moment.

“Don’t hold back,” you murmur, breath hitching as he moves, and he responds with a deep, steady rhythm, each thrust bringing a fresh wave of heat. He breathes in your scent, voice rough with longing. “God, you feel incredible,” he murmurs, his pace quickening as he finds his rhythm. You cling to him, each movement taking you higher, your breath mingling with his.

“Yes, just like that,” you gasp, urging him on as he moves faster, the intensity building. He kisses you deeply, his mouth tracing along your jaw, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. The touch sends shivers through you, making you tighten around him, drawing a low groan from his throat.

Every movement, every kiss, feels like poetry written just for you, a melody of intimacy and trust that’s as powerful as it is passionate. You lose yourself in him, the world outside disappearing, leaving only the two of you, intertwined and complete in each other’s embrace.

“God, I love you,” you whisper, voice thick with passion as each thrust sends shivers up your spine, grounding you in the heat of his touch and the rhythm of his heartbeat. You’re swept up, utterly consumed, and he meets your moan with a deep, urgent growl, holding you even closer, moving as though nothing else exists but this moment with you. He doesn’t need to say it back right now, because you know he feels the same.

“Are you close?” he breathes into your ear, his voice dark and velvet-soft, a question that’s half promise, half plea. Every inch of you is alive under him, and all you can manage is a fervent nod, your body arched into his, lips parted in breathless surrender.

His mouth trails down to your earlobe, nibbling, his breath warm as he kisses there, pulling you to the edge with one gentle bite. That tender touch is your undoing, and as you reach your release, a tremor of his name escapes your lips—a sound filled with love, with surrender, with the rawness of being completely his. Your body clenches around him, every nerve singing, and he murmurs a groan into your neck, his words barely audible, “God, you’re perfect.”

“Just a little more,” he grits out, voice rough and heady, feeling your muscles gradually relax in the aftermath. But still, he holds on, his hips relentless, moving faster as his own climax builds.

“Please, Jimin—fill me up,” you breathe, brushing your lips against his neck, leaving the lightest bite just where you know he loves it. He shudders at your words, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you against him. And then, with a breathless gasp, he reaches his peak, holding you in place as he comes, his body quivering with the intensity. As his breathing steadies, he kisses you softly, reverently, before gently setting you down. The warm evidence of your shared release traces down your skin, and you can’t help but smile at the beautiful mess you’ve made together.

“Let me clean you up with a shower, love,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. And with that, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you to the shower like a precious secret, his love wrapped around you as perfectly as his embrace.

The holiday season has always been your favorite, but this year feels even more special with Jimin home, his presence like a cozy fire warming you from within. Today, you’re headed to the town’s annual Christmas fair, your excitement bubbling up like a child’s as you watch the fresh snow blanket the world in shimmering white. The air is crisp and cold, frosting your breath in soft clouds, and as you step into your thick parka and tug on your wool hat and gloves, a familiar thrill sparks in your chest.

When Jimin pulls the car into the bustling fairground, the festive scene unfolds around you like a magical wonderland—ferris wheels lit up in every color, carousels spinning with children’s laughter, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and cocoa wafting from food stands. You take Jimin’s hand, his warmth grounding you, sending tiny shivers up your spine that make you feel safe, cherished.

“What should we do first?” he asks, his voice full of warmth and mischief. He leans in for a quick kiss, and you can’t help but laugh, feeling the giddiness of the season wrapped around you both. “Maybe a snack before we dive in?” you suggest, knowing your holiday joy can’t hold out too long against the allure of fair food.

Hand in hand, you make your way to a nearby stand for corn dogs, laughing as you watch Jimin take an exaggerated first bite, just to get you laughing too. As you wander through the fair, you try the carousels, giggling at being the only adults who dare to let loose on the spinning, painted horses. Jimin pulls funny faces just to make you laugh, and you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, unable to remember the last time you felt this carefree.

Then, when the two of you board the ferris wheel, you press yourself close to Jimin as the car rises, high above the lights and noise. The view stretches out over your small hometown, blanketed in snow, the twinkling lights below like stars that have settled on earth. You lean against his warmth as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you even closer, his gaze soft and full as he cups your chin, drawing you into a kiss that’s slow, lingering, a promise of forever in the way he holds you. For a moment, the world below disappears, leaving only the quiet and the blue sky, and the warmth of Jimin’s hazel eyes gazing into yours.

As the wheel lowers, you link your fingers through his, laughing softly, already craving another snack and wondering what else this cozy winter day will bring. The sky dims, the fairground lights beginning to glow more brightly against the deepening twilight, and time feels like a gentle whisper, moving too quickly yet perfectly slow.

But then, a shadow passes through your heart, and a prickle of cold worry begins to creep along your skin, a reminder of something you can’t quite shake. You glance over your shoulder, and nothing’s there. Still, the thought of Hyun stirs in the back of your mind, his ominous words echoing faintly as your heart begins to race. You tighten your grip on Jimin’s hand, and he senses the shift immediately, glancing down with concern before pulling you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Hey, don’t worry too much,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. But you can’t help it—the fears that live in the corners of your mind sometimes refuse to fade, conjuring memories of times you’ve worked so hard to put behind you. Tonight, it’s as though they’re breathing down your neck.

Jimin holds you a little tighter, and for now, with his steady heartbeat against yours, you close your eyes and try to believe that this night will stay as warm and beautiful as it began.

“It’s okay, babe,” Jimin whispers, his voice a warm anchor in the chilly evening air, his gaze sweeping the crowd as if to shield you from every shadow. “Want to try one of the mini-games? Might be fun, right?” He nudges you gently, his hand wrapped around yours like a lifeline, and you nod, letting him lead you toward a brightly lit shooting game with yellow plastic ducks bobbing across the water. A neon sign above promises a plush prize to anyone who hits seven in a row, no misses allowed.

“Want to take a shot?” Jimin asks, his eyes sparkling with playful encouragement. You hesitate, glancing between the toy rifle and the ducks. You’ve never been much of a sharpshooter, and he is, after all, a cop. But something inside you wants to take the challenge, just to feel a little braver.

“Yeah, why not,” you say, smiling up at him as the game attendant hands you the toy rifle. With a deep breath, you take aim and fire, hearing a satisfying ping as the first duck falls. Jimin lets out a low whistle. “There’s my sharpshooter,” he murmurs. You grin, managing to hit the second, then the third. Your confidence grows with each shot, until only the seventh duck remains. With Jimin’s hand resting on your lower back, grounding you, you hold your breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The final duck topples.

“Yes!” Jimin’s cheers fill your ears as he pulls you in for a quick kiss, his lips brushing against your cheek, making you blush. “That’s my princess,” he beams, pride gleaming in his eyes. “Guess you learned from the best, huh?”

You laugh, “I had a pretty great teacher,” you tease, hugging him tight, though you know his lessons were few and far between—guns aren’t exactly your thing.

The man at the booth sighs, clearly reluctant to part with one of his prizes, but rules are rules. “Which one do you want?” he grumbles, gesturing toward the row of plush toys. You scan the lineup of bears, unicorns, ducks, dogs, and cats until a small, soft chicken catches your eye. Round and silly-looking with a chibi expression, it’s too cute to resist.

“I’ll take the chicken,” you say, and the attendant hands it to you with a reluctant sigh. Hugging the plushie, you feel an odd sense of victory.

Jimin wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you close. You lean back against him, feeling his warmth spread through you as you nuzzle the plush chicken. “So,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear, “what’s next? Ready to call it a night, or is there something else my champion wants to try?”

Your stomach growls in reply, making you both burst into laughter. “Food?” you giggle, rubbing your belly. “This little one has no mercy on my appetite.” He grins and takes your hand again, leading you to a cinnamon roll stand where the air is thick with the smell of sugar and spice. You savor the warm, sticky sweetness as you wander, munching on rolls as the world around you seems to fade to just the two of you in the glow of the fairground lights.

The sky darkens, and the colorful lights of the ferris wheel cast a dreamy glow over the fairground, painting the snow in soft hues of pink, blue, and gold. You can’t help but feel that shadow again, that prickling awareness, as though someone’s eyes are on you from just beyond the lights. You glance over your shoulder, and Jimin notices, squeezing your hand. “I swear… I feel like we’re being followed,” you murmur, trying to brush off the chill that’s settled into your bones.

Jimin’s arm tightens around you, his voice gentle. “I’ve got you. I promise. Let’s enjoy our night.” He scans the area one last time, reassuring you with a nod, and though you try to shake off the unease, your mind keeps circling back to shadows of memories and unwelcome fears.

As the evening winds down, you stroll hand in hand through the fair, taking in the final sights and sounds as the ferris wheel spins in the distance, a vibrant crown against the night sky. You head back toward the car, Jimin’s hand steady in yours, his presence like a shield against the cold and the shadows that linger in the corners of your mind.

It’s Christmas Eve morning, and waking beside Jimin feels like unwrapping a gift, precious and comforting. His warmth is the first thing you reach for, stirring your tired limbs awake as you press against him. He stirs, stretching languidly, then leans over to brush his lips against yours, a soft good morning murmured into the quiet. He reaches for his phone, eyes still soft with sleep—until something there pulls him fully awake. A line forms between his brows as he scans the screen, and then, a single word, “Shit.” The morning shatters. Jimin is up, rummaging hurriedly for his work clothes, pulling on formal slacks, a crisp white shirt, his hands deft as he straps his holster and gun into place.

“An emergency,” he explains, voice hushed but apologetic. “I’ll be back as fast as I can, okay?” His eyes linger on you, warm but tense, his lips brushing your forehead before he rushes out of the room.

You listen to his footsteps fade, the silence swallowing them like a gust in the snow. A strange feeling, subtle as a shadow, lingers in his absence. You try to brush it off, making your way to the bathroom, relishing the warmth of the heated floor beneath your feet. Under the hot spray of the shower, you ease yourself into the day, trying to shake the unsettled feeling, the vague sense of something amiss. In the kitchen, you make a cup of hot cocoa, cradling it in your hands as you settle onto the couch, fingers resting on the gentle swell of your belly. You find yourself drifting, dreaming of a future where you hold a small hand in yours, and Jimin beside you, as steady as the earth beneath your feet.

The hours slip by with quiet ease, the TV playing soft holiday movies in the background. But as afternoon settles into evening, a heavy quietness falls over the house. You haven’t heard from Jimin since he left, and though emergencies often keep him busy, a sense of something unresolved stirs within you, growing heavier with each passing hour.

A faint rumble from the bedroom breaks the silence, freezing you in place. The unease you’d tried to ignore rushes back, prickling the hairs at the nape of your neck. It’s nothing, you tell yourself, forcing a deep breath, though your fingers tighten around your phone. But your body is already in motion, carrying you down the hall, each step slower than the last, toward the darkened bedroom.

When you push open the door, all seems still—nothing out of place. But as your gaze drifts to the window, you notice the curtain shifting, disturbed by a breeze that shouldn’t be there. Heart pounding, you step forward to shut it, and in that instant, you feel a presence behind you. You turn, but it’s too late. A hooded figure looms before you, shadowed and terrifying. Your phone slips from your hand, a dull thud against the floor.

Before you can scream, a rough hand clamps over your mouth. The scent is all too familiar, acrid and sickening. You know who it is before you see him—Hyun. His voice rasps in your ear, dripping malice, “Didn’t I promise you a wedding gift?”

The room seems to spin. His grip presses harder, his body trapping you in place. Terror courses through your veins, and your mind flashes to Jimin, to the phone lying just out of reach. Adrenaline surges as you focus on your escape. You mumble something, forcing a desperate, repulsive trick as you lick his palm and bite down hard, tasting blood as he yanks his hand back, cursing.

You wrench free from his hold while he cradles his bleeding hand, wincing. Without a second to waste, you grab your phone off the floor, heart pounding, and sprint down the hall, locking yourself inside the bathroom. You sink to the floor, body trembling as you fight to steady your breaths, your fingers fumbling to open your messages. Somehow, you manage to type, sending two simple, desperate texts to Jimin.

You [19:24]: 9-1-1 You [19:24]: He’s here.

There’s nothing more to say, only the hope that he’ll see the messages in time. The moment hangs in silence—a fragile beat of hope—before you hear heavy, menacing footsteps in the hall. Then, a pounding at the door. “Y/N!” Hyun’s voice cuts through the wood, thick with malice. “Don’t play hide and seek with me. You know I’m gonna get you, my sweet thing, in the end."

Revulsion twists in your stomach, bile rising as tears prick your eyes. Trembling, you dial the emergency line, and as it rings, you realize there’s no refuge here—he won’t stop, won’t disappear no matter how hard you wish him gone. Your thoughts race as you pocket the phone, steeling yourself. But he doesn’t give you time to think—suddenly, the door crashes open, hinges splintering like brittle bone.

You scream, crawling back as fast as you can, but he’s on you, fingers wrapping around your ankles. Your hands claw the now cold tile as he drags you from the bathroom into the living room, your voice tearing from you in desperation, “Let go of me!”

He pins you down, his frame towering, shadowing you in an oppressive, hateful presence. “I’m never letting you go,” he whispers, his words thick with a sick promise. You feel his twisted obsession, the monstrous need that drove him here. You thrash, trying to throw him off, but he leans in, pressing his face too close, forcing his mouth onto yours. The taste is wrong, bitter, and you recoil, every part of you recoiling.

“Get off me!” Your words are a choked plea as you twist beneath him, managing to free your arms enough to claw at his face, leaving red, angry lines that well with blood. But he only smirks, taunting, “Cute. You think that’ll hurt me?”

He’s unfazed, mocking as he grasps your throat with both hands, squeezing, pressing until your vision blurs, and the room begins to darken at the edges. You gasp, a strangled sound, as the pain becomes a crushing, unbearable force. Memories flash unbidden—the last time he did this, the way his hands felt cold and final around your neck. But this time, it’s worse, the stakes higher, a life growing inside you that you’re desperate to protect. You have to live. You have to fight.

Your nails rake his skin, drawing blood that drips down his neck as you struggle, grunting against his grip. His hands press tighter, cutting off the last shreds of air, and your hands fall limp to your sides, your strength draining as your vision fades further, a comforting darkness luring you under. No—you can’t give in. Not now. Not ever.

Just as you begin to slip away, his hands release, and you collapse back, choking as air rushes in, searing your throat. You sputter, gasping for each ragged breath, your chest heaving.

He laughs—a hollow, twisted sound that scrapes against your raw nerves. Your hands fly instinctively to your bruised throat, fingers trembling over the tender skin where his hands left their cruel mark. Swallowing sends a lance of pain through you, but you grit your teeth and do it anyway, fury simmering beneath the ache. His laughter thickens, and you know, without a doubt, that he’s savoring your suffering, feeding on it. The thought turns your anger molten.

Without warning, you bring your knee up hard, aiming for his groin. His laughter cuts short as he doubles over, collapsing onto his back with a low, strangled sound. You don’t hesitate—climbing on top of him, your fingers find his throat, tightening with all the strength you have left. You press down, leaning your weight against him, mirroring his cruelty. But instead of fear, his mouth twists into a mocking smile, a dark glint in his eyes as he taunts, “Do you really think you can strangle me?”

No. You don’t. But that isn’t what you want—not his life, only your freedom. Only for him to be gone, to take his darkness and leave your life untouched. You press down harder, desperate, as if force alone could drive him out of your world, out of your head. But his lips curl into a smirk. “You know…” he sneers, his voice a poison, “I’ll keep coming back for you.”

A cold shiver snakes down your spine. His words claw at something raw inside you, turning your stomach. His eyes drift lower, his sneer deepening. “And I heard you’re carrying his child—that should be mine, not his.”

The air thickens with the weight of your anger, a red haze filling your vision. How dare he speak of you this way, as though you were something he could possess, as though you ever belonged to him. “I am not yours,” you snarl, voice thick with hate. “I never was, and I never will be. I just want you to leave me alone.” Your fists beat against his chest, fists shaking, as tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision. “I hate you—I hate everything you did to me, how you ruined me,” you cry, panting through clenched teeth. “And I said no. I kept saying no.”

Your voice breaks, and for a moment, you see a glint of something like triumph flicker across his face. He grips your arms, hard, and rolls you to the floor, pinning you beneath him, a sickly satisfaction in his eyes as he leans in close, close enough that you can taste his twisted need.

“Every time you said no, you wanted it more,” he whispers, voice dripping with malice. His hands slither over you, invading spaces that are yours alone, your body recoiling even as his grip tightens, forcing you still. “No!” you scream, thrashing against him, but his strength bears down like a stone weight, ignoring your protests. Slowly, the world fades around you, and you feel yourself withdrawing, spiraling inward to somewhere far from here, a place where his words and hands cannot reach.

But a spark within you flares, burning through the haze, and with a rush of fury, you bite down hard on his arm, tasting blood as he yelps in pain, finally loosening his hold. With every ounce of strength, you scramble away from him, crawling back to the nearest wall, your breaths ragged and desperate.

Across the room, he sits clutching his bleeding arm, his grin now faded, eyes narrowed in contempt. You lean against the wall, heart pounding, body shaking, but you’re grounded in your own fierce defiance. You will not give him the power he craves—you are done being his prey.

He staggers to his feet, a twisted smile curling as he steps closer. “I’m going to take my time with you,” he sneers, his voice a slow, venomous drawl. “Then I’m going to show your husband just how you submit to me… and then I’ll kill him.”

Rage flares, sharp and hot, flooding your veins with an almost blinding heat. It’s not just his threats against you that ignite this fury; it’s his words dripping poison over Jimin, over the fragile life blooming inside you. A primal protectiveness surges within, and without thinking, you hurl yourself at him, slamming into him with enough force to send both of you sprawling to the floor. He crashes down, the impact reverberating through the room with a sickening thud.

“Do you think you’re going to touch me? Or my husband? Ever again?!” Your voice, jagged and fierce, fills the space as your hands close around his throat again, pressing down with every ounce of strength. Rage surges, raw and instinctive, clouding your mind with only one thought: end this. End him. Your fingers dig deeper, feeling his pulse thrumming beneath your hands as his face begins to contort.

The front door bursts open, splintering the tense air. You flinch, loosening your grip just as Jimin and Yoongi storm in, guns drawn, with Seokjin and Hoseok rushing in behind them, wide-eyed and bracing. Jimin’s gaze finds you immediately, the calm surface barely veiling the torrent of worry and rage roiling beneath. You tremble, relief flooding through your exhausted body, but as you’re getting up, Hyun strikes—swinging his injured arm in a brutal arc, smashing his fist against your face. Pain explodes in bright, sharp pulses as you fall back, clutching your throbbing cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

“Why can’t you just let me touch you?” he spits, voice laced with fury and twisted desire.

Jimin’s composure cracks, a murderous glint darkening his eyes. He moves forward, tension coiling through his every muscle, his voice low and lethal. “Take your hands off my wife, you sick bastard.” He grabs Hyun by the collar, wrenching him off you, his grip hard as iron.

Hyun thrashes, laughing with a manic gleam, his voice ringing with a sinister satisfaction. “This is exactly what I wanted, Officer Park. And guess what? She’s just as responsive as I remember, all soft and sweet…”

A flash of unhinged rage sweeps over Jimin’s face, his jaw tightening as his hands shake, clenching tighter on Hyun’s collar. For a moment, his fingers inch toward his holster, Yoongi’s voice cutting in sharp and steady. “Park, don’t do it. Stay in control.” Jimin forces himself to release a breath, loosening his grip. He can’t, won’t, give in to the darkness Hyun is trying to pull him into. But his voice is thick with barely restrained fury as he hauls Hyun away from you.

Hoseok moves to your side, his face stricken as he watches you cradle your bruised cheek. His hand hovers just over your shoulder, cautious yet protective, as though he’s afraid you might break under his touch. You manage a shaky breath, giving him a nod of reassurance, though you can tell by the raw look in his eyes that you must look far worse than you feel.

And still, Hyun laughs, his eyes gleaming as they flick between you and Jimin, his voice dripping with contempt. “Oh, she’s going to remember me, Park. Forever. Just like she did five years ago. You remember, don’t you, sweetheart?” His words, cruel and deliberate, slice through the room like barbed wire, ripping open old wounds, dragging you back to that nightmare.

In a flash, Jimin draws his gun, pointing it squarely at Hyun’s chest, his finger hovering on the trigger. His body shakes with barely contained fury, the air tense, thick, every second stretching out like eternity. The memory of five years ago floods your mind—the fear, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped in a nightmare that wouldn't end.

Your voice, raw and trembling, breaks the silence. “Jimin, please… don’t let him win.”

Hyun grins, even now, even in the face of the loaded weapon, as though he’s reveling in every ounce of pain he’s inflicted, every scar he’s carved into your life. His laugh is a twisted mockery of joy, a chilling echo that fills the room.

You know Jimin would never risk you, never gamble his career or his life with reckless abandon. But in his eyes, you see a glimmer of something dark and wild, something that whispers of casting it all aside, of ending Hyun’s life here and now. For a heartbeat, it seems Jimin might surrender to the rage, might be ready to take Hyun’s last breath in his hands.

But he doesn’t. He holds steady. Jimin’s hands shake, his gaze locked onto Hyun’s smug face. Slowly, he draws in a breath, the gun lowering by inches as he chooses, once again, not to let the darkness claim him. And then—Hyun draws a knife from his pocket, the steel flashing in the dim light, and the room holds its breath.

“She doesn’t belong to you. She never did. She’s mine,” Hyun hisses, leveling the knife at Jimin’s throat. You scream, voice raw, tears spilling down your cheeks as panic tightens around you like chains. All you can think is, not him. Not my husband.

Jimin moves to block the blade as Hyun lunges, deflecting the strike, but not without a cost. His forearm slices open, and he falls to the ground with a muffled groan. But even as Hyun’s relentless fury bears down on him, Jimin’s gaze shifts—just enough to spot you crawling closer, determination sparking in your eyes.

Desperation drives you as you surge forward, grabbing Hyun’s hair and yanking him back with a fierce strength you didn’t know you had. “Don’t you dare touch my husband!” Your voice echoes, fierce and unbreaking.

