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sitepathos · 1 day ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 12: The Fight (Warning: this chapter will feature blood and violence. Proceed at your own risk)

“Look at all this,” you whisper as you take in the sights of the Strip, all the various casinos and hotels lighting up the night sky. “I returned to Nevada four years ago and I’ve never been here before. What the hell was I thinking?”

(You were trying to set up your new life, which was the responsible thing to do back then. But, we agree, coming here sooner would not have been unwelcome. This city seems to be a source of endless entertainment.)

You had finished the DLC for Salvage Rights earlier today and to celebrate both its release and its positive reception, you decided to treat yourself by going to Sin City and indulging in its various casinos and restaurants; you have the knowledge and experience of countless gamblers from Gotham, so you should be able to play blackjack and poker with the best of them.

You thought you were prepared to handle and glitz and glamor Vegas has to offer, but seeing it with your own eyes has left you speechless. The lights have you mesmerized and you’re loving it! Everywhere you look, there’s something beckoning you, like a moth to a flame and right now, you don’t care if you get burned.

“Hey, look over there,” you say, stopping to look at something above you in the distance.

The sight is a towering building proudly bearing the name “Caesar’s Palace” in lights. During your brief research for your trip to the Strip, you read Caesar’s Palace is one of the most popular casinos in the city and is also a popular destination for dining.

(You did say you wanted the “full Vegas experience.” Going to one of the largest establishments in the city would be a step in the right direction.)

When you first thought of this little excursion, you wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to get trapped in the larger ones and lose all the money you brought in with you, instead opting to stay in the smaller casinos. “Keep it simple, keep it safe,” you said a few hours ago.

Now, the lights of the massive casino before you has ensnared you and is luring you towards it like an angler fish does with its prey.

“Ave, true to Caesar,” you say as you begin the trek towards the towering monolith.

If the outside was mesmerizing, then the inside is absolutely enthralling! As expected of a place named after a Greek emperor, the interior looks like a palace plucked from the Greek Empire, complete with marble and gold, making you feel like royalty.

(We take it we are going to play here?)

“Damn right,” you say as you enter the casino part of the resort, taking in the seemingly endless rows to slot machines, card tables, and other various gambling set ups.

As you look at each slot machine and table, you’re flooded with information from the Megamycete’s archives on what you want to see when playing slot machines and when is the best time to stand when playing blackjack. While Gotham doesn’t have shit on Vegas, it did have a passable gambling scene, which attracted many expert gamblers to that City of the Damned.

With your newfound knowledge in hand, you exchange the thousand bucks you brought with you for chips and make your way to a roulette table with only one other person.

“Good evening, sir,” the dealer greets you as you situate yourself of the other side of the table, away from the other player. “Will you be joining us?”

“Deal me in,” you respond, pushing a few chips on the table to test the waters. You may know the basics from playing Fallout New Vegas, but this is real life with real money being risked and this time you don’t have a maxed out Luck stat to cheat the system with.

A few hands in and you can say for sure you love gambling. Sure, you’ve lost a few rounds, ruining a couple hot streaks, but right now, you have more money than you came in with.

“Fifteen, odd, black,” the dealer says when the ball finally stops spinning before giving you the pot, much to your delight.

“Goddamn it,” the other man exclaims, shoving himself away from the table and storming off, hopefully towards the exit as tonight has not been his night.

“I apologize for that display,” the deal says as he readies the spinner for the next round. “Will you be playing another round?”

“Definitely,” you respond, sliding three-hundred dollars worth of chips onto red.

“Have room for one more,” a masculine voice rings out next to you.

You tense up when the voice registers in your head and you look to your right to see Bruce fucking Wayne, looking down at you with that fake ass smile he gives the idiots of Gotham. Your anger only intensifies when he places a thousand dollars worth of chips into the pot.

What the hell is he doing here?

(How dare he,) the Megamycete practically growls. (This is a night meant for you to enjoy yourself and he intrudes upon it, and in your city no less.)

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the dealer says as he spins the spinner after the bastard places his bet.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says to you, his focus on you and not the spinner. “I have to say, I don’t peg you as the gambling type.”

You say nothing, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction, and focus on the game.

“It’s a very dangerous habit if you’re not careful,” he chides you as the baller begins to slow down. “And coming to a place like Vegas? It’s not safe for someone like you. You should be back home, where you belong.”

You know the “home” he’s referring to isn’t your house in Goodsprings, but Wayne Manor in Gotham and it’s taking all your willpower not to pimp smack the shit out of him right now. This was meant to be a night for you to have fun in Vegas and you’re not gonna let him ruin that like he did the night you won your award.

“Gotham has plenty of high-end casinos where you can play all the games you want. I could take you to each of them and make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

“Vegas is far safer than Gotham,” you retort. “Here, the biggest threat you face is losing your money when you don’t know when to quit. In Gotham, you have nut jobs running around killing people on a nightly basis and the biggest nut job of them all beating the crap out of them.” You give him a mocking look, knowing something that would get under his skin. “No one in their right mind would live in that cesspit of a city. If you ask me, that place should be nuked to hell.”

While he manages to hide it well, you can see just the faintest of winces and you let your smirk show. For whatever reason, he thinks Gotham is the best place on the planet and is worth protecting. You learned about Gotham’s seedy history from its early days as a colony established in 1635 and you can say for certain that area is cursed. If you had your way, a giant wall would be built around Gotham and everyone inside would be left to kill each other and rot in that cursed city, especially the Waynes.

“Gotham has its flaws, sure,” he responds. “But I’m able to look past its dark side and see a bright future for both the city and everyone that calls it home. As you know, Wayne Enterprises has been the vanguard of breathing new life into the city.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I heard WE’s stock has practically become worthless in the last few days. Rumor has it all major stockholders are demanding for you to step down as CEO.”

“I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always come out on top. This will be no different. I’m sure things will turn back around in no time.”

“Six, even, black,” the dealer announces, bringing you back to the game. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne.”

You roll your eyes as the pot goes to the son of a bitch. You mentally shake your head and place your chips on the table for the next round.

“Maybe you should step down,” you say as the dealer begins the round. “I was stuck in that manor of yours for over a decade and I know it’s a mess. You should really get your house in order before you go around ‘fixing’ Gotham.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” he growls. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No one’s buying that story anymore, Mister Wayne. I take it you haven’t read Lois Lane’s latest article?”

“Of course I have,” he says, glaring at you and it makes you want to laugh knowing how you’re testing his limits. “How could you say those things about your family?”

“You’re not my family,” you snap. “You all made it quite clear I wasn’t a part of it over and over. The only family I’ve ever had was Momma and she was taken from me.”

The anger in his eyes fade and he was silent for a moment. “I know we made mistakes during your time with us and we’re sorry about that.”

“It’s too little, too late, Mister Wayne.”

“Twenty-four, even, black,” the dealer states, clearly more interested in your conversation than the game.

You can’t help but smile as the chips make their way back to you and you place a bet of five-hundred for the next round. Of course, Bruce doesn’t go way and instead places another bet.

“Please, Y/N, come home,” he pleads as the spinner is spun. “We all miss you. Especially Alfred.”

“He’s welcome to visit me whenever he wants. The rest of you can go to hell.”

“Like it or not, they’re your siblings, Y/N,” he growls, getting closer to you. “And I’m your father. You will show them, and me, the respect that entails.”

“Respect is earned, not given,” you retort, getting close and looking up at him. He may terrify Gotham’s criminally insane, but you know you’re better than him in every way, so you’re not scared. “And don’t get it mixed up, you’re a sperm donor, not my father. God knows you never acted like it.” You lean close so that your face is mere inches away from his. “If you want, we can take this outside, Mister Wayne. Just remember what happened last time things got physical between us.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” the dealer says. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

(Listen to him, Y/N. Do not let him ruin your first trip to Vegas. There will be plenty of time to put him in his place after we have had our fun.)

You continue to stare at him and direct all your anger and hatred towards him until he finally concedes and backs off and you do the same, just in time for the ball to finally stop.

“Nineteen, odd, red,” the dealer says as he slides the chips to you.

“I just want to make things right,” he says as he places his bet. “I know I treated you wrong and I want to fix that. So we can be father and son.”

You roll your eyes at the pathetic words and even more pathetic look as you place your bet and the deal begins the round. “You’re not sorry, Mister Wayne, you just feel guilty. Whatever conscious you have in your twisted little soul is making you feel bad and you can’t stand it, so that’s why you’re humiliating yourself trying to earn something I can never and will never give you: my forgiveness.”

He winces enough for both you and the dealer to see, but you find yourself taking no joy in fracturing his mask. This was supposed to be a night of fun and games, but he had to come all the way from Gotham and ruin it. It’s actually made you despise him even more, a task you thought impossible until now.

“Twelve, even, red,” the dealer states as he slides the chips towards Bruce.

It’s then you notice that you and him have almost the same amount of chips and the sight of it ignites an inferno of competition, which fuels your desire to assert your superiority over this pathetic creature before you.

(We are with you,) the Megamycete states firmly. (Show this interloper his place!)

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says as you place all your chips on red, your mother’s favorite color, glaring at him as you do. It’s then he does the same thing, but places his chips on black, the color of the Bat.

How predictable.

With both your bets placed, the dealer spins the roulette, signaling the final round between you two. When that little ball stops spinning, one of you will take all and the other will lose all.

“Please, there must be something I can give you to show you I’m sincere. And you of all people should price is no object for me. Just name it and it’s yours.”

(How pathetic! He thinks all those years of abuse and neglect can be erased by buying you some insignificant trinket? Does he think you some whore that can be bought? Show him how wrong he is, Y/N!)

“You want to know what I want, Mister Wayne,” you ask, malice dripping with your every word, as the ball begins to slow down and clatter around. “I want you to know that I hate you more than anything else on this world; I want it to rattle around in your head for the rest of your life, from when you’re around your collection of misfits to when you lay your head down at night, that there’s no word or phrase in any language that has ever existed or ever will exist on this planet that can fully express how much animosity and hatred I have for you.”

It’s then that you get in his personal space has he had done with you earlier and use the mold so you can stretch your body ever so slightly so your face is almost touching him and stare into those eyes you’ve come to despise so much and they stare back at you, full of hurt and shock.

In the background, you can hear the ball beginning to slow down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the game. Right now, all that matters is conveying just how much you hate Bruce Wayne.

“I want you to grow old and die knowing that, in the end, I was the one that rejected you.”

His response? Nothing but the widening of his eyes and stepping back, as if you had struck him.

“Seven, odd, red,” the dealer says, obviously shocked at what you just said.

You say nothing as you gather your chips and walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne behind to reflect on your words.

As you walk, you notice your heart is beating enough to burst out for your chest and your face is molten hot, even without touching it. In the moment, you had no idea how your words affected you as much as they apparently did that bastard.

(Perhaps we should return home,) the Megamycete suggests. (The night has been ruined and you need to rest after that interaction. We can always return another night for entertainment.)

As much as you hate to admit it, it’s right; after that display, you’re not in the mood to see what else you can get up to in your first night in Vegas. Being around him has brought back much of the anger you thought you had finally buried after moving back to Goodsprings and getting your life together and it’s killed any desire for gambling, dining, and everything in between.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding weak even to you. “Let’s go home.”

You quickly cash in your chips and pocket the check the cashier gives you before making your way towards the exit. From there, you walk around until you find an alleyway tucked into an isolated and desolate part of the city to sprout mold armor and wings before taking off into the night sky.

“You know, the city looks even more breathtaking from up here,” you remark as you enter the vast expanse of the Mojave.

(Indeed. Maybe when we return, we will earn enough money from playing games that we can stay in the highest level of the tallest hotel of the city and see it again.)

“Yeah,” you respond with a throaty chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

You look down at the desert beneath you when you feel something hit your wings, slicing through and severing them, leaving you to fall to the ground. You shout as you harden your armor just in time as you impact with the sand, creating a deep crater.

(Are you alright,) it asks as you climb your way out.

“Yeah,” you respond with a groan. “What the hell happened?”

You get your answer once you make your way to the top and see Bruce, donned in his Batman gear, looking down at you.

“Are you alright,” he asks, as if he wasn’t the cause of the incident.

You dismiss your mold helm and look at him square in his eye slits, taking a deep breath and exhaling before saying, ever so calmly, “I’m going to kill you now.”

And with your intentions declared, you summon a new pair of wings and launch yourself towards the bastard and before he can react, you grab him by the face with one hand and propel the both of you backwards, using to wings to fly as you forcibly shove his head into the sand and push him forward, creating a trail in your wake.

His hands fly to yours and attempt to free himself from your grasp, but you don’t give him the chance and throw him towards a nearby rock formation as hard as you can.

He can only flail around like a rag doll as he flies through the air and lands on the rock formation with a satisfying crash, sending debris and sand flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough to keep him down as he’s quickly back on his feet. He reaches into his utility belt and throws a batarang at you and you respond by creating a similar object out of mold and send it flying towards it, the two of them hitting each other and falling to the ground.

Of course, he’s quick to act and before you can see it, he’s thrown something at you and you’re trapped in some kind of cable.

“What the hell,” you exclaim as you try to break free of the wire, but find yourself unable to.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says as he closes the gap between the two of you. “But you’re coming home and I’m gonna find a way to get rid of this thing inside you.”

You’re already pissed, but the way he says something so batshit crazy with a tone similar to one that you’d use to calm a startled animal enrages you even more.

How he can still be so determined to drag you back to Gotham when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate him and his family after everything they’ve done to you is nothing short of astounding.

(He seeks to separate us,) the Megamycete practically hisses. (Do not let him! Kill him, Y/N! Kill him!)

Your rage towards the man before you explodes like a blast furnace and you reduce your body to a murder of crows and fly towards Bruce at top speed.

He raises his arms to protect his face and you use your mold hardened beaks and talons to slice into his suit, leaving at least two dozen bloody cuts all over his body.

(Good! Hurt him even more! Bleed him dry!)

Your murder of crows fly around him, forcing him into a defensive posture, and you gather them all so you can reform into your armored form right behind him. He realizes what’s happened, but he can only turn around to face you when you grab his wrist as hard as you can, and wave him around in the air and slam him into the rock below you over and over, taking pleasure in the sounds of rock breaking with every hit.

It’s then you slam him into the rock and summon a mold sword. When he looks up at you and realizes what’s about to happen, he raises his hand just in time for your sword to go through his hand and the tip of your sword pierce the hardened Bat symbol on his chest; you know the symbol is the strongest part of his suit so it can protect whatever he has beating in his chest, but you’re determined, so it begins to crack and crumble as you drive the sword deeper in.

He tries to say something, but the damage you’ve done to him takes its toll as he can only gurgle something as blood begins to seep from the corner of his mouth.

You dismiss your helm as you lean down towards him, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin etched across your face, and the sword goes down just a little more.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” you mock, grabbing his cowl, ignoring the shock the suit gives you in response. “I want to see the life fade from your eyes!”

And with that declaration, you rip the cowl off him, exposing his face, marred with bloody cuts and bruises, before you.

When you look into his eyes, you can see past the look of struggle is fear and terror.

(He knows this is the end! Finish him! Put an end to the Bat!)

“Goodbye, Mister Wayne!”

Just then, you see something fly past you and it’s then you realize the arm holding your sword has been sliced through. Bruce takes advantage of the situation and kicks you a few feet away from him and he backflips so he can put even more distance between the two of you.

You quickly collect yourself to see the source of the disruption: Dick and Cass, donned in their vigilante gear.

“You ok, B,” Dick asks as Bruce joins them.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out. “What are you doing here?”

“Alfred told us you were coming here and we knew something like this was going to happen. We all wanted to come, but we knew we couldn’t all leave Gotham, so we drew straws.”

The way he sounds so joyful pisses you off even more. How dare he! You were so close to putting an end to him and Dick had to come and ruin it!

(You should rip his limbs off! Strip him of his wings and cast him into the dam!)

Cass looks at you and you instantly know she’s analyzing you, determining possible strengths and weaknesses. When she sees that you’re missing a limb, her eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dick exclaims when he follows her gaze. “I’m so sorry, baby bird! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wanted to get you off of Bruce!”

You look down to find the severed appendage lying near your foot and go to pick it pick it up. While Dick is spouting endless apologies and pleas for you to stay calm, you merely place the limb where it once was and it begins to stitch itself back together. Once your arm is reattached, you fix your gaze back to them to find that they’re starring at you in shock at what just happened.

“Oh,” Dick manages to spit out after a few seconds of silence.

“This is between me and him,” you say as you take a few steps towards them. “Fuck off.”

“You need to stop this, baby bird,” Dick retorts. “We’re family, you shouldn’t be doing this!”

“You’re kidding, right,” you say with a mocking chuckle. “You people are constantly fighting with one another! If you’re not giving each other black eyes, you’re either breaking bones or slitting throats! You’re all a bunch of emotionally constipated psychopaths who belong in padded cells with the rest of Arkham’s lunatics! And I want nothing to do with any of you! So, for the last time, leave me the fuck alone!”

The only answer you get is the three of them getting into combat postures, indicating they’re ready to go on the attack.

“I give you the chance to walk away, and this is the thanks I get,” you sigh.

From the bottom of your feet, you command two mold tendrils to burrow into the sand below and snake their way over to them and once in place, you order them to burst out from beneath them; such a tactic would spell the end for normal people, but the Waynes are anything but normal, so they somehow knew you were up to something and scatter just as the tendrils emerge.

Still, you put them on the defense by ordering the tendrils to lash out at them, separating them from one another and forcing them to put all their focus on the tendrils while Bruce and Dick are dodging the lashing tendrils, you make your way to the nearest vigilante: Cass.

Just as you near her, she turns around and counters the slash of your mold sword with a blade of her own. You quickly realize that the few dozen people that possess any type of sword fighting prowess pale in comparison to Cass’ and decide to swap to hand-to-hand combat by punching her in gut when your blades were clashed together, sending her flying several feet.

She quickly recovers by the time you close the gap and she not only evades most of your punches, but she manages to give you a few.