Hyun stumbles and crashes to the floor, the knife sliding out of his reach. You think it’s over, for a moment, but he strikes back, shoving you to the ground. The world blurs as he moves, clambering over Jimin, both of them grappling for the gun. And then—Hyun pries it from Jimin’s grip, pressing the barrel to Jimin’s chest. Time seems to stop, your own heartbeat falling out of rhythm as you watch in horror.

“Put the gun down,” Yoongi’s voice, hard as iron, cuts through the chaos. He stands steady, unshaken, his own weapon drawn, his gaze burning with lethal intent. But Hyun only laughs, the sound dark and manic, pressing the gun tighter against Jimin’s heart.

“This is your last warning,” Yoongi growls, words like an unbreakable vow. “You’re threatening a police officer.”

Jimin lies still beneath Hyun, his chest heaving, his eyes distant. You don’t understand—why isn’t he fighting? Has he given up? You search frantically for the knife, fingers shaking, your vision blurring with helpless tears as you feel the weight of your worst fears bearing down.

Then, with a sickening click, Hyun releases the safety. The gun hovers closer to Jimin’s heart, and a scream rips from you, piercing the air just as a gunshot rings out. A heavy thud follows, reverberating through your bones.

The noise fades, yet you’re still trembling, crawling to Jimin, your hands reaching instinctively to cradle his face. “Please don’t be dead. Please, Jimin…” The words tumble from you, desperate and broken.

He blinks, his hand rising slowly, tracing your cheek, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m okay. You’re okay.” Relief, dizzying and sweet, floods you as you crumble against him, tears dripping down onto his face as you press your forehead to his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and warm beneath you. He’s alive. You’re alive.

With a trembling breath, you glance back—just long enough to see Hyun lying on the floor, his body still and lifeless, blood pooling in dark rivulets beneath him. For a fleeting moment, you feel a strange satisfaction in seeing him silenced, the violence of his presence extinguished. But you look away, unable to bear it any longer.

Hoseok is beside you again in an instant, his hand gentle on your shoulder, murmuring reassurances as he checks for injuries, while Seokjin tends to the gash on Jimin’s arm, his expression pinched with worry. Yoongi approaches the fallen body, nudging the gun from Hyun’s grasp with cold detachment before leaning down to confirm what everyone already knows. His voice, quiet but resolute, carries a finality that cuts through the air.

“He’s dead.”

You finally breathe, feeling the weight of it all leave your chest as Seokjin and Hoseok finish tending to you both. The bruises will fade, and the cuts will heal, but now, only Jimin’s embrace matters. You step toward him, wrapping yourself around him as if to fuse your souls together, and murmur, “I’m so sorry,” the words barely slipping out.

“Why are you sorry, princess?” he asks gently, holding you as though you were made of glass. “You did everything you could.” He kisses your hand, his lips warm against the chill of your skin. “If anyone should apologize, it’s me—for getting here so late.” His words sink deep, yet the ache in your heart remains, a guilt that’s hard to explain. It was your fault that Hyun came back after all, right? That question gnaws at you, but Jimin seems to read your thoughts.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. All that matters is that you’re here, that we’re safe.” His hand falls softly to your belly. “Did he…did he hurt you?”

You nod, voice catching. “He did. He forced himself on me, tried to—” Your words fall short, choked with the memories, and he sees it all in your eyes. His face darkens, his heart sinking as he notices the bruises around your neck, stark and cruel reminders of what he wasn’t there to stop.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, pulling you closer, anger mingling with the helplessness he feels. He would have torn through any distance to protect you. But though he rushed the moment he saw your message, he still hadn’t made it in time.

Suddenly, you remember the phone call, the open line. Trembling, you pull out your phone and bring it to your ear, asking the emergency line if everything was recorded. The answer is a quiet “yes,” confirming you’re heard, that justice has begun. You let out a long breath and place your hand over his, a sense of finality washing over you.

“I’m sorry…for ruining Christmas.” You offer a wry, exhausted smile through the tears that finally still.

Jimin shakes his head, his fingers brushing away what’s left of your tears. “Please stop saying you’re sorry, love. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

With gentle concern, he glances toward Hoseok. “Can you get Y/N an ultrasound? Please—just to be sure that everything is fine with the baby.”

Hoseok nods, eyes warm with silent understanding. He hadn’t known of your pregnancy, but now that he does, his hands are even gentler as he helps you onto the stretcher. Inside the ambulance, Jimin sits beside you, his fingers never leaving yours. Outside, Yoongi is coordinating, ensuring the coroner and cleaners will take care of every trace left behind.

At the hospital, you and the baby are checked with steady hands and comforting reassurances. Taehyung confirms that everything’s fine, that the baby’s heartbeat is strong and steady. With every check, every calming word, a weight lifts. By the time Seokjin’s done stitching Jimin’s cut, it’s late into the night, and Yoongi arrives in his police car to drive you home.

Silence settles in the car, deep and quiet, until Yoongi breaks it with a solemn murmur, “I’m glad you didn’t do anything rash, Jimin. And Y/N…I’m glad you’re safe. That bastard can never hurt you again.” You nod, gratitude filling the spaces between your breaths, and reach for Jimin’s hand. All you want now is to feel his warmth beside you, to finally rest.

When you step through the front door, Jimin wraps his arms around you, and the world outside feels a little further away. The faint smell of cleaning agents lingers, but the Christmas tree still stands, softly lit, in the corner of the room. You find yourself drawn to the couch and sink into it, letting out a heavy sigh, Jimin settling in beside you.

“You fought well, my princess,” he says softly, his hand gently patting your hair. “You can finally rest.”

A small, tired laugh escapes as you close your eyes. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Jimin smiles, warm and real. “Merry Christmas, love,” he whispers, settling you against him as you drift, exhaustion filling every inch of you. He strokes your hair with one hand, the other resting gently over the life growing within you. And in that embrace, all the pain and fear fade into something softer, warmer. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re safe, nestled into the arms of the man who’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you.

→ Requested taglist: @13-manggaetteok @thelilbutifulthings @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @pjmxxjm

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Author’s endnote: okay… wow. So what do you think? It’s kinda similar to the events that went down in the original story, but I never really liked the ending. I really wanted Hyun to die lol. But when I wrote the original story I was very much afraid of what people would think of that, so I didn’t go down that route. So this Christmas story gives me the ending that I truly want—but with a twist. Because I again debated who should kill Hyun, and original it was going to be the reader (with consequences), but I decided to change that and not give her even more trauma to process, lol. Well, I hoped you like it, even though it was rather dark (not what I usually write 🤭). Thank you for reading! 🌟

167 notes · View notes

harzilla · 6 months ago

Text

Contains very minor spoilers for book 7(mentions Malleus' unique magic)

I keep thinking of the idea for a fic where, post book 7, Malleus shows up back to Ramshackle. Yuu is sitting outside on the porch just watching the stars and when they see Malleus, they're not really angry at him, but they seem to be just exhausted and sad. They invite him to sit with them and for a bit they're both silent until Yuu starts talking. Talking about the moon and the stars. How they're so similar to home but everything is different. How no matter how hard they try they can't recognize a single constellation.

The conversation turns to Yuu asking if Malleus every really thought of them as a friend, and if he did, why did he never think to tell them how he felt? With all the other overblots, they weren't friends with any of them before they overblotted. But Malleus was different, they were friends first. That maybe if Malleus had said something, maybe they could have helped him through his feelings and somehow prevented his overblot.

Yuu asks if Malleus would like to see what they truly desire, and ask him to use his UM on them as long as he enters the dream with them.

They slip into the dreamscape and Malleus finds himself in an unknown room. He soon realized that, they're back in Yuu's world, in their bedroom. He fills a sense of disappointment because he still thinks that Yuu wants to leave him. But Yuu takes him to their family, and the family is really nice to him. They're so happy they finally get to meet one of Yuu's friends. He sits down at the table and it's nice. The family is asking him questions, cracking jokes, everything feels so normal. He's not being treated like a prince, nobody is acting scared of him, it's feels.. nice.

Yuu takes him to different places around town. The park they played at as a little kid, the lil mom and pop ice cream shop, and the hill where they like to watch the sunset.

The two sit and watch the sunset, and talk about the fun they had and Yuu goes quiet, and talks about how when they first arrived in Twisted Wonderland, they just wanted to go home, but the longer they stayed there, the more they would think how much they'd miss everybody. Like who would take care of Grim? Who would help Ace and Deuce study for history of magic? Who would keep fixing up Ramshackle? And who would be there to listen to Malleus when he takes his late night walks to admire the ruins and gargoyles?

They've been in Twisted Wonderland so long now, they don't know if they could leave but it hurts so much because they want to see their world again, the family and friends back there. Is it selfish of them to want both?

As they sit together, Malleus asks them if they'd like to continue the dream, and Yuu tells him, no, because no matter how much reality hurts, they still wish to live it. Besides, how would they make sure the school doesn't fall apart if they were gone?

The dream world begins to fall apart and as it all begins disappearing, Yuu tells Malleus that it's time for them to wake up.

The two awaken from the dreamscape, and Yuu's been crying in their sleep. Yuu thanks Malleus for allowing them to go home again, even if it was just a dream.

The two sit in silence for a moment until Malleus apologizes for what he did to them, how he hurt them and hadn't considered how they felt. Yuu that they accept his apology, but they're still mad at him. But as long as they're still here, he has a chance to make things up to them, and if they can find it in their heart to work things out with the other overblots, then they suppose they COULD give him a chance as well.

They hold out their hand to him, and as long as he promises to talk to them first about things that are bothering him, instead of just deciding what's best. They want him to think like a friend, and not a prince because to them, he's Tsunotarou first, and Malleus Draconia, future King of Briar Valley second.

Malleus smiles before he agrees, taking their hand. The two make a promise together. To be better friends to each other, and no matter how much or as little time together they have, they'd be friends.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #malleus draconia #drabble #book 7 spoilers #book 7 twst #angst

238 notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii so ik Halloween is coming up! So I wanna know if you could do another jack the reacher fic! (Love that man) Basically y/n spend every single day with your bf except for Halloween. Y/n has been with him for 2 years now and it’s kinda getting old. So ofc this year like always he tells y/n to stay away from him on Halloween. He’ll suggest visiting your parents or hanging with friends at party just something to keep her busy until his little spell is over. Though what y/n doesn’t know is every Halloween he turns into a werewolf, demon, orc…. (Anything you want! Your choice of monster!) He definitely doesn’t want his precious gf to see that! He just can’t control anything while he’s in that mode and he definitely doesn’t want to be near y/n while this happens. He doesn’t wanna hurt or. ….break her. Buttttt y/n doesn’t listen and goes to see him anyways, she acts like she’s leaving when in reality we stayed just to see what goes on. At first the speculation was cheating…ofc our loving bf wouldn’t do that to us right..?? So the reader sneakily finally finds out what her boyfriend is hiding and BOY IS SHE IN FOR QUITE THE RIDE! *I have a cnc kink and manhandling kink, and I would love for the reader to just be bratty in general! Cause as you can see we don’t listen! 🤭 He should definitely put reader in a full nelson….sigh me and my delusions

Ps. Can the reader be black! And plus size thank you!

General Note: I do not, have not, and will never write non-con.

Pairing: Werewolf!Jack Reacher x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. PWP, PIV, Cursing, SMUT, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, cum play, primal play, bratty reader, Sorry if I missed others. No spoilers for the show.

Summary: See Ask. With the exception of non-con. Halloween happened to be your favorite holiday and you wanted nothing more than to spend it with your sweet boyfriend, Reacher. However, Reacher had other plans that didn’t involve you. Upset with your plans ruined, you decided to disobey his strict order to stay at your parents’ house. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, you only knew that you wanted answers. Patience was never your strong suit.

AO3 Link

Word count: 5,847k

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive!! LOL.I have no excuses for myself other than WHEW!!! This broke me. I need to go hose myself down. Happy Halloween-Eve everyone! Enjoy! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Something was wrong with your boyfriend.

You eyed him as he grew more antsy during the week leading up to Halloween, only your favorite time of the year. You loved the costumes, the makeup, the scares, and thrills. It spoke to your soul in a way no other holiday did.

Similar to last year, Reacher grew more agitated. Little things pissed him off. When he wasn’t working a case for the Army’s Military Police, he walked around like a bear with a thorn in his paw.

He was never mean to you. Never snapped. Never treated you as anything other than his adorable girlfriend. Even now, on the actual holiday, he was putting together a bookshelf for you because your old one broke from all of the books you had.

You sat on the floor beside him, handing him different screws and allen wrenches whenever he asked. You loved days like these. Loved seeing him domesticated.

“I was thinking you might go with your parents again today,” Reacher said, unprompted.

You blinked your eyes at him and tilted your head. “For…Halloween? Again?” You asked.

“Yeah. You said you had fun last year so…” he said, letting the sentence dangle while he studied the instructions once more. He made it sound innocent, but your warning bells went off instantly.

Your mind trailed to the slutty nurse outfit in the back of your closet. You had…plans. You had an entire night planned of passing out candy to the kids until it got too late. Then you were going to take him to your room and give him some tender love and care.

All of that flew out of the window…again. Last year, he made the excuse that he was in the middle of an important case and wasn’t able to spend the holiday with you. You knew dating someone in the military would have its ups and downs but you figured that living close to the base meant that he’d be around more.

This year, however, you made sure that he hadn’t taken on any new cases. You gently steered him to take the time to rest. Not that the big brute knew the meaning of the word. He was like a machine, always moving forward. Never settling. You never wanted to dim his wanderlust but…didn’t you deserve to spend your favorite holiday with your boyfriend?

You could deal with everything else. You could deal with the missed nights, the long cases, the confidentiality. You trusted him. Yet…was he cheating? Was that it? Why this specific night?

“Reacher, I’d kind of like to spend the holiday with you. I had a few surprises planned actually,” you said.

Reacher looked up from screwing in a shelf and looked at you. He was always so severe. Mouth pressed into a thin line and eyebrows raised like he wasn’t in the mood for any lip talk. He smoothed out his eyebrows and his mouth drooped into a smirk.

“I’m sorry. I know how much this holiday means to you. I have something important to do,” he said.

“Like? Is there a reason I have to leave my own home for this?” You asked. He held out his hand for the next screw and you handed it to him. His palm was hot to the touch, hotter than normal.

You looked back at him and really looked him over this time. Your boyfriend always ran hot but he was scorching. He was sweating a bit too even though the temperature outside was below sixty and dropping by the hour.

“Are you feeling okay?” You asked. You leaned up onto your knees, letting your fluffy skirt settle around your thighs, as you placed the back of your hand to his forehead. You snatched your hand back with a hiss and rubbed it.

“You’re burning up! Do you need to go to the hospital?” You asked.

“I don’t get sick,” he said, his mouth lifting into a smirk.

You huffed. “Everyone gets sick, Reacher. Even you,” you said. Though, come to think of it…you’d never seen him so much as sneeze.

“I don’t get sick,” he said, leaning over to peck your lips. His lips were warm too but you welcomed the kiss and wished he’d ditch the bookshelf and come play with you. Ever the stickler for accomplishing his honey-do list, he leaned away from you and went back to assembling the bookcase.

“I’d feel better if you were with your parents where your father can look after you,” he said.

You sat back on your knees and huffed. “I don’t need a big strong man to look after me, Reacher,” you said. The last thing you wanted was to spend the best holiday of the year around your boring ass family.

Your father had also been in the military and his hard ass didn’t understand anything he couldn’t see. Trying to carve out time for spooky shenanigans in a cold house full of rules and expectations was hard enough growing up. You always felt like a toddler retreating to your parents’ house, where your larger than life father treated you like his baby girl.

And Reacher knew that. He stopped working and looked at you. “I just want you safe when I can’t look after you myself,” he said.

“Because…?” You asked. You needed a reason. He had to give you a valid reason. Because if this became an every year type of situation, you’d have to sit and talk with him about it. You didn’t ask for much. Reacher rarely denied you. So what was the problem?

Reacher smiled and wiped his brow. He could claim he wasn’t sick all he wanted but he sure looked like it. Since when he did he sweat like this, inside the house, wearing nothing but a black T-shirt and sweats?

“You know I can’t tell you,” he said.

You pouted and turned doe eyes on him. Reacher sighed and chuckled, looking away from you finally. “Please?” You asked. You scooted closer, sidling up to his big, thick body and placed your head on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Pretty please?” You asked, biting your bottom lip. You dialed up the cuteness, making your eyes as wide as they would go.

“It’s not going to work,” he said. But you already heard the resolve in his voice weaken. He tried to work with you on his shoulder but you rubbed your cheek against his bare arm. He sighed and pulled you into him, kissing your forehead.

“You know being a brat doesn’t work on me. Come on, help me put this up before it’s too late,” he said.

“Too late? Got a hot date somewhere?” You asked, leaning away from him. You were only half joking. You wouldn’t seriously be with someone if you thought they had the capacity to cheat. Reacher was loyal through and through, almost doggedly so.

“Smart ass. No. I want to get you to your parents before it gets too dark outside,” he said.

He was really adamant about that. You deflated, sinking onto the floor and handing him the next screw. Reacher glanced at you and sighed. “Please don’t hate me. I’m only looking out for you,” he said.

“I know, Reacher,” you said. You would just have to…make do. You’d leave the bowl of candy outside and let the kids take whatever they wanted. You could watch kids on the ring camera and scare them when they least expected. It wouldn’t be the same but at least you’d get to see some kind of excitement tonight. Too bad it wouldn’t be by riding your boyfriend until the morning light.

You continued to help him with the bookshelf but your heart was no longer in it. You handed him screw after screw, letting the whir of the fan be the only sound in the room.

Reacher thrived in silence so you didn’t expect him to fill it with useless conversation. Now you just felt stupid sitting in your costume. If he knew that he wanted you to go to your parents’ house, couldn’t he have said so before you dressed up?

Sure, you had hours to go before nightfall. Before the kids and adults began walking around the neighborhood in their cute, creative outfits and bags or bowls of candy. But…this sucked.

You pouted as he finished the bookshelf. You kissed him to thank him but swiftly retreated to your room to get ready. You already knew the drill. You removed your costume and threw on your own pair of joggers and one of Reacher’s shirts. It fit you like a dress but it was comfy and smelled like him.

Reacher got dressed in record time, damn near whistling now that you agreed to go to your parents’ house. You watched him move stiffly, like he was in pain but would never admit it. Things just weren't adding up. Your intuition was screaming at you, warning you that something wasn’t right here.

You watched him carefully as he continued to wipe his brow or sniffle. If he were sick, he would tell you, right? He swiftly locked up the house, practically kicking you out of the house. He opened the car door for you, ushered you inside, and then hopped into the truck himself.

You still eyed him as he flew through traffic, making it to your parents’ house in twenty minutes flat.

“You’re being weird,” you said when he parked in the driveway. Your parents’ house was in the middle of a cul-de-sac. The perfect environment for trick or treaters. Yet, this was the most geriatric neighborhood with only one young couple living at the end of the block and they didn’t have kids.

You’d be lucky if anyone stopped down this street tonight. It was usually dark, lacking decorations, and no one turned on their porch lights. It was the opposite of your place. This place was dull and void of anything resembling fun.

“I know. And I’m sorry,” he said. He reached out to take your hand, his hand burning to the touch. You held on anyway and turned to him. Turned to the man you were madly, wildly in love with.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” You asked.

“I promise nothing’s wrong. After tonight, I’ll work on a healthier work-life balance,” he said.

He kissed the back of your hand and you turned to his soft eyes. He still looked the same when he looked at you. Still radiated the same amount of love that was likely reflected in your own eyes. You were going to talk about this. There were no ifs or buts about it. You were going to talk and he was going to listen.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said.

Reacher kissed your hand one more time before exiting the truck and walking around to open your door. He helped you climb out of his massive truck and then walked with you to your front door, head on a swivel as if you were being watched. He sniffed the air and you found yourself looking around as well.

You used your keys to enter your parents’ house, calling out to them. Your mother rounded the corner immediately, opening her arms and drawing you into a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans?” Your mother asked.

“Plans changed,” you said before Reacher could start in with that bullshit line. ‘Duty calls’, your ass. You had half a mind to follow him wherever he tried to go tonight.

Your mother stepped away and then hugged Reacher, looking incredibly tiny compared to how big Reacher was. The idea took root in your mind as they spoke about you and how this was your favorite holiday. Your mother droned on about how you were as a child, trying to draw vampires and werewolves on pieces of paper for decorations. What she didn’t say was that your father tore them down and promptly turned off the lights, not wanting to give the wrong impression. And save money to boot.

Your mind formulated the plan quicker than you could keep up with. You could wait until night time, keeping an eye on the ring camera, and then take your mother’s car back to your place. You’d get to the bottom of why Reacher absolutely needed the house to himself for this one special night a year. Once was a fluke. Twice was intentional.

Your father lumbered into the room, eyes squinting at the intrusive noises. He looked Reacher up and down before breaking into a wide grin. “Reacher,” your father said.

“Sir,” he said back, grabbing and shaking your father’s hand. You eyed them both coolly, wondering how you ended up with two pig-headed men. Done with the niceties, Reacher pecked you respectfully on the cheek.

“I’ll call you when I get home. And then I’ll make it up to you, promise,” he said. You saw the twinge of heat in his eyes. The sparkle of mischief that let you know that he absolutely would make it up to you. It would probably involve intense oral and your pussy throbbed just thinking of him sitting between your legs until you begged for mercy.

You waved goodbye to him and watched him walk out of the door, already turning to your mother with a sweet smile. “Can I borrow your car later?”

Night time fell in waves, turning the sky from dusty blue to purplish black. Few stars twinkled overhead as you drove your mother’s car to your place. There were more cars out and you kept getting distracted by everybody in their amazing costumes.

However, you kept your phone on while looking at the video of your front door. You had a back door as well but Reacher rarely used it. Since coming home earlier, he hadn’t shown any sign that he left.