What the hell, she shouldn’t be winning.

(Her fighting style is more advanced than anything we possess in our archives,) the Megamycete responds, sounding shameful. (We are unable to find a successful counter to her assault.)

Of course, it makes sense now! While Gotham may have attracted a few dozen experts in fighting over the centuries, Bruce has been trained by masters in every form of combat, including Ra’s Al Ghul, whose lifespan makes the Megamycete seem infantile in comparison. And he’s no doubt taught all of them his fighting style.

Just then, you feel something hit your back and explode, sending you flying. When you recover, you see Bruce and Dick have cut your tendrils and are now heading towards Cass to reinforce her.

(Their armories also seem to be more than we can handle,) it says as it repairs the damage done to your armor. (We have hardened your armor as much as we can, but it seems their tools will be able to penetrate our defenses.)

Shit, so that leaves you vulnerable to their fighting styles and their gadgets.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself as you ready yourself. “We’ll just have to rely on the one thing none of them have ever had: powers.”

You repeat what you had done before and disperse your body into a murder of crows and send them flying around the Bats, causing them to huddle together and raise their arms in an attempt to protect themselves. You have enough crows continue to fly around them to keep them distracted while the rest of them form together to form your body, but with the addition of four, oversized spider-like legs extruding from your back.

You allow yourself to fall to the ground, the legs pointed down to form four very sharp stabbing implements. They look up just in time to see what’s about to happen, so they force their way through the swarm just as you land where they once stood. The remaining crows reintegrate into your body as you make your way towards them, jabbing your spider limbs in an attempt to stab any of them.

Dick and Cass have narrow frames, so they’re harder to hit, but Bruce’s more bulkier body makes him a more feasible target, so you shift your focus to him. After a few failed slashes, you manage to land a decent hit that causes him to fail onto his back. He tries to reach for his utility belt, but you use two of your limbs to pierce his shoulders and he lets out a pained yell s he struggles in vain to free himself from beneath you.

He looks up at you, a painful expression etched on his face, while you summon two small tendrils from your back, ready to deal the final blow.

“If I can’t rip out your non-existent heart, I’ll just have to settle for your head!”

But, just as you’re about to make good on your declaration, you feel something attach itself onto your back, throwing you off balance.

“Y/N, don’t,” a voice says from behind and it’s then you realize it’s not something on your back, but someone.

Specifically, Dick.

“Get off me, circus freak,” you snarl as you begin to struggle with him.

Deeming Dick the bigger threat, you shift your focus from Bruce to shaking off the acrobat any way you can, flailing around and reaching out to grab him so you can finally finish him off; while you want to kill Bruce more than anything right now, you want him to suffer before you shed his blood.

Making him watch as you rip his golden child’s head off while he’s powerless to stop it? Yes, that’ll do the trick.

It’s then you feel something at your spider feet and when you manage to look down while holding Dick at bay to see Cass, batarang in hand, cutting the feet pinning Bruce to the desert floor in an attempt to free him.

(She attempts to free the bastard,) the Megamycete hisses. (Kill her! Kill her now!)

But in typical fashion, Dick butts in where he’s not wanted and hurls himself towards you, latching onto your upper body, forcing you to brace your back spider legs to prevent you from tumbling down.

You watch in pure frustration as Cass slices off the parts of your legs pinning Bruce down and before you can react, the two of them hurl themselves onto you, joining Dick in trying to wrestle you to the ground.

You grab Dick with one hand and Cass with the other and just as you ready to summon a tendril to deal with Bruce and stabs you with some type of syringe, making you howl in pain at the sensation; instead of injecting you with something, you feel your blood being drained from you.

“Enough,” you hiss, hurling the two smaller vigilantes as far as you can before grabbing Bruce by both his shoulders and pulling him up so that the two of you are eye-to-eye.

It’s at this point your rage reaches its apex; this was suppose to be a night of fun out on the Strip, but the man before you not only had to ruin it by showing up, but now he’s come full circle on his batshit craziness by blasting you out of the sky and try to apprehend you like you’re one of the crazies from Arkham.

And to make matters worse, he had to bring two of his children, Dick being one of them! While you will always hate Bruce with every fiber of your being and Damian being an extremely close second, you’ve always had a strong resentment towards the eldest Wayne son. While the bastard will always say he loves all his children equally (minus you, of course), you know Dick will always be number one in Bruce’s heart due to him being the first child and being a capable Gotham socialite and vigilante.

And to add insult to injury, everyone always says Dick is everything an eldest brother should be: reliable, responsible, and doting. For years, you could nothing but cry as you saw him going out of his way to help and hang out with the other Wayne children, no matter how loudly they tried to reject it. Watching such the love and affection you craved be handed out so willingly and carefree to anyone but you made you think you would never be loved by anyone other than your deceased Momma.

You let out an inhuman howl in Bruce’s face as you shove your head into his right shoulder and latch onto it with your teeth with enough force to rival a hydraulic press. He lets out a pained yell and attempts to pull you off by your hair, but you apply more force until you eventually pierce through the armor, followed by the skin, then the muscle, and finally bone.

You pull your head back, bits of bone and flesh dangling from your teeth. You look to see his right arm practically dangling from just the barest of flesh and blood oozing from it like a waterfall. You shift your gaze from your handiwork to Bruce’s face to see the most delicious expression of pain etched on it and his complexion is pale and clammy.

At this point, you’re a crazed animal, chomping at the bit to go in for the kill on the wounded prey before you and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable.

(Yes,) the Megamycete roars, its voice a symphony of bloodthirsty cheers. (Do it! Exact your vengeance upon him!)

Before you do anything, you feel something hit your back and explode, but unlike the first one, this one sends some sort of freezing gases scattering across your body, sending feelings of burning as your armor and spider legs rapidly freeze.

You howl in pain as you drop Bruce so you can slap at the affected areas, trying to find some way to relieve yourself of the freezing feeling.

(Hurts,) the Megamycete hisses. (Hurts!)

You rid yourself of your armor and spider legs by ripping it off your body, the frozen mold constructs shattering upon impact with the ground.

It’s then you realize you’re exposed and quickly turn around, ready to defend yourself when you see the three of them flying away on the Batwing at top speed. You could go after them, but after the fight with the Bats and their freezing grenade, you can only fall to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

(We had no idea we possessed such a vulnerability to the cold,) the Megamycete says, its voice sounding weak. (The winters of Gotham drove us to a state of near hibernation, but this is the first time we have ever had a reaction like that.)

“And now you know,” you manage to gasp out. “And so do they.”

You can only watch as the vehicle flies away as fast as it can, carrying three of the Bats away where they will no doubt share what’s happened here with the others, which will no doubt lead to even more encounters like this in the future.

“Shit.”

In the Batwing, Bruce knows Dick is talking to hi, his words quick and high pitched as he tries to dress his wound, but right now, he can’t bring himself to take his focus off the syringe filled with your blood.

When he set out for Vegas, he was determined to find a way to provoke you into showing him your powers and obtain a blood sample so he could perform more tests, but he didn’t think he’d discover a major weakness in your defenses.

While he hated to see the cryo grenade caused you so much pain, he can’t help but rejoice at the knowledge that there’s a crack in your armor and if he approaches it at the right angle, he can have you home far sooner than he anticipated.

And when you’re back home, he can find a way to get that damn thing out of you and return you to normal. And when that’s done, he can begin to make things right with you.

He grips the syringe harder, seeing the key to making his daily whole once again within your blood.

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 2 days ago

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How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

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theetherealbloom · 22 hours ago

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IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING

It was the weekend.

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.

He checked his phone. No messages from you.

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.

Pedro knocked.

Nothing.

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”

Still nothing.

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.

Snoring.

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.

God, you were adorable.

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.

He’d give you another hour.

Maybe two.

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.

The problem?

You were not a morning person.

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”

“No.”

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”

He smirked. There we go.

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."

Your stomach twisted at that.

He had noticed.

Of course, he had.

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.

Damn it.

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.

For one, he had somehow procured a car.

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”

“Would I lie to you?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.

And then—

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.

Okay. Fine.

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.

Your brows furrowed.

“Wait a minute—"

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.

Not just any bookstore.

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.

It was perfect.

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”

He smirked. “No catch.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”

The words were simple.

Too simple.

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON

You took your time browsing.

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.

It made your skin warm.

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.

Because this was Pedro Pascal.

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—

Oh god, were you on a date?

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.

No. Not a date.

Just… Pedro being Pedro.

Right?

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.

“That one, huh?”

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.

You nearly choked.

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”

You exhaled, nodding.

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”

You looked up.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.

He made it sound so simple.

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.

Just Pedro. Just this.

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.

And maybe it did.

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"

You blinked at him. "Little me?"

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.

You snorted. "Of course you were."

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.

You glanced up.

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."

Your stomach flipped.

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."

You groaned. "Oh my god."

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

The camera counted down—three, two, one.

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.

The flash went off.

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.

For a beat, neither of you moved.

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”

Your breath hitched for a split second.

Right. The room.

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.

But tonight?

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.

But tonight?

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further.

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta

204 notes · View notes

joemama-2 · 3 days ago

Text

a dead end | chap. 3

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 9.6k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The hospital buzzed with its usual rhythm—a steady pulse of urgent footsteps, muffled voices over intercoms, and the hum of medical equipment. Gojo stood in the bustling trauma bay, scrubbing his hands meticulously under the scalding water, mentally preparing for another long shift. Just another day, he thought. Another set of lives to save. While Nanami and Ito haven’t even clocked in yet, he was stuck here. He sighs, trying not to dwell too much on it. He studied for this and dedicated hours, days, months, and years to this profession. Just suck it up, suck it up.

“Dr. Gojo!” A frantic voice broke through the air, slicing into his focus. He turned to see a nurse rushing towards him, eyes wide, panic etched across her face. “We’ve got an emergency intake—severe trauma. Possible bite wounds.”

Bite wounds? Gojo’s brows knitted together as he grabbed a pair of gloves. “Alright, let’s move,” he commanded, slipping into his role seamlessly.

The trauma bay doors swung open, revealing chaos in motion. Paramedics wheeled in a stretcher, the patient thrashing weakly against the restraints. Blood smeared across her limbs, and her skin was a sickly, ashen gray. Her eyes, wild and unfocused, darted around the room. “Late twenties, found unconscious and bleeding in an alley. Found by someone walking by,” one of the paramedics reported, struggling to keep the patient still. “Possible drug overdose, but… she’s been biting and scratching. Unprovoked.”

Gojo moved in quickly, assessing the situation and silently nodding along to the information being told to him. “Let’s get her stabilized,” he ordered, voice steady. “Push 5 milligrams of midazolam, and get a tox screen running. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

The nurses moved in sync, following his commands, but something felt off. The woman’s movements were erratic, too strong, almost inhuman. Her fingers clawed at the air, mouth snapping open and shut as if trying to bite through the very air itself. Gojo leaned in, shining a light into her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, unfocused. “Can you hear me?” he called out, keeping his voice firm but calm. “Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” The woman doesn’t respond, attempting to bite at his ear before he moves away in time.

A collective gasp rippled through the room as the patient’s teeth clamped down on nothing but air, her jaw snapping shut with a sickening click. Gojo’s expression remained unreadable, but his grip on the stretcher’s railing tightened. The nurses took a cautious step back, glancing at each other for reassurance, but their unease spread like wildfire. “She almost bit you—” one of them started, but Gojo cut her off with a sharp nod.

“I noticed,” he said dryly, but his mind was already spinning. This wasn’t normal. Overdoses, withdrawals, even extreme psychosis—he’d seen it all before. But this? The sheer aggression, the unnatural strength, the way her body fought against sedation like a cornered animal—it didn’t add up. “Her vitals?” he asked, directing his attention to the monitor as one of the nurses fumbled with the blood pressure cuff.

“Heart rate is… Jesus,” the nurse muttered, eyes widening. “168 beats per minute. It’s skyrocketing.” Gojo frowned. That wasn’t just stress—it was something else. A body under that kind of strain should be shutting down, but she was still moving, still fighting as if sheer will alone kept her conscious.

The nurse with the syringe hesitated before stepping forward again. “Administering midazolam now.” The second the needle pierced the woman’s skin, a guttural snarl ripped from her throat, raw and animalistic. She lunged upward, nearly toppling the stretcher as her body convulsed.

“Hold her down!” Gojo barked, moving to restrain her arms as another nurse grabbed her legs in order to place straps on her limbs.

But she was strong. Too strong.

A sickening crack echoed as the leather restraints dug into her wrists, her muscles tensing unnaturally. The veins beneath her skin bulged, an eerie blackness creeping up her forearms. “Doctor, I don’t think—”

Then she stopped.

The room fell silent except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Her body slackened. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. The fight was gone as if something inside of her had finally given out. Gojo slowly loosened his grip, exhaling through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered, glancing at the monitors again. “Get a full panel workup on her—blood tox, organ function, everything. And someone check her—”

A sharp gasp cut through the air. It was the nurse standing closest to the patient. Gojo turned just in time to see the woman’s eyes snap open—pupils blown so wide that her irises were nearly swallowed by darkness.

And then she lunged. The poor nurse didn’t have time to react. A wet crunch filled the room as the woman’s teeth sank deep into the nurse’s forearm. Screams erupted. Blood splattered onto the crisp white sheets, pooling onto the floor in sickening ribbons of red. The nurse staggered back, her face twisted in pain and disbelief.

Gojo acted before he could think.

He grabbed the nearest crash cart and shoved it between them, using it as a makeshift barrier. The patient—no, the thing—snapped its teeth wildly, blood dripping from its mouth as it fought against the stretcher’s restraints. The nurse clutched her arm, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Oh my god—oh my god, she bit me—”

Gojo’s stomach twisted. His mind screamed at him to do something, to take control of the situation, but a terrifying realization settled into his bones. The room had erupted into chaos. The other nurses scrambled back, knocking over trays and equipment in their haste to put distance between themselves and the thrashing patient. Someone was screaming for security. Someone else was already reaching for the emergency call button. Gojo barely registered any of it. His gaze locked onto the nurse clutching her arm, fingers trembling as blood seeped through them. The bite was deep, the wound ragged, and the sheer force behind it—

It wasn’t normal. Nothing about this seemed normal.

“Get pressure on that wound,” he ordered sharply, breaking from his momentary paralysis. “Now.”

The injured nurse—Yuki, his mind supplied—nodded weakly, her breaths shallow, ragged. One of her colleagues rushed forward, pressing a wad of gauze onto her arm, but Yuki didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out. Just stood there, swaying slightly, blinking as if she were trying to force herself to stay present. Shock. Maybe blood loss. Maybe—

The patient jerked violently, snapping Gojo’s attention back. The crash cart he’d shoved between them rattled under the force of her struggle. Despite the restraints digging into her wrists, despite the blood smeared across her lips, she kept fighting, kept lunging, animalistic grunts spilling from her throat. The guttural sound sent a chill down his spine. “Doctor, what do we do?” someone asked, voice tight with barely contained fear.

Gojo’s jaw clenched. “We—” His words faltered as he looked at her again. The way her body contorted, the unnatural sharpness of her movements—it wasn’t human. It wasn’t just an overdose, or psychosis, or anything that made sense.

And Yuki—

He turned back toward her, but his frown deepened when he saw what had already begun to happen. She was trembling now, violently, like something inside her was coming undone. Her breathing had grown erratic, a wet, gurgling rasp behind each inhale. Her pupils—God, her pupils. They were dilating, swallowing up every trace of brown, leaving behind only an abyss of black. Gojo had seen overdoses. He’d seen trauma. He’d seen people die on his table. But he had never seen anything like this. The realization settled into his bones, cold and unshakable.

This wasn’t a patient. This was something else entirely.

The nurse who was helping Yuki with pressure on the wound was next to go, and so was the other nurse, then the security, the older woman at the desk who always offered him donuts from her daughter’s shop, and the other patients. Everything was a mess; people were running and screaming everywhere. Satoru was used to chaos and panic, but this—this wasn’t the same. Sharp eyes darted around as he tried to make sense of the bloodbath happening in front of him, fingers twitching by his sides. The sounds seemed to blend into one, his eyes closing momentarily—willing himself to take a deep breath and calm his body.

“Dr. Gojo!”

A shout for his name has him moving instantly, head whipping over to one of the newer nurses. She was backed against the supply cabinet, eyes wide with sheer terror, hands shaking as she gripped a pair of trauma shears like they were her last line of defense. “They’re—” Her breath hitched, and she shook her head violently. “They’re attacking everyone!”

No shit.

Gojo didn’t waste time responding. He could see it, hear it, feel the horror crawling under his skin like an infection of its own. The nurse who had tried to help Yuki was on the floor now, her throat torn open, gurgling as her hands weakly clawed at nothing. Another had barely made it two steps before the security guard—no, the thing that had been the security guard—tackled her to the ground, teeth sinking into her shoulder. The older woman at the front desk. The patients waiting for help. The paramedics who had wheeled in that first patient.

One by one, they fell, and one by one, they rose again.

Screams shattered through the air, but Gojo forced himself to push forward. His mind raced, trying to grasp at some kind of explanation, some kind of rationalization, but there was none. His body was running on autopilot, instincts screaming for him to do something—anything—before he was next. He reached out, grabbing the younger nurse’s wrist, his grip firm but not cruel. “We need to move,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Now.” She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The moment she nodded, he pulled her with him, shoving past overturned chairs and blood-slick floors, trying to navigate the quickest way out. Every second counted. Every turn was a gamble.

And just as they rounded the corner toward the exit—

Another figure lurched toward them, half of its face missing, blood dripping down the remnants of its jaw. “Shit!” he manages to evade the attack, simultaneously pushing the nurse to the side. However, it proved to be useless when one of the paramedics grabbed at her ankle with ungodly strength and took a bite out of the flesh.

Her scream pierced through the chaos, raw and agonized. She thrashed, kicking at the paramedic-turned-monster, but its grip was relentless, teeth tearing into her calf with sickening force. Blood sprayed across the linoleum floor, pooling beneath her as her body twisted in desperation. “Fuck!” Gojo moved before he could think, his hand finding the nearest IV pole. With a forceful swing, he brought it down onto the thing’s skull. Once. Twice. The dull crack of bone giving way under steel echoed through the hall. The creature twitched before finally going still, its jaws slackening, releasing the nurse’s mangled leg.

She was hyperventilating, trying to scramble backward, her fingers slipping in her own blood. “It hurts—oh god, it—”

“Get up no—”

He doesn’t finish that sentence when her body twitches, jerking in ways that look like they could break bones. Her eyes, wide with terror only a second ago, rolled back into her head. A violent convulsion wracked her body, limbs twitching unnaturally as if something inside her was seizing control. Foam bubbled at the corners of her lips, her chest heaving in frantic, uneven spasms. Gojo had seen people die before. He had seen bodies succumb to the limits of mortality, had fought against it with everything he had. But this was wrong. He didn’t know if he could save these people. This was all getting out of hand way too fast. “Sumi.” He crouched beside her, one hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. “Stay with me. Breathe.”

But she wasn’t breathing. Not properly. Her gasps came out in short, shallow bursts, her pupils dilating until nothing remained of their original color. Her fingers twitched, curling like claws against the floor. The convulsions stopped. And then…her body went completely still. Gojo swallowed, dread pooling in his stomach like lead. He knew what was coming before it even happened, but a small, desperate part of him still hesitated.

“Sumi?” he tried again, softer this time.

She moved. Not like a person. Not like someone regaining consciousness. Her head jerked to the side with a sickening pop, her gaze snapping up to meet his. A slow, eerie smile stretched across her face, lips splitting over teeth now stained red with her own blood. And then she lunged. Gojo barely had time to react. He threw himself backward, her teeth missing his throat by inches. She scrambled forward on hands and knees, faster than she should have been able to move. A guttural snarl tore from her throat—a sound that no human should be able to make.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the IV pole again and swung. It connected with a sickening crunch, but she kept coming. Even with her skull caving in, even with blood pouring from her shattered face—she kept coming. "Fuck," he hissed, bracing himself.

This wasn’t an illness or whatever it may have been. This wasn’t a psychotic episode. This was something else entirely. And if he didn’t get the hell out of here—

He was next.

He collides the pole into her head three more times before her body goes slack, a gaping hole that pours blood out onto the floor. Satoru doesn’t look back as he quickly scrambles to his feet and runs to the door leading to the stairwells. Doesn’t stop moving forward even after the snarls and growls of whatever those fucking things are chasing him up, but gets ultimately distracted when other nurses, doctors, patients, and family members open the doors leading to their floor—completely unaware of what kind of hell just took place below them. He’s running and running until there’s nowhere to run to anymore. The top floor of the hospital that’s been under renovation, almost close to finishing. It’s empty for the most part until the construction workers decide to grace the place with their presence.

He opens the double doors with quickness, rushing inside and closing them right behind him. t’s a temporary refuge. The space is large and open, construction equipment scattered around like remnants of a dream left unfinished. The sterile white walls have been interrupted by half-constructed walls and loose cables, the sharp smell of fresh paint and cement mixing with the foul, metallic stench of blood that clings to him. Looking around, he grabs one of the longer cables and wraps it in and around the handles of the door, essentially ensuring the doors can’t be opened from the outside. He steps back slowly, his chest heaving. His thoughts are a blur, too fast to catch up with, too fast to make sense of. How the fuck did this happen? He thought he was in control. He thought he understood everything.

But what just happened outside? He has not a damn clue.

“I—w-what?” you gulp out, eyes wide and staring at the man who holds your fate in the palm of his hand.

“You heard me,” he dryly scoffs, his smirk unnerving. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“A-Are you fucking insane?!” your face scrunches when he presses the axe closer, pressing a hand down onto the handle in an attempt to keep it at bay.

“Maybe, but I’m also not taking chances, even if you are pretty.”

Your heart races as his words hit you, and for a moment, you freeze. “Pretty?” You repeat, your mind struggling to focus through the adrenaline rush and fear.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he cuts you off, his voice low and dangerous, though there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “Pretty people don’t get a free pass. You’re either useful... or you're one of them." The tip of the axe shifts, hovering dangerously close to your throat. "So, what’s it gonna be?"

“Listen,” you stammer, trying to think fast, “I—I’m not part of whatever the hell’s going on out there. I’m just trying to survive, okay? I’m not a threat to you.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, but his gaze never wavers from you. It's like he's waiting for you to say something more.

“And how do I know that? You could be lying to my face for all I know,” he quips back, head tilting in a scrutinizing way. His eyes scan down your body, lingering a bit too much on your legs—though not as much as your chest.

You huff, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your skin crawl. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I’m bleeding, exhausted, and just barely survived getting ripped apart out there?” You gesture wildly toward the door. “Does that scream ‘like one of them’ to you?”

Gojo hums, tapping his fingers against the handle of the axe. “Mmm… could just mean you’re a tough little thing.” His smirk deepens, and he finally meets your eyes again. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Mostly ‘cause you’re pretty.”

But he just said…. Your face twists in disbelief. “That’s it?”

“Hey, don’t look so disappointed.” He finally lowers the axe, resting it against his shoulder. “I could’ve gone with my first instinct and chopped your head off. But lucky you—” his grin turns downright cocky— “I’m a sucker for a good underdog story.”

He steps back, grabs what looks to be a wire or chord of some sort, and loops it through the handles of the doors, tying it roughly. And only then do you allow yourself to look him over as well. He’s wearing green scrubs and a white coat layered overtop. The material is stained with what you can only assume is blood, his hair unkempt and white strands poking up in all different directions as he runs a hand through it. A thin pair of silver-framed, rectangle glasses sit on his chin, the lenses look scuffed up. He must have been through some shit too. Not like you’re going to ask. He watches you carefully, his stance still tense, as if he’s waiting for the slightest reason to raise that axe again. But then, as if some invisible weight lifts off his shoulders, he exhales and takes another step back. The distance he gives isn’t much, but it’s enough for you to stop feeling like you’re seconds away from death. You take a slow breath, your limbs still trembling from everything that just happened.

His sharp blue eyes meet yours again, and the smirk he wore earlier has faded into something unreadable. “So,” he says, voice casual despite the tension still thick in the air. “What’s your deal? You really come all the way up here just to bang on my door and scream for help?”

You frown, straightening your posture even though exhaustion still weighs you down. “I had nowhere else to go. Excuse me for believing there were other survivors. I ran here, I–I thought there’d be help. Doctors…something.”

He scoffs. “Little late for that.”

“No shit.”

He turns his back to you, striding over to the window and looking out. “So,” he begins. “This….stuff…it’s happening outside the hospital too, I assume.”

“Yeah,” you nod, letting out a big and tired huff of air. Grunting to yourself as you allow your body an ample amount of time to recover from the shock it just experienced. Sinking down to the floor and sighing in relief—the floor has never felt more comfortable than it does right now. Satoru hums in acknowledgment, but there’s an edge to it, like he already knew the answer before you even said it. He places a hand on the windowsill, fingers drumming idly against the surface as he stares down at the wreckage below. The city that was once bustling with life is now a graveyard, streets littered with abandoned cars, bodies—some moving, some not—and plumes of smoke rising in the distance.

His jaw tightens. “Figures.” You watch him, taking in the way his shoulders are drawn tight, the way his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to grip something—maybe the axe still resting against his hip. He’s trying to stay collected, but you’ve seen enough people break today to recognize when someone is on the verge of it. Not that you care. You’re barely holding it together yourself. “Did you see anyone else on your way here?” he asks, still looking out the window.

You hesitate, thinking about your friends losing their lives right in front of you and the fact that Sayo is still lying out there in the middle of it all. You press a hand to the side of your head, eyes squeezing shut, stomach churning. “No one made it,” you mutter, voice hoarse. “Not in a way that mattered.”

At that, Gojo finally turns back around, studying you with an unreadable expression. He leans against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. “That so?”

You nod, but you don’t elaborate. You don’t want to talk about it.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the occasional distant sounds of chaos outside. You furrow your brows, just for a moment, allowing your body to sag against the cold floor. It feels like the only solid thing in your life right now.

“You’re hurt.”

Your eyes snap open. Gojo is looking at your arm now, at the blood staining your sleeve. His brows furrow slightly. You blink down at it, almost having forgotten the wound entirely with everything else going on. “Oh. Yeah.” You move your fingers, testing how bad it really is. A sharp sting shoots up your arm, making you hiss. “It’s fine,” you lie.

Gojo clicks his tongue, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not get stuck in here with a liability. Get up.”

You glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said get up,” he repeats, walking over to where a few carts with wheels standby. You see him open one of the drawers, a basic first aid kit coming into sight. “You want to live, don’t you?”

You don’t answer right away, but eventually, with a groan, you force yourself to your feet. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Haven’t you seen any zombie movies? It’s a scratch but maybe you already have whatever the hell those things do. You’re lucky you’re not spazzing out on the floor right now, then I’d really have a reason to kill you.”

Your lip curls up, walking over to where he is. Opening the kit, and moving some of the supplies to the side to grab a few anti-bacterial wipes. “For a doctor, you talk about killing someone way too easily. Are you sure you’re certified?”

He lets out an amused huff, shaking his head as he leans against the cart. “Certified? Honey, I’m overqualified.”

He watches as you take off your jacket with one hand, his lips twitching. You grab one of the wipes he opened, hesitating to apply it to your wound. You catch the barely concealed smirk, shooting him a glare. “Are you just gonna stand there and make jokes, or are you actually going to help?”

He sighs dramatically, pushing off the cart. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Before you can protest, he snatches the wipe from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. The way he moves is so effortless, so natural, that you almost don’t register what’s happening until he’s gripping your wrist with a firm but gentle touch. “Relax,” he drawls, dabbing at the wound. The sting burns deep, making you suck in a sharp breath, arm jerking involuntarily. His grip tightens for just a second before loosening again. “You’d think someone who just ran for their life wouldn’t be such a baby over a little antiseptic.”

You grit your teeth, resisting the urge to yank your arm away. “Says the guy who pulled an axe on me two seconds after saving my ass.”

Satoru shrugs. “You looked suspicious. Plus, it was funny.”

“Yeah? Almost getting your throat slit is funny to you?”

His grin widens, but there’s something sharp in the way he looks up at you, something unreadable behind those piercing blue eyes. “I like to keep things interesting.”

You swallow, refusing to let the unease creeping up your spine show. Instead, you roll your eyes, looking away. “Whatever.” The silence resumes between you again, but this time, it’s not as…weird. He works quickly, applying some of the ointment before pressing a bandage over the wound and giving your arm a light pat. “There. Good as new.”

You snatch your wrist back, flexing your fingers. “You could’ve just given me the supplies. I know how to take care of myself.”

Satoru rolls his eyes and steps back. “Yeah? You mean the way you ‘took care of yourself’ by running in here screaming for help?” Your jaw clenches, but before you can snap at him, a noise echoes from outside the door—a low, guttural groan, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps. Your heart rate spikes. Gojo, however, merely tilts his head, his expression unreadable. Then, with a teasing lilt, he murmurs, “Looks like we’ve got company.”

“We should—”

“Don’t worry, they’re not getting through it.” His footsteps carry him to the double doors, giving the wire another small knot. “This can hold ‘em back.”

“Really?” you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. Eyes wide and hurrying over to his side. “That? That can hold whatever the fuck those things are back? This is a hospital and you guys can’t afford to have regular locks on your doors?”

Gojo hums, seemingly unbothered by your concern as he gives the doors a light push, testing the strength of his handiwork. “Locks slow things down. Not exactly ideal in a place where every second counts.”

You let out a sharp breath, glancing between him and the doors. “Yeah, well, I think we’re a little past ‘every second counts’ now, don’t you?”

He turns to you with a charming smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. “Relax. If they do get through, I’ve got an axe, and you…” His gaze flickers down to your empty hands before lifting back up to your face, his smirk deepening with an amused chuckle. “Well, you’ve got a strong set of lungs.”

Your eyes narrow, lips parting to throw some kind of retort at him, but another groan from the other side of the door makes your blood run cold. It’s closer this time, more urgent. The sound of nails scraping against the wood sends a violent shiver up your spine. He merely tilts his head, listening. “Sounds like they really want in.”

You stare at him incredulously. “And you’re still just standing there?”

“Would you rather I open the door and say hello?”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you grumble under your breath. The sound of something heavy slamming against the door makes you both freeze. Your breath catches in your throat as the doors rattle in their hinges, the knot in the wire straining under the pressure.

Gojo clicks his tongue. “Huh.”

“Huh? What the hell is ‘huh’ supposed to mean?”

He turns to you, and for the first time, the teasing glint in his eyes dims slightly. “It means we should probably get moving.��

Your stomach drops. “I thought you said they weren’t getting through?”

He grins, reaching for his axe. “I also said I like to keep things interesting.”

You let out a string of curses under your breath as you back away from the door. “You are the worst person I could be stuck with right now.”

Gojo slings the axe over his shoulder, flashing you a wink. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Do not call me that,” you tell him firmly, lip curling in disgust.

“Fine, whatever your name is.”

“My name is—”

“Look, enough talking and more trying to figure out a way out of here. One that doesn’t involve the stairs, if possible.”

You rub your face, panic setting in once more. “D-Don’t you work here? Shouldn’t you know?”

“I haven’t been up here. It’s been closed off for renovation.” He replies, looking up towards the ceiling and walking around.

“Renovation… renovation,” you repeat lowly, huffing. “Well, that’s just great. We’re gonna fucking die, and it’s all your fault.” You sink down to your knees, fingers twitching on your thighs. You didn’t think it would be possible to feel closer to death multiple times in one day, but here you are now. Bangs and groans from outside the doors interrupt your goodbye monologue.

Gojo pauses mid-step, glancing down at you with a raised brow. “My fault?” he repeats, amusement creeping back into his voice. “I don’t remember dragging you into this hospital and locking the doors behind you.”

You glare up at him, hands clenching into fists on your lap. “You could’ve at least had a damn plan!”

He sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did have a plan. Step one: don’t die. Step two: don’t let some random stranger get me killed. And, so far…” He gestures vaguely toward the barricaded doors. “We’re still on step one.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Great plan, doctor. Real detailed.”

“Hey, I’m a trauma surgeon, not a survivalist. Cut me some slack.” He turns away, scanning the dimly lit hallway. “But since you’re so eager for a plan, let’s make one.” The doors creak again under another heavy slam. You flinch. Gojo merely rolls his shoulders, unfazed. “Alright,” he muses, tapping the handle of the axe against his palm. “No stairs, which means we need another way down.” His gaze flickers upward again, lingering on the ceiling. “If this place was under renovation, there should be scaffolding somewhere.”

You blink. “You want us to climb out of a hospital window?”

He shrugs. “Got a better idea?”

You press your lips together, stomach twisting. You really don’t.

Gojo grins, taking your silence as agreement. “Thought so. Now, get up. We’ve got some window shopping to do.”

Your lips purse, but the weight of the situation brings you to your feet. You let out another string of curses, glaring up at your unforeseen ally.“If we die, I’m haunting you.”

He nods. “Kinky.” Ignoring the comment, you tie your hair back. If you’re going to have a final day on Earth, firstly, you’re not dying at the hands of other…people. And two, you’re most certainly not dying next to an infuriating man like him. He’s rolling the sleeves of his white coat up, twisting his neck from side to side. “There’s an underground parking garage. Employees only. We can go there but that means going down and facing those things.” You feel your chest tighten at the thought, pressing down on your chest. Another life or death, sticky situation. It’s one thing to be running for your life; it’s another to know that the only escape route is through the very thing you’ve been desperately avoiding. Your heart races, the pulse of panic threatening to override your every thought. The way this guy speaks about it so nonchalantly, like it’s just another inconvenience, makes you sick. Does he even understand the gravity of the situation? Does he realize that going down there means walking straight into the heart of danger? You shake your head slightly, trying to push the rising dread aside. You can’t afford to be scared right now. You can’t.

But it doesn’t help. It’s still there, gnawing at your insides like a constant pressure. You glance over at Gojo, his posture relaxed, almost too confident. He’s already thinking about the next step, mentally preparing for the mess ahead while you’re still stuck back in the reality of what’s happening. The very idea of going through those things makes you want to vomit. You can almost hear their gnashing teeth, the wet, hungry sounds that have been haunting your every step since you stepped foot in this nightmare.

You can’t do this. You can’t—

But the thought dies as soon as it forms, buried beneath the heaviness of your survival instincts. There’s no other way. If you want to live, you’re going to have to face the very thing that terrifies you the most. You clench your fists, trying to keep your breathing steady, the sting of your arm a minor distraction compared to what’s coming. “Then we’re fucked either way,” you mutter, voice harsh, though the words do nothing to quiet the internal noise swirling in your mind. You push yourself to stand taller, to act like you have everything under control—even if you don’t. You won’t show weakness. Not now, not here.

Your eyes shift to Gojo, who’s still fiddling with the equipment, glancing at you as if expecting something. His words earlier, the ones about not getting stuck with a liability, echo in your head. Is that what he thinks of you? That you’re a liability? It stings more than it should, especially given the situation, but you can’t afford to linger on it. "Fine," you force out, standing up straighter, squaring your shoulders. “Let’s go. Just... just don’t slow me down.”

Gojo's expression flickers again, an unreadable glint in his eyes, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. You both know that the clock is ticking, and right now, all you have is each other—whether you like it or not. He finishes tight-knotting the end of another wire to one of the pipes on the wall, connecting it with another chord, and then two more. It creates a familiar representation of what should be a rope. “We’re fifteen floors up.”

“Fifteen?” you repeat back with incredulity, eyes wide. Damn, did you really run up that many flights? Must’ve been the adrenaline because you’re usually tired after just two. You shake your head and walk over to where he’s opening the window and throwing the loose end of the long conjoined wires out.

“We’ll use this climb down.” He gives the wire a few tugs and after seeing the pipe holds it pretty well, he moves to climb out.