You were being paranoid. You knew this. You knew that he told you to stay away from the house and you were supposed to be at your parents’, trapped in your little tower, but you had a gnawing pit in your stomach.

What if he was sick? What if he was lying on the floor of your bedroom, delirious and out of his mind? This was just a wellness check. That was what you told yourself to justify disobeying his precious orders. In reality, your curiosity ate at you. You wouldn’t be satisfied until you knew for certain that Reacher was okay. That he was just poring over disturbing case files. Or whatever the hell he did on base.

You parked a few houses down from your place and then carefully made your way down the street. You smiled at kids in their costumes, remarked on how creative they were, and then sidled up to your house.

Little did your Reacher know, there were a few blindspots in the cameras. The camera angles couldn’t cover everything. There was one narrow slip down the side of the house that none of the cameras caught.

Your heart pounded in your chest and your legs wobbled but you were here now. Had to see it through.

You walked to the backyard, careful to avoid the back camera. You’d have to hope he wasn’t looking at his phone when you were ready to enter. Your boots crunched on dead leaves underfoot, sounding as loud as bone crunching. Your heart beat rapidly, creating a booming drum in your chest.

A stiff wind blew across your skin and you shivered as you hovered at the side of the house. This was nuts. You were a grown woman sneaking around your own home. Reacher was active military and was not expecting you. If he thought you were an intruder and shot you, you wouldn’t know what to tell Jesus.

“Sorry, Lord, I thought he was cheating on me.” What a stupid way to meet your end. Rationale kicked in with the dropping temperature. You shivered, pulling your phone out of your pocket and scrolling to Reacher’s number.

His thumbnail was a rare picture you managed to snap after you smeared ice cream on his nose during a mini vacation. He had his eyes closed but a clear, goofy grin on his face. It was your favorite. He didn’t deserve this. None of this.

Rattling chains tore your attention from your phone to the back of your house. Chains? What the fuck?

The chains rattled again followed by a low whine. It sounded like a wounded animal. Your fingers shook while holding your phone. You were frozen to the spot. Should you investigate? That was some grade A white people shit, but again, what if Reacher was sick? What if he was in trouble at this very moment?

You knew how to shoot thanks to Reacher’s careful instruction and need to keep you safe at all times. The only problem was, his guns were all locked up in the basement. You took a deep breath. You could be strong for Reacher.

The camera be damned, you jogged up to the back of the house and used your keys to get inside. The house was dark, lights off and no movement in the house. You wanted to call out, but you still didn’t know where the rattling chain sound was coming from.

You carefully picked your way through the house, turning on your flashlight. Even if a thief saw you, you just didn’t want Reacher to shoot your ass. You walked down the hallway, scanning the phone’s beam over every inch of space before you.

You definitely saw Reacher come inside and never leave. So where the fuck was he? Did he know about the blindspots too?

A high-pitched, animal-like whine tore through the house and turned your insides liquid with fear.

What. The. Fuck.

The beam of light shook, creating wavy shadows on the walls. You took a deep breath and decided to brave it. If there was a big ass animal stuck in your basement somehow, you needed to know. If Reacher was into some demon sacrifice shit, you absolutely needed to know right this second.

Your sexy bear was more than capable of handling himself. He had been nothing but sweet when it came to you. But you never truly knew a person. And if that motherfucker was summoning shit in your basement, you were going to scream bloody murder. Assuming you escaped from him.

You shook your head, stepping closer to the basement door underneath your stairs. The rattling and whines began to mix, creating a disharmonious screech against your eardrums. Enough to make them itch.

You opened the door and peered down the rickety stairs. You hated the basement. Hated going down the wooden slats that felt like it could give at any moment. The light was on down there with a large shadow moving to and fro.

You were going to be sick. What were you about to find? “Momma ain’t raise no bitch,” you muttered, clutching your phone to your chest. It was a small weapon, but it’d do.

You took the first step and then another, curiosity making your steps quicker. Like ripping off the band-aid, you just needed to see. Needed to know. If you were harboring a freak or a psycho killer this whole time, you were going to be sick. Not knowing was killing you.

With each step gained, more and more of the basement was revealed. You stepped low enough to peer under the ceiling and gasped, hand flying to your mouth.

A man-like figure stood with its paw on the cement wall, other hand thrusting furiously on its…dick. Its throbbing, dripping dick. The keening whines you heard were the excited moans of the figure, stroking its dick.

The figure was hairy all over, clearly naked, with pale skin poking beneath gray patches. The arms had muscle stacked on muscle and it had to be at least seven feet tall. Just barely missing the top of the ceiling. It stood on haunched legs, claws extended and scraped the cement flooring.

The snout was slightly elongated but somehow human with protruding canines poking from thin lips. “Fuuuuuck,” the beast growled.

You gasped, growing more aroused by the second. This was sick. This was hot. You watched as it bent its head towards a pillow with a long shirt draped over. It stepped closer to the pillow, chains rattling around its hind legs. You glanced at the long shirt. It kind of looked like…

Was that your shirt? Was the beast jerking itself off to your shirt? How long had this creature been here? Where did it come from? And where the hell was Reacher?

The beast tipped its head back, fingering the tip of its dick. Gathered up beads of pre-cum and then stroked itself again. Your name pushed from its lips sounding suspiciously like …

“Reacher?” You asked.

The beast turned its head completely to you. It was hard to tell but…those eyes. He couldn’t change those eyes.

He called your name, spreading his arms and looking like a deer in headlights. Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut. You wanted to see him cum.

“Leave!” He growled, his voice impossibly deep and animalistic. He stepped forward but the chains prevented him from getting too close to the stairs. You looked him over. You didn’t know how to deal with this.

Should you run? Should you call for help? Should you help him finish? You stepped down the rest of the stairs and Reacher held out his hand, urging you to stop. You did, one step from the ground.

Reacher paced, sniffing the air and whining. “Go away before I hurt you,” he said, his eyes glowing with fury. You heard the warning bells in your head but you were too full of lust to pay attention. This was an impossible dream come true. An entire fantasy brought to life. How many monster fucker books did you have on your brand new bookshelf thanks to Reacher?

“You won’t hurt me,” you said.

You had a million questions. How? How did he become this? How long had monsters been walking the planet and no one knew? No one had pictures. No one had proof. How?

Reacher pawed at his ear as if he were ready to burst from his skin. He continued to sniff the air, whines escaping from him as if he couldn’t help it. He was still fully erect, thick bead of pre-cum leaking down his tip and dropping to the floor. His dick was twice its normal size and stuffed. Your pussy clenched looking at it.

“Go away,” he growled. He was clearly a true mix of man and beast. It should scare you. It should be the last thing you entertained. But your eyes kept dropping to his dick.

“Reacher…”

“GET OUT!” He yelled, pulling at the chains against his legs. The hook pulled from the wall and if he weren’t careful, he would break it altogether.

A tiny bit of self preservation told you to leave. To turn and close the door and leave him to…whatever the fuck was going on. You stepped backwards as he continued to whine and pull at the chains hooked into the wall.

The one holding his left foot down escaped from the wall entirely. He stopped whining and looked down at it. He slowly raised his furry face and tilted his head at you. His eyes narrowed and then he sniffed the air, getting closer to the ground until he was on all fours.

You backed away, keeping your eye on him. This was too new. You didn’t know what to do here. Should you run? Would he just catch you? You backed up the stairs and Reacher’s eyes followed you until he couldn’t any more.

You turned and ran just as the other chain came loose and then his booming steps were following close behind you. You swore you already felt hot breath on your neck as you exited the basement and ran towards the front door.

Reacher snarled, hot on your heels. Teeth snapping, howls splitting the air. You didn’t have the presence of mind to scream. Or yell for help. You passed by the living room just as Reacher’s massive body pushed you to the ground.

You fell forward with a thud and grunted, knees smarting from hitting the hard flooring. Reacher sniffed your hair and your body, excitable whines leaving him. Or were those moans?

He licked your cheek, long tongue lolling out of his mouth. He sniffed you more, hands searching your body but you didn’t know for what.

“What do you need?” You asked. You tried looking behind you. The room was pretty dark but enough light from the porch shone through your windows and illuminated parts of his face and body. His body hair was soft, snuggly, and you kept yourself still as he continued to paw at you. What was he looking for?

“You. You. You. You.” Reacher was out of his mind. He couldn’t stop chanting that word as he pawed and ripped at your clothes. He stopped and growled low in your ear. A moan escaped you anyway.

Fuck, you were turned on. Turned on to the max. Your panties were soaked with your essence as Reacher sniffed your neck, your back, and trailed down to your joggers. He growled as he caught your scent and then leaned down harder on you.

“Trying. To. Fight. Must. Go.”

“Why? What do you need? What do you need from me?” You asked.

“Can’t. Control.” He growled, grinding his pelvis against your legs and onto the floor.

“Sex? You need sex?” You asked. This was what he had been hiding from you? Did he not trust you with this?

“Don’t. Want. Hurt. You.” He grinded his hips again, a low, deep whine escaping him.

“You won’t hurt me. It’s okay,” you said. Hell, if it was sex he needed then you were more than game. You slid sideways and he growled, pressing his claw against your back to hold you down.

“It’s okay,” you said. You slowly flipped over, letting him know that you weren’t trying to escape. Once on your back, Reacher sniffed and pawed at you once more.

“Leave.” His eyes were full of anguish and despair. But he drooled and licked his chops. His teeth were large, sharp enough to cut through glass you bet.

Your hands moved to your joggers, peeling it off of your sweat-slick body. Your body thrummed with anticipation and adrenaline, the earlier chase only turning you on more. You kept your eyes on his as you shimmied out of your panties and pants.

He sniffed at your tummy, moving lower to your pussy. He groaned, a distinctly human sound, as he ground his hips into the floor. “Smell me. I want you. I want this. You won’t hurt me,” you said.

You lifted the hem of your shirt and took that off as well. Cold air hit your nipples but with the overbearing heat radiating off of him, it was manageable. Reacher sniffed at your exposed skin, licking your nipples. You moaned and arched your back. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, that felt amazing.

His long tongue captured your entire titty in one lick, leaving a neat trail of saliva on your skin. You shivered as he did it over and over, licking around your nipples. He went back and forth, alternating between them both. His nails clicked on the hardened floor as he braced himself, climbing up your body. He licked your neck and whined, adding in a moan that made your pussy flutter.

As if he heard it or possibly smelled the fresh slick between your thighs, he leaned back on his knees and then spread your legs. “Oh fuck,” you moaned. He was so..unhinged. He operated on instinct, spreading your legs as far as it would go.

“Sure?” Reacher asked. “Don’t. Hurt.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” you moaned.

Reacher reached down and used that wonderful tongue to lap at your aching pussy. You moaned and tried to close your legs to the onslaught of pleasure. Hell, you didn’t think you could go back to getting eaten out the regular way.

His tongue was beautiful and nasty as he latched onto your clit. His sharp canines grazed your pussy lips but never punctured skin. You writhed on the ground, pulling at his hair. He growled and increased his licking and sucking.

You were falling head first into a powerful, sinful orgasm that robbed you of sight and breath. Your hearing went out of one ear as you convulsed on his mouth, shivering and twitching.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” You cried. One orgasm led to another, making your entire body buck off of the ground. Reacher held you down with his paws, made you take his tongue between your thighs. He pushed his tongue into your dripping hole and your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Fuck, just like that. Just like that,” you moaned, yanking at his hair. If it hurt him, you didn’t hear. You dug your nails into his scalp as he pulled another orgasm from you. Your thighs shook, the heels of your feet digging into the hardwood flooring.

Reacher lifted his head finally, licking his lips. Your essence dripped from his mouth and you licked your lips. Your hearing slowly returned as he grabbed your hips and flipped you over.

“Floor too hard,” you moaned. Fuck. He was about to take you doggy style. You couldn’t help arching your back and wiggling your ass. Reacher growled and then jumped to his feet with inhuman speed. As if he had extra muscles in this form that allowed him to move more smoothly.

He picked you up and then placed you onto the powder blue rug in your living room. Much better. He dropped to his knees and roughly grabbed your hips. He pulled until your back was arched once more, ass high in the air.

His claws dug into your ass cheeks as his dick poked and prodded at your entrance. You were dripping with slick, pussy clenching and unclenching at the back to back orgasms. But fuck, you wanted more. “Take what you need,” you moaned. “You won’t hurt me.” Even if he was rough, you’d accept it.

Reacher pushed in, met resistance, and kept going. You cried out, fingers clawing at the carpet. The stretch burned. He was far bigger than his normal size and you struggled to take him then. It took a lot of prep time to have sex with Reacher. It was beyond needed now. But you didn’t have time.

You were driven out of your mind with lust. The darkened room, the grunts and moans coming from his raspy throat, and your moans created a sweet symphony. You were drunk on it. Intoxicated by it. You tried to wiggle and push down on his dick.

Reacher howled as he sank further and deeper inside you, pushing beyond your limits. Stretching you out completely. You were completely stuffed and he still had more to go. “I can take you, baby. Keep going,” you gasped and moaned.

You shut your eyes to the sheer pleasure coursing through your body. His dick hit a deep spot inside you and you collapsed onto the floor as the orgasm tore through your body. You felt like you were split in half on his thrusting, throbbing dick.

“So good. So good. Needed.” Reacher moaned in between howls.

“Oh fuck. I can’t, I can’t,” you moaned. You drooled onto the carpet, body limp and weak. Reacher gripped your hips tighter, holding you, impaling you on his dick. He thrust a handful more times before he finally unloaded, stuffing you to the brim with his cum.

You were filled up like a pastry. He thrust harder, pushing it deeper inside of you. It was so much cum, it dripped out of you despite his dick keeping it inside like a plug. His cum leaked down the sides of your pussy lips, around your clit, and dropped onto the floor.

“One more,” Reacher said, sounding more like himself than before.

“I can’t, baby,” you whispered, voice completely gone from all the screaming and moaning you were doing.

“One more,” he said again. He pulled all the way out of you and then thrust back in. He did that over and over, wet smacks filling the air. Your pussy ached and throbbed but you continued to accept him into your body. You made room for him. Made room for his still hardened dick spearing you.

He whined, claws still digging into your hips. You were going to have bruises like a motherfucker in the morning. But it was so worth it. You clenched around his dick and Reacher moaned, faltering with his steady rhythm and sliding in much deeper than before. His tip kissed your G-spot and you came instantly, flooding his dick with your essence.

You screamed out, cries echoing and bouncing around the darkened room. Reacher finally pulled out and your pussy squelched.

You moaned and shivered as more of his cum leaked out of you. You gently fell to the side as Reacher cuddled up next to you on the floor. You petted his thick fur, mind blissfully quiet and empty.

You were nearly asleep when the doorbell rang. Reacher growled, clutching you to him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you said.

You petted him until he calmed back down, settling down with a contented sigh. You grabbed the nearest throw blanket and wrapped it around yourself. “Who is it?” You called out.

“Police, ma’am,” a deep voice said.

You looked out of the peephole to see two officers in uniform standing outside your door. You threw a nervous glance towards Reacher who was still fast asleep. You cracked open the door and peeked out.

“Yes?” You asked.

“We got a few calls about strange noises coming from this address,” one of the police officers said.

“Sorry. Me and my boyfriend were going a little crazy with the whole Halloween theme,” you said.

The officer looked towards his partner and then glanced back at you. “Are you safe, ma’am?” He asked quietly.

You smiled and nodded your head. “I assure you, we’re good. More than good,” you said with a sleepy giggle. It was a miracle you were still on your feet. The officer gave you one last look and then tried to look behind you. But the door was only open a crack and there was nothing for him to see.

“If you need help, here’s my card,” he said. He handed you a card and you waved. You slammed the door in his face and locked it behind you.

You leaned against it with a bone weary sigh and rejoined your werewolf boyfriend on the floor. You were going to regret sleeping on the floor in the morning but for now, you couldn’t give a single damn.

Thank you for all the love for my first Reacher fic! The Secret Jack Reacher Files

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui

@we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @kiwi-jelly-mochi @liyaah02

@thabiddie23 @melanated-writersblock @iwudbutnah @keyaho @cardierreh15

@titty-teetee @westside-rot

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Jack Reacher Files #Jack Reacher x Black!reader #Jack Reacher x Black reader #Jack Reacher x Fem!reader #Jack Reacher x Fem reader #Jack Reacher x plus size reader #x Black reader #x Fem reader #x plus size reader #Werewolf!Jack Reacher #Jack Reacher #Alan Ritchson #Alan Ritchson fanfic #Reacher fanfic #Reacher fan fic #Reacher fan fiction #Reacher fanfiction #Reacher smut

101 notes · View notes

thegoldencontracts · 8 months ago

Text

He Is...

Summary: In another universe, your boyfriend is a bit... Odd, to say the least? Why do you stay with him? U-uh, because canon said so (ortho is just platonic ofc)!

Notes: Pure crack based off of popular fanon things that I honestly don't find accurate. No hate, just a bit of joking. Minor spoilers. Also, if you're touchy about popular fanon headcanons you have, you might want to avoid this post. I have no hateful intentions, but I understand it may be take that way. As always, I am open to constructive critiquing and discourse.

Riddle is going to collar you if you so much as breathe wrong. He does absolutely nothing nice for you. But then when you want to leave him, he breaks down crying...? Weird.

Trey is disturbingly obsessed with teeth, but he's completely perfect other than that. Literally perfect. No, really.

Deuce is incredibly dumb and well-intentioned. He's never done anything wrong in his life! Biker gang? What biker gang? You're just hallucinating.

Ace is an absolute asshole. He's never apologized for anything in his life. Just- a complete douche, somehow.

Cater is incapable of speaking on anything other than pure slang. You tell him you're going to break up with him, and he just says "yikes". Who does that?

Leona is literally the worst person you have ever met. Depression? What depression? He's just lazy! But yeah, he's the scum of the Earth. Trust. At least he respects women?

Ruggie is communist. You don't know where it came from, but he is. But he's also a scammer. Yeah, good luck.

Jack is a tsundere... You thought there was something else? No, that's it. He's a tsundere. He's cute, though.

Azul is a little baby boy. He's just that same little octopus he was. Scams, contracts, business? What are you talking about? He's just your little baby boy who'll break down crying if you don't tell him you love him every five seconds!

Floyd is a serial killer. What do you mean he's only seventeen? He's a serial killer! He kills people. That's right, he kills them. He's a merciless, remorseless killer.

Jade is completely sick and twisted. He'd kill you for a single corn chip, and he's never felt any emotion other than schadenfreude in his life. He's not seventeen, he's, uh- he's been lying to you! He's actually a demon who thrives off of souls (and being one hell of a butler).

Kalim is nice. He's also an idiot. That's right, this man has literally never had a critical thought in his life! Can you believe it? He's never had any hardships, either. Poisoning attempts? What poisoning attempts? There's nothing to see here!

Jamil is an asshole. There's no justification for it. His life was so amazing, it's not like he was basically a slave or anything. Why couldn't he just talk to Kalim before going through with his plans? It's literally that easy!

Vil is a mean girl. That's right. He's selfish, manipulative, and lazy! What do you mean 'he wants people to work and be the most beautiful they can be'? He's just a mean girl, guys. Nothing more to it. And I can't believe he ruined Rook! It isn't like Rook chose to move into Pomefiore or anything!

Rook is creepy, and a stalker, and an irredeemable piece of shit. You see, he used to be a shining beacon of perfection in Savannaclaw, but then the EVIL Vil had to RUIN him! The horror! He was so happy there, too! Everyone knows that dull, lifeless eyes are the number-one sign of happiness!

Epel is a perfect, dainty little boy who can do no wrong. He's just- a shining beacon of dainty and perfect ideals. So fragile. So perfect. So helpless. He has absolutely no autonomy. Trust me on that. Just a perfect little angel boy.

Idia is an unhygenic, depressed softie. He's never showered in his life! It's not like STYX had a lot of focus on systematic hygiene that Idia's used to or anything! And he's never looked down on others in his life! You can trust me on that!

Ortho is a kind, soft little robo-boy who can do no wrong. That time he tried to fire a laser beam on the school? Ignore that, he's just a little baby!

Malleus is sooo in love with you. No, he's not acting oddly due to being unused to friendship, he's in love, damnit! He's in love! He's making this an otome!

Lilia is a dad. And he thinks you should get together with Malleus. Really, he's just there to set you up with the dragon man!

Silver is the perfect, most noble and well-liked gentleman. Awkward? Unused to people wanting to hang out with him? Nope, none of that. Just perfection here!

Sebek is the scum of the Earth. Why, you may ask? Simple! He's loud and arrogant. I don't know why he hates humans so much, really, it's not like he's dealing with internalized species-ism or anything...

355 notes · View notes

just-jordie-things · 1 year ago

Text

i walk the line - choso kamo

word count: 2k warnings: minor(?) shibuya spoilers, choso has a panic attack, mentions of blood/fighting, didn't feel like specifying what (y/n) is doing in mahito's gang lmfao summary: a familiar face finds choso after his fight with itadori and talks him down from a panic attack. the pair realize together that they want to fight for a new cause. ___

How can this be happening? This can’t be real. He couldn’t have been real.

His hands are shaking, his muscles are losing all feeling, his entire reality is crumbling around him, and from where he stands in the lower levels of the Shibuya train station, it certainly looks like it is too.

Another brother? And so young?

He’s sinking to the ground before he registers his knees have even gone weak. The floor is still wet from his fight with Itadori, but ruining his robes is the last thing on his mind.

He hurt him. He hurt Itadori. He hurt his little brother.

It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t known that Itadori was family, of course if he had, none of this could have ever happened. All of this fighting, suddenly rendered pointless, suddenly deeply unjust. It was all making his head spin, and his vision blur.

This can’t be happening.

He squeezes his eyes shut and clamps his hands over his ears, trying to drown out all the external forces trying to crowd his sensations. The flow of water on the cracked tiles below him, the distant hollers and screams echoing along the corridors, and the sudden loud stomping of heavy boots through water and rubble.

When a more familiar voice travels closer at rapid speed, likely carried by the racing stomping, it cuts through the overstimulating echoes bouncing off the tunnel’s brick walls.