Your hand shoots out to grip his arm. “Wait! W-What if it’s not long enough?”

“Then we hop into the nearest window and go down from there.”

“Well, what if it snaps and we fall to our death?”

“You said you ran here, right? You should be down at least a pound or two. That’ll help us.” He shrugs.

This guy! “This isn’t a joke!” you exclaim, he turns to look down at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m not falling to my death and I’m not trusting you either. If we’re doing this, we have to be sure it’ll work.”

Gojo's gaze sharpens, just for a second, before that smirk of his reappears, more teasing than reassuring. "Don't worry, I'm not letting you die on me just yet. That would be too anticlimactic."

You grit your teeth at his response, irritation bubbling up again. It’s the kind of flippant attitude that, in any other situation, might make you walk away from him. But here? With the sound of snarling creatures growing louder outside the door and the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you don't have the luxury of being picky about your companions. You swallow hard, fingers tightening around the sleeve of his jacket, as though holding on to something—anything—that might give you the tiniest shred of control over this madness. "I’m serious," you say, your voice softer now, but no less intense. "One wrong move, and we’re done. I’m not asking for a guarantee, but I need to know you’re not going to fuck this up."

For a moment, Gojo’s eyes change with something you can’t quite interpret. He looks at you like he’s about to crack some sardonic joke, but then the edges of his expression soften—just barely. It’s a fleeting glimpse of something deeper, something more human than the cocky façade he’s been wearing. “I’m not gonna fuck this up,” he says, quieter than before. “But we need to move. I’m not here to lose time arguing.”

Your breath hitches as his words hit, that tension returning, knifing through your chest. You glance out the window, your mind running through the worst-case scenarios: falling to the ground, your body snapping under the impact, the wire giving way to the weight of your desperation. But it’s not like you have a choice. There’s no other way out. You draw in a slow, deliberate breath, your hands shaking slightly as you release his arm and step toward the window. The world outside feels like another universe—chaotic, terrifying, but somehow still just beyond reach. You force yourself to meet Gojo's eyes, ignoring the flash of doubt that tries to creep in.

"After you," you mutter, voice almost drowned out by the cacophony of the chaos below. He flashes you a grin, far too confident for your liking, before stepping onto the ledge and disappearing over it. The faint thrum of your pulse fills your ears, your heart hammering with every passing second. You don’t have the luxury of hesitating. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. He’s first out the window, using the wire to grip onto.

The wire stretches out below you, and you can hear Gojo’s voice calling up from beneath, the sound of his boots scraping against the side of the building. “Let’s go,” he shouts. “You’re not dying up there.”

You force yourself to swallow the fear choking your throat. There’s no turning back now. If you want to survive, you’ll have to trust him, even just this once. With one final glance at the locked door behind you—the thing keeping the chaos at bay—you grab hold of the wire. Your fingers slip a little, the metal feeling cold and foreign in your hands. The weight of everything makes it hard to breathe, but you don’t stop. Not now. One step at a time. Very slowly, you climb out the window, gripping your savior for dear life. The soles of your running shoes stamp down onto the side of the hospital building. Your breathing feels shaky and uneven, but you will your body to climb down.

Every muscle in your body protests as you inch your way down the side of the building, the rough texture of the concrete beneath your feet scraping against your shoes. Your fingers ache, but you cling to the wire, each grip desperate and frantic as you descend into the unknown below. The air feels thicker and colder, the sounds of the hospital—the pounding, the growls, the chaos—fading to nothing but a distant memory.

Your breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts, and your mind races, replaying every terrifying moment up until now. The face of Sayo flashes through your thoughts, the guilt already gnawing at you, even though your survival instinct tells you there's no time to dwell on what happened back there. Every inch lower feels like a countdown to a disaster, your stomach twisting, tight with nerves. "Take it slow," Gojo calls up to you from below, his voice loud enough to cut through the fear ringing in your ears. "You don’t want to make it worse by rushing."

You don't answer, too focused on the descent. Your foot slips for a brief moment, a sharp jolt running through your body, but you catch yourself just in time, heart racing. You curse under your breath, forcing yourself to calm down to breathe, but it’s hard when everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control. As you both climb your descent, you pass by multiple windows of the hospital, barely having time to look in before one of those creatures gets too close to the glass, mangled faces pressed to the glass, and forcing you to hide off to the side. You keep your eyes away from the windows, focusing entirely on the wire beneath your hands. It’s your lifeline now. Your only hope. But the tension in your fingers only grows with each inch you descend, like the wire’s becoming slick with your own fear. Just keep going, you tell yourself. Just keep going.

Gojo’s voice breaks through the pounding in your head again. “You’re doing fine. Just don’t look down.”

It’s a futile piece of advice—too late for that—but you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to block out the height. The wind blows harder as you continue downward, the hospital walls below fading into an indistinct blur. You try not to think about what happens if you fall, if the wire breaks, or if one of those monsters happens to look up at the wrong moment. But the thought of Sayo, Yui, and everyone else; the guilt that gnaws at your insides, pushes those fears aside. You can't let that weigh you down. Not now. Not when there’s still a chance to survive.

"Don't stop. Just keep going," Gojo’s voice calls up again, louder this time, but with a tone that’s almost… comforting. Even if his words are wrapped in layers of sarcasm, there’s something strangely steadying about his presence.

You’re not sure if it's the adrenaline, the tension, or just the fact that you’ve been hanging onto this wire for what feels like forever, but you feel a little more steady with each passing second. Your hands are raw now, the skin on your palms chafed, but you don’t let go. Not for a second. The wind picks up even more, swirling around you, carrying with it the smells of burning rubber and smoke. Your hands are starting to burn. The world outside feels vast, too vast, and your head spins as you force yourself to stay focused on the task at hand. The ground seems so far away. It feels like you’ll never make it. You finally manage to glance down, just for a split second, and the ground below makes your stomach lurch. The parking garage’s concrete floor looks miles away, the edges of your vision blurring with the pressure. Your heart slams in your chest as you look up quickly, trying to keep the vertigo from overwhelming you.

You can hear Gojo below you, his voice sounding closer now, his hands gripping the wire with practiced ease. “Almost there,” he calls, though his tone doesn’t seem too urgent, as if he’s been in worse situations than this.

You shake your head, teeth gritted, trying to shut out the panic creeping into your chest. There’s still a part of you that wonders if this was a mistake—if you’re not going to make it. You can’t help but wonder if Gojo’s not just as clueless as you are. But his presence, his confident tone, keeps you moving. Then, just as you're nearing the final stretch, your foot slips again, sending a jolt of panic through you. You catch yourself, but not without a sharp cry, a gasp of air leaving your chest as your stomach drops. For a moment, you just hang there, suspended in midair, body trembling. "Shit," you mutter under your breath, eyes squeezing shut, breathing out and focusing.

His voice cuts through the panic. “You alright?” There’s a hint of concern now, masked by his usual cool demeanor.

“Yeah,” you call out, “I’m fine.” But even to your own ears, your voice sounds shaky. You push yourself forward again, hands clutching at the wire like a lifeline. You’re close. So close. The ground is finally coming into view—barely more than a few feet away. Your body aches, and your head is spinning, but you can’t stop now.

The wind picks up again, and your foot slips again. Catching yourself even harder this time, combined with your sweaty but burning palms. You can faintly make out him calling up to you once more, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your body jolting as you slide down in a momentary free-fall. “Shit!”

The wire feels too slippery for you to catch, and you begin to have that epiphany of your life flashing before your eyes for what must be the hundredth time today. Until, a firm catches you by your waist, locked and secured around it. The sound of his hissed grunt hits your eyes, and the two of your bodies swing side to side, back and forth, until he steadies you both against the wall. Breathing heavily, he huffs as he adjusts his hold. Your eyes open after closing them after what you thought would be your death. His chest is pressed against your back. “Hold,” he gruffs out.

You do so quickly. Your heart beats wildly, out of sync with everything, but the panic begins to fade, slowly—bit by bit. The world around you sharpens again, and you’re aware of how precariously close you were to falling. To dying. The thought makes your stomach flip. “Not today,” you murmur, your voice hoarse, raw from the strain of the climb and the near-death experience you’ve just had.

“Not today,” he repeats, a strange softness in his tone, a touch of something almost reassuring.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the thundering of your pulse loud in your ears, as the adrenaline from the near-fall surges through your body, shaking your hands and making your legs feel like jelly. Every breath feels like it’s ripping through your lungs, but it’s a strange sense of relief that comes with Gojo’s grip around your waist, anchoring you to the side of the building like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed. His chest pressed to your back serves as a grim reminder of how close you were to plummeting, but it also feels like an odd comfort—something solid in a world that's falling apart. Your thoughts are too scattered to make sense of much. The ground still feels so impossibly far away, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as though the earth itself is trying to pull you down. It’s dizzying, suffocating. But you manage to focus on his voice, low and steady, cutting through the panic that threatens to overtake you.

“Breathe, slow down. You’re alright,” he mutters into your ear, his breath warm against the cold air. It’s a strange thing to hear him say. A little gentler, less cocky than the usual bravado, but just as firm. And for a split second, you almost believe him. You almost start to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it through this.

The steady pressure of his hold keeps you from losing control, even as your body trembles. His grip tightens around you, not with urgency, but with intent—like he’s waiting for the right moment to push you forward. It makes something stir inside you, a complicated knot of anger and gratitude that you can’t quite untangle. You don’t want to rely on him, not like this. You don’t want to admit how much you need him to get through this. Still, you force yourself to steady your breath, eyes flickering open for a moment to glance at the ground below. It’s even closer now—so close you can almost taste the concrete. The garage is just a few more feet down. But the thought of trying to make it the rest of the way on your own, after what just happened, is enough to make your stomach twist. What if I fall again? What if this was a mistake?

But then Gojo’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts again, this time with a touch more force.

“Stop thinking so much,” he says, his grip shifting as he pulls you up slightly, adjusting his hold around your waist. “We’re almost there. Just focus. Just focus on getting your feet on the ground.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. Your hands are slick, your body worn from the climb, but you manage to find some semblance of focus, forcing your limbs to obey. Just a little longer. The ground is so close now, and though your head spins with vertigo, you push yourself forward, feet sliding along the building, each movement controlled, even though every muscle in your body screams in protest. You can feel the tension in Gojo’s grip as he pulls you closer to the final stretch, his voice barely a whisper against your ear now, “Almost there. Don’t stop now.” The air feels thick, every inch of movement dragging on, but you finally feel it—your feet graze against something solid, the rough concrete finally meeting the soles of your shoes. The relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. You’ve made it. You’ve actually made it. You stumble, catching yourself with a grunt, and then, finally, you collapse—your legs giving way beneath you as you hit the concrete. You're breathing heavily, but you’re alive. "That was a close one," you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Your limbs feel like lead, each movement sluggish and strained, but the fear, the tension, it slowly starts to lift, replaced with a faint but undeniable relief.

Gojo doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks down at you for a moment—his expression indecipherable, like he’s sizing you up in the aftermath of it all. But there’s something different in his gaze this time. Less amused, less cocky. Maybe even... appreciative? You can’t tell, but it’s there. “Yeah,” he finally replies, his voice steady as ever, but there's a flicker of something beneath it. "But we’re not out yet."

You nod, slowly rising to your feet, the muscles in your legs protesting, but you push through. You look up at him—his white coat now stained with the grime of the descent, his hair even more wild, but still carrying that aura of unshakable confidence. He adjusts his glasses and nods in the direction of the parking garage. “C’mon.”

You don’t hesitate in following him, heads swiveling around in wariness and anticipation—as if something will pop out of the shadows out of nowhere. The tension in the air is suffocating, every step feeling heavier than the last as you follow closely behind Gojo. Your breath is still uneven from the climb, your hands aching from gripping the wire so tightly, but you push the discomfort aside. There’s no time for weakness. Not now. Not when the world around you feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.

Gojo moves with a controlled urgency, his sharp gaze darting from shadow to shadow, scanning every inch of the dimly lit parking garage. The flickering overhead lights cast eerie, shifting shapes along the concrete walls, distorting reality into something far more menacing. Your grip tightens around the weapon in your hand—whatever little defense you have left. Your nerves are on edge, every sound amplified. The distant groan of metal, the faint echo of dripping water, the shuffling noise that could either be the wind or something far worse. You swallow hard, keeping close, your body tense, waiting—expecting—something to lunge at you from the darkness.

It’s quiet, luckily. The dim setting of the parking garage offers a surprising amount of comfort than it usually would. He stops, causing you to do so subsequently. Reaching his hand in his pocket, a momentary look of surprise flashing over his face. He pats his pants down. Your eyes widen. “I don’t think I have my keys.”

“What?!” you cry out, hands shooting out to feel for yourself. Your face falls when you feel something, looking up at him with a tight expression.

He giggles, pulling his keys out and dangling them in front of you. “Juuust kidding, got you.”

“That’s not funny at all,” you grumble, following him.

Gojo laughs lightly at your response, the tension of the situation momentarily dissipating as he continues toward the exit. His pace quickens, urgency returning as his eyes shift to scan the corners of the garage, still sharp, focused. The light flickers again, casting long, jagged shadows across the concrete. You try to steady your breath, feeling a mix of irritation and relief. He seems like he’s always like this—trying to break the tension with his stupid jokes. But you can’t afford to let your guard down now, not when every shadow could hide danger. You move in close, staying right behind him, though part of you wants to keep your distance. He holds an arm out and you think it’s to alert you of something in the distance. But there’s a car beeping.

You look over and spot an eccentrically blue BMW. The BMW M4 sits in stark contrast to the grimy parking garage, its electric sapphire paint catching the dim light. Dirt and faint scratches mar its sleek surface, a testament to hurried getaways. The black carbon fiber hood and tinted windows add an air of mystery, while the low growl of the engine as it unlocks is a reminder of its power. It looks almost out of place here—too flashy, too pristine—but right now, it doesn’t matter. “Stranger, meet Baby. Baby, meet stranger.” Satoru grins, puffing his chest out like he’s won a race or something.

Your lip downturns.

“So,” he looks at you. “What do you—”

“Pussies drive BMWs,” you cut him off, walking forward and over to the passenger side. “Mercedes is better.”

Gojo freezes mid-sentence, lips parting in mock offense before breaking into a loud, incredulous laugh. "Excuse me?" He places a hand over his chest, feigning deep betrayal. "Baby did nothing to deserve that slander."

You don’t spare him a glance, yanking open the passenger door and sliding in. The interior is just as sleek as you’d expect—black leather seats, ambient blue lighting humming softly along the edges, the faint scent of something expensive lingering in the air. Gojo slides into the driver’s seat, shaking his head with a smirk. "You wound me, truly. But you know what? I’ll let it slide since you clearly have bad taste."

You scoff, buckling your seatbelt. "Says the guy who just giggled at his own joke five minutes ago."

He gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. "Unbelievable. I offer you my protection, my car—my beautiful Baby—and this is the thanks I get?"

You roll your eyes. "Just drive, Dr…." You tilt your head to look at his nametag. “Gojo.”

At the sound of his title, he hmphs triumphantly and buckles up, you follow suit. “Maybe call me Satoru. You’re not a patient of mine nor do you work with me.”

“And I’m glad I’m not.”

“That’s your cue to say your name now, silly.” Putting the car in drive, he slowly peels out of the parking garage, eyes scanning outside from left to right in a constant motion.

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to give him your real name. But then again, what does it matter now? “It’s Y/N,” you finally say, watching the streets as the car glides smoothly onto the road.

Gojo hums, testing the name on his tongue like he’s committing it to memory. “Hmm, suits you. I like it.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your focus to the eerily empty streets. The city feels wrong—too quiet, too still. Neon signs flicker in and out of life, casting the sidewalks in a dull, ghostly glow. Storefronts sit abandoned, some doors left wide open like their owners had no time to shut them. You sigh and rub your face. “Where are we going?”

“Dunno, maybe my place.”

“For what?”

“If an apocalypse is starting, I’m not forgetting my moisturizer.”

You grit your teeth but decide to hold back on an insult. For now. “Fine. Then mine.”

Gojo raises a brow, amused. “Oh? You wanna grab your moisturizer too?”

You shoot him a glare. “No. I need my things. Clothes, supplies—” you pause, glancing out the window at the desolate cityscape. “Weapons.”

He whistles. “Damn, didn’t peg you for the paranoid type. You keep an arsenal under your bed or something?”

You exhale sharply, not in the mood for jokes. “Just drive.”

Gojo shrugs but obeys, making a turn onto the main road. His grip on the wheel tightens ever so slightly, his eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the darkened streets ahead. “Alright, boss. Just don’t be mad if I judge your taste in home decor.”

You lean back in the seat, watching the quietness of the city fly past you. Luckily you haven’t seen any of those things—zombies?—yet. That’s a good thing, it should be. But you’re starting to find out that the still eeriness of just nothing might be even scarier. The city feels more and more like a ghost town the further you drive. It’s unsettling—how quickly everything unraveled, how an entire population could just vanish, leaving behind only flickering lights and abandoned cars. You tighten your grip on your seatbelt. “How far is your place from here?”

“Fifteen minutes, give or take. Yours?”

“About the same.”

Gojo drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Good. Then we grab what we need and figure out the next step. And then…” He sends you a sideways glance, an excited lilt to his voice. “We’re stopping by a gas station.”

You furrow your brows. “For what?”

He grins. “Snacks.”

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jhyoos · 2 days ago

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Off Limits

chapter two : maybe this time

soccer player vi x talis reader

mentions: player vi, besti ekko, romance, lesbianism, modern au, college au, drama, abby tou, ellie tlou, (they’re coming i promise) cheerleader reader, mention of sex, pierced reader, caitlyn being a bitch

notes: grab some snacks yall

The next morning, as you stood in front of your mirror getting ready, you ignored Jayce completely. He had tried apologizing more times than you could count—knocking on your door, lingering outside your room, calling your name softly—but you refused to acknowledge him. Even when he sighed in frustration, muttering something under his breath as he walked away, you didn’t budge.