“Choso!” Even with the palms of his hands muffling all sound, he can make out that the voice is hollering his name.

At first he presses his hands against the sides of his head harder, worried he couldn’t trust what reality was anymore. He’s digging his calloused palms hard into his ears as airtight as possible. But as much as he wants to turn off all of his senses, he can feel footsteps crashing against the ground and coming towards him.

And then they come to a halt. He feels some splashes of water soaking through the pant leg at his ankle, but it’s still not enough to make him look up.

“Choso,” He hears his name again, followed by small hands wrapping around his wrists.

The touch makes him flinch, but he doesn’t immediately pull away. Heye opened in a flurry of dark lashes and panic, finally letting himself believe she was really there. She’s a little blurry in front of his teary eyes, but she’s undoubtedly there, crouched before him, wrapped in a trench coat too big for her, and a cap pulled over ears, keeping her usually wild hair tame. She’s not an illusion, drawn up by his fragmenting mind. He knows because those are her (y/e/c) eyes staring back at him, usually bright, but currently clouded with concern. He knows because it was her voice murmuring a string of questions driven by her worry.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Can you walk? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

(y/n) tries to speak slowly, but a part of her is anxious about not having much time to speak to him at all. She shouldn’t be here, he told her not to come here, but here she was.

“Say something, please” She begs of him, her thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the bony edges of his wrists. Finally, he begins to drop his hands from his ears.

“I- my brother-” He croaks out, and she nods as he tries his best to speak, reaffirming that she was trying to understand. The breath he takes also draws in a groan, but it helps to get some oxygen in his lungs, and he speaks a little more clearly. “I have a brother”

(y/n) nods again, brows drawing together as she takes in the information. It takes a great effort to keep her expression neutral as she processes, not wanting to do anything to trigger anymore panic from him.

“Like- like another one?” She asks, briefly glancing around her to make sure no one else was coming.

Truthfully, she’s terrified. She may not have been present for what transpired in Shibuya, but she knew that those who had wreaked their havoc on the unsuspecting city couldn’t have gotten far just yet, and she wasn’t equipped like he was to handle monsters such as them. She should be grabbing him and making him run, getting them both the hell out of there, and anywhere else. She didn’t care if they had to camp out on the side of the road- if it was far from here, and he was with her, she’d go. But despite every instinct screaming at her to get to fucking running she stays put, and gives him every ounce of her attention.

“I- I think so?” He gasps out, and his mouth opens and closes a few more times as he struggles to explain the odd feeling to her. “I don’t- I don’t know how, it d-doesn’t make any sense, but- but I felt it, I know it”

“Okay,” She nods along. “Okay, you felt it, yeah? In your blood, you know it”

“But he- how could he- how can that even be real?” He’s mumbling to himself, shaking his head as he tries to process it all to the best of his ability. “Can’t be real, can’t be real, can’t be real” Over and over, until he’s trembling before her, and she mirrors his panic.

“Hey, hey, shh, listen to me,” She’s murmuring, letting go of his wrists to snatch at his hands, gripping them firmly, her thumbs pressing into the palms of his hands. “It’s real, alright? It was real,” She assured him, meeting his eyes. “You felt it”

Tears pour down his cheeks.

“I hurt him,” He confesses. “I hurt my brother,”

(y/n) blinks at him, sadness flickering over her features as she begins to understand what his terror and panic was all about. Then again, all at once, his eyes widen, he’s pulling his hands out of hers, and he’s grabbing her by the wrists as he hauls both of them upwards. Despite the aftershock of a panic attack still crashing over him, Choso is forced to face reality.

And the reality was that she shouldn’t be here.

“You need to go,” He speaks so quickly his words slur together, and his eyes are darting around the abandoned station, trying to find the nearest and safest exit for her to retreat to. “You shouldn’t be here, it’s still not safe… Mahito… Kenjaku… I don’t know where exactly, but they can’t be far”

He continues to ramble on, but his words get sloppy and a bit inaudible. (y/n) shakes her head at him when he tries to push her forward, trying to get her to an exit he deemed safe enough for her to take.

“Wait, stop,” She tries to calmly protest, but her voice falls on deaf ears, Choso’s already dragging her by the arms, even as her boots scrape against the ground in an attempt to slow them both down. “Choso!”

Planting both of her feet on the ground firmly, she stares up at him, her eyes wildly looking between his. She tries to keep her expression calm, she doesn’t want to cause him more distress, but it takes raising her voice for her to get through him in this state.

Her fingers are trembling for an unknown reason as she secures her hands around his forearms. They stand there in a bloodied puddle of water, both staring at each other with no plan and unanswered questions left between them.

Since their first meeting, (y/n) had felt inexplicably drawn to him. Everything about him allured her, his demeanor, his voice, his way of thinking, his pretty face, his cursed technique, every part of him that he’d shown to her she found an interest in.

And maybe they hadn’t met for the right reasons. Maybe what pushed them together were feelings of revenge so old and worn they’d gathered dust. But what she does know is that since their meeting, she’d been questioning herself and the trajectory of her life more and more.

And right now, standing with him in an abandoned train station left in ruins from the aftermath of an attack she’d almost encouraged and almost taken part in, is that she was letting the wrong emotions push her through life.

Her hands tighten around him, eyes flickering between his as she tries to find the words to voice all of this to him quickly, before their time ran out and worse things fell upon them.

“Let’s just…” Her voice is quiet, and a bit strained, but she takes a deep breath before finishing, “Go”

Choso blinks, and she feels his hands twitch against her wrists, momentarily squeezing too tight before loosening and holding onto her carefully again.

“Go?” He repeats, but it’s not a question on what she means. It’s a question of if she truly means it. It’s hopeful, vulnerable even. His eyes don’t leave hers one as he awaits her confirmation.

She nods in a small, shaky movement, but she does it a few times, with absolute certainty.

“Yeah,” She breathes out. “I… this isn’t what I want,”

She looks away from him as she takes in the destroyed tunnel. Not only had blood been spilt but walls and industrial beams had been brutalized, and the few inches of standing water did nothing to help it look less ruined. Her heart sinks as she realizes this is only the beginning, this is only a small fraction of what was to come.

Her eyes find Choso’s again and she shuffles forward, water sloshing around her boots as she moves.

“But I want to be where you are,” She tells him, not a single crack in her voice. “So wherever, whatever you want to do… I want to go with you”

Finally, the panic in his eyes seems to settle. His features relax, and then soften, and in turn (y/n) feels her shoulders release their tension, and a faint smile forms on her face. Things were far from okay, but she had a feeling in her gut telling her that they would find a way to work in the right direction.

Choso releases her arms, only to cup her face in his hands and pull her in closer, ducking his own head to meet her height properly.

“You already can’t follow instructions when I tell you to stay put anyways,” He says, and he swears her eyes shimmer with an emotion unknown to him but so pretty he dares try to seek it out again.

As soon as his gaze shifts down to her lips, she’s beating him to the chase. Her hands fly from his arms to his shoulders and her lips are on his before he can even ask her if it was alright to kiss her.

For Choso, there’s a moment of pure panic that feels different from the last- this one is hot, and feels as though it could lift him right off the ground rather than throw him through it. But just as quickly as he startled, he melted into her. He dropped his hold to her hips, sliding his hands under the ridiculously oversized coat she wore to pull her close and kiss her deep. Their time was still running out, but for this fleeting moment, he needed to be sure she understood exactly where he stood on her staying by his side.

The tips of her fingers are chilly and wet when they slide over the sides of his neck before they reluctantly pull away for air, but Choso’s never felt a touch so lovely and delicate. She’s slow to open her eyes, slow to say or do anything, even her lips still parted, but he’s staring at her ardently. There’s an intensity behind his eyes and buzzing in his touch that she longs to chase after.

“Well,” The word falls from her lips under her breath, not having caught it after their sudden kiss. “What do we do next?”

And Choso smiles then, slowly but surely, as an idea strikes his mind that is going to sound crazy, but he has a feeling she’s looking for a new direction, and what better place to start than family?

“We find Itadori” ___

a/n: first choso fic !! <3 bout damn time!!

xoxo ~ jordie

#choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso #choso x reader #choso imagine #choso kamo imagine #choso jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #choso jujutsu kaisen

706 notes · View notes

emmaiscool22 · 10 months ago

Text

Love Isn't Easy

Eustass Kid x female strawhat!reader

Warnings: angst to a teeny tiny amount of fluff, tipsy reader?, minor cussing, SOFT!KID (that's a warning itself lol), mention of a girl's night

this takes's place after wano (so minor wano spoilers!!!!) purely fictional and noncanon!!!

word count: 2328

I sit on a barrel watching Brook play his violin. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, I couldn’t help but feel the dread in my stomach. I take my eyes off Brook and to the shoreline of the island we stopped at. As soon as we ran into the Kid Pirates, Luffy declared that we were throwing a party despite Kid disagreeing. How he ended up getting Kid to agree, I have no idea.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

I jump, surprised at the voice. I crane my neck to look behind me, the stress leaving my shoulders when I realize who it is.

“I am not sure if I am being honest, Robin,” I answer.

She nods, sitting next to me. I move my eyes from her to the redhead across the ship, his laugh booming across the lively atmosphere. I move to take another sip of my drink, the burn doing nothing to settle the uneasiness in my belly.

“You should talk to him.”

“He already said what he wanted to,” I sigh, remembering his words on Wano.

Robin looks towards him and back at me, “What about you? Did you say what you wanted?”

Robin glances at Kid, noticing his eyes following me while my attention is focused on Brook. I take a big gulp of my drink, emptying it. I set it down next to me and grab another one, popping off the lid. I don't want to be here, I am in no mood for partying.

“Whatever I do, I can’t get my mind off of Kid. It’s ruining me, Robin,” I let my feelings out for the first time, “I can’t sleep, his words just repeat in my head.”

“I never loved you. I will never love you.”

I stand up, moving forward, stumbling slightly. “I am headed to bed.”

Before Robin can say anything, I head towards the girl’s quarters. In the middle of my journey there, I am stopped by someone voicing my name. I know that voice. I wordlessly shake my head and continue, needing to get off the deck. He says my name again, closer this time. I need to get off this ship, I think. My march to the girl’s quarters changes directions to the beach. The laughter and music fade into the background the farther I get from the ship. I stop when I feel far enough away without losing sight of the ship. I nestle into the sand, hoping to stake a claim here for the rest of the night. My heartbeat slows as the sea breeze and the tide calm me down.

“Why did you leave?”

I stiffen.

“I wanted some fresh air,” I mutter.

He chuckles, “That’s a lie.”

I didn’t say anything else. I want to scream at him, tell him everything that has been consuming me for the months since Wano. But I can’t.

Kid plops down right next to me in the sand. “I might not like him, but Strawhat sure knows how to throw a party,” Kid gulps his drink, throwing the empty bottle in the sand.

I still say nothing.

“So we not talkin’ or somethin’?” He asks, turning his body towards me.

I try to find the courage to say something, anything, but alas, nothing comes to mind.

He stares at me trying to catch my eyes that are firmly set on the rolling tide. After a couple of minutes, he speaks again

“You know,” he starts, “Heat and Wire miss your presence on the ship. Said that something is missing… I don’t know. I told them we knew you were only stayin' for 2 years but they got attached to you.”

I couldn’t help but scoff and mumble, “All I did on your ship was complain about you and missing my friends.”

“She speaks!” He shouts and laughs.

I stare at him. I forgot how his smile covered his whole face, or how he would whip his arms around when he got excited. The muscles flex as his flesh arm waves around in the air. No. I can’t think about him, not like this. Not when he broke my heart. I move to stand up and wipe the sand off my legs. My feet taking me towards the ship once more. I didn’t want to be alone with him. Suddenly a hand grabs mine, pulling me back.

“Leaving me so soon?”

I shiver at his words. I can feel tears beginning to slide down my face. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Kid pulls at my hand once more to get me to turn around. He says something, but all I can hear is my heart trying to tear itself out of my chest. Suddenly, someone starts calling my name from the ship, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I have to go back,” I whisper, tugging my hand harshly out of his grip.

I sway towards the calling voice, the alcohol still moving about my system. I can see Sanji leaning over the edge of the ship, looking down at the shoreline for me. A couple heads peek next to him, Robin, Chopper, and Luffy. I remember Robin's words from before:

“What about you? Did you say what you wanted?”

I do have things I want to say. I spin around, catching Kid off guard. He looks at me with surprise at my sudden actions. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“I don’t want to love you anymore.” I blurt out.

His eyes widen.

“I don’t want to love you, but for some reason I do, even though you hurt me. I fell in love with you during the two years I was on your ship, and I felt like you loved me. We spent every day training together, and hanging out, and I felt like we got close. I wish I was the one you thought about before you went to bed, or the one you wanted to spend your days with. But in Wano you told me the opposite after I confessed my love for you... Why won’t you love me back?”

It takes him a moment to speak, “let’s get you back,” he grumbles, “you’re drunk Y/N.”

At his words, I cry harder and drop to my knees, his flesh hand grabs my shoulder, “Don’t touch me!” I sob. He tries to say something but his mouth just opens and closes. His metal hand comes to my other shoulder to hoist me up, but my words have him stumbling back.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”

My hand grabs at the sand and chucks it towards him. My sobs ring out into the open air along with the faint sound of music and laughter.

“I would listen to Y/N, Eustass,” a voice commands.

My eyes stay on the sand, while Kid’s head snaps towards the voice. A gentle hand rests on the shoulder in the place of Kid’s. A soft voice whispers, “You are okay Y/N, we are here for you.”

The hand begins to gently stroke my hair. I look up and lock eyes with Nami.

“Can you stand up?” She asks.

I nod my head slowly, planting my hands on the ground to push my body up. She wraps an arm around me and leads me towards the ship.

“Y/N-” Kid starts but is cut off by Robin.

“You hurt her enough, don’t make it worse.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - -

“He’s an idiot, Y/N,” Nami states while she brushes my hair.

“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” I sigh, “I could see you and Killer getting along.”

Nami laughs, “Oh Y/N, he couldn’t handle me.”

We both laugh, warmth coming to my chest as I smile. The silence that follows is comfortable, basking in each other's presence. A soft knock comes from the door, the door squeaking open, revealing Robin, smiling slightly. After a few moments of chit-chatting, Nami stands up.

“Let’s have a girl’s night,” Nami shouts, “I will ask Sanji to make us some snacks! We can do our nails and have a good time together!”

I smile and nod, and Robin voices her agreement. Nami skips out of the room to find Sanji while Robin and I get out all of the nail polish. Once we settle onto the floor, I take a moment to look at her and gather up the courage to ask her the question I have been dying to know the answer to since the beach. Reading my mind, she states, “He didn’t hurt me,” she smiles, “After you walked away, he asked me to grab Killer and that was it.”

I nod slowly as Nami bursts back into the room along with Sanji, who is holding out drinks and our favorite snacks. “Y/N-swannnnnn, Robin-swannn!” He guides the tray to us, “Here you are, my lovely ladies!”

He hands us our drinks and snacks, and leaves the room, letting us know that he can make us anything else we want. For the next couple of hours, we pamper ourselves, doing our nails, and hair, and talking about our most recent adventures.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - -- - -- - - -- - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - --

I toss and turn in bed, shoving the blankets off my legs. Laying there for a few moments, I cover back up, uncomfortably cold. Groaning, I decide to get up and make some tea, hoping it will help me sleep. I slip my sandals on, glancing at Nami and Robin to make sure I haven’t woken them. I slip out into the hallway, no one in sight. The Kid Pirates must have gone back to their ship at some point, I think. I make my way to the kitchen only to be stopped by the sight of a shadow by the head of the Sunny, “Luffy?” I whisper confused about why he was out here this late, moving my way toward the dark figure.

“Sorry sweet cheeks,” Kid mutters, “I am not Strawhat.”

I take a step back, startled by his presence, “K-kid, what are you doing here?”

“I was thinking about you if I am being honest.”

I take another step back, the idea of tea lost in my mind, just hoping to escape to the solace of my bedroom.

“I am sorry for what happened on the beach,” Kid apologizes.

This stops me from moving. Kid apologizing?

I find my voice, “Killer tell you to say that?”

“No,” Kid snarls, “I wanted to fucking apologize myself.”

I take a deep breath and I dare myself to be bold, “What are you doing here?”

“I was practicing…” he trails off.

“Practicing?”

“I need to practice without Killer shoving words down my throat.”

“I don’t understand.”

He doesn’t respond and just looks at me. I suddenly feel self-conscious at his scrutinizing. We stand in the darkness for a few minutes, before he breaks the silence.

“You asked me why I didn’t love you back earlier.” He pauses before he continutes, “Umm, Killer told me I needed to sort out my thoughts and feelings before I talked to you again. But I hate the idea of not talking to you. When you confessed to me after I ran into you after escaping Udon, I was surprised. I couldn’t believe it. Why would you love me? I said the things I did to hurt you, I can’t have you loving me. I am incredibly selfish. As soon as you said it, I wanted to take you away. I wanted- I want you all to myself. But I hurt you instead of telling you the truth.”

Kid takes a deep breath, and grabs my hand.

“The truth is, I realized that I have developed strong feelings for you. It started as a simple admiration, but over time, it has grown into something deeper. The way you make me laugh, the way you care for others, the way you fight, and the way you light up a room with your presence... it all captivates me. When you found me after Kuma separated your crew, I knew I was fucked. The look on your face when you asked if you could stay on the Victoria, I couldn’t say no. I knew I loved you the minute you told Heat off for stealing food from your plate one night at dinner. I am selfish for telling you this all now but -”

I cut him off, “You love me?”

He nods, “Yes.”

“And you’re not just saying it to say it 'cause it's what I want to hear?”

“I love you Y/N.”

“It would have saved me a whole lot of tears and heartache if you just told me.”

Kid nods again, “I know.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

I take a bold step forward towards him and wrap my arms around him. His arms slowly wrap around my body, his warmth seeping into me.

“It’s going to take me a while to forgive you, but thank you for telling me how you feel.”

“I understand,” Kid says, “but can I ask you something?”

I pull back from his embrace, enough to see his face staring down at me, “what is it?”

“Can I kiss you?”

My heart hammers in shock. But slowly, I nod my head, not trusting my words. His flesh hand moves to cup my cheek while his metal one lays across the small of my back. He leans in halfway, his eyes searching mine for any sign of wariness. When he finds none, he closes the gap, his lips hovering over mine. I can feel the warmth of his breath and the slight tickle of his lips ghosting mine. I push my toes into the ground, leaning up to press my lips against his. His chapped lips move in sync with mine, but before either one of us can deepen the kiss, Kid pulls away, his forehead against mine. “I am sorry again for how I acted, I am going to try and make it up to you before our crew departs.” Kid mumbles.

I don’t say anything, just take him in. I couldn’t forgive him just yet but I knew that I would love him forever.

#one piece #eustass kid #eustass x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #kid pirates #straw hat pirates #straw hat crew #one piece kid #eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kid x you #eustass captain kidd

248 notes · View notes

goingsunnythousandmerry · 9 months ago

Text

Sanji- A Moment Alone @ the Whole Cake Chateau

Now I’ll be honest, I haven’t read much Sanji as he’s not one of my mains. However, Whole Cake inspired me to give writing him a go. Thoughts are welcome.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, Spoilers for Zou/Whole Cake, vaginal sex, blowjob, deep throating, pet names, fingering, oral female/male, female riding, breeding, one night stand, I don’t own these characters. A bit fluffy at times.

Summary: Sanji leaves the crew to go to Whole Cake Island, due to a scheme cooked up by Big Mom and his dad. You realize when he’s gone, you may have feelings for him and decide to go after him with the help of Luffy and your crewmates. Once you find Sanji, well, he can’t leave, but you get one night together…

Sanji-Whole Cake

You’d never thought much about Sanji and his advances before, that was until he was gone. When he left Zou suddenly, and to get married of all things, something clicked inside you. Sanji was your friend, but maybe you felt more for him than just friendship?

You’d been with the Strawhats for a while now. Decent fighter, devil fruit ability, and always willing to help with the cooking and cleaning on the ship. Your upbringing was rocky and you thought there was no beauty left in the world. That was until the Strawhats saved you and told you about their adventures. That’s when you realized your dream, to find the beauty in the world from end to end and document it.

Sanji and you were close. You realized preparing food for a crew with a big eater like Luffy, was no easy feet, so you started offering your assistance early on. Though, he rarely took it, as he would rather a pretty lady like you, sit and relax, so he could serve you. However, after much insisting and some teasing that resulted in nose bleeds threatening to ruin his food, he eventually came around.

When he left you were speechless. You just thought he was off in the kitchen again, insisting on no one helping him. Then, a day went by and there was no swooning at your feet or the smell of his cigarettes on the breeze. You missed the way he’d put his arms around you to help teach you to chop things properly. You missed how he’d drop everything to help you or any female if they were in any sort of trouble. You missed how he puffed on his cigarettes in the heat of battle. You missed his advice and his fights with Zoro. Most of all, you missed staying up late and looking at the stars with him. On those nights, you’d discuss what you thought would be at the end of the line, the end of the new world, laughtale. You’d talk about your pasts and your hopes for the future. You never thought your future would be without Sanji. You didn’t know in what capacity, but you knew he’d always be there.

He said he’d be back, he smiled when he said it, but something didn’t feel right. Something in your heart ached. Something funny or sad would happen and he was the first person you’d want to tell, but he was gone. How’d you let him go?

You sat alone outside staring up through the forest at the stars. Nami came out and found you. She sat next to you before you realized she was there. You glanced at her and gave her a half smile.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself since Sanji left.” Nami asked.

You glance at her then look back at the stars and sigh. You stare forward blankly a moment and before you can speak she opens her mouth again.

“We all miss him, Y/N, but he will be back. Luffy won’t let him go.”

“Yeah.” You say softly. “And this time I won’t let him go... Nami, I think…”

“You have feelings for Sanji? Yeah we all already know, took you long enough to realize.”

You gasp and stare at her in despair.

“What? Does he..?”