Once dressed, you headed downstairs, the scent of warm butter and sizzling eggs greeting you as you stepped into the kitchen. Your mom stood at the stove, her hair still slightly damp from a shower, humming softly as she flipped pancakes. You hadn’t seen her in a while—she had been away on a business trip in L.A., and part of you had missed her presence.

She turned to you with a warm smile as you sat at the island, watching her cook.

“How was your first day of school, mi corazón?” she asked, carefully plating food.

“It was good, Mom,” you replied, picking at your nails absentmindedly.

She gave you a knowing look. “Did you make any new friends?”

You shrugged. “Mmm, not really,” you admitted. “I did see Ekko, though. And his little girlfriend, Jinx. She’s really sweet and pretty.”

Your mom’s smile widened. “I’m glad you’re putting yourself out there.” She placed a plate in front of you, the smell of eggs and toast making your stomach grumble. “What about that cheer tryout video? Did you get accepted?”

You sighed, stabbing at a piece of scrambled egg with your fork. “Don’t know yet. They haven’t said anything.”

She reached over and squeezed your hand. “You’ll get it. I believe in you.” She pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back and grabbing a set of keys from the drawer. She placed them on the counter in front of you.

“The car’s parked outside, right in front. It’s new,” she said. “Just don’t forget to wash the dishes before you leave.”

You nodded, still chewing your food.

She gave you one last smile. “Have a good day, sweetheart.” Then, with the jingle of keys and the soft click of the door, she was gone.

Just as you were finishing your breakfast, Jayce came downstairs, already dressed with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He barely spared you a glance as he headed for the door.

“If you’re coming with me, let’s go,” he announced flatly.

You didn’t reply, only reached over and jingled the car keys your mom had left for you. He rolled his eyes before walking out of the apartment without another word.

Once you were done eating, you cleaned up the dishes like your mom had asked, grabbed your bag, and made your way to campus.

The day had been going surprisingly well. Classes were straightforward, and during your break, you decided to head to the library, taking advantage of the quiet space to get ahead on your studies. You sat at a desk tucked in the corner, your laptop open, completely focused on the screen as you typed out notes.

You barely noticed when someone sat down across from you. Assuming it was just another student there to study, you ignored them. That was until your laptop was abruptly shut, you moved your hands away just in time.

Your gaze snapped up, and there she was—Vi, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, an unreadable expression on her face.

Before you could even react, she spoke first. “Where did you go after the party? I was looking for you.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Liar,” you scoffed. “You were too busy exchanging saliva with some other girl.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms. “And on top of that, you didn’t even do the one thing you said you would—distract Jayce. He caught me.”

Vi sighed, shaking her head. “That’s why you haven’t been answering my texts?” She tilted her head, smirking. “Did you actually think this was something?” She let out a short chuckle. “I just wanted a good fuck, baby.”

Your jaw clenched. “I know this might sound surprising, but so did I.” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “But it’s kinda a turn off when the girl you show up with is kissing someone else before the night’s even over.”

Vi’s smirk faltered slightly, but you didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, you reopened your laptop, the screen blocking her from your view.

“Have a good fucking day, Violet,” you muttered before refocusing on your work.

Vi hesitated for a moment, as if considering saying something else, but then you heard her scoff softly before standing up and walking away.

After your last class, you made your way home, already hearing the pounding bass of loud music as you approached the door. You sighed, knowing it was most likely Jayce and his friends, which meant the apartment was about to be a chaotic mess.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you flipped through the mail in your hands, tossing most of it onto the small table by the door like you always did. But one envelope caught your eye—the school’s logo printed neatly in the corner. Your breath hitched as you flipped it over, fingers tightening around the edges.

This was it. The results from your cheer tryout.

Cheer had been your passion since middle school, something you threw yourself into completely—until your senior year, when your dad died. You knew you couldn’t keep up with the demanding schedule, so you let it go. But after moving back home, your mom had encouraged you to give it another shot, and you did. You needed something to keep yourself busy, something to feel like you again.

You walked into the living room, distracted as you worked to tear the envelope open. Your bag slid off your shoulder, landing in its usual spot beneath the coffee table. Just as you finally got the letter free, something small and crunchy smacked you right in the forehead.

“The hell?” you muttered, glancing up.

“You’re blocking the TV, dude,” Jayce said flatly, a controller in his hand.

You rolled your eyes but froze when you noticed who was sitting beside him. Vi.

Your stomach twisted as you quickly took in the rest of his friend group—mostly butches and one twink. You looked back at Jayce before stepping aside, muttering under your breath as you finally unfolded the letter.

“Don’t you guys have better shit to do? Like study or—” Your voice cut off abruptly.

Your eyes scanned over the words again just to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

Congratulations, you have been selected as a member of the Arcane Lions Cheer Team.

Your hands trembled slightly as the realization settled in.

“Jayce, read this,” you said, shoving the letter toward him.

He paused the game, ignoring Vi’s groan of protest, and took the paper from you, standing up. His eyes darted across the page, and soon, a wide grin spread across his face.

“Congrats, sis. You’re a Lion,” he said, clapping you on the back.

You smirked. “I’ve been a Lion, dumbass. But thanks.”

Snatching the paper back, you pulled out your phone. “I’m gonna take a pic and send it to Mom.”

Jayce held onto the letter for just a second longer, teasing you before finally letting it go.

From the couch, Vi leaned back, stretching her arms over her head as she smirked. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you at all the functions,” she teased. “Thank god cheerleaders don’t cheer for the soccer team.”

You scoffed. “I don’t wanna be around you.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed straight upstairs, ignoring the way Vi’s smirk faltered just slightly as you disappeared down the hall, over hearing their conversation.

“Damn Vi i never seen you fumble so hard”

“I taught my sister well.”

Your first day of cheer practice was absolute hell.

The sun beat down mercilessly as you and the rest of the squad ran suicides up and down the football stadium bleachers. Your legs burned, your lungs screamed, and the insane body workouts that followed only made things worse. Every squat, push-up, and burpee felt like a personal attack. But the real kicker? The person barking orders at you all, making sure you pushed past your limits, was her.

The blue-haired girl from the bonfire. The one Vi had kissed.

And, of course, she just had to be the cheer captain.

You clenched your jaw and kept your head down, forcing yourself through every miserable rep. You weren’t about to let Caitlyn see you struggle. She was already making you work twice as hard as the others, calling you out whenever your form faltered, ensuring you knew exactly who was in charge.

By the time practice finally ended, you felt like you had been hit by a truck. You wiped sweat from your brow, chugging water like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Just when you thought you were free to leave, the team was ushered into the locker room to get measured for uniforms.

You were exhausted, body sore, and the last thing you wanted was to stand around half-dressed while someone took your measurements. But you endured it, standing in line as tape measures wrapped around your waist, bust, and hips, trying not to think about how much you hated being scrutinized like this.

Just as you were about to grab your bag and head out, Caitlyn stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“You’re Jayce Talis’ little sister, right?” she asked, her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.

You forced a polite, fake smile and nodded. “Yep. That’s me.”

Her gaze flickered over you, eyes dragging from your face down to your torso like she was assessing your worth. “I expect the best out of you since you’re the sibling of a top athlete here.”

Before you could respond, she reached out and grabbed the waistband of your shorts, tugging them slightly to peek inside.

Your body tensed, a flash of discomfort shooting up your spine.

“You’re gonna have to take that belly ring out during games,” Caitlyn remarked, her tone casual, like she wasn’t just invading your space. Then, she tilted her head, smirking. “What else do you have pierced?”

You hesitated for a second, shifting uncomfortably before mumbling, “Um… my nipples.”

Caitlyn hummed. “Figures.” She finally let go of your shorts, stepping back. The movement of the shorts snapping back onto your body hit your belly ring which made you hiss from the sudden pain. “Nothing some boob tape won’t hide, I guess.”

You exhaled, hoping that was the end of it, but then she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

“Oh, and I’ve heard about you… from Vi,” she said, her smile saccharine but her eyes sharp. “Stay away from her, or I’ll make your experience here a living hell. Okay?”

She patted your shoulder mockingly before turning on her heel and walking away like she hadn’t just threatened you with a sweet smile on her face.

You stood there for a moment, fists clenched at your sides.

What the fuck had you just gotten yourself into?

The warm water had washed away the grime of practice, but not the lingering frustration in your chest. Your muscles ached from the brutal workout Caitlyn had put you through, and the last thing you wanted was to deal with any more bullshit.

You stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels provided and wrapping it around yourself. The locker room was mostly empty now, just the faint sound of water dripping from the showerheads and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You dried yourself off quickly, rubbing the towel over your arms and legs before slipping on your underwear.

As you reached behind your back, struggling to clasp your bra, the locker room door swung open. The sound of laughter and footsteps echoed off the tiled walls.

You glanced up in the mirror.

Vi.

And, of course, she wasn’t alone. A handful of girls from the soccer team trailed in behind her, still riding the high of their practice. They were loud, chatting and joking amongst themselves, but Vi’s attention was locked onto you.

Her gaze swept over you in an obvious once-over, a slow smirk pulling at her lips.

“Damn, Talis,” she drawled, leaning against a row of lockers, arms crossed over her chest. “You got a nice body.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to snap at her. Instead, you focused on finally securing the stupid clasp of your bra, your fingers fumbling slightly in irritation.

Vi didn’t seem to care that you were ignoring her. If anything, it just encouraged her.

She tilted her head, eyes lingering a little too long. “Is that a belly ring?” Her smirk widened. “That’s hot.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, grabbing your sweatpants and stepping into them.

“Vi, I don’t have time for you and your bullshit,” you muttered, pulling them up your legs and tightening the drawstring.

Vi just chuckled, like your attitude amused her. Like you weren’t still pissed off at her from the bonfire.

You refused to let her get under your skin. You refused to let her think she could flirt her way back into your good graces.

Not this time.

Vi stepped closer, her presence looming just as you pulled your cropped black shirt over your head, the fabric hugging your body snugly. The heat of her proximity made your skin prickle, but you kept your focus on adjusting your sleeves, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.

“What are you doing later tonight?” Vi asked, her voice smooth, almost casual, like she hadn’t just put you through hell the past 24 hours.

“Homework,” you replied flatly, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder.

Vi didn’t take the hint. “How about I see you tonight?” she offered, her tone dropping into something more suggestive. “Your brother isn’t gonna be home, which is perfect.”

You finally turned to her, eyes narrowing in disgust. Did she really think she could just waltz in here and pretend like nothing had happened?

You scoffed. “Why don’t you ask your little girlfriend that was threatening me this morning?” you said, tilting your head. “You know, the blue-haired girl… cheer captain?”

Vi shrugged, that cocky smirk still plastered on her face. Like none of this mattered. Like you were just another game to her.

That was it.

You stepped closer, meeting her gaze with unwavering intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight, Vi, okay?” you said, voice cold. “I’m not your little plaything. I don’t have low standards for someone like you.”

Her smirk twitched, but she stayed silent.

“You kissed another girl while you were with me—God knows what else you did—and you expect me to run into your arms?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Get the fuck over yourself and get your head out of your ass. I don’t want you. So stop bothering me.”

Before she could respond, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the locker room, leaving her standing there, speechless for once.

After finishing your classes for the day, you made a quick stop at Dutch Bros, treating yourself to an iced coffee before heading home. The caffeine was much needed after the grueling cheer practice and the long lectures.

When you stepped into the apartment, the smell of food immediately hit you. Jayce was in the kitchen, standing by the counter, focused on making himself a sandwich. His broad frame blocked most of the counter, but you could see the neatly stacked ingredients—deli meat, cheese, lettuce—laid out beside him.

“Oooh, make me one, please,” you asked, setting your drink down on the island.

Jayce glanced up at you briefly before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Thank you, housewife.”

Jayce rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, just continued assembling your sandwich like the “good” big brother he was.

As you leaned against the counter, sipping your coffee, he spoke up. “Are you gonna come to the soccer game tonight?”

You sighed, already knowing there was no escaping it. “Yeah. I have no choice—Jinx is driving.”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, she’s just like her sister. She doesn’t let up.”

That caught your attention. You furrowed your brows, setting your coffee down. “Who’s her sister?”

“Vi,” Jayce answered plainly, as if it were common knowledge.

Your eyebrow shot up instinctively. You let that piece of information sink in for a moment before scoffing. “Honestly… not even surprised.”

Jayce smirked as he slid the plate with your sandwich across the counter.

Then, after a pause, he hesitated before speaking. “Are you still mad at me about the party?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then go ahead and lash out on me.”

You set your sandwich down and stared at him, your jaw tightening. “If you yell at me and degrade me the way you did at the party, I will cut your dick off and shove it so far up your ass you’ll be coughing it up,” you said, voice calm but laced with venom.

Jayce winced but didn’t interrupt.

“You know how I feel about people accusing me of relapsing,” you continued, your grip on the plate tightening. “And I especially hate it when you or Mom do it. A stupid Cayman Jack isn’t gonna make me relapse. I’m not that fucking weak.”

Jayce sighed, his expression shifting to guilt. “Right. I apologize.”

You exhaled slowly, picking your sandwich back up. “You’re forgiven.”

Jayce glanced at his phone, checking the time before grabbing his sandwich. “I gotta go—meeting with the coach before the game,” he said, taking one last bite before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgment, still focused on your food as he made his way to the door.

Just as he pulled it open, he nearly ran into Jinx, who had her hand raised as if she were about to knock. The two of them froze, staring at each other in mutual awkwardness before Jayce finally stepped aside, allowing her in. Without another word, he closed the door behind her and left.

Jinx turned toward you with a playful grin. “Hello, (Y/N),” she greeted, plopping onto the stool beside you.

You glanced at her, swallowing the last bite you took before returning the smile. “Why are you here so early?”

“I wanted to get food first, but clearly you have that figured out,” Jinx teased, eyeing your sandwich.

Your chewing slowed as you glanced down at your plate, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about eating in front of her. You placed the sandwich down with exaggerated slowness, making her snicker.

“I’m still hungry, though,” you admitted. “Let me change, and then we can go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jinx said with a mock salute, watching as you rolled your eyes and dashed up the stairs.

The game started, and within minutes, you understood why the entire school had shown up. Your team wasn’t just good—they were insanely talented. Jayce commanded the field with pinpoint passes, Ekko’s footwork and kicks were pure finesse, and Vi? She was everywhere. Aggressive, quick, and completely in control, she weaved through the opposing team like she was made for this. Together, the three of them were an unstoppable force, dominating the game like a well-oiled machine.

You and Jinx cheered every time they scored, and the entire bleacher section erupted with each goal. The energy was electric, and even though you weren’t exactly a sports fan, you couldn’t deny how exciting it was to watch them play.

When the game ended in an easy victory, the stands emptied out, but the buzz didn’t die. Whispers spread quickly—there was a party tonight. Caitlyn Kiramman’s house.

Jinx nudged you with her elbow. “You coming?”

You scoffed. “Absolutely not. But you should go—with Ekko.”

She rolled her eyes, but you didn’t miss the way her lips curled into a barely-there smile.

As the two of you waited near the locker room gate, the team finally emerged, still high off their win. Ekko spotted Jinx immediately and wasted no time slinging an arm around her, pulling her into a hug. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them.

But before you could comment, a weight settled around your shoulders. You stiffened, turning your head to find Vi standing there, her arm lazily draped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your jaw tightened. “Was me telling you off in that locker room not enough?”

Vi gave you an easy grin. “We can’t be friends?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine.” You let her arm stay there—until her hand drifted lower, groping your chest.

You scoffed, shoving her off. “What the fuck?!”

Vi held up her hands in mock innocence, her smirk unrepentant. “I had to. They were sitting so perfectly.”

Your glare could’ve set her on fire. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”

Vi only laughed, grabbing your pointing finger and giving it a playful squeeze. “Walk with me. Please.”

You stared at her for a long moment before exhaling sharply. “…Fine.”

She wasted no time grabbing your hand, leading you away from the crowd toward a more secluded spot behind the bleachers.

“I wanna try again,” she said once you were alone.

You narrowed your eyes. “Try what again?”

“Taking you out.”

You snorted. “Be for real.”

“I am serious,” Vi insisted. “We can try again at the pool party tonight.”

You blinked at her. “Caitlyn Kiramman’s house? The cheer captain? You want me dead, don’t you?”

“I talked to Caitlyn,” Vi said smoothly. “Told her we aren’t gonna see each other anymore. She’s cool with it. And…I told her to leave you alone.”

You eyed her skeptically. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

Vi shrugged. “Believe what you want. But I handled it.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “…What about Jayce?”

“He’ll be too busy with Mel,” she said easily. “They’ve got a date tonight. He said he’s ‘gonna get lucky’ or whatever, so he’s definitely not gonna be there.”

You hesitated, mulling it over. “…Alright. But I swear to God, Vi, if you embarrass me, I will never let you live it down.”

“Fine,I promise,” she said with a chuckle. Then, before you could react, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

You barely had time to process the warmth before she pulled away, grinning. “I’ll pick you up at 8. Have a swimsuit on.”

And with that, she walked off, leaving you standing there—flustered and way more interested in this party than you’d ever planned to be.

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wingedhallows · 3 days ago

Text

— PRIDE AND SELF-SABOTAGING —

♡ CHAPTER ONE ♡ — ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING ; 1.5k words vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy. Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim?

♡ navigation ♡

¸.*☆*.¸⁭ CHAPTER INDEX ¸.*☆*.¸⁭

— ₊˚⊹♡ TAG, YOU'RE IT

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It’s nearly eight by the time you finally trudge into your dorm, limbs aching and feet screaming in protest. Ballet practice had dragged on forever, each repetition chipping away at your already dwindling energy. You barely have the strength to drop your gym bag by the door, let alone deal with anything else. Your bed is still a tangled mess from this morning—an inviting sight, whispering promises of rest.

The door swings open behind you before you even have a chance to collapse.

“There you are! I have the dress you’ve been eyeing.”