“He has no idea, but the man is head over heels for you. As soon as Luffy gets here… let’s go get him.” She says looking at you with a large smile.

When Luffy got to Zou and found you all, he agreed he needed to go after him. You were the first person to say you were tagging along. After a few days on Zou helping the minks and making plans, you head to Whole Cake Island in the hopes of bringing Sanji home to the Sunny. Once on Whole Cake island you, Luffy, Nami, Chopper, and Carrot got lost in the seducing woods. Big Moms daughter, Brûlée, managed to trap you in her Mirror World with Chopper and Carrot. While Luffy and Nami set off to find Sanji. Later using a shard of mirror you find a chance to contact Luffy and Nami for an update on their progress. While you were trapped in the mirror world you learn they had found Sanji, and he had beaten Luffy in a fight. He ultimately, refused to come back. You couldn’t believe your ears at the news. That wasn’t the Sanji you knew.

Luffy’s new plan was to wait for Sanji to come to him. You, Carrot, and Chopper continued to work on finding a way out of the mirror world, so you could reconnect with him and Nami.

In a moment of selfishness as your thoughts went only to Sanji, you make a plan to escape alone from the Mirrorworld. You had seen a reflection of Sanji in a nearby mirror and decided to use Brûlée to get back to the real world, through that same Mirror. While tied up, you managed to trip one of her guards causing them to tumble and almost knock over her stew pot. While Brulee was yelling at them for this, you managed to inch your way up to grab something sharp to cut through your rope bonds from a nearby counter. Once freed, you waited for Brûlée to head towards the mirror where you had earlier seen Sanji’s reflection. You looked at Chopper and Carrot and threw the sharp object behind your back for them to begin working on their ties. You inched closer to them.

“I’m going to go find Sanji. Can you two find Luffy and Nami?” You whisper.

“You want to split up? Why don’t we go together?” Chopper whispered urgently.

“If Luffy couldn’t get through to Sanji, I’m the only one who still has a chance. You and Carrot get out of here. Besides, if Big Mom’s family is as big as they say, I’m better off going in alone, less likely to be detected. I’ll take a piece of mirror for updates. Good luck.” You say softly as you eye Brûlée walking towards the mirror you need.

The rabit and train man suddenly turn their backs to you, distracted by the smell of the stew. You hop to your feet and run towards the mirror where Sanji’s reflection used to be. She screams as you grab her wrist and pull her towards the mirror with you. You cross through the mirror, and as you exit, you drop her wrist. Once out of the mirror, you turn around and watch as she stares at you, stunned. The creatures working with her begin to run towards the mirror. As they do so, you grab the mirror from the wall and smash it on the ground.

“Well that may have been a bit loud.” You whisper to yourself.

You turn about the room and notice you’re in a bedroom. No one was inside. Inside the room there was a dresser, a bed, a small table, a few chairs, a kitchenette, and a now shattered mirror. It must be where they were keeping Sanji in the Whole Cake Chateau, you thought.

You find a nearby door of a closet and jumped inside. You wait a few minutes, but no one enters after the crash of the mirror. You exit the closet and re-examine the room.

You weren’t sure where Sanji was or when he would come back. You decided your best bet was to hide behind where the door swung open, just in case an enemy entered. About 30 minutes later Sanji entered the room, alone. Upon entering the room he stared at the storm brewing out the window by his bed. You let the guards that escorted Sanji to his room exit and shut the door fully before you acted.

“Sanji.” You whispered.

He gasped nearly dropping his cigarette as you called to him. He turned around and there you were. You were wearing a short sleeved white ruffled dress, the top of which, emphasized your breasts and showed some cleavage. The bottom of the dress cut just below your ass and had a pink apron over it. It was a bit tattered after your fights in the seducing woods and in the mirror world.

You stepped forward towards Sanji and his body tensed. You continued towards him and buried your face in his chest. You gripped at his shirt and began to sob. He immediately clamped back down on his cigarette and wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you in for a deep embrace and paused to smell your hair. His breath caught in his throat as he pulled you arms length away from him. He stared down at you in disbelief, but you weren’t ready to look at him.

“Y/N. What are you doing here? I told Luffy I wasn’t coming back.”

You finally looked away from his chest and stared up at him with tear filled eyes.

“Sanji. I won’t let you go. I… I need you.”

“Wha..” He stuttered out.

As he did so, his cigarette hit the ground below him. Sanji quickly realized this and stamped it out before the carpet got set alight. He never let go of your waist as he did so. Once that situation was handled his gaze returned to you. Your eyes glistened with tears and you took a deep breath.

“I didn’t believe Luffy. I had to hear you say it yourself.” You said as you move your hands to his arms.

He stared at you a moment with his teeth clenched. He looked down at the floor where his cigarette laid, burnt out.

“Y/N. Im sorry I lied to you all about who I was. I’m sorry you came all this way for me, but I’m marrying Pudding tomorrow. She wants to marry me and I think I’ll be happy with her. There is nothing Luffy or… you… can do to stop me”

Your hands dropped down from his upper arms to rest on his forearms and your head falls.

“Even if I told you..”

Sanji’s body tensed against your hands. He stared down at you intently.

“Even if I told you I loved you.” You reply as you stared intently at his chest, taking a moment to get the words out before you glanced up at him.

He grunted in surprise and stared at you blankly. He then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Y/N. I love you too…”

He looked down at you and you raised your head to look up at him. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled.

“You’re incredible Y/N-swan and you’re unbelievably beautiful… but…” He said as he closed his eyes and sighed again. “Hours ago I would’ve done anything to hear those words… but now… I can’t… I can’t leave. I have to see this through.”

“Why?” You said as you griped his shirt sleeves tighter.

“For your safety!” He said as he pulled you tighter to him.

“I can protect myself!”

“Not against this… you, Luffy, Nami, Zeff, everyone. None of you are safe. My staying keeps you safe.”

“I don’t care. We are strong, we don’t need you to save us!” You yell as you looked deeper into his eyes.

“You’re strong, but not enough for this…. Y/N you have to go.” He said as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

He planted a kiss on your forehead and held you tight against his chest a moment. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him back.

“If you really love me, you’ll let me go. You’ll help Luffy become King of the Pirates and make sure he and the crew stay fed.”

You nod your head against his chest. You squeezed him tight one more time, then pulled back. You placed your hands on his chest and lifted your head to look him in the eye one last time.

“Sa…Sanji… if this is really it. Then…”

He looked at you, and softly smiled. He caressed your check a moment and slipped his fingers under your chin. He tilted your chin up and kissed you. His lips were soft and tasted of cigarettes and vanilla. He was gentle at first, but his passion quickly grew as both of remembered this would be your first and only kiss.

You moved your hands behind his neck and curled your fingers in his hair, pulling him deeper into you. His tongue began to stroke your lips and you opened wider, allowing your tongues to dance together. Next, You pulled a hand from his hair and began to slide it down his chest, pausing at his peck to push him away from you. You looked down at where you and his feet meet and slowly trailed your eyes up his body to meet his gaze. You stared at each other in silence a moment before you began to speak.

“Sanji… just once… I need you.”

Your gaze darted to his lips, then back to his eyes. A small drop of blood came out of his nose as he stared at you, wide eyed. You chuckled and step away from him to grab a tissue off the table. You returned and wiped his nose, setting it on the table beside you. Once you had, Sanji grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you back into his chest, placing his lips back against yours.

He kissed you more intensely than the first time. You began unbuttoning the buttons on his dress shirt as he started kissing and biting down your neck. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, you began licking and kissing down his chest and abdomen. At the same time, your hands slowly traced their way down his abs to the hardened bulge forming in his pants. His head fell back and he moaned as you clawed at the fabric of his pants.

“No princess, I should take care of you.” He said as he reached down to pull your lips back up to his.

You shook him off and began unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. You paused during this, to kiss and lick right above his waistband before you tugged his pants down. You watched as his erect length flopped out and slapped your chest. His pants fell to his feet and you looked up at him with a smile.

“And I want you to drip down my throat first.” You say with an eyebrow raise as Sanji swooned.

You dropped to your knees in front of him and his erect length. As you did he pulled his shirt off his shoulders and looked down at you with a loving smile.

You gently placed your hands on his knees and kissed up his legs to his length, slowly moving your hands up as you went. You leaned back and wrapped your hands around his length. One hand wasn’t enough to hold it all. You raise your eyebrows with a smirk and look at him when you realize this, placing a second hand around him. He grunted as you began to lick his pink tip with your tongue. You moved one of your hands to play with his balls while you teased his tip a few times. He began to moan and claw at your hair and neck. You smiled against him, then moved your hand from his balls back to his length.

You dropped your tongue back into your mouth and allowed your lips to spread wider. You gently pushed your mouth forward allowing your lips to swallow his length. He moaned as it slide fully into your mouth. You began bobbing your head against his length, gradually taking more and more in your mouth with each entrance.

Sanji couldn’t take it anymore, his hand moved to grip the back of your head and his hips began to undulate against your face. You smiled against his hard member and shifted your hands to his ass. You moaned as took control the pace and amount being shoved down your throat.

“Taking me beautifully, Princess. Going to cum..”

You smiled and tried to nod, but his pace was too quick. Your eyes started to water. You felt his length begin to twitch as he slammed his member against the back of your throat. You moaned as he repeated this once more. His seed shot down the back of your throat and he began to pant. He pulled his cock from between your lips and you swallowed. You stick out your tongue and showed him it was clean.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’ve never been as beautiful as when you were just taking me. You’re a goddess.” He replied looking at you as you got back to your feet.

You smiled, then turn your back to him and pointed to your zipper. His eyes widened as he reached for it. He unzipped it slowly, taking the time to kiss down your shoulders and back as unzipped. He pushed the sleeves off your shoulders and let the dress fall to the floor in front of you. He embraced you from behind and began playing with your breasts. He squeezed at your hard buds with one hand and trailed his other down to your underwear. He carefully pushed your panties to the side and started feeling between your slick folds.

“This wet for me already, princess? What’s daddy to do?” He asked as he continued rubbing your folds and squeezing at your nipples.

You moaned and pushed your back and ass harder against his chest and exposed member. He stopped playing with you a moment to push down your underwear. You take that moment to turn around and let him see you from the front. He gulped hard and clearly stopped breathing as he stared.

“Well daddy, do you like what you see?”

Sanji’s eyes went wide and his nose began to bleed again. His arms dropped from your waist and he fumbled to reach for a tissue to clean his nose up. As he did, you sensually sauntered over to the bed and laid back, spreading your legs wide.

“You got one night Sanji.” You said as you flip your hair and sat up on your elbows. “Come show me cooks know how to eat too.” You said with a devilish smirk.

Sanji drooled as he ran towards you and jumped on the bed. He paused in front of your core and stared at it a few moments with delight. He then began to kiss up your thighs towards your core. Once at your core he looked up at you and smiled.

“You’re beautiful, my love. Daddy can’t wait to show you how a goddess deserves to be treated.”

He kissed and licked your Clit. As he did, you laid your head back on the pillows behind you and reached for the bed beneath you. He moved his tongue down to lick at your entrance. Your feet lifted and dropped against the bed at the anticipation of his tongue entering you.

“Sanji.” You called with a desperate moan as your right hand ruffled his hair.

You felt his tongue moving in the shape of what you guessed to be letters at your entrance. His left hand moved and started to slowly rub your clit, the action of which made your body shudder. You felt Sanji’s mouth form a smile and his tongue begin to lap at your insides. Your knees bent inward towards him and he moaned at your taste. He continued circling your clit with his left hand and curled his tongue to hit your spot. He started slow then bobbed his tongue out of you quicker and quicker. You begin to feel heat build in your core.

“Sa—-nnn-ji.”

He smiled again, then moved 2 fingers on his right hand to push in and out of you. His tongue curled at your spot faster and faster. Your hips buckled against his hands and face.

“Sanji!” You moan as your juices squirt on his tongue and fingers.

He began licking your juices with his tongue, but continued pushing his fingers in and out of you as he did.

You moved your hands to your sensitive nipples and began rubbing them as Sanji cleaned you up. Your hips still moved softly against him. You moaned at the touch of his tongue and of your hands against yourself.

“Sanji…. I- need you.” You pulled him up by his hair and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He nodes and moved his chest up to rest above yours. He placed his arms above yours and began to kiss you. His once again, hardened member flopped on your stomach. You moved your hands to pump it a few times. He moved a hand to meet yours on his length. You let him take over and run your hands up his chest to rest around his neck. As you did, he moved his length to your folds and began to rub it up and down.

You moaned against his lips. He chuckled and began kissing down your neck and chest to your breasts. At your breasts he bit and sucked at your hardened buds.

“Can’t wait anymore, need you inside.” You called as your fingers fumbled through his hair.

“As you wish, princess.” He said as he stopped sucking on your hardened nipples and returned to look into your eyes.

He moved his length to your entrance and kissed you softly as he slowly and gently entered you. He gave you a few moments to adjust to his length before he started to push in and out. He pulled away from your lips and admired the bounce of your breasts for a few seconds.

“My princess, my goddess, is so tight for me.” He moaned as he continued to buck his hips against yours causing his member to go deeper towards your cervix.

“Now that you’re adjusted, how about riding me, princess? I want a better view of those perfect tits bouncing.”

You nodded. He grabbed your waist and your back and you held on to his shoulders. In one fluid motion, he flipped on his back and you were on top of him without him ever leaving your core. You moved your hands to his chest and began rolling your hips, your core tightened around him as you did. He played with your breasts and admired you atop him.

“So pretty. I’m the luckiest man in the world. I could die happy.” He swooned while you got your bearings atop him.

Once you got your bearings you began to bounce on him, moving your arms to his legs for balance. You bounced, slow at first, but quickly picking up the pace. He moaned as he watched you roll your hips against him with your bounces. As his climax began to build he moved a hand to rub your clit, causing the heat in your belly to start to rise.

“Sanji going to cum.” You muttered.

“Me too princess, where would you like me too?”

“Innnsideee.” You begged as your eyes crossed.

You leaned forward on him and quickened the pace of your bouncing, while he pushed on and twirled his thumb over your clit. Your tits bounced in his face, awakening something in him. He moved his hands around your waist and thighs and took over control of the pace. He slammed his length into your cervix a few times and you moan as his length twitched in you. His juices spilled from your core and you moaned at the feeling of wetness on your thighs. You continued to rock against him as he moaned. As you did, he moved his hand back to your clit, rubbing two fingers over it. Your core tightened at the touch, his length twitched a bit more, and your heat burst atop his member.

“Sanji!”

You fell on top of him and both of you panted. Once you’d both caught your breath, you rolled off him and moved to lay against his side. He kissed you softly at first, then he pulled you closer and it became deeper and more fervent. Then, suddenly he pushed you away. He moved to sit on the side of the bed and reached for something to clean himself up with. He then sat there and sighed. You sat up and wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. He placed his hands over yours around his neck.

“I’m sorry princess, funs over.” He said as he kissed your hand and removed your arms from his neck.

He got up and began to get dressed, stopping only to bring you your clothes and something to clean up with. You stared at him a moment then sighed and join him in getting dressed. Once dressed you headed to the door. Tears formed in your eyes as you reached for the handle. A hand grabbed yours and turned you to look back at him.

“Thank you for everything, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more for you. For the crew. I’m sorry I failed you all.” He said with his head tilted down.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, then headed out the door. He followed you a few steps out the door to give an excuse to eggplant (the guard on his detail). He watched you go and his eyes began to water.

#one piece smut #opla #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #Sanji #sanji smut #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji smut #sanji x you #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction

155 notes · View notes

onyourowndaisymae · 1 year ago

Text

when lucifer falls in love

content + warnings: minor s1 of og! game spoilers, discussions of death, nightmares, hurt/comfort, lucifer's regretting the past again // [masterlist]

word count: ~1.2k

it’s the dead of the devildom night. not a single creature dares to stir in the house of lamentation, to interrupt the heavy darkness that lays claim to the kingdom like a siege, like a thick blanket over a fragile child. the night is oppressive at this hour. hell freezes over each night– sizzling temperatures plummet to biting cold, a violent swing that dares all to be prepared for any weather.

it starts as uncharacteristic shuffles. tossing and turning at an hour he should usually be asleep, shifting from one side to another without waking. sweat peppers his hairline. his fingers twitch once, twice, eyelids fluttering restlessly. something’s going wrong. where there should be peace, there’s chaos, his dreams infested with something dark and unpleasant.

lucifer morningstar wakes violently with a nightmare.

his body jerks in panic, rising to a seated position before he can even fathom what’s going on. adrenaline floods his veins. fear grips him hard, and his labored breathing is the only sound that fills his senses for several long moments.

memories swirl together at the top of his consciousness, a glossy oil slick of tangible emotion and thought.

the great celestial war. bloodshed. the violent division of his family, of heaven itself, at the folly of his own pride. he can feel lilith’s body limp in his arms, chest rising with strained effort, her own blood soiling the angelic robes she once wore. she was beautiful. so innocent and pure. her only folly was falling victim to a love that should have never existed. a love he should have stopped earlier on, should have reigned in before things continued to deteriorate. his fault. it’s his fault that everything went down the way it did.

the sound of your breathing finally catches his attention when his own begins to steady out. you’re fast asleep next to him– it’s a nice indication that he was able to hold in the cry that burned his throat as to not disturb your peaceful slumber. humans need their rest, after all.

lucifer slips from his spot in his bed next to you. the bed shifts silently like a willing accomplice, letting his exit go unnoticed. a quick glance over his shoulder– you’re still unconscious, blissfully unaware of his departure– and he stumbles out into his office.

he flicks his wrist haphazardly and the fireplace sparks to life. tired feet carry him to a nearby chair and he slumps, defeated into the cushions.

in the dead of night, when he’s alone, his mind wanders to his mistakes. some nights, like tonight, they creep into his dreams– regret, uncertainty, moments of tranquility ruined by the stormcloud of war creeping into the foreground. was he wrong to fight against his Father? did his pride, his actions– have his siblings all been damned in ways they wouldn’t have had he discouraged them from following him? if he had stopped lilith from falling in love with that human in the first place, would his brothers be happier? would lilith still be alive?

that’s the thing about hindsight. he doesn’t know what the best decision was. in another life, maybe lilith lived– but he’ll never know.

“lucifer?”

his name is garbled and groggy as it falls from your lips. he’s surprised to see you in the doorway– were you not asleep just a few minutes ago?

“yes, my love?”

“what are you doing up? i–” a yawn interrupts you, and you shift on your feet uncomfortably. “-- i missed you.”

an awkward lump settles in his throat. he didn’t realize that you’d noticed his absence. your expression shifts from exhaustion to concern, rubbing your eyes with your fingertips to adjust to the light.

“i– couldn’t sleep.” he rasps the lie with ease. he doesn’t have the willpower to explain what was really going through his mind.

your bare feet pad quietly across the hardwood floors, steady and lethargic, as you make your way to his side. he watches each step carefully. you still next to him and press a soft, warm kiss to his forehead.

you’re sweet. that’s the first thing he thinks when your lips find his skin, now tacky from cooling sweat as he reels in his own panic. it’s hard to be so upset when he’s next to you. your hands find the sides of his face and cradle him oh-so-delicately, like too rough a touch will make him scurry off into the darkness.

“do you want to talk about it?”

he shakes his head.

“alright,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head and taking a step back. your fingers linger on the side of his face a moment longer before they fall to your sides. “just– don’t stay up too late, alright?”

he nods, watching you shuffle off to the bedroom once again. his heart beats rapidly in his chest from the lingering panic, but it starts to calm as his thoughts wander to you.

when did disdain become affection? when did suspicious looks turn into forehead kisses? lucifer couldn’t remember a turning point when you became so important to him– it was a slow march with his eyes closed, blind to the storm raging inside of him until push came to shove and his lips met yours.

now you spend your nights in his bed. he can hardly lull himself to sleep when you’re not there. funny how things change.

when the panic finally settles, he creeps back into his bedroom. the rhythmic lull of your breathing reassures him. there is no danger here. no death, no war, no mistakes. only you.

his movements are hesitant as he crawls back in bed. it’s an attempt not to wake you– a failed one. you immediately reach for him in a state of half-consciousness, tucking yourself into his chest as he settles back in his original spot. your hands are smooth against his broad chest, lazily brushing across the skin before winding around him.

“i got you, luci.”

four little words. barely audible amongst the shuffling of changing positions, but enough to make his heart pound against his ribcage. four little words conveying the depths of the care you have for the demon in your arms.

oh, how lucifer morningstar loves you so.

in the darkness of his bedroom, the flush of his cheeks does not announce its presence– yet it’s there, warm and fuzzy like the feeling in his chest, reminding the avatar of pride that he is nothing more than a man. a simple man. he loves his family and his home, the life he lives. and you. by god, he loves you so much that it makes his breath catch in his throat and his fingers tremble against your back. his arms wind around you to return the affection in any way he can.

he’ll wait to tell you he loves you another day– soon, surely, so he won’t have to carry this burden for long– when he can muster up all the romance and passion you deserve. would dinner be a more appropriate place, or would that be seen as too gaudy? maybe he’ll find a time at him, when the two of you are alone in each other’s arms again. lucifer will iron out the details with time.

sleep comes for him rather quickly. somewhere in your arms his mind is finally laid to rest, and he drifts off to sleep with the quiet comfort of knowing tomorrow will be a better day.

the nightmares do not return again tonight.

taglist for this series: @deepseafragments // @darkflowerav // @annoying-and-upset // @katerinaval // @lurkingsnails // @chirikoheina // @all-mights-wife // @notareum // @ollieoven

#this went through several rewrites... idk how i feel about this one #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #otome #obey me imagines

408 notes · View notes

imdeadinsidesiriuslydead · 1 year ago

Text

Shut Up! | Bart Allen x villain!reader

Bart Allen x fem! Reader

Based off this imagine I made.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Violence. Blood(tiny). Smutty! Just go ahead and read the imagine if you don’t want spoilers. Slight smut. Maybe I’ll write a part 2 with full on smut😏

notes: female reader. Villain reader. Villain name never mentioned. Race or appearance of reader never mentioned.

a/n: dude I was minding my business when this scenario popped into my head and now I just have to share it with the world. Enjoy!