Margot’s voice is as bright as ever, cutting through your exhaustion like a knife. You let out a long sigh, already cursing your past self for ever agreeing to that damn frat party. The idea of squeezing into some overpriced, barely-there dress and subjecting yourself to a room full of sweaty, drunken people sounds about as appealing as running another hour of drills. Your unmade bed is calling your name, and yet—

“Don’t give me that face. You promised.” Margot flops onto your bed with a smug grin, completely unbothered by the mess. She places the sleek black dress beside your gym bag, fingers smoothing over the fabric like it’s some kind of sacred offering.

“Shut it.” You mutter, grabbing the dress with wary fingers, holding it up as if it might bite. Your brows knit together. “Why is it so damn short?”

Margot gasps, placing a hand over her heart like you’ve mortally offended her. “My love, my light—just put the damn dress on.” Her voice drips with amusement, and for a brief moment, you consider using the dress to strangle her.

Instead, you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Let me take a shower first, you gremlin.” With a sigh, you toss the dress back onto the bed and grab a fresh set of underwear.

Margot waves a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll just watch Love Island in the meantime.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smirk that tugs at your lips. With that, you disappear into the bathroom, already savoring the thought of hot water washing away the exhaustion of the day.

Something tells you you’re going to need it—because whatever’s waiting for you at that party? It’s bound to be a disaster.

By the time you, Margot, and Flint arrive at the party, the night air has turned bitterly cold. The kind of cold that bites at your exposed skin and makes you question every life choice that led you here—especially the one where you let Margot convince you that a jacket was “so unnecessary.”

The house is alive with noise and movement. Music booms from inside, rattling the walls, and the wide-open door spills golden light onto the porch, where groups of people linger, red solo cups in hand, laughter and cigarette smoke curling into the night. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, seriously considering turning around and walking right back to the warmth of your dorm. But Margot’s grip on your wrist is vice-like, and you swear she’d dislocate your shoulder before letting you escape.

“I can already taste the cider,” Flint grins, brushing a strand of auburn hair from his face as he strides ahead, leading the three of you inside.

Margot wasn’t lying about the temperature—it’s suffocatingly hot. The air is thick with body heat, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable scent of spiked punch. The house itself is barebones, exactly what you’d expect from the basketball team’s party pad: a battered leather couch shoved against the back wall, a TV teetering precariously on an ancient stand, and an assortment of mismatched furniture that looks like it was either stolen or salvaged from the side of the road.

Margot wastes no time pulling you through the crowd, her greetings blending into the music as she waves at nearly everyone she passes. Flint does the same, flashing grins and tossing casual nods like he’s in his element. You, on the other hand, are starting to wonder just how much time these two spend with the basketball team.

Before you can even think about hunting down a drink—some liquid courage to make this night bearable—a muscular arm snakes around your shoulders. The scent of sharp cologne hits you before you even see her.

Abby.

“There’s my favorite ballerina,” she says, her voice rich with amusement as she presses a cold bottle of beer into your hand.

You offer a small smile, taking it without protest. You know how this goes—she’ll remember in about twenty minutes that you don’t actually like beer and take it back, but for now, it’s easier to just hold it.

“Come on, you gotta meet some people.” Abby doesn’t wait for a response before tugging you along, effortlessly sweeping Margot and Flint into her orbit as well.

She leads you toward the couch, where familiar faces come into view. Ellie—a close friend of Abby’s, someone you get along with well enough. Ekko—a mutual acquaintance, though the specifics blur in your mind. But then—

Your breath catches for just a second.

She’s there.

Perched on the couch like she owns the place, her signature confidence practically radiating from her posture. Legs spread wide, a silent declaration of presence, of dominance—like she has something to prove.

Violet.

Your throat tightens as Abby practically shoves you into an armchair, directly across from Vi. The room feels stifling now, thick with the scent of alcohol and weed, the air buzzing with laughter and conversation, but all of it fades into the background the moment Abby starts her introductions.

She gestures around with that smug grin of hers, name-dropping people you already know—Ellie, Dina—but then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she nods toward her.

“And that’s the star of the show, Violet, but don’t call her that.”

Your stomach clenches as your gaze flickers to Vi, and—oh.

She’s looking at you. Not just looking, devouring.

Lidded eyes, heavy from booze and whatever else is floating through this party, trace over you like she’s committing you to memory. And when her tongue flicks out to drag slowly across her lower lip, your breath stutters. Your pulse is a traitor, hammering wildly in your chest.

And Vi? Vi is trying so damn hard to play it cool.

Relax. Don’t be weird. Just—act normal.

She rakes a hand through her short pink hair, willing her heart to calm the fuck down, but—gods, you’re so fucking pretty.

“Nice to meet you,” Vi says, her voice low and smooth, the kind of rich, golden tone that makes something in your stomach twist.

Shit.

“Likewise.” Your own voice comes out softer than you’d like, barely above a breath. You internally curse yourself for sounding so meek.

A lazy grin pulls at Vi’s lips, and she looks away just long enough to take a slow sip from her cup—like she’s giving you a moment to catch your breath, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. And goddamn, does she.

"A pretty bird, mh?” Abby grins, her voice lilting with amusement, and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. Suddenly, beer doesn’t seem so bad. You take a sip, hoping the alcohol will dull the way your heart is slamming against your ribs.

Vi lets out a low chuckle, slow and deliberate, and nods. “Pretty indeed.”

You swear you might combust on the spot.

“Interested?” Abby nudges Vi, her grin widening.

Vi scoffs, but her heart lurches violently in her chest. Fuck Abby. Fuck her teasing. And fuck the way you’re looking at her right now—like you’re actually waiting for her response, like the answer matters.

Her pride flares up. Her stupid, self-sabotaging brain jumps in before she can stop it. And before she can even think—

“Nope. Not my type.”

The words slip out, sharp and cold. The moment they leave her mouth, panic slams into her like a freight train.

What the fuck did she just say?

Your stomach drops. The sharp sting of humiliation settles deep in your chest, twisting tight like a blade.

She said it so easily. So carelessly. Like you weren’t sitting right there.

Vi swallows hard, but it’s too late to take it back. The damage is done.

And then she sees it—sees the way your eyes flicker away from hers, the way your fingers clench around the neck of the bottle like you’re grounding yourself against the sting.

Fuck.

She fucked up.

And judging by the way your expression hardens ever so slightly, the way you shut yourself off in an instant—Vi knows she might not get another chance to fix it.

The conversation grinds to a halt, the weight of Vi’s words settling over you like a lead blanket. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck, burning with the kind of humiliation that makes your skin feel too tight. You force down another sip of beer, but it does nothing to drown out the sting, the way the rejection rings in your ears, sharp and merciless.

You flick your gaze to Margot—please. A silent, desperate plea to leave, to run, to just get the fuck out of here before the lump in your throat gives you away.

Fuck Abby. Fuck this party. And most of all—fuck Vi.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

( @foralltheprettygirls ; @sawaagyapong ; @jivimatcha ; @majuia ; @uhmidkmuch ; @savedforlaterr ; @baylegend6 ; @elle-girlylesbian @dazevi )

#vi arcane #arcane #vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi imagine #vi league of legends #vi arcane fluff #vi arcane imagine #vi angst #vi masterlist #vi arcane angst #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane fanfic #vi arcane x y/n #violet arcane #arcane vi #vi fanfic

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 days ago

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lessons in anatomy

an art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU...

-You’re a favorite amongst the studio art students at the university where you model. Not because of your looks, but because of your exceptional ability at sitting still. When you retreat inside your mind and you’re sitting in a position that doesn’t have any pinch points, you can go a solid hour without moving a muscle.

-Maybe it helps, that you were once an art student too. You’ve studied the classical positions immortalized by the greats. The drama of the Renaissance martyrs to the quiet repose of the Impressionists to the silent anguish of the Pre Raphaelites. You do a damn good Odalisque, if you don’t say so yourself.

-You’ve been doing this for a while, and you’re pretty comfortable with it. That is, until you walk into the first day of Figure Drawing 101 to find the most handsome man you’ve ever seen behind the desk–decidedly not the usual portly, gray-haired, female professor who hired you years ago. He is tall, and dark, with soulful black eyes that make your lady parts ache. It’s incredibly embarrassing when your mitt veritably disappears in his in a cordial handshake (good lord, what poetic, long-fingered hands!) and you almost forget your own name.

-He is incredibly gracious about your impression of a goldfish at feeding time. Undoubtedly, he’s used to this effect he has on women. Deep down, he must be laughing at you, and this more than anything helps you get a grip as you disappear into your little supply closet to change.

-You emerge in your pretty paisley-print robe that sweeps the floor, and you realize you haven’t been nervous about taking off your clothes in class since your very first day on this job. Your palms are actually sweating, as you perch on the model stand with your legs crossed, watching him out the corner of your eye. He is stupidly dapper, in a dark tweed suit and tie. His hair swings down into his eyes as he reads something on his desk, and you’re not proud of what you would give for the privilege to run your fingers through that fluffy dark hair.

-Thoroughly disgusted with yourself, you’re grateful when it’s time for class to begin. You’re surrounded by young adults who are [mostly] eager to learn with charcoal in hand. All eyes are on you, but its Professor Wick’s eyes you feel like a weight on your skin when the robe slides from your shoulders. You are so glad you can blame the air conditioning for your state of…attention.

-You start with quick warm ups, then some five minute studies, and finally an extended pose with small breaks in between. When the kids take a break in the middle of the three hour period you slide back on your robe and make a round of the room, perusing the sketches. You can already tell who will be at the top of the class, but also who has potential for improvement if they work hard and practice. And some…better be good at math, because art is not their thing.

You do not hear him behind you, until he speaks. “I'm not sure how your clavicle could be at that angle…unless it was broken in two places.” You cover your smile with your hand as you glance back over your shoulder at him, a hot blush spreading like wildfire up your neck for some ridiculous reason.

Mere proximity, you fear.

“Maybe their professor will set them straight.”

He chuckles with a charming self-deprecation that you find painfully endearing, scrubbing the back of his neck.

“I like to see where everyone stands on the first day. I promise that lessons in anatomy will be forthcoming.” He only meets your eyes for a bare second as he tells you this, but you are astonished you do not spontaneously combust.

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map

pinterest board/photo credits

#oh god here we gooooo 🤪#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #professor wick AU #yandere john wick

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justauthoring · 2 days ago

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This is the Beginning [2/?]

Summary: You never thought you'd be able to escape Buggy, and yet, a boy with a straw hat, a man with three swords and a girl with orange hair somehow manage to free you. The journey that follows afterwards is your chance at freedom and maybe something more.

A One Piece Live Action Rewrite

Part One - Part Two

Pairing: Live Action!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

TW for this chapter: kuro, canon typical violence, kuro makes a comment about your eye, that's about it

Word Count: 11,044

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write and I'm even more excited for the next because... SANJIIIII!! Which of course means we get to see some jealous Zoroooooo

I hope to have chapter three out soon, but school is crazy as usual so be patient with me <3

Tag List: @emmaiscool22

Chapter Two - Acceptance

“Are you sure you don’t mind me borrowing some of your clothes, Nami?”

Glancing up from the Grand Line map she’d been studying, Nami just raises a brow down at you. “I’d rather you borrow my clothes then wear those atrocious clothes that clown had you in,” she shakes her head, almost shuddering at the memory. The sight pulls a small smile to your lips. “Seriously, he had no fashion sense.”

You let out a small laugh. “They were pretty ugly, weren’t they?” You grin up at her, and she pauses, as if shocked you were smiling so openly. You don’t mind. You realize you did look pretty miserable that time they’d set you free, extremely self-pitying too. You still had your self-doubts, of course, but Luffy’s excitement at you joining them was pretty reassuring and it was hard not to appreciate how freeing the whole experience had been.

There was still the whole issue that Luffy seemed to be the only one convinced that you were in fact a pirate crew. Nami and Zoro seemed insistent on denying that, repeatedly telling him they were not a crew when he’d tried explaining it to you. Nami said she was only with the two because she had a shared interest in the Grand Line map. When you asked Zoro, he’d just shrugged, saying he was seeing where it took him. You’d snickered silently to yourself at that, thinking to yourself that the both of them just weren’t ready to admit that they were in fact a part of Luffy’s crew and probably liked that fact.

But you’d let them lie about it for now.

As for you, you nodded at Luffy when he explained how the goal was to find the One Piece and for him to become the Pirate King. In response, you’d shrugged and said; “Sure, Captain. Sounds like a plan.”

His eyes had practically sparkled at that while Zoro and Nami instantly groaned in response, berating you for enticing Luffy. You’d only laughed, saying you didn’t mind calling him Captain and being in his crew because there was nowhere else for you to go.

You’d been a captive of Buggy’s for years. Forced to be a part of his crew and do his bidding day in and day out. There really was nowhere else for you to go or call home. You’d suffered scars and injuries that would never leave, both mentally and physically. But Luffy, Zoro and Nami seemed to think nothing of your doubts, especially your eye. Despite his initial assurance, you felt extra assured by the fact that you had your eyepatch back and no one was going to be forcing you to take it off to make a mockery of you again.

Those days were gone.

With a wistful sigh, you turn, moving to the edge of the boat and breathing in the air. You never enjoyed being on Buggy’s boat but that hadn’t been because you didn’t enjoy being out on sea, but rather because it had been Buggy’s boat in the first place.

You are unaware of Nami’s eyes following you until she lets out a rather undignified snort.

“More than ugly,” she rolls her eyes as you turn back to glance at her. “More like atrocious. We should burn them when we get the chance.”

You let out a chuckle. “You think? I’d sure like to get rid of the memory of them.”

Nami’s lips part to respond, but before she can, she’s cut off by Luffy;

“Nami! Y/N!”

Rolling her eyes, Nami shifts her attention in front of you as you spin around to face Luffy. “What?”

Grabbing the large sheet of fabric he’d been fiddling with for the past hour or so, he stretches it wide in front of him, blocking what you’re sure is a beaming smile, and calls out; “it’s ready!”

Lips parting, you tilt your head, trying to get a good look at the lopsided skull.

“And what is it?”

Lowering the fabric so his face pokes up over it, Luffy grins; “our Jolly Roger. Every pirate crew has to have one. And now we do!”

“We’re not a crew,” Nami huffs, “and you are not hanging that on my boat.” With that, she turns back to the map.

Luffy blinks at her.

Stepping forward, you smile gently at Luffy; “it’s a little lopsided too, no?”

Peeking over the top, Luffy raises a brow. “I think it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, holding back your laugh just as the door squeaks open behind him. Glancing over Luffy’s shoulder, you meet Zoro’s gaze.

“Zoro!” Luffy wastes no time spinning to face his friend, “Zoro, check it out.”

Pausing in the door, Zoro lets his eyes drag across it for a moment before meeting Luffy’s gaze, expression never changing.

“That’s unique.”

“It’s kind of cute in a way.” You offer, feeling a bit bad for Luffy who clearly had worked hard on it. “It has its own charm.”

Zoro just rolls his eyes at you. “It’s definitely not going to scare any other pirates.”

Turning back to Luffy’s jolly roger, he turns to you expectantly. As you let your eyes drift across it again, you have to admit, it’s more adorable than frightening. With a grimace, you offer him a pitying smile.

“Nami,” Zoro calls, leaning against the edge of the boat. “I think the toilet’s busted.”

Peering at him behind her glasses, Nami blinks, “we don’t have a toilet.”

There’s a pause, before Zoro offers a short; “oh.” Turning back towards the door, he shrugs. “Well, then something back there’s leaking.”

“What?”

Not hesitating a second more, she hops off the boxes she’d been sitting on, storming past the three of you and slamming the door shut behind her.

Luffy waits one second before he says; “where should I hang it?”

“Uh, Luffy,” you call, “I don’t think Nami will…”

He ignores you, eyes snapping round to find the best place.

“It’s best to let him do what he wants,” Zoro calls from behind you, your head turning round to glance at him. He’s crossed his arms over his chest again, leaning nonchalantly back. “And not get involved.”

“Is that what you do?” You ask, raising a brow. “Choose not to get involved?”

Zoro just stares at you. “Not if I don’t have to,” he answers, as if that’s the obvious answer.

Something told you that wasn’t the whole truth.

Before you can respond, however, Nami comes back out.

“We’re taking in water. What did you do?” She accuses Zoro.

Zoro leans towards her; “I didn’t do anything.”

Eyes flickering between the both of them, feeling the tension rising, your stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Guys, maybe we should—”

“The way you’re clanging those swords around, you must’ve broken something,” she scoffs.

Zoro snorts. “If you’re such a good thief, maybe you should’ve stolen a better boat.”

“Guys, guys, guys,” Luffy calls, successfully cutting their argument off. You let out a breath of relief at that, grateful they at least chose to listen to Luffy. “Okay, crew meeting.”

On cue, both of them huff; “not a crew!”

You offer a nervous smile.

Unphased as usual, Luffy turns to the three of you. “We're gonna need a better ship to make it to the Grand Line. A real pirate ship.” Then, pausing for dramatic effect, he smirks; “worthy of the Straw Hat crew.”

“Wait,” Nami calls, “Straw Hat crew? Really?”

“Yeah,” Luffy nods, “I thought it had a nice ring to it.”

“‘Demon’ has a nice ring to it,” Zoro scoffs. “Headgear? Not scary.”

“Well,” you speak up, meeting Zoro’s eyes before turning to Luffy. “I like it. It’s unique.”

Nami rolls her eyes, “do you have to keep encouraging him?” She asks you.

You shrug, smiling.

Luffy beams at you. “Thank you, Y/N.” He turns to Zoro, “and who says pirates have to be scary?”

At that, both of them give pause.

“I definitely don’t want to be scary,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone.

“The point is we need a new ship.” Luffy backtracks, “so where do we get one?”

Grabbing her maps, Nami sighs. “Our closest bet is the Gecko Islands. We can probably make it there before our ship sinks. Ditch this one and get a better one.”

“Good,” Zoro drawls, “with a working toilet.”

Nami glares at him but Luffy just grins; “great job, navigator.” He turns back to grab his jolly roger.

“You’re still not hanging that on my ship,” Nami reminds.

After Luffy and Nami’s disagreement of stealing a ship and the former running off to somehow convince a salesman to just give him a ship, you’re left wandering around with Nami and Zoro.

You weren’t a big fan of stealing a ship either, but you knew realistically that Nami was right. None of you had enough to berry to be able to buy a ship legally and Nami’s old ship was no longer an option.

Trailing behind Nami and next to Zoro, you let your eyes drag across the hustle and bustle of the shipyard, unable to fight the smile that curls on your lips as you watch people flutter around, completely in their own worlds. It’s such a simple thing and yet, you can seem to pull your eyes off of the bustling crowds completely engrossed in their worlds.

“Never been to a shipyard before?”

It takes you a second to realize Zoro is talking to you. With a blink and parted lips, you turn to him, meeting his eyes. It’s clear he’d been watching you, dark and intense eyes already on you and the realization pulls a light flush to your cheeks.

“I’ve been,” you answer, nodding. Eyeing Nami out of the corner of your eye and watching as she carefully glances around, entirely for a different reason than you had been. She’s in her own world, promptly and probably pointedly ignoring the both of you.

Focusing back on Zoro, you lick your lips. “It’s just…” But you trail off, unsure.

“What?” Zoro asks, blunt as usual.

The look on his face tells you he’s waiting to hear what you were going to say.

“Different,” you shrug, moving to hug your arm as you curl in on yourself. It’s clear you’re not as open as you were trying to pretend you were since joining Luffy’s crew. While the three of them were definitely nothing like Buggy, it was hard to deny that Zoro was intimidating. You’d only been with them for a short amount of time, but Luffy was easy to get along with. He did most of the talking anyways and his energy was infectious.

Nami you’d been unsure of at first too, and while she sometimes seemed closed off, she was easy to hold a conversation with. Sometimes short or cold, you still found her approachable.

Zoro, for some reason, made you nervous. You couldn’t rightly explain it. Every time you met his eye or tried to talk to him, you’d clam up with nerves and find yourself stumbling more than you usually did. Honestly, you made yourself look like a fool more times than not with him. His gaze was heavy, and the second it landed on you, it was like he was trying to unearth all your secrets.

“Different how?” He asks, pressing.

You lick your lips. “It’s… different seeing all these people without having to fear that Buggy might snap and kill them all.” Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in his eased stride and the way he always keeps at least one hand on his swords, you glance out towards the sea of boats. “He enjoyed making people's lives miserable.”

There’s a beat of silence before; “yours especially, it seems.”

You turn to him in shock, eyes widening at him. He’s no longer looking at you, head turned straight, but the expression on his face says it all.

“I guess,” you mumble, hugging your arm tighter.

Silence envelopes the both of you, all whilst Nami continues to lead to way completely oblivious to the tension that has surrounded the two of you. You’re careful to not glance Zoro’s way, even though you desperately want to.

Your mind races with wonder of what exactly he meant.

Luckily, you don’t have to stew in your thoughts for too long. A few minutes later the three of you hear the distinctive and familiar voice of Luffy, and with one glance at each other, you’re picking up the pace.

When you find Luffy, he’s standing at the front of a ship, grinning ear to ear.

“There you are,” Nami calls.

“Guys!” Luffy cheers, moving to make his way down to the three of you. “I found it,” he declares. “I found our ship.”

Turning your attention to said ship, you silently muse to yourself it’s not a bad choice. Luffy seemed to make rash decisions but he always followed his gut and you can’t say that this ship was a result of a bad decision. It was a decent size, not too big that it’d be unmanageable with four crew members but not small like the previous one. It had a certain charm to it as well.

“And this guy will sell it to us!”

You turn in the direction of Luffy’s gesture, noticing the man slumped over the edge of the ship that you hadn’t realized before.

Standing up, he turns to make his way down to Luffy as well, eyes wide as he stammers; “uh, w-wait, what…?”

“Yeah!” Luffy nods, oblivious. “The ship, we’ll take it.”

The man winces; “technically, she’s not for sale.”

“Huh?”

“And technically,” he continues, “I’m not a salesman.”

“Do you even work here?”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay,” you nod, smiling warmly. “What do you do then?”

He meets your eyes, “I’m Chief Technician in charge of encrustation removal and aviary waste eradication.”

Luffy’s face twists; “encru what?”

Zoro huffs next to you. “He scrubs barnacles and cleans bird shit.”

“He can’t help us,” Nami adds.

The two of them turn to leave.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” The boy frantically calls, shaking his hands at you. “I can help you. The owner of this ship just happens to be my closest friend in the world.”

Nami seems unconvinced. “Your friend owns this ship?”

“Not just this one,” he grins. “She owns the whole shipyard. She’s rich rich.”

Luffy gasps; “oh!”

“I’m sure you could strike a deal with her.”

So it turns out Usopp, you learned his name was, was not lying about his friend owning the whole shipyard. It did, however, seem he was lying about how invited he truly was in his friends house—mansion.

Kaya herself didn’t seem to have any issue with Usopp, but her butler had a stick up his ass about him and that included the four of you.

If it hadn’t been for Kaya insistence that it was her birthday, you’re sure all five of you would’ve been promptly kicked off her estate and back to square one. Somehow, that didn’t happen and now you’d found yourselves invited to dinner.

Currently, you were eyeing the room you’d been given for the night with a sheen of excitement. You’d never been in a house, let alone a room this nice before. It was a major upgrade compared to the small, dingy tent Buggy had let you stay in. The bed itself was almost the entire size of what your tent had been.

It’s astonishing enough to you that you lose track of time. After spending far too long just exploring the room—because it was big enough to explore—you went to have a shower. It had been far too long since you’d been given the opportunity to bathe yourself, and you definitely weren’t about to pass it up.

You definitely spent far too long showering, letting the water soak into your skin and taking your time scrubbing the filth off your body.

By the time you’re finished, the bathroom is thoroughly fogged and you’re feeling refreshed.

It’s only then you remember you still have to find something to wear. Klahadore, the butler, had made it clear the clothes you all were wearing were not nearly good enough to eat dinner in—whatever that meant.

Leaving your room, you pause in the hall, glancing both ways as you try to remember what direction Klahadore had told you the clothes were in. He’d been rather gruff about it, barely able to hide the contempt in his gaze and you’d been too busy trying to ignore the discomfort to really listen to what he’d been saying.

You’re left wandering for about ten minutes before you see Nami slipping out of a room.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you breathe, grabbing her arm as she turns to you. She seems slightly unsure of your touch but she doesn’t pull away. “I’m sure I would’ve been lost for hours before I found my way. You look amazing, by the way.”

She really did. The red piece she had on was truly beautiful and it looked stunning on her.

Snorting faintly, she smiles softly. “Thanks,” she nods. “There’s a ton of outfits to choose from in there. The boys are in there too, but be careful, they’re hopeless.”

You let out a chuckle, “they weren’t any help?”

“Those two?” She rolls her eyes. “I’m pretty sure neither of them even know what a compliment is.”

Biting your lip, you pull back, letting her go. “Well, I’m gonna give it my best. Hopefully I can find something.”

Perhaps sensing a bit of nerves from you, Nami hesitates before leaving. “You’ll look good in anything, I’m sure.” She reassures, offering a gentle smile. “There’s lots of options and we might not get the chance to dress up like this again. Go crazy.”

You’re instantly eased by her words and sending her a warm smile and a nod, you turn towards the door, letting her head back to her room.

You’re instantly greeted by both Zoro and Luffy the second you slip inside, the two boys turning to face you as you smile at them gently in greeting.

“Woah,” you breathe, letting your eyes flicker across the room. “That is a lot of clothes.” You hadn’t thought Nami was lying, you just hadn’t expected this much.

Zoro snorts as Luffy nods; “right? What would a person even need with it all?”

You let out a laugh, letting your hands drag across a rack of them, not even sure where to begin.

“Well, I’m gonna go with this,” Luffy calls and you turn back to him, eyeing the waistcoat he’s holding in his hands. You pause when you realize he’s only holding a waistcoat.

“Uh, Luffy—”

“See ya!”

He’s out the door in the next second, leaving you gaping in the direction he’d gone.

A moment later, you turn to Zoro; “he’s aware you’re typically supposed to wear a shirt under a waistcoat, right?”

Zoro shrugs, chuckling. “Probably not.”

You let out a laugh in response before turning back to the clothes, suddenly realizing you’re alone with Zoro. You’re still unsure about the conversation the two of you had had back at the shipyard so it’s hard to ignore the slight uncertainty you feel at being in the room alone with him.

That and the fact that he makes you nervous in general.

“Did you, um,” swallowing thickly, you meet his eyes. “Did you find something to wear?”

He holds up the shirt that had been on his lap. It’s a dark bronze button up, with what looks like silk material. It’s beautiful, and you can’t help the thought that pops into your head that it’ll look extra beautiful on him. “Nami found something.”

“Ah,” you nod, “it’s a nice shirt.” You smile at him, before pausing by the folding screen at the back end of the room. “I guess I should hurry and find something, huh? I took too long showering,” you chuckle nervously to yourself. “It felt so good, I couldn’t convince myself to get out.”

Laugh fading out, you swallow thickly when you realize Zoro is just staring at you.

“Did you need help finding something?” He asks after an agonizing moment of quiet.

You turn to him in surprise. “Huh?”

“A… dress or something,” he gestures loosely to the clothes, now looking slightly uncomfortable. “Did you need help finding something?”

You stare at him, stunned. You for a moment think you’ve imagined Zoro’s offer. Maybe you were still in your room, or maybe you were still stuck with Buggy and this was one big hallucination.

You choose to ignore why Zoro would be a part of your hallucination.

“I thought you didn’t like getting involved?” You offer him.

Zoro smirks, the edges of his lips tilting upwards. “Only when I don’t want to.”

It’s hard to fight the blush that spreads across your cheeks at his words or ignore the flutter of butterflies in your stomach. You’d be stupid to say you didn’t notice that Zoro was a rather… attractive man, but you’d pointedly ignored those thoughts in favour of focusing on more important things. But when he smirked at you like that and offered to help you… find something to wear, of all things, it was hard to ignore them.

Turning away so he can’t see your flush, you swallow thickly. “S-Sure,” you mumble, before shifting the conversation to save you some face. “But Nami warned me you and Luffy were practically hopeless.”

Zoro huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m certainly more helpful than that idiot.”

Grinning, you bite your lip, turning back to him.

Zoro frowns at your grin. “I know fashion.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” you laugh, holding your hands up in defence.

Scoffing, Zoro stands up, leaving the shirt Nami had picked for him over the arm of the chair as he crosses the distance of the room over to you. You freeze as he grows close, trying to ignore the race of your heart as he stops behind you, chest inches from your back, and reaches past you to grab a dress off one of the higher racks.

You watch as he pulls it down, trying to ignore the bulge of his bicep as he does.

The dress he picks is light beige in colour, floor length with one shoulder strap. The strap of the dress has an extra piece of fabric that billows out around it. It’s a simple silk material, but the hem of the dress is decorated in a darker, bronze lace trim.

It’s beautiful.

You’ve certainly never worn a dress so beautiful.

“Here,” Zoro calls, handing the dress to you. “This one. It’ll look nice with...” he gestures loosely to your eye, as if unsure how to say it.

You blink up at him, warmed at his words and how he hadn’t just chosen the dress at random like it seemed he had. Had he seen the dress when Nami had been looking and thought of you? That thought made your heart race.

“Try it on.”

Wordlessly, you take the dress from his hands, meeting his eyes one last time before turning to step behind the folding screen. You hear footsteps grow distant so you figure Zoro went back to the chair, and with only a second more of glancing at the beautiful dress, you move to slip off your clothes. Once you’ve slipped the dress on, it takes you a second or two to fully zip it up, unused to the movement.

The second it’s fully on, you glance down at yourself, letting your fingers run down the length of the dress, marveling at how soft the material is.

“You done?”

Jumping at Zoro’s voice, you cough faintly, swallowing thickly. “Y-Yeah.”

“Let me see.”

Blunt as usual, Zoro leaves no room for argument, so, with a nervous dip of your stomach, you force your legs to carry you out from behind the folding screen. You hesitate to meet his gaze, feeling nervous and unsure in a completely different way at the way Zoro’s eyes drag across your figure.

You’ve never worn a dress before, period. And certainly not one as pretty as this. Nami wasn’t lying when the clothes Buggy had made you wear were ridiculous. Corny and too colorful, Buggy had adorned you in clothes that made you look closer to a doll than an actual human being. It had been objectifying and humiliating.

And even though this was still a form of dressing up and even though you’re nervous, you can’t deny you feel beautiful.

Truly beautiful.

“What… What do you think?” You ask, finally meeting Zoro’s gaze as you tip your chin up.

There’s the briefest of seconds where his lips are left parted and an expression you’ve never seen washes over his eyes. Your stomach twists painfully, thinking that reaction was one of distaste, but before you can say anything, he’s coughing out a response;

“It’s… good.” The words seem forced, but not in a way that he’s lying but rather that he’s unsure of how they sound on his own lips. “You look… pretty.”

The blush returns. Ten-fold this time. Your whole body grows hot in response, nerves feeling like they’re on fire, as you stand there. You’re frozen still, for some reason scared to move.

“Oh,” you finally manage. “Thank you.”

He stands. It seems like an unconscious decision. “You’re welcome.”

Silence follows.

“You think this is the one?” You ask, before turning to the rest of the clothes. “Or should I—”

“No,” Zoro cuts in, sharp, before righting himself as he coughs, again, trying to play it off. “I mean, no, I think that’s a good choice.”

Believing it, you nod; “okay.”

Zoro glances at you, before glancing down. “I should get ready.”

“Oh,” you blink, “yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Standing there, opposite ends of the room, the two of you don’t move for a minute more. Then, Zoro finally turns.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

“You too,” you whisper, watching his back disappear out the door.

You catch sight of the dress shirt Nami had found for him, and try not to let out a gasp when you realize the lace trimming of your dresses matches perfectly with his shirt.

Letting your eyes drift across the array of dinner food set out in front of you, you try not to let your obvious desire show. It was hard to deny how good everything smelled, though, and the want to just dig in and stuff your face like Luffy currently was was more than tempting.

But you wouldn’t let yourself look so silly. Not only was this a fancy dinner, you were wearing the nicest dress you ever had and surely ever will. You had no intention of soiling that opportunity by being anything less than ladylike.

Sat in between Zoro and Usopp, you tentatively glance around to see if anyone else has started grabbing food.

Luffy was the only one actively stuffing his face full. Usopp and Nami had grabbed food, but the latter was taking it much slower and Zoro…

Well, Zoro didn’t really seem interested in eating at all. He’d grabbed the bottle of wine on the table the second he’d seen it and after managing to chug through the entire bottle in a few mere minutes, he was already asking for another.

Deciding to just bite the bullet and ignoring the nerves of reaching for food, you grab a little bit of everything that catches your attention. There’s so much placed on the table you’ve no hope of ever being able to try it all, even though that’s what your heart desires. You settle for starting with what looks most appetizing and leaving the rest for if your stomach has the room for it.

Smiling to yourself, it takes you a moment before you realize there’s a set of eyes on you.

You instantly glance to your left, in the direction of Zoro, blinking when you find his eyes already on you. He has the glass of wine he’d poured for himself pressed against his lips, angled back to be able to watch you more easily.

He seems to freeze at being caught and you quickly divert your attention back to your now full plate before either of you can say anything. You’re hyper-aware of yourself in that moment, especially the dress you're wearing.

“I’d love to try the fish tonight.”

Looking up from your plate, you glance to the head of the table, watching as Kaya turns to the maid with a gentle smile and flutter of excitement.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kaya,” Klahadore cuts in before the maid can respond, stepping towards the girl. “But that is not possible.”

Kaya’s face falls. “Maybe just a small piece?”

“Now,” Klahadore sighs, as if exasperated by her simple request. “You know that certain foods can affect your constitution. Here, Buchi has prepared your special soup.”

At his invitation, Buchi steps forward, taking the bowl off his tray and setting it in front of Kaya.

You almost immediately blanch at the sight.

Whatever that was, it didn’t look anything like soup.

“Kaya,” Nami calls, “it’s your birthday. You should be able to eat what you want.”

You instantly nod. “And certainly something more special than… that.”

“Miss Kaya’s medical condition necessitates that I closely monitor her dietary needs,” Klahadore explains.

You meet Nami’s gaze from across the table.

“Does it mean you also speak for her?” Nami challenges, glaring at the man.

Blinking, Klahadore tilts his head, the action oddly threatening.

“I’ll take her fish!”

Leave it to Luffy to miss the entire point of the conversation.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, you shake your head.

“Luffy,” Usopp says, and you silently thank him for diverting the tension. “Isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to Kaya about?”

“Oh, yes!” Luffy exclaims, pointing at Usopp in recognition. He turns to Kaya, grinning. “Usopp told me you own the whole shipyard.”

“Well, actually my parents founded the shipyard, and Merry’s been running the business since…” Her voice trails off momentarily, eyes falling to her lap. “Well, since they passed.”

Swallowing thickly, you fiddle with the napkin on your lap.

“But all of that’s about to change,” Kaya continues, pulling your eyes back on her. “Tonight, at midnight, I will become the sole owner.” Her eyes naturally drift towards Usopp and the two share a soft smile between one another.

You grin at the interaction.

“Ah,” Luffy nods. “Well, that’s great, because we want to buy a ship from you.”

Kaya’s face eases in understanding. “I see. Usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.”

“Nope. Not sailors.” Raising his glass, Luffy smiles. “We’re pirates.”

You freeze at that, pointedly ignoring the way Usopp chokes on his own drink. Your gaze falls to Luffy, as if in doubt that he’d actually just said that. By the proud grin on his face, you’d say he in fact did.

Bringing his glass to his lips, you hear Zoro mumble under his breath; “this ought to be good.”

Kaya falters. “Pirates?”

Luffy nods; “yup! We haven’t sailed together for long, but we have already defeated an evil clown,” you shift at that, “raided a Marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe for a hand.”