———

Being chained up to a chair with his feet being bound together isn’t how Bart thought he’d spend his Friday night.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in Gotham. He protects Central City with Wally. Kinda. Wally doesn’t really like Bart as a sidekick. He was more of Max Mercury’s sidekick.

Max was probably worried out of his mind. He just really hoped Max wouldn’t show up or try to look for him, or else he’d find something he doesn’t need to know.

Bart has a secret. A secret crush on a certain Batman villain. Ever since he had to fight her with the young justice team, he was smitten.

His favorite pass time is running to Gotham city and foiling her plan before heading off to go hang out with Tim.

She would always catch him, she always did. And he would always let her. He loved it. A game of cat and mouse.

He loved watching her smile in victory as she caught him. He loved watching her integrate him. And he especially loved annoying her.

Like right now. He could vibrate his molecules and get out of the ropes, but what’s the fun in that?

She had caught him by freezing the ground and him falling into a trap she had made. She than knocked him out and tied him to a chair.

She stood in front of him with a scowl. She didn’t enjoy this game as much as he did. Her mask had been removed, giving Bart a few look at her face. She stared him down before smiling.

“Butch you can leave.” You said to your guard standing by the door. He left and closed the door, leaving the room in a dark cast.

The lights from outside the windows cast shadows across your features. The only other light was a small one back behind Bart, giving him the tiniest bit light to see your face.

“Impulse.” You stated “why do you always pop up and ruin everything?” You asked, no malice in your tone, Bart noted. Only curiosity.

“Well when you’re about to do something bad it’s kinda my job to come stop you.” Bart said as he smiled at you.

“Hmm” you hummed as you moved to a table full of weapons.

You grabbed a knife and turned to face him. Bart watched as you walked up to him slowly before leaning down to be at his eye level.

“You know,” you started with a sly smile “usually, I’d let you off with a warning. Maybe a slap on the wrist.” You whispered to him as you raised the knife to his face.

“but today you didn’t just mess up my plan. No.” You whispered with fake sorrow. You dragged the knife against his jaw, causing Bart to let out a breath. “You messed up the Bane’s plan too.”

Bart sucked in a breath. He didn’t know that. Obviously, he could put run Bane, but that didn’t change the fact that he was scared of him.

“Yea so, now I have to teach you a real lesson Impulse. Either with me or Bane. Take your pick.”

“Oh I’d much rather be punished by you.” Bart said as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

Your smile turned to an annoyed look. “Suit yourself.” You dug the knife at his neck, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to hurt.

Bart winced in pain, but another idea popped into his head. Acting like his name, he impulsively took action.

“So what do you do when you’re not trying to kill me?” He asked teasingly. The smirk on his face prevalent.

Your face slipped for a minute before the walls were back up again. “Is that really what you’re asking right now?” You asked dumbfounded.

“Well,” he started staring you right in the eyes, you could finally see the color of them. A nice golden brown. “I figured since your bodyguard wasn’t in here anymore, we could get to know each other a little more.” He smiled seductively.

Your blush was very noticeable, especially since your mask was off. “But- stop trying to distract me from your punishment.” You said sternly, though Bart was not convinced.

“Well I normally wouldn’t let someone tie me up the first official date, but you’re a special exception.” Bart winked. “So, at least tell me about yourself, since I’m being so nice.” He looked at you with faux innocence. You won’t lie, the look on his face was turning you on. You had to figure out a way to have him keep the look on his face.

You quickly remember that Bane would have your head if you didn’t take care of Impulse. Your need for survival trumped the need between your legs.

“That’s a vague question.” You say as you resume moving your knife against his neck, watching the goosebumps that it leaves in its wake.

“Huh?” Bart asked.

“Thats a vague question. Be specific. What did you want to know?” You ask as your knife slowly pierces the skin of his neck.

He hisses at the pain, before almost chocking on air. You moved your head towards his neck and licked the blood off of his neck. Bart stares at you, completely turned on and kinda scared.

You watched as the cut immediately healed itself, leaving no scar. You notice his shocked staring and laugh.

“How about a deal? Every question I answer, you have to answer one of mine. Deal?” You asked as you made the same innocent look he had given you earlier.

He nodded dumbly and you smiled.

“So too fast too furious, what’s your question?” You asked him.

“What’s your name?” He asked, his smile returning.

Your knife continued on its path across his neck going up to his jaw line.

“Y/N” you said as your knife gently touched his jaw line. He breathed out, liking the sensation of it gently touching him. “Your turn.” He tells you.

“Why do you heal so fast?” You asked as he breathed deeply. You were genuinely curious.

“Super fast metabolism.” he breathed as your knife made its way to the end of his suit by his neck.

Your knife gently teared the spandex, revealing more skin to slice at. His skin was incredibly soft. Slightly tan with freckles all over the part of his now exposed shoulder.

“Why are you working for Bane?” He asked. You weren’t really a villain in his eyes. More of an anti hero. You didn’t really harm people. You helped bad guys though, but you didn’t seemed fond of that.

“Cause I have to.” You said, still mesmerized by the goosebumps you were creating on his supple skin.

He figured he can ask you about it another day. Right now he didn’t want anything to stop you from dragging the knife all over him.

“Why do you always come to Gotham? I thought you and the flash protect Central City. That’s like two states away.” You say you start to cut the skin of his shoulder gently.

He breathes out a whine as it hurts. You try not to focus on the way that noise made you feel.

“What do you think sweetheart? Why am I here?” You might have been intimidated by his words if you weren’t meant to be torturing him.

You grabbed him by the hair and pushed his head back fast. He whined again and stared at you in shock.

“I asked you a question, speedy!” You say, giving him a dangerous look.

He stares at you in shock and overwhelmed lust. You smirk and decide to sit on his lap instead of kneeling on the floor.

You let go of his hair and go back you his shoulder. Watching the blood drip down a little. You saw the cut had healed and just to turn him on more, you lean down and lick the blood up his shoulder. You lick a little higher than where the blood stopped just to mess with him.

“Because I wanted to see you.” He states. Blushing madly.

You look up at him, and look through his goggles into his eyes. You saw shame and embarrassment. He’s telling the truth.

You won’t lie, that statement might have made your day, hell, your week. You try to hide the smile on your face but miserably fail. You had a lot of body image issues growing up and were bullied heavily, it was nice to find out someone actually wanted to see you, not just for a business deal.

“Your turn.” You tell him, still a little giddy.

“Why do you always kidnap me?” He asked with a handsome smile.

“You always try to stop me. So why not just stop you before you can?” You say as you pick your knife back up and continue your assault of his skin.

your hand pulls down the fabric a bit that had been cut on his shoulder, revealing part of his chest.

Bart sucks in a breath. Waiting for your next move.

“Why aren’t you actually hurting me?” Bart asked. You looked up at Impulse.

“Do you want me to actually hurt you?” You whisper as your kinda gently trails down from his shoulder.

“No.” He said as the cool knife hits his chest.

“I’m not gonna hurt cause I don’t want to.” You say turning back to work.

“But won’t the henchmen outside notice I’m not hurt?” Bart asked.

“What do you mean?” You asks as you slice a tiny shallow part of his right pec.

Bart makes a small whimper at the sensation, as another better idea pops into his head.

“Like don’t people who are tortured usually scream and make noise?” He asks in a seductive voice.

Your knife stopped moving again and you look at him and see his eyes blown out with lust. Your mind made a decision before you could stop yourself. You leaned down and licked up the blood before dragging your tongue up his shoulder to his neck, before sucking on the skin of his neck.

Bart moaned as he leaned more into your touch. The noise he made went straight to your core.

You pulled back, a tiny bit of blood on the corner of your mouth. Your hands went into Impulses hair and you gently tugged, causing him to leg out another whine. You moved your sitting position so that your legs were straddling his.

“Yea. I suppose they do. You wanna help me make this sound real?” You ask as your hand move onto his face, pushing his goggles up so you can see his eyes.

“Yes.” Bart says as he felt his dick harden against your thigh.

“Good boy.” You say before leaning in to kiss Bart.

——

anyone want a part 2?

Edit: Part 2 here

458 notes · View notes

everparanoid · 8 months ago

Text

Depths of Eternity Left Behind

Satoru Gojo x Sorcerer fem! Reader

On October 1st, 2018, you find Gojo crying in an empty classroom and you try to comfort him.

A story in which you are a Grade One sorcerer working alongside Gojo who falls in love with the man behind the overconfident bravado, but can't seem to get close enough to reach him beyond the limitless infinity that separates you.

cw: Canon compliant. Major Character death, Canon Typical Violence, Suggestive Content, Mentions of Pegging and Petplay, Mentions of death, Fluff, Angst. Major Spoilers for Manga, JJk 0 and season 2.

Word Count: 6.3k

Minors Do Not Interact

Spoilers below.

October 31st, 2018. Summary of the Notice from Jujustu Headquarters

Suguru Geto’s Survival was confirmed. We hereby declare the reinstatement of his death sentence.

2. You and Satoru Gojo have been deemed accomplices in the Shibuya Incident and are hereby expelled from Jujutsu society. Following your confirmed death in Shibuya, you are to be wiped from all records. In addition, any attempt to free Satoru Gojo from his seal will be deemed a crime.

3. Masamichi Yaga is sentenced to death for inciting you, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto, causing the Shibuya Incident.

4. The suspension on Yuji Itadori’s death sentence is hereby revoked, and his execution shall be carried out promptly.

5. Special-grade sorcerer Yuta Okkotsu shall be appointed as Yuji Itadori’s executioner.

October 1st, 2018. Tokyo prefecture, Tokyo Jujutsu High School 30 days before The Shibuya Incident

“Sensei, good evening,” Itadori called out to you.

You had poked your head out of the door when you heard the young trio returning from their day out in the city. “Itadori, have you seen Gojo?”

Halting, Itadori’s face contorted in thought. “Gojo sensei?” His arms were filled with shopping bags, presumably Nobara’s. You wondered how his arms hadn’t given out from the amount he was carrying, but you supposed the vessel of the king of curses was a special breed. “Isn’t he on a mission?”

You cursed under your breath. “I thought he would be with you guys,” you said. “Yaga told me he returned earlier today.”

“Knowing him, he’s probably slacking off somewhere.” Nobara rolled her eyes, gesticulating languidly.

Itadori smacked his fist onto his open palm, jostling the bags still hanging off his forearms. “Have you checked--?”

“I’ll call him,” Megumi interrupted, quick to bring out his phone. His fingers dashed over the screen bringing up Gojo’s number.

You waved dismissively. If the kids hadn’t seen Gojo then something was wrong and calling him probably would ruin any chance of you had figuring out what it was. Gojo had a way of masking his problems in front of the kids. “No need, Fushiguro.”

Megumi lowered his phone. “Are you sure?”

“He is around here somewhere.” You smiled. “You guys have a nice rest of your evening.” You slid the door closed.

You found Gojo in one of the sparsely furnished classrooms. He sat slumped, his long legs man-spread, his head resting on the backrest of the chair, and his blindfold on. The setting sunlight pouring in through the open window bathed his white hair in a gentle orange glow.

You didn’t know if he knew that you were there. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge you. It was rare to catch the blindfolded man unaware—ever since the incident with the star plasma vessel and Toji Fushiguro all those years ago his defences had been ironclad. And yet there you were watching the strongest man you knew break.

His cries were hollow sounding. Too frail to be considered sobs of pain, but strong enough to express the tip of an iceberg of agony. From being in its presence, you felt an iota of the weight he carried on his shoulders.

It was fifty-fifty whether your presence would make him raise his guard again, putting on the front of the bubbly jester entertaining the court. However, you couldn’t just stand by and watch him cry.

When was the last time that he was told it was okay to be weak? When was he allowed to be anything other than the strongest?

Gojo was the strongest, that was a known fact. One accepted by everyone in the jujutsu world, even by the overconfident man himself. He was born into strength; it was his birthright.

Throughout the heavens and earth, he alone was the honoured one.

You knew this. It’s not like anyone would ever let you forget. It was why you both agreed you couldn’t be anything more than what you were. It was what kept your worlds apart despite how much you wanted to be a part of his.

Gojo is the strongest.

Other’s words echoed around your head like a mantra.

He was never weak. He could never lose. He was never afraid. He was Satoru Gojo. Six eyes; limitless; idiot; pain in the ass; love of your life… the strongest.

And he was alone, you reminded yourself.

//July 2007

“Is that Satoru?” you asked, watching the usually aloof teen training alone on the fields. It was a hot day in July at Jujutsu High. Hotter than it had been over the last week, and so instead of wasting away in a classroom you’d buddied with Shoko to sit outside near the training grounds.

Shoko hummed in affirmation from beside you. With focused hands, she filled her cigarette paper with tobacco, holding the filter between her lips. She didn’t need to look up to know where you were looking.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“When is he not okay?” With dainty fingers, she rolled her cigarette. “Fuck this, I’m just going to buy pre-rolled next time,” she said. She licked the edge of the paper, sealing the cigarette. “Come with me later.”

“Sure,” you said absently, your attention failing to leave Gojo. Shoko could have asked you to rob a Konbini and you would have agreed. “He’s been doing a lot of missions alone since the failure of Tengen’s Star Plasma vessel mission... I haven’t even seen him hang out with Suguru.” Or me, but you don’t say that. This wasn’t about you. Even though you had been just as close with the two as they were with each other; not to the same strength level and ability to throw down, still, it was always the three of you—and Shoko occasionally.

Shoko shrugged, lighting her cigarette. “They’re big boys, they can work separately.” She took a drag. “Besides, I can’t imagine him needing backup anymore. Anyone else would be a hindrance.”

You outwardly agreed but couldn’t shake the thought that even the strongest person needed support. And Suguru was his right-hand man. They were inseparable like two sides of the same coin—yin and yang; only imbalance came if one existed without the other. It felt wrong seeing them apart. “Still—I should go and check on him.”

“Don’t,” Shoko said.

You stopped mid-way into getting up and looked back at her. “Why not?”

“Because asking Gojo to open up is like extracting blood from a rock,” Shoko monotoned. She crossed her left leg over the right and leaned back, taking another drag.

“Rocks don’t bleed,” you said.

“Exactly, rocks are weapons.” She tipped her head to the side. “That’s why you’re better off not going to him. Unless you want to be the one hurt, and news flash, I can’t reverse heartbreak.”

You looked away, guilt-ridden. It wasn’t a secret that you were in love with Gojo.

“Besides your form of empathy is about as kind as a slap,” Shoko added.

You hesitated. She had a point. You cast your gaze between Shoko and Gojo in the distance, divided. He whipped a pale hand across his sweaty forehead, his focus undisturbed. He looked tired, determined, and way out of your league.

“Fine, I’ll check on Suguru,” you said, grabbing your bag.

Shoko shook her head. “Out.”

“Again?”

“He’s on a mission alone.”

Alone.

The word rippled through you.

“Couldn’t one of us have gone along with him?” you asked. “We are here too.”

She coughed out a bitter laugh. “And I’ll what? Heal his mouth after he successfully does his job? He’ll be fine.” She stood and placed a hand on your shoulder, taking a final puff in the process. She blew out the smoke. “Like I said, they’re big boys. They’re just licking their wounds right now.”

You watched as she dropped the cigarette butt and stumped out its orange glow with her shoe.

“They’ll be fine,” she said. “Trust me.”

/October 1st, 2018

You often forgot that Satoru was a human too. If you let the words of others, and even the words of the man himself poison you, you too might have been able to ignore that key detail. The only thing that worked to remind you that it was Gojo shouldering the responsibility of the world.

Throughout the heavens and earth, Gojo alone was the honoured one.

Alone.

He would always be alone. He was always alone. Amongst a crowd of people, he was alone. When he was with his students, he was alone. When he was with you and his other colleagues, he was alone. When he was in your bed on the odd times you both were able to sleep in each other’s arms after months of back-to-back missions—he was still alone.

It troubled you.

Despite being whatever you both were—bed buddies? Colleagues with benefits? Star-crossed lovers? You still couldn’t truly reach him. Nor could you fathom the depths of his loneliness or how heavy the head was that wore the thorned crown. It must have been agonising to be seen and acknowledged but not levelled. To be put on a throne you didn’t ask for and wield its power at unsatisfying levels against things that could only at best be considered insects, excruciating even. You imagined it was like holding back a scream of agony after losing a cherished one. Suppressing everything for the sake of not setting the world on fire—to not become the enemy.

But Gojo had no enemies.

//December 24th, 2017

The sky was a deep azure gradating with the orange sunset forming pink and purple stained clouds the day Suguru Geto died. The stars were clear in the sky, and the air was crisp and fresh. It was a new day. Yet in those hours before so much had happened. So many had fought to stop the person you once called your friend. So many years of friendship, years of sitting in classrooms and shaking your head as he and Gojo goaded each other; years of catching the rebounds of their hoop sessions in the sports hall and laughing with them when they returned from their missions—were gone in a matter of hours.

It was just another day. Insignificant. Unsatisfying. There was no big bang, no screaming and shouting. It was just over.

You hadn’t been there when Suguru died. You hadn’t heard his last words or seen his face when Gojo killed him. You didn’t get to see his smile again or hear his soft-spoken voice—the same one he’d use when he’d pat your head and call you kind for trying to stop his and Gojo’s fights, but ended up adding fuel to the raging fire because it was fun to watch Gojo pout. You hadn’t heard any of it, but Gojo had.

And he was alone.

“He’s gone,” Gojo said closing the door to the room in the morgue where Suguru’s corpse lay. You caught a glimpse of Shoko adjusting her gloves and pulling the sheet over his face before you were completely cut off. “He won’t hurt anyone anymore,” Gojo said, his voice steady and empty.

“’Toru,” you said weakly, his nickname meek sounding on your lips.

He looked down at you, his lips pulled into a tight line like he was suppressing everything he wanted to say. If you could have seen his eyes behind the blindfold you were sure they were just as troubled. But you couldn’t because Gojo never showed weakness.

He is the strongest.

“I should have stopped him before—” he gulped, his fist clenching at his side. “I should have been there. I could have—.”

“Could have what?” you interjected. “Could have saved him? Could have talked him out of insanity?” You scoffed. “No, you couldn’t.” You knew it was the wrong time for tough love, especially when Gojo had willingly opened up to you, but you couldn’t meet him on his level. Your emotions were running too high—and you hated rehashing the past. And that’s all his words were doing for you. Restating not Gojo’s failure, but your own. “He killed his parents. He wiped out an entire village of people. He was prancing around like some born-again Buddha with an almighty saviour complex spouting nonsense about monkeys and mass genocide.”

Gojo remained still. He had no funny remarks or stupid grin. He was a ghost of himself. Before this in your eyes, Gojo Satoru had died once. It was after he returned from failing Tengen’s star plasma protection mission. And he never fully returned. It was like he was teetering on the edge; neither here nor there.

You knew he knew that you were right.

You were rarely wrong.

They’ll be fine, trust me.

You didn’t blame Shoko, or Gojo, or even Yaga. You blamed yourself. You should have been there for your friends. You could have been there for them… both of them. But you weren’t. You were too weak. You weren’t Gojo or Suguru. You were you. Just another Grade One sorcerer growing alongside two Special Grade giants—watching them race on ahead and crash and burn without even attempting to catch up and put out the flames.

You didn’t have time to filter the words vomiting out of your mouth. “What? Do you think you could have brought him along on all those missions with you back then after Riko? Like he could have worked alongside you when you were acting like everyone was a burden?” You stood, pointing a single finger into his chest—not bothering to question that he was allowing you to touch him. That in front of you he had let his limitless technique down. He had met you midway and let you into his world just like you wanted, all because you were one of the last people he had whom he believed somewhat understood him beyond the bravado. “Have you forgotten that you alone are the strongest Satoru, not you and Suguru? Just you. And the moment that imbalance came—the moment you both realised that you were no longer equals—was when you could never have stopped him. If anything, you would have pushed him there faster.”

You dropped yourself back into your chair, burying your head in your hands. Tears fell quicker than you could stop them. And so, you let them and felt them soak your dark clothes.

Gojo didn’t attempt to comfort you or say anything for the matter. Instead, he stood over you as you sobbed—letting your tears slide off his loafers.

When your tears let up, and you finally were able to hear yourself think again you noticed the puddles on and around his shoes. You hadn’t known he was still there—that he had stood and let you say all of that to him, and not said a single word. Your eyes trailed slowly up his long legs, to his relaxed hands, his chest, and up to his blank blindfolded face, emotionless.

Dread incensed you, made your mouth dry and your eyes even drier. Guilt had you recalling everything and letting go of all your misplaced anger.

You’d said too much. He’d let you touch him, and you threw everything back in his face. All because of your selfish guilt.

“Satoru.” You didn’t miss how he flinched slightly at the word. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that. I am just upset. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right.”

His smile unnerved you; told you that you had fucked up.

“Throughout the heavens and earth, I alone am the honoured one.”

You went to touch his hand but were stopped inches away by his limitless technique. “Toru,” you pleaded, wishing that you could take it all back. That you could go back to who you both were before the world tore you all to shreds.

His fists clenched. “Only me,” he said.

And for the second time since you’d known him, Gojo Satoru died again.

/October 1st, 2018

“I know you’re there,” he said.

You straightened, pushing off the door frame you took a hesitant step into the empty classroom. You had been so lost in thoughts that you didn’t realise he had stopped crying and had lifted his head, watching you through the blindfold.

Gojo lifted the rim of his mask. His unearthly blue eyes were tinged red around the edges and deep bags framed them. He gave you a weak smile—the gesture not leaving his lips. “You spyin’ on me?”

His tone didn’t hit when he looked so drained.

You slid the door closed behind you. You didn’t know why you did it. Perhaps you thought that some privacy would allow him the space to lower his guard. As if the flimsy sliding door could shut out the rest of the world, and let you in. “I came to check on you, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Check on me?” It hurt you how foreign those words sounded on his lips. He tilted his head, his already smiling lips pulling into a larger grin. “Did you miss me that much?”

You suppressed a frown. “Of course not, stupid.”

Missing would have been an understatement. Worried was more like it. Worried and pitied.

He laughed; the sound was a relief to your ears. Even if it was fake, you decided that seeing Gojo laugh was better than seeing him cry. You loved his laugh—his smile. You wondered how you could protect it. But the strongest didn’t need protecting. The strongest protected everyone else. That was his purpose. That was what he did.

Satoru Gojo alone was the honoured one.

“You love me,” he teased unaware of how true those words rang.

You did love him like how a sunflower loves the sun.

“When was the last time you slept?” You deflected.

“You sayin’ I look like shit?” He stretched his arms above his head, lifting out of his laid-back position. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t insult shit,” you said seriously.

He laid his head back again, lowering his blindfold over his eyes. “I was sleeping.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You stood between his legs. “You can talk to me.”

He remained silent.

“Or not, we can just be in silence. It’s nice not hearing you speak for once,” you continued, lightening the mood. Unfortunately, your best way of comforting people was not comforting at all. If past events hadn’t been an indicator, you’d never been good with empathy, and you didn’t claim to be. Most of the time you avoided heavy conversations because of how awkward it would be to not relate to or understand any of what was being said to you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to but if you had a choice you would choose to not participate. Unless it was for Gojo and once upon a time, Suguru too.

Gojo was like you in that sense, well you thought Gojo was like you, but it turned out you were completely wrong on that front. The selfish man was the most empathetic person in the world. Who else could understand the burdens of these young sorcerers and vessels but the tool of the jujutsu world himself? He was thrust into a life of assassination attempts and responsibility from the day he was conceived after all.

//August 2018.

Principal Yaga gave you a curt nod as he passed you in the corridor. He was exiting the faculty room leaving you to enact your perfect plan on Gojo. It was a simple prank.

An easy one.

You had to wait for him to be mid-conversation with his guard down. This meant ignoring his texts enough that he would be too busy spamming your phone with inappropriate messages and stickers, to notice you sneak in outside of his field of vision to surprise attack him from behind. It was nothing compared to the horrors he’d pulled on you this week. Gojo had taken to pranking you, so it was only fair to return the favour.

You weren’t playful often. You tried to present yourself as the dependable stable one out of you and Gojo for the kid’s sake, and the rest of the faculty's sake too. However, sometimes the man tickled your nerves just enough to have you unable to do anything else but retaliate. This happened to be one of those times. You had no malicious intent aside from the crippling desire to avenge yourself because unlike Gojo you weren’t trying to embarrass him in front of the kids. Yours would just be a little jump scare.

You darted forward, your arms open wide to capture him from behind only to fall smack bang into thin air, frozen by the pressure of the limitless space between the two of you. Being this close, you noticed the fine hairs on his neck standing on end like a startled cat.

Was Gojo afraid?

“Failed,” he said cooly, stepping forward and releasing you from his invisible hold. “Ya should’ve tried a different approach.”

“How did you?” you asked, your words falling off.

He spun to look at you “Back shot? really? I know you can do better. If you wanted to peg me you could have just asked. I’d buy the strap-on and everything so ya don’t have to worry your pretty little head.”

You went to wack him but his limitless once again halted you. “It was going to be a hug, you freak.” You lowered your hand. “Besides, I’m sure you were shit scared just then—admit it.”

Gojo laughed and squeezed your cheeks, pulling and stretching your face like playdough. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m not,” you swat his hands away.

“You didn’t respond to any of my texts,” he said. His hand traced down your face before lifting your chin to look at his masked eyes. “Now that you’re here though, you can answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Are we on for tonight?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you held your focus refusing to give him another thing to annoy you with. “You’re really not going to explain why you’re sitting in the faculty office with limitless on? Utahime isn’t even here to throw stuff at you,” you deflected.

He wrapped his other arm around you, bringing you into a hold that was too intimate for school grounds. With a dip of his head, he brushed his lips over yours. When you went to kiss back, he pulled back, smirked, and then dipped down again. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy kissing Gojo. Any woman in their right mind would die to be in your position—fuck it, you over ten years ago would have died to be here too; alone with this gorgeous man. However, not even his lips or his curious hand slipping under your shirt and clasping your bra could distract you enough from the fact that even in an empty faculty room he was on guard; waiting for an attack—for something to disrupt his peace.

He broke the kiss, your residue lip gloss glistened on his lips. “I’m going to need compensation later for the emotional damage your failed assassination attempt caused me. PTSD is real you know.”

He manhandled your face with the hand still caressing your chin. The door opened and Nanami entered with a mug in his hands and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Gojo let you go at least letting you save some face. You reclasped your bra bashfully.

You brushed off your clothes. “Nanami.”

Nanami greeted you in return, setting his coffee on the coffee table and sitting on one of the adjacent sofas.

“Na-na-mi! Aren’t ya just the most respected man I was looking for? What do ya say we hang out for a bit and talk about the social and political state of the world?” Gojo grinned.

The stiff ex-salary man’s response was immediate. “No.” His attention moved to Gojo, who wore your gloss like a trophy.

Gojo turned to you and shrugged, sticking his tongue out comically.

You shook your head, wishing he would give the other man a break. Not everyone had a high threshold for Gojo’s buffoonery, and Nanami was one of those people.

“How about we go to this bakery they sell good kikufuku and we could—” Gojo tried again.

“No.” Nanami opened his newspaper.

“But—”

“Have you considered putting a leash on him?” Nanami asked you.

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Kinky, I like the way you think, Nanami. I’ll buy a leash and collar whilst we’re in town—it’ll be perfect for tonight.” He draped an arm over your shoulders and leaned down till his lips brushed the shell of your ears. “Would you like to be my pet?”

“I think Nanami was implying that you should control yourself,” you muttered, your body tense. You feared not only was Gojo probably serious, but he also now had discovered another avenue in which to stroke his raging God complex.

“But it would be more fun to control you,” he said.

Flabbergasted, you shoved him—well you tried to.

Gojo stepped back his arms up in surrender and limitless once again on. He laughed menacingly. “I’ll take that as yes.”

Nanami cleared his throat, aggressively.

“I’ll get you a cute blue collar to match my eyes,” Gojo said to you. “I know how much you love them. That way when I am fucking you, you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your eyes widened. “You—”

Both disturbed and visibly disgusted, Nanami closed his paper, picked up his coffee, and evacuated the room.

Gojo gave you a fleeting kiss on your temple. “Na-na-mi! Wait for me.” He strode off after his junior, abandoning you in the faculty room. “I wasn’t done asking you whether you think this shirt makes my butt look too big. Hey! We’re going into town remember. Don’t ignore me! Na-na-mi~!”

/ October 1st, 2018.

Gojo’s chest shook gently as he inaudibly laughed.

You went to take a step back deciding that you had been out of your mind asking Gojo to open up to you, only to be stopped by his legs closing against your thighs trapping you in place.

“You tryna leave me?” he asked.

“You weren’t speaking.”

“You said ya liked my silence,” Gojo said.

You scoffed. “I didn’t realise that now would be the time you would decide to take someone else’s advice besides your own.”

He raised his head to look at you, mask still in place over his eyes. “I always listen to other people’s advice; I just don’t always take it. And today happened to be a good day for silence.” He raised a finger, pointing upwards. “Can ya hear that?”

You stopped, waiting to hear something out of the ordinary. You looked around the classroom taking in the empty wooden space before turning back to see that stupid big smile once again on his moisturized lips.

“So not only are you taking other people’s advice but you’re also lying?” You shook your head. “That’s a new low even for you, Toru.”

He pouted and reached his arms around you pulling your hips forward. He hugged you like a koala, his head resting on your lower abdomen. “I’m just playing with you.”

“Play with someone else, you’ve expended my nice quota for the day.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

Gojo held you tighter. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You halted your actions. “For what?” you asked breathlessly. You didn’t need to ask, and he didn’t need to tell you for you both to know what he meant. Your hands remained by your side too afraid to touch him. Too afraid to do anything that might freak you both out and break whatever emotional domain you’d locked yourselves in.

“I’m going to die one day,” he said softly. “And I’ll remember this moment when death comes.”

You don’t speak; afraid that he’ll stop if you do.

You imagined the thought of his death soothed him in a way. It was the final frontier, and in both your line of work, it meant that you had been defeated. Bested. Beaten at your own game. It meant that you’d given your all and, in the end, it just wasn’t enough. That you as a warrior had fought with all you might and come out the loser. You’d tried. You’d been tested and you’d finally been chosen unworthy. You imagined that despite how much his words hurt you to consider, the thought of death at the hands of someone stronger than him would be an honour. A blessing. It would be the moment when Gojo Satoru, the enlightened one, finally could be human.

After all, death was the ultimate leveller—the unequivocal equalizer.

His grip loosened slightly as he relaxed his weight against you. “Then I’ll be allowed to rest without regrets,” he said. You don’t miss the end of the statement although it is whispered barely in hearing range. “And maybe I’ll be able to greet you both again on the same level, finally.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that?” you asked.

He chuckled. “A guy can dream, right?”

// December 24th, 2018

“Satoru,” Suguru says, a bright smile on his youthful face. He appears to be about sixteen. “Long time no see.” He is sitting a seat away from Satoru in his jujutsu uniform.

“Blegh!” A younger Gojo coughs shooting forward in his seat. The force of the action causes his circular glasses to slide down his nose.

“You couldn’t have held on a little longer?” a younger you asks, sitting beside him, also in your uniform. “I was rooting for you to make it, so, I could at least decay in my grave a bit more. Don’t tell me you missed me or something?”

Suguru calls out your name. “That’s not very kind of you, you didn’t even let him land.”

“He’s the one who hasn’t let me land. I only died in Shibuya less than two months ago. At least you got a year to compose yourself accordingly.”

Suguru nods in defeat, his smile remaining.

“Currently dying again here,” Gojo says between coughing fits.

You and Suguru pat Gojo’s back.

“You’re kidding me this sucks,” Gojo says. He slumps back in the chair, sighing. He doesn’t spare either you or Suguru a glance, seemingly annoyed.

Suguru hunches over and shakes his head. “Pretty rude thing to say right after seeing someone’s face.” He shoots you an exasperated look.

You respond with an unsurprised lift of your shoulder.

Gojo scrunches his face. “I’ve always told my students.” He raises his fingers in quotation marks. “‘When you die, you’ll die alone.’ So please tell me this is just some ridiculous dream.”

You snort.

“Does it matter?” Suguru says.

“There’s nothing you can do about it either way,” you add, pulling his ear. “We are all dead either way, stupid.”

He swats your hand away and scratches his head. “No shit.” He looks perplexed. “Fuck, and there’s still all that stuff with his dad.”

“Megumi’s?” you ask. You’d sort of presumed he knew. “Thought you’d said you wanted to die without regrets?”

Gojo looks up at the high airport ceiling thoughtfully. “I asked Shoko to handle it.”

“Of course, you did,” you whisper. “Always a step ahead.”

A wistful smile appears on his lips. “Always.”

You begin to mindlessly play with the back of Gojo’s hair.

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

“So, how was the king of curses?” Suguru says segueing the question to the culprit of Gojo’s demise.

“Insanely fucking strong, and I could tell he wasn’t giving it all he had.” When your hand stops massaging the back of his head, he reaches back and takes your hand into his. “Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve won even if he didn’t have Megumi’s ten shadows.”

Suguru brows raise. “I’m shocked anyone could make you admit that.”

“I’m not,” you admit.

Gojo gives you a bashful look. He squeezes your hand in his.

It’s odd for you to see him be so openly vulnerable, but you like it. No, you love it.

Gojo looks down. “I feel kinda sorry for him,” he admits softly.

Suguru glances at you quizzically but you give him no reaction, allowing Gojo the space to continue. You’re not sure if he means Megumi or Sukuna or maybe both, but you decide to listen anyway.

“I’m no stranger to feeling isolated,” Gojo starts. “There was always this gulf between me and other people. Even if they adored me. You can admire a beautiful flower…but you can’t ask it to understand you.”

Suguru straightens in his seat.

Gojo lets go of your hand, scrunching his hand into a fist. “I put everything I had into tryin’ to reach him. To make him understand…all my physical training techniques I mastered… my explosiveness, quick thinking, and attempts at humor. I gave it my all, but it wasn’t enough. The loneliness that comes with unrivalled strength…the one who will teach you about love is—” he pauses, “I had fun.”

You place your hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He gives you a thankful nod. He releases a weak laugh, the mood lightening. “Sukuna wasn’t able to give me his all though. And I think that’s a damn shame.”

“Consider me jealous, at least you had the satisfaction of going out with a bang,” Suguru says.

“Satisfaction, huh?” Gojo scoffs. “I guess my only disappointment was that you weren’t there to slap me on the back.”

Suguru laughs.

“But I guess I am glad I died facing a strong opponent. It’d have been embarrassing if I let some disease or old age get the best of me,” Gojo says.

“What are you a samurai?”

Gojo's eyes widen.

A sly grin appears on your face when you watch Gojo turn around to see a young Nanami and Haibara sitting behind you all. They begin to scuffle for a while mocking Gojo for his selfish mindset in life. You remain silent, watching him the way you always do.

Gojo is the strongest.

Those words still hold despite you both dying. His strength isn’t just about his physical prowess but his mental one. It is why you love him, you decide, even though it kept you worlds apart in life.

“What ya thinking?” Gojo whispers bumping your shoulder playfully.

“Nothing much,” you whisper back. You flip your hand palm up on Gojo’s thigh and he interlocks your fingers.

“Don’t look like nothing much,” Gojo teases leaning down to search your eyes.

You dip your head, watching your interlaced hands. “I’m just glad we’re all together again.”

You don’t look but you hear Gojo’s smile. It sounds like an endless blue ocean crashing against a yellow sandy shore. It feels like the sun warming you back to life.

Gojo lifts your hand and kisses the back of it. “Me too,” he says. “Which one are you choosing North or South?”

“Does it matter what I chose?” you ask not disclosing your choice.

“Maybe.” His gaze flicks to your lips. “Definitely.”

“When did you two get all sappy?” Suguru interrupts. “It’s disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Nanami adds. “I had to endure that. Trust me it gets worse.”

“Sounds to me like a whole lot of bitchless jealousy,” Gojo says, raising his voice over their declarations. “Personally, could never be me.”

Haibara laughs. “I think it’s cute. Good for you, Gojo-san. Finding love despite your personality.”

Gojo grins and pulls you into his chest. “Thanks, Haibara. See, ‘least someone is happy for me.”

Suguru snickers.

Nanami rolls his eyes.

“I think that was an insult,” you say, raising a finger.

Gojo dramatically hushes you placing a long finger to your lips. “’m taking what I can get. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“When have I ever been? You act out of pocket all the time. Someone has to help Suguru humble you.”

Gojo shakes his head. “Betrayed by my girl and my best friend…that’s crazy. Not even in death can I catch a break.”

The airport fills with the sound of laughter.

And in these short moments, laying against Gojo’s chest encased in his comforting scent as he bickers with Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara, you feel like nothing is blocking the front of either of your eyes. Like in some absurd way, this is what Gojo meant. You know that even if these days fade… even if you’ve come to know his world, different from yours in the depths of eternity left behind…even now the blue remains—clear; in the summer colours that refract off your cheeks like crystals becoming one with the endless sea.

Gojo’s thumb brushes your cheek smudging away the tears. He says your name softly. “You cryin’?” He asks peering down at you from above.

You reach up and pull off his dark sunglasses. You see those blue eyes, glimmering like sunlight on water, or like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy that used to spill through the gaps between your fingers. And they’re staring straight back at you. Asking ‘Will we meet again?’

You nod, unable to say the words that are stuck in your throat.

But Gojo doesn’t need to hear it, a grin forming, nevertheless.

“Hey, Principal!” Gojo shouts looking up and spotting Yaga up ahead trying not to be noticed. “Thought ya said no Jujutsu sorcerers die without regret?”

/ October 1st, 2018.

You let your hand slowly move to his white hair, caressing the soft locks. “You know, you’re pretty weak for the strongest man,” you said endearingly.

“Maybe I’m pranking you?” he muttered. “Making ya let your guard down and believe I am weak so that I can get some. I am prone to lyin’ ya know.”

You hummed in disbelief. “What an unfunny lie.”

“What a sick twisted joke,” he agreed.

Thanks for reading!

KO-FI MASTERLIST

#gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic

130 notes · View notes

apolloscastellan · 5 months ago

Text

Never quite buried | loss of my life chapter 4

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig x FemaleTennisPlayer!reader

Summary: Your life had always been divided in two: before you met Tashi and after you met Tashi. The second you had laid eyes on her for the first time you knew you had been changed. You were soulmates, meant for each other Nothing could ever tear you two apart, or so you had thought. You could've pinpointed the junior U.S. Open as the night that changed everything. Now you have to juggle your hate-love relationship with tennis with your love-love relationship with Tashi and the two guys who you can't seem to stay away from. Tennis, after all, was only one of the most fucked up relationships of your life.

Warnings: challengers spoiler, challengers content warnings, super minor character death, terrible mother figure, use of y/n, polyamory.

Word count: 6.5K

A/N: Please let me know what you think bc my motivation is severely lacking rn, i feel like i'm writing into the void

series masterlist | prev | next

Tashi remembers perfectly the day your retirement from singles hit the news. It was all everyone could talk about. First, it was the statement on your social media. A well thought out paragraph about your struggles with continuing to enjoy tennis the way you used to and deciding to take a new route, it ended with a promise for more and better news soon. Then it was the teasing posts from Adidas, the “she is not done just yet” and the “love conquers all”. It all came to a peak with the release of the pictures of you and Patrick. Both of you wearing matching Adidas apparel, practicing in the private court you had in your backyard. The chemistry between the two of you was obvious to everyone who saw them. There was a glint in your eyes that no one had seen since you went pro. She knew the smile you were giving Patrick all too well, it used to be reserved for her.

Her and Art, who had just very recently reconnected, sat on his couch for hours watching the tennis channel, waiting for updates. The relief they felt when it was announced that you were not quitting because you were fatally injured, as everyone had originally thought, was short lived. Neither of them spoke as the commentators showed the images of you and Patrick. Practicing, giggling, getting closer, him giving you that teasing smirk they both knew, you throwing your head back laughing, him beaming at you when you weren’t even looking, both of you focused on the ball, kissing… They both thought about turning off the TV, hitting some balls to work out how they were feeling, but then you were introduced into the set, a vibrant smile as you walked in, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt too big to be yours. The Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy logo only confirmed the obvious. You shook hands with everyone, sitting on the sofa they had reserved for you.

“Y/n Y/l/n, thank you for being here” the older man said, over the clapping of the crowd.

“Thanks for having me!”

“What a day it’s been for all of us, tennis fans. You’ve had us on the edge of our seats! First we mourned, now we’re celebrating… Please tell us why did you do this to us?”

“I am so sorry! I am, I really am” you laughed as the man teased you, God how they missed that laugh. “I have a flair for the dramatic, I must admit, and I am, in a way, saying goodbye to my career as I know it. It’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s really exciting, but it is also a goodbye and it felt right to give it its proper moment. I didn’t realize so many people were going to be so upset about it.”

“Why the switch? Why decide to give up singles completely?”

“I wasn’t enjoying it anymore, it was painful and I had started dreading every second of it. Fortunately, I am in a position where I can decide I don’t want to keep doing something that is bringing me down, so I took advantage of it. I didn’t want my stubbornness to completely ruin my love for tennis. I thought I could step back, maybe take up teaching and try to find that passion again. I was going to quit regardless, so this playing doubles thing happened at just the right time.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that! You’ve decided to become a full time mixed doubles player with Patrick Zweig, who is a challengers player, somewhere in the two-hundreds. You are currently ranked number one in the world, how does this happen?”

“I think rankings and numbers can be misleading sometimes. Sometimes a player is not playing their best because of external reasons, or simply because they are not meant to be where they are. I think me and Patrick are meant to play together, I really do. And if you can’t trust anything else, trust this: I am really competitive and I hate losing, I would not put myself in a situation like this if I really thought we couldn’t win.”

“From what I’ve heard Zweig and you are committed to each other both on and off the court. You’ve never been open about your private life in the media, and he is the first boyfriend you’ve ever made public, what’s different about him?”

They couldn’t take their eyes off you as you let a bashful smile spread on your face.

“I mean… Everything. I am pretty possessive of my privacy and we still don’t plan to share everything we do, but the truth is that I have never been open about any boyfriends because I have not had any serious relationships since I went pro. Patrick and I will be playing and training together so I thought it was bound to come out, so to me, I'd rather have that happen on my terms. And I do think Patrick is very different to all relationships I’ve had before, in the best way possible”

Art swallowed, refusing to look at Tashi when she turned to watch him. He didn’t deserve to be jealous. He knew that, if he had treated you right, you would still be together. That knowledge didn’t change how he felt.

“How does that happen? How does one manage to make the Y/n Y/l/n fall in love with them?”

“Well, me and Patrick met each other a while ago, at the U.S Junior Open, actually. He won it, I got second, we hit it off instantly. But it was one of those situations where it’s never the right time, you know? We kept missing each other, we were in relationships with other people, and we ended up drifting apart when I went pro. And then, funnily enough, we bumped into each other at an Adidas party about a year ago, and the rest is history.”

Art couldn’t bring himself to be angry when the TV shut off. He turned to look at Tashi who stood there with the remote in her hand, not looking at him.

“I’ll see you in ten in the court. We need to work on your serve.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, grateful for the excuse to take his feelings out on the ball. To think about anything that wasn’t your smile as you talked about Patrick. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew Tashi felt the same way, the sudden urge to train had not come out of nowhere.

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

You look down, shaking your head as Patrick crashes his racquet repeatedly against the floor. The umpire’s voice ominously announcing the score. You raise your face back up when Patrick gets given a penalty. Art walks nonchalantly back to the bench, you can feel Tashi’s smug grin beside you. You make eye contact with your husband and shake your head, he rubs his face with both hands, then nods. As much as you both don’t really care to win this tournament, he knows you’ll be angry if he just lets it go, gets angry and in his head and lets Art have it on conduct alone. So he sits back and waits, ready to be better, to prove himself to you once again, like every time he steps on the court.

Earlier that week. New Rochelle, New York. August 18, 2019:

Tashi is working, writing stats on her computer when she sees Patrick walking towards her from the corner of her eye. She rolls her eyes as he stops behind her, pointing at her screen before he speaks:

“He’s not bad, I played him at a few of these things when I did singles.”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be practicing to not humiliate your wife before she carries you through the U.S. Open?”

“I just finished, thanks for caring.”

“Wonderful” she says, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Hey, come have a cigarette with me, I have to talk to you.”

“Yeah I don’t smoke, and I’m not talking to you.”

“Neither do I. It was just an excuse.”

She looks back at him, unimpressed, but he doesn’t let up. He stands there, staring at her until she gives in, closing her computer and standing up. Patrick is not sure what he is doing. He probably shouldn’t be doing anything at all, if he’s honest with himself. But he has dug a hole too deep to jump out of now, so he is going to follow through. He is doing this for you, he reminds himself, no matter how angry you’ll be with him at first, he is doing this for you. They find an empty alley and look back at each other, Tashi waits for him to speak, he takes his time collecting his thoughts before he does.

“I’m gonna propose something to you and it’s going to make you angry. It’s going to make you very angry,” he can’t help the smirk growing on his face, her expression doesn’t let up. “I want you to be our coach next season.”

“What?”

“Our coach is retiring, we need someone else. I want you to be our coach from next season on.”

“Does she know you’re offering me this position?”

“No, not yet. But she will, and she’ll agree with me.”

“You know that’s bullshit. Plus, why would I want to coach you guys? I already have a highly successful athlete under my wing.”

“Yeah, but even if he wins the Open and completes his career grand slam, Art’s still gonna retire as someone who was really, really good. That’s what you guys will have done together. But imagine if you could get your hands on us. Imagine if you could make us great. You’d go down in history. We have a couple more seasons. We still have a couple more good seasons and I need you to bring it out of us. What do you think?”

He doesn’t expect Tashi to slap him, turning his face completely, although he really should have. He mumbles a curse under his breath.

“How fucking dare you?” she sounds angry, too angry for his stupid proposition. “You want me to give you my best piece of advice? To coach you? Ok, quit.”

Patrick can’t even begin to think of a response, the murderous gaze Tashi gives him fixes him to the spot.

“Quit right now, right fucking now, quit.”

“What are you talking about?” he is too shocked to be offended.

“You’re dragging her down. She should’ve gone down in history as the best ever player. She would have broken records. She should have been good enough to beat the men, and she is what? Going around playing mixed doubles with you? It’s pathetic. Quit, and maybe she’ll have a chance at being an ounce of what she should’ve been.”

“You’re fucking joking”

And now Patrick is angry too. Because he is tired. He is so tired of the endless comments and judgment. He is tired of being blamed for ruining you and your career as if it hadn’t been your decision. As if it hadn’t been your idea. As if he was capable of ever doing that to you. As if he hadn’t begged for you to think it over a million times before you took a step that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. As if he hadn’t been the sole reason the world of tennis hadn’t lost you completely. As if he didn’t try harder than he had ever tried to be enough for you and make sure you never resented him or regretted being with him in any way. The thing that makes him the most angry, though, is that it’s Tashi. And how dare Tashi, the woman who had abandoned you and ruined your love for tennis in the first place, blame him for something she had pushed you to do. Something that was nobody’s fault but hers.

“You must be fucking delusional if you think for just one second that I would ever, ever, ask her to give up on her career for me. You know whose idea it was to play mixed doubles only? Y/n’s. She thought of it, she asked me to do it, she orchestrated every single little detail. And you wanna know why she did it? Because she hated tennis. She was going to quit. She couldn’t stand the thing she loved the most anymore. And you wanna know what made her start to hate tennis, even though her love for it never wavered before, not even with her borderline abusive mum who only loved her for her talent in it? You, Tashi. You did. You ruined tennis for her. So get the fuck off that high horse you continue to ride everywhere, because if there’s one person here to blame for ruining her career, it’s the one I’m looking at.”

He is out of breath when he finishes speaking, and he doesn't know what to do. He has so much shit he wants to throw at her, so much resentment for all that she had put you, and him, through. But he can’t say anything else, the second Tashi’s expression falls, even if it is only for a moment, he can feel his heart shatter inside his chest. No matter how much he hates Tashi, how much he resents her, he loves her. He loves her so much it hurts deep inside his chest, like an ache that is so present he had almost forgotten it existed. But looking at her right now, he feels it, pulsating all through him, and he knows, with a certainty he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge before, that he will never not feel this way about her.

“You don’t know what you’re saying” her voice is stern, but Patrick knows her too well to believe her tone.

“You hate me” it’s not a question. “And you hate her too. Me, for having her. Her for having the career you deserved. And it’s driving you crazy, because as much as you hate us both, you also love us. And as much as you love Art, you hate him too.”

“Excuse me?”

“You hate him because he is just Art, that’s all he can ever be. He will never be me, and he will never be her. And as much as you love him, just Art will never be enough for you.”

“I don’t know what gives you the right to speak about my marriage…”

“The same thing that gives you the right to speak about mine. Does Art know about Atlanta?” he cuts her off.

The pure, unfiltered shock on her face lets him know he has caught her off guard. She did not expect him to know about it. She collects herself quickly, but she doesn’t say anything.

“You keep saying you came here because Art needed matches, but I think you came for something else.”

“You think I came here for you?”

“And for her” he says nodding. “I’ve been signed up for this tournament for months, there’s no way you didn’t see my name in the participants list.”

“You think I came here, to throw it all away for you?”

“Maybe you just wanted to see us…”

“I don’t need to see you to know that you look like shit, and she should get as far away from you as soon as possible.”

She starts to walk away, decisively.

“I’m going to beat him,” he says, it stops her in her tracks, she turns her face to look at him. “If we both make it to the final I’m going to beat him.”

“Even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“It would break him, you know it would.”

She shakes her head and starts to walk away, too exasperated to come up with another hurtful retort about his failed career. She jogs after her, catching up with her pace almost effortlessly. He grabs her arm, makes her stop walking. He pulls up a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans.

“My number, in case you change your mind about the coaching… Or about seeing us again.”

“I won’t.”

He nods, shrugs his shoulders. Then, he watches her put the note in her pocket. He smiles.

New Rochelle, New York. August 24, 2019:

Patrick hasn’t looked away from you even once. You know even though you are looking into your lap. You are hyper aware of every single person around you. Most accurately, you are hyper aware of the woman next to you and the two men playing against each other. You play with your ring as you feel Tashi tell Art to focus. When you finally meet Patrick’s eyes he doesn’t smile. He raises his left hand and kisses the ring on his finger without breaking eye contact as the umpire announces the start of the next set. He crosses paths with Art as he makes his way to the other side of the net but he doesn’t move his eyes from you until he is getting ready to serve. You know then, with absolute certainty, that he is doing this for you.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

Even though Patrick and you both know why you are sitting in the stands during practice time instead of walking around the venue, or actually practicing, you are still shocked when you see Tashi and Art walk into the court. Your hand reaches for Patrick, holding on to his thigh as if on a rollercoaster that is suddenly going down. You both try to look composed and careless, but you don’t know if you are doing a good job. Art and Tashi do the same, pretending they can’t see you, even though you are the only other ones there and you stick out like a sore thumb. Patrick and you talk to each other, although neither of you would be able to recall anything said during your conversation, and share the fries you had bought before walking over. You pretend you just casually stumbled to sit there for a snack, that you hadn’t checked the schedule to figure out what time and what court Art Donaldson had for pre-match practice. Art hits the ball like he hasn’t been able to hit it in a while, grunting as his racket made contact with it. Tashi looks at you for a second, then back at Art. She nods, satisfied. You want to run away, want to erase that satisfied smirk from her face and your memory. But you stay glued to your seat, hand in your boyfriend’s thigh, heart pounding, and you take the way they ignore you like a punishment.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

The wind is relentless, the trees hitting against the window making repetitive thwack noises that remind Patrick of the sound of the ball hitting the racket. You have been answering emails and making calls to finish preparing things for tomorrow, the U.S. Open, and whatever lies in store for you both after that. Patrick knows that you’ve been messaging potential coaches and though the guilt pit on his stomach keeps growing, he can’t bring himself to say anything to you. He hopes you haven’t set in stone anything, because he is still delusionally confident that Tashi will accept his offer. He knows he should help, whatever you are doing affects him too, but he is too nervous to do anything productive so he just lays around, throwing a ball against the ceiling, or the wall, or whatever he can find. After the third time the ball slips from his hand too early or too late and hits you, you stand up and point to the door.

“Leave, right now” he makes no attempt to move. “Patrick, I mean it. I’m working and I know that you are nervous but you’re stressing me out so go down to the sauna, or get a drink or something that’s not going to make me ask you for a divorce or have to spend the rest of the night finding a place to hide your body.”

Patrick smiles as he stands up. He picks one of the keys from your bedside table and walks over to you, kissing your head before making his way to the door.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, love you too. Leave now, please.”

He giggles all the way down the elevator. He doesn’t feel like drinking, which means he doesn’t feel like making a fool of himself tomorrow for getting drunk the night before a match, especially not in front of Art and Tashi. So he walks around until he finds the sauna, maybe that will help him calm down. But as he gets naked and opens the door he can’t believe his bad luck. Although there is a white towel covering his face, there is no denying the naked man sitting right in front of him is Art Donaldson. Patrick doesn’t think there’s a world where he wouldn’t recognize him, no matter how much he’s changed from that scrawny blonde boy he once knew like the back of his hand. He thinks about turning around, walking out, pretending he never saw him, and finding something else to do for the night. But there’s no way Art hasn’t heard the door opening, and Patrick has never been one to run from conflict, not really. So he steps forward, lets his mind get a little bit caught up in the past, sue him he hasn’t seen this guy in years, and opens his mouth:

“Can you do me a favor? Can you not like, demolish me tomorrow?” He says it with the inflection of a pick up line, and before he can even finish his sentence Art is pulling the towel away from his face and looking at him like he already knew that it was him standing at the door, even before he said anything.

They are both smiling as Patrick pulls the sauna door closed and walks toward Art. He is acting far more comfortably than he feels, but if he stops to think about what is actually happening he might start shaking and poop his pants, which would be a terrible thing seeing as he isn’t wearing any. He gets way too close to him, and raises one of his legs on the bench, dick fully on display. Art makes a valiant attempt pretending he doesn’t look down.

“Hey, congrats on being a Phil Tire’s Town Challenger finalist.”

“Yeah, you too” Art says, looking forward to not have to look at Patrick, who is smiling far too wide for the situation they are in and the past that they have.

“Hopefully the wind dies down by tomorrow and we can have a fair fight” Patrick lets himself pretend this is normal, like they are two competitors getting ready for the final, maybe even pals catching up after not having seen each other in a while.

Art doesn’t let him have a second of the little fantasy he’s made up in his head, though. He slides down the bench, getting as far away from him as he can without looking like he is actually running away.

“C’mon, can we talk?” Patrick says, and his voice sounds pitiful even to his own ears.

“Can you put your dick away” Art’s voice is stern, but he looks him in the eye for the first time since he walked in, so he counts it as a win.

“This is a sauna,” Patrick scoffs, putting up a fight so Art won’t notice he’d do anything he told him to. “Look, we've been here for a week and we haven’t said two words to each other. It's just… it’s silly, man. It’s dramatic. I mean, really, why are you so angry with me?”

He sits down, obeying Art and covering his dick. Art is finally looking at him, really looking at him. It has the same effect it did back when they were kids, Art looking at him makes him feel brave. He can’t stop himself from rambling on.

“Look, I don’t buy that it’s because of Tashi, I don’t think it’s because of what happened to her. And I hope it’s not about Y/n, because you have no right… So, I think, maybe, you’re just really disturbed by the fact that they could’ve been into someone like me. Both of them”

“Tashi liked you when we were teenagers.”

“Sure, but I just got married to the girl you said was the love of your life.”

“I ended things with her.”

“And you regret it every single day of your life,” Patrick knew, because it was the same way you and him felt about him and Tashi, “and you know that Tashi does too.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We both know that if Tashi had been a little more brave back then, she would’ve never taken either of our numbers. If she had been a little bit more honest with herself, she would’ve swept Y/n away and neither of us would’ve had a chance with either of them.”

“That still happened when they were teenagers. When we were teenagers.”

“Huh” Patrick looks thoughtful. “When they were teenagers…”

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You slip out of your room in a t-shirt that is definitely not yours and the first shorts you stumble across on your way to the door. You can’t sleep and Patrick’s soft snores, which you often find endearing, are getting on your nerves. He doesn’t stir, even as you close the door softly behind you. You don’t know what you are doing, or where you’re going. You take the stairs down, needing to move your body for a little bit. You walk outside, feeling like no matter how hard you breathe in there’s not enough air in your lungs. You lay your weight against the brick wall of the hotel. You get your breathing under control after a couple minutes of staring at the sky trying to look for constellations you don’t know the name of anyways. When you turn around, to go back inside the hotel, you realize that right next to where you were standing there’s a window to the hotel’s bar. There, sitting down, nursing a glass that you can only assume contains something strong, already staring at you, is Tashi Duncan. You don’t know what you’re doing, but you let your feet guide you inside. Then, instead of going up the stairs like you should, you take a right turn and walk right into the bar. Tashi finds you immediately, having been looking at the door. You don’t understand what you’re doing, but before you can think about it you are sitting right in front of her. You haven’t looked at her this up close in years. You search, but you can’t find many differences. She looks exactly like the girl you knew with her hair a little shorter. You wonder if it’s the same on the inside, if the million secrets you knew about her still hold true. If you could still tell which of her smiles were fake, or when she was about to cry but was trying to hold it down.

“I heard you gave up,” she whispers after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes.

“I quit singles, I didn’t give up,” but you can tell she doesn’t really believe you, so you scan her, trying to find something else to talk about. Your eyes lock on the ring in her finger. “That’s a gorgeous ring.”

Your fingers find your own ring instinctively. You don’t know if you’re trying to make sure it’s still there, or if you are trying to ask your dad for strength. Her gaze lowers, first to your ring, then to her own.

“It’s his grandmother’s.”

You nod, you know what that means. Art had always talked about wanting to propose to his future wife with his grandmother’s ring. Back when he fantasized with you about it, it was your hand that ring ended up on. He always talked about taking you to the residency so you could meet his grandmother, completely sure she would love you and give you her blessing immediately. You think of your own sentimental family ring, unsure you would ever be able to trust anyone enough to carry it, no matter how much you loved them.

“How is she?” you ask, more out of politeness than anything else, you never got to meet her, after all.

“She died. Stroke”

You grimace, knowing the feeling of losing the one person who truly believes in you too well. You look around, trying desperately to find something to say, you will your brain to remember the million icebreakers and conversation starters you had been forced to memorize for the awfully boring networking parties your mum used to throw for you. You come up with nothing, so you look back at her and lean over the table and she imitates you. Your faces inches away from each other. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had a single sip of alcohol all day. You don’t question it, Tashi always made you feel like you were going crazy and a little bit drunk. It must be that what pushes you to say what comes out of your mouth next:

“I miss you.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she leans further over the table, getting impossible close to your face without touching it. Then, when you are completely sure she is going to tell you to go fuck yourself and leave her alone, her hand makes her way to the back of your neck pushing you towards her until your eyes meet. There might be a million things that have changed since the last time you did this, but kissing Tashi Duncan feels exactly the same as the first time you did it. It feels like coming home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“You’re right” Art says finally, leaning his back against the wall. “I do find it disturbing.”

“There’s no need, man. Lots of girls were into me, but only one of them wanted to marry me. I’ve always thought that was not what I was for, so I don’t know how I did it.”

“Yeah, neither do I.”

Patrick feels his entire skin burn with the way Art looks him up and down. He curses in his head the years they’ve spent apart and the secretive, mature person Art has become, he can’t read him like he could. He can’t tell if he is teasing, or trying to humiliate him. He can’t tell if he’s angry, or just as desperately sad as he is.

Atlanta Open, Atlanta. July 18, 2011:

You don’t know how but you and Tashi have stumbled onto a hotel room that you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger and fancier than yours so you assume it’s hers. You want to ask where Art is, if he is about to walk in on the two of you making out on his bed, but the way she is kissing you makes you forget about everything. You roll onto the bed, hands on either side of her face as hers roam your body freely. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously and you moan and pant on her lips. It’s everything you’ve always dreamt of and you can’t help wanting more. More of her and her body, of her lips, more of her heart. You try to not be greedy, take what she gives you, and soon you’re seeing stars and rolling over, breathing with difficulty.

“That was…”

“Yeah” she mumbles.

“So… What happens now?”

“What do you mean what happens now?” she seems confused as she stands from the bed, walking around until she finds your clothes.

“We just had sex,” you say, obviously.

“Look, we shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake.” She throws your t-shirt at you, you put it on slowly.

“A mistake?” you’re getting angrier by the second, but you don’t want to yell and alert whoever is sleeping in the room next to this one.

“Yeah, we will act as if nothing happened.”

“What about Art?

“He doesn’t need to know,” you shake your head as you finish putting on your clothes.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Do not act as if I was the only one who cheated! Aren’t you and Patrick dating?”

“I never said that! You can’t just run away from everything you refuse to accept. You haven’t talked to me in years!”

“Yeah, and it should have stayed that way.”

“One day you’re going to wake up and realize that everything you’ve refused to accept all your life is catching up to you, and by then, it might be too late.”

“Get out” she says, instead of replying to what you said, you don’t need to be told twice.

You manage to hold back your tears until you are standing in front of the elevator. You’re fully sobbing when the doors open, revealing a very confused Art. You see him step towards you, but you refuse to let either of them continue breaking your heart. You step backwards, then turn around. You run until you find the stairs. By the time you make it back to your room you look like a mess. You knock on the door, you must have left your key in Tashi’s room but you are too upset to care about that or waking Patrick up. His entire face changes when he opens the door. Worry taking over his expression.

“Y/n, what happened? Where were you?

You fall onto his arms, sobbing. He leads you in, closing the door behind you. You don’t speak until you’re both seating in bed.

“I saw Tashi… And I… We…” you don’t say anything else, but you don’t need to, he understands.

He holds you through the night. The next morning, you forfeit the tournament and go home.

New Rochelle, New York. August 23, 2019:

“Honestly, I thought you’d be happy I was in the draw” Patrick is not ready to let it go, to shut up and walk away from Art, he doesn’t know when’s the next time he’ll be able to talk to him again, so he runs his mouth. “I mean, you’ve always wanted to beat me in a tournament, and two weeks before the open… It’s the perfect confidence booster.

He settles on cocky because he doesn’t know what else to do. He has never been very good at being vulnerable, not with Art, and no amount of therapy is going to make him start now, when he can see how done he is with him from a mile away.

“I know what you’re trying to do right now,” Art smiles.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Art,” but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth. “This is a challenger, I don’t need to play mind games with you.”

“Right, you don’t give a shit.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that…”

“We both know that you have a considerably higher stake here than I do.”

“Do I?”

Art laughs, but there’s no real humor to it. Patrick does too, trying to conceal the way he is sure his entire body is shaking.

“Oh, fuck… Where do you get your swagger from, man?” Patrick can tell, from the way Art is looking at him, that this is the part that’s going to hurt, he doesn’t try to stop it. “I mean you come in here swinging your dick around like I’m supposed to be afraid of it but do you realize how embarrassing it is that you are here right now?”

“Not quite as embarrassing as you being here,” Patrick has never known a way to back down, so he stirs the pot.

He’d rather have Art yelling at him or humiliating him than not talking to him at all. His therapist would not be very proud.

“I’m just stopping by, man. You would live here if it wasn’t for her” there’s a pause, suddenly Patrick wants to take everything back, run away with his tail between his legs, but it’s too late. “You know, I’ve always tried to figure out what happened to you, but the more I thought about it the more I realized… It’s what didn’t happen. You never grew up. You still think you can talk to me like you’re my peer because we came from the same place, because you’ve managed to stumble into some of the same competitions. But it’s not about where you came from in tennis, Patrick, it’s about winning. And I do, a lot. And you only do because you tricked Y/n into playing with you. But one day, she’s going to wake up and realize she wasted her entire fucking life in a pathetic man who thinks he’s the shit because he won the junior U.S Open a trillion years ago. And then, you’ll be left with what you deserve: nothing.”

“You’ve never beaten me,” he says, as if it’s what matters out of everything he said.

He says it because if he focuses on what Art said about you, he might cry. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Art, not right now. He doesn’t have enough willpower to fight him, like he knows he should, like he did with Tashi.

“So what? I haven’t beaten most of the guys who play in these things, or the ones who only make it into the big tournaments playing doubles. This is a game about winning the points that matter.”

“I don’t matter?” he doesn’t know why he says it, or what he is expecting to get in return.

“Not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the entire world,” his voice is monotone, tired, Patrick wants to crawl out of his skin.

“We’re not talking about tennis.”

“What the fuck else do I have to talk to you about?”

“I wanted to come in here to wish you good luck, Art,” he says, and he means it.

“That makes no sense,” Art scoffs, looking away, he’s talking to himself more than Patrick.

“I wanted to say that I’m looking forward to it, I miss playing with you,” he is being vulnerable, but he knows Art won’t believe him, which is probably why he says it in the first place.

“Yeah,” he nods his head and he looks amused, but Patrick can see right through him, he’s about to finish him off. “Well, I don’t miss playing with you, man. I’m too old for it.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Art, Patrick lets himself drop onto the bench. He tells himself he is not going to cry. There’s tears running down his face by the time you open the door of your room to him. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to, you understand.

#challengers x reader #challengers #art donaldson #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #annie writes challengers #patrick zweig x art donaldson x tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson x Tashi Duncan #loss of my life series

54 notes · View notes