Biting your lip, you sink into your chair, pressing a hand to your eye patch. Maybe you’d blend in with the chair and disappear from sight.

“These sound a lot like your adventures, Usopp,” Kaya turns to her friend.

Usopp lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.”

“Oh yeah!” Luffy cheers, and before you even realize it he’s standing to his feet, taking the glass in his hands and climbing up on the table. “And we’re just getting started.”

“Oh my God… Luffy!” You whisper, trying to meet his eyes so he’ll get down.

“What are you doing?” Klahadore bellows, astonished. “Get down from there at once!”

Luffy ignores you and the butler. “Being a pirate has been my dream for as long as I can remember. And I’m finally making it a reality.” Ever oblivious to the reactions of everyone else there, Luffy shifts to take a knee towards Kaya. “We’re heading out to the Grand Line, where even more adventures await us.” He moves to stand up straight again, making his way down the length of the table towards Kaya. “And at the end of the journey, I’m gonna find the ultimate treasure, the One Piece, and become King of the Pirates.”

Head tilting back to meet his gaze, Kaya’s lips part; “you’re… serious?”

Handing the glass he’d been holding to Klahadore, who accepts it with a barely concealed growl, Luffy crouches in front of Kaya, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Kaya, you have a beautiful ship out there. A caravel with a sheep figurehead. It spoke to me. That’s the ship we need to follow our dreams. I promise you, we’ll take care of it. Maintain it. Treat it like any other member of our crew, because a ship is also a home.”

Silence follows, no one says anything for the briefest of seconds. You focus your attention on your lap, fiddling with your fingers, wishing Luffy would get down from the table.

But before Kaya or really anyone could say anything, Klahadore’s voice booms;

“That will be quite enough! I should’ve known Usopp would bring riffraff to our doorstep.”

Kaya shakes her head; “Klahadore, it’s okay. I—” A violent cough pulls from her lips. It starts to wrack her body, cutting off what she’d been about to say as she hunches in on herself in response.

You sit up, leaning towards her. “Are you okay?” You ask, not sure if you should get up and help.

Klahadore steps forward before you can, pointedly glaring at you before shifting his gaze to Luffy. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset Miss Kaya. All of you, out of this house at once!”

“No,” Kaya rasps. “It’s late. Let them stay the night.”

After the disaster that was dinner, you’d elected to stay in your room for the night.

You’re almost positive that the rest of your friends wouldn’t be able to rest or stay still for that matter. Even though you’d only been with them for a short while, it was easy to tell that an opportunity like this wouldn’t allow any of them to simply stay in for the night and sleep. Luffy was probably looking for more food, given that dinner had been cut short. Nami was definitely exploring the mansion, whilst grabbing whatever shiny trinket caught her attention. And Zoro? He was probably looking for more booze. You’ve very quickly come to learn that the man enjoyed his alcohol, and needed it in most instances.

You, however, were exhausted. A lot of things in your life had so rapidly changed and being out on sea, cramped in a small ship hadn’t left you a lot of opportunities to rest. The bed you’d been given for the night seemed far too tempting to ignore, especially knowing you probably wouldn’t get a chance like this one again.

So, changing out of the dress you’d borrowed from Kaya, feeling slightly disappointed you hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it for longer, you changed back into the clothes you’d borrowed from Nami and lay down on the bed.

You instantly sink into the cushion that is your mattress for tonight, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you feel your tense muscle instantly ease.

However, you learn quickly it isn’t so easy to fall asleep. Even on a large and soft bed, you were now struggling with the actual act of falling asleep. You couldn’t completely relax. For a multitude of reasons. Even though you were free of him, you’d only escaped Buggy a short while ago. The scars of what he’d done to you were still heavily prevalent and you doubted they’d go away anytime soon. Every time you close your eyes, you can see those gleaming eyes and hear his laugh echo in your mind.

You can feel the scars that cover your body from his abuse.

Beyond that, you can’t get rid of the uneasy feeling you felt about Klahadore. It was obvious the man was more than just a nasty butler. He’d been extremely controlling over Kaya all night, starting with not letting her eat anything other than that soup (which definitely wasn’t meant to be consumed) and the presence of Usopp and you and your friends seemed to particularly annoy him. It was obvious he was hiding something, you just weren’t sure what.

An hour or so must pass of you lost in your thoughts without getting any closer to actually falling asleep. You’re just about to give up in frustration, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes with a groan of frustration, when a large bang startles you. It’s instantly followed by a mechanical whirring noise. You jump up, gaze snapping around for the source of the noise. You frown when you realize the noise is coming from the large window in your room. There was a shutter coming down, blocking out the nightlight and effectively trapping any escape through it.

The lights in your room, despite having been turned off for you to sleep, were now flickering on and off.

Swallowing thickly, you crawl out of bed, moving towards the window. Your hands tentatively reach out for the window only to realize the shutter is on the other side of the glass pane. It was clearly intended to block people out, but also lock people inside.

“What the…”

Turning around, your eyes fall on your door, rushing towards it and letting out a soft breath of relief when you realize that it is still open.

The windows in the hall are no different than the one in your room. You also notice that the lights are flickering on and off in the whole house, making the large mansion seem entirely eerie in a different way.

Heart racing, your unease from before triples into terror as you begin moving down the hall. Your hope is to find one window or door that isn’t being barricaded, to try and escape. That doesn’t happen. Every window is blocked out by the metal shutters. Someone was putting the house on lockdown.

You fear you already know who that someone was.

Picking up the speed of your step, you turn down the hallway, glancing back the way you’d come in fear there was someone following you. Only, that causes you to crash right into another body. You let out a startled scream, fighting the hands that fall on your shoulders, thinking you’ve run into Klahadore himself.

“Y/N! Y/N, it’s me!”

Blinking, you turn, focusing your gaze in front of you and easing when you seem a familiar head of orange hair.

“Nami,” you breathe, relieved. Reaching for her, you grab her arms. “I’m so happy to see you. Where’s Zoro? Luffy? Do you know what’s going on? Why is the house in lockdown?”

She just shakes her head at you, eyes flipping around, seeming rushed. “I can’t answer all those questions right now,” she huffs, shuffling back as she tugs you along, fingers wrapping around your wrist. “There’s no time. Kaya’s in danger!”

She turns to race back down the way you’d just come from. You let her pull you, rushing to match her pace as you shake your head in confusion.

“Kaya’s in danger?” You echo, “Nami, what’s happening?”

Glancing at you over her shoulder, never slowing her pace, Nami frowns. “It’s the butler, Klahadore. Him and that maid and chef are going to kill Kaya! They’re pirates and they want the shipyard! They’ve been poisoning Kaya this entire time…”

Eyes widening, you quicken your pace so you’re next to her rather than beyond. Briefly, Nami glances at you once more, and you just nod at her. You’re shocked and you’re dying to ask more questions; like how she knows or where the rest of your friends are. But you know time is of the essence right now and you don’t need to know all those to believe her. “Lead the way,” you assure. “You know where Kaya’s room is?”

Blinking at you, Nami only pauses for a second. “Y-Yeah,” she answers. “It’s just down the hall.”

A few minutes later the both of you are stopping in front of a set of double doors. You let Nami take the lead, chancing a nervous glance behind you in fear that Klahadore will come around the corner any second. It takes Nami a few seconds before she manages to get the door open, and the second she does, you both rush in.

Her shoulders ease when she sees Kaya, Usopp behind her. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Kaya hovers by the table she’d been sitting at, frowning.

“Why wouldn’t we be alive?”

“Poison?” Kaya echos, breathless. “What are you talking about?”

Shuffling near the door, you glance between it and Kaya and Nami.

“I overheard them in the kitchen,” Nami explains. “It’s been going on for years.”

Kaya hesitates, fiddling her hands in front of her as she glances over at Usopp. “Did Usopp put you up to this?”

“I didn’t even know,” Usopp instantly denies. He doesn’t look angered by Kaya’s accusation, if anything, he looks more upset than she does. His face is distraught, eyes flickering across the tea set Kaya has on the table. “I gave you that tea.”

“Think about it, Kaya. When did you start getting sick? Was it around the time Kuro started working here?”

By the expression on her face, the answer is obvious.

“Listen to me,” Nami urges, grabbing her hands and pulling her focus back on her. “If we stay here, we die. We have to leave now.”

“Easier said than done,” you breathe. “Everything is locked down. And if Klaha—Kuro is after you, he’s probably already on his way here.” Shaking your head, you turn to look at them. “Where are we gonna go?”

Meeting your eyes, Kaya lets out a shaky breath.

You freeze when Kaya starts coughing, your entire body tensing.

Almost instantly, five blades slice through the wall of the mansion, missing Kaya and Usopp by an inch as the two of them fly back. You stumble back in response, trying to make room in the narrow servants corridors. But then, Kuro is pulling his blades back before slicing them back in in a different spot, this time right by Nami.

Just as Usopp turns to rush forward, Kuro’s blades stop him.

“It’s your birthday,” Kuro growls from the other side of the wall. “It’s time to celebrate.”

He slices his blades through again, this time both, one of each side of Kaya, the ones on her left nicking her on her arm.

Heart falling at the small cry that leaves her lips and processing just how dire of a situation you’re all in, the thought that pops up in your mind seems like the best option. You say it before you even realize what you’re saying. “Go,” you hiss, quietly enough that Kuro can’t hear you but the three of them can. Their eyes instantly fall on you. “I’ll distract him.”

Eyes widening, Nami shakes her head. “What? Y/N, no!” She turns to face you.

You jump as he sends his blades through once again, this time narrowly missing you, Nami stumbling back in response to avoid them as well.

“We’ve no choice,” you argue, “he’s going to kill Kaya!”

“Y/N—”

You don’t let Usopp finish, ignoring the look in Nami’s eyes as you step back.

“Stay here until I’m gone,” you whisper, meeting each of their gazes before nodding.

Then, with one last breath in, you pick up your pace, deliberating making your footsteps loud as to entice Kuro. You force a cough from your throat, hoping the barrier of the wall muffles the fact that your voice sounds different from Kaya's. As you run, you hear footsteps following you, and the distinctive voice of Kuro laughing;

“Come on then, Kaya! Don’t keep me waiting!”

With no plan in mind, you continue running, going back the way you’d just come and hope that Kuro continues to fall for the bait. You hope he’ll just assume Kaya got scared and went running back to her room.

Breathless, you continue to make your footsteps loud, forcing a cough every now and then, trying to buy as much time for Kaya and the others as you can.

Making your way back to the entrance you’d gone through in Kaya’s room, your eye flickers across her entire room, trying to find something to help yourself. You couldn’t fight to start with, but something was better than standing there helplessly. Grabbing one of the chairs around her tea table, you make your way towards the door. You definitely didn’t want to be trapped in her room with Kuro.

The second you step out of the room, you see Kuro in the hall, a few feet away from you.

You freeze and his eyes widen when he realizes it’s you and not Kaya. For a second, you both just stand there, waiting, and you watch as anger blazes in his eyes, mouth setting into a thin line. You fear he’ll go back in the direction of Kaya and the rest, so, stepping forward, you take the chair you’d grab and throw it at him. It doesn’t even reach him, crashing into the ground before his feet as his eyes lower to eye it, before falling back on you.

Then, you run. You turn to the right, racing down the hall opposite of him, making yourself move as fast as you possibly can. Maybe you could find Zoro, he’d know what to do. Nami had explained Luffy had been poisoned, but maybe if you could find him, you’d at least be able to help him. He’d defeated Buggy after all, so maybe he’d…. Shaking your head from that though, you remind yourself he’d been poisoned. Finding him would probably only put him in more danger.

Maybe you could find the switch that was keeping this place in lockdown. If you flipped it back, that’d help Kaya and the rest and give you an opportunity to escape.

You turn down a series of hallways all whilst hearing the thunderous steps of Kuro behind you. You’re happy he’s following you and taking the bait, but now that you’ve done it, you’re not exactly sure what your plan is. He curses at you, threatening he’ll do worse to you if you don’t stop. The threats make your heart race and your throat clam up with fear.

You never stop running though.

At least, until there’s nowhere else to run. As you make a turn, you realize you’ve made your way to the main foyer.

Your eyes instantly fall on the maid and chef.

Their eyes instantly zone in on you, gleaming with interest and smiling as your eyes widen at the sight of them.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

Just then, Kuro catches up to you, stopping right behind you.

You’re thoroughly trapped, pinned on either side by Kuro and his crew, and the only exit was currently locked down.

“Got nowhere to run now, have you?” Kuro laughs, voice thick with desire to kill. You inhale sharply, stumbling back as he steps towards you. As you make your way down the small set of stairs, you’re quickly reminded of Kuro’s crew as you hear them laugh mockingly behind you. A quick glance behind you tells you they're right behind you, so you freeze in the spot.

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

Cornered, you try to look for an escape, but there isn’t one. You already didn’t have a hope of fighting off Kuro, and you definitely didn’t have a hope of fighting all three of them. Your only weapon had been that chair, which was now broken and hadn’t even hit Kuro.

“Annoying,” Kuro hisses, glaring down at you. “Playing the hero and leading me away from Kaya.”

Shoulders tensing, you stare up at him.

His hand swings out before you can dodge it, slicing across your face in a way that pulls a scream from your lips. It hits directly on your right cheek, slicing across the strap of your eyepatch and into your skin. Blood beads across the four slices as your eyepatch falls to the ground. You watch it hit the ground in despair, shredded by his blades. Biting back the sob that wants to fall from your lips, you clutch at your cheek, turning back to look at Kuro.

He grins at you. With your right eye now visible, there’s a particularly cruel gleam that floods his eyes. “Well, look at that.”

Embarrassment brews in your chest, wanting to turn your face away and hide. The sting of your cheek is painful, and you can’t help the tremble of your body. You’re all too easily reminded of your helplessness. You’d told Luffy you were a lousy fighter and when he’d brushed it off with no concern, that’d given you the hope that maybe it wasn’t so bad. You were naive to think having no fighting skills wouldn’t catch up to you when dealing with pirates and even more of a fool to think that your brave plan to help Nami, Usopp and Kaya wouldn’t end in your death.

You didn’t regret doing what you had. You hope that by leading Kuro away, they’d already found an escape route. But you didn’t want to die either. You’d just escaped from Buggy too, and now you were going to die at the hands of another sick pirate crew.

“Such a shame too,” he mocks, “you were so pretty.”

Biting your lip, you swallow thickly.

“Finish her off for me and we’ll hide her body with the green-haired swordsman after I’ve finished with Kaya.”

Your heart starts at the mention of Zoro, terror flooding you at the thought that he might be hurt, or worse, dead.

“Zoro?” You breathe, voice pitching. Turning to Kuro, you shake your head. “What did you do to him?”

Kuro snorts, “he’s dead. Along with your captain, and your friends, as well as Kaya, will follow suit soon.” He grins, ear to ear, as his crew laughs behind him. “Try not to worry then, dear. You’ll be reunited with them all soon enough.”

Kuro turns to leave then, not sparing you another glance, leaving his crew to kill you off for him.

“Y/N. Y/N!”

Feeling hands grab at you, your limp body is spun and pulled into a chest as you slowly blink open your eyes. Everything hurts, your entire body is stinging to the point that even the slightest movement has you crying out in pain.

“Y/N!”

You recognize that voice. Forcing your vision to clear in your left eye, you ease when you see a familiar head of green hair. The relief that floods you is immediate, allowing you to ignore your own discomfort.

“Zoro,” you rasp, voice cracking with strain. “You’re alive.”

Zoro frowns down at you. “What the hell happened?” Shifting, his left hand falls on your waist, pressing against the nasty cut you were currently bleeding out from. His eyes fall on the wound and he huffs. “Shit. You’re losing too much blood.”

Setting you gently back on the ground, Zoro leans back, grabbing the hem of his shirt and ripping a strip of it off. You watch him with your good eye, bleary and dazed, body limp in his grasp as he tugs you up, slipping the strip under you so he can tie it around your waist, applying pressure to your cut.

Using all your strength, you raise your arm, gripping onto his arm. “Kuro,” you gasp, voice pitching. “The butler, he—”

Zoro shakes his head. “I know, Y/N. Fuck, did you really try to fight him?”

You laugh at that, weakly. “I’m a lousy fighter.” When Zoro doesn’t laugh with you, you sigh, letting your head fall back. “He was after Kaya… I distracted him to give them time.”

Zoro just blinks down at you, stunned, taking in the cuts across your cheek, and the bleeding wound in your stomach, his chest flooding with rage.

“We need to get you out here,” Zoro says, moving to pick you up. “We need to get you help.”

You just shake your head, pushing against his arm. “Kaya, Usopp and Nami… They… They need help.”

“Luffy’s got it,” Zoro says, trying to grab you.

You push harder. “Those two—the ma-maid and chef… they’re still—”

“Here?” A new voice cuts in, both you and Zoro glancing towards the front door only to see both of them there. Despite their ridiculous get up, your heart races with fear.

Something shifts in Zoro’s gaze. It’s an expression you’ve never seen. His eyes darken as his lips straighten, and he’s gently pulling back from you, making sure you’re settled on the ground, as he stands, pulling out the two black handled katanas.

“Just hang on, Y/N,” he whispers down at you, meeting your eyes from above as you glance up at him. You’re surprised by the burning rage in his gaze and it’s not at all directed at you. “I’ll kill them and then we’ll get you somewhere safe.”

Too tired to realize how those words would’ve made you feel normally, you nod weakly, letting your head fall back, knowing that Zoro will keep his word.

Zoro had been deliberate about keeping the fight away from you.

Having tucked you into the corner, you could only really hear the sounds of his fight. You wanted to get up and help, but you knew even without your injuries, you wouldn’t be able to do anything. And as you hear the sounds of metal clanging against metal, you make a mental note to actually take those lessons from Zoro up. You were learning and had learned far too quickly that having not even a bit of self-defence skill was not possible if you were going to be on Luffy’s crew.

It takes Zoro an impressively little amount of time to defeat Kuro’s crew. You can hear the waning sounds of fighting as you force yourself to turn, ignoring the ache that burns through your entire body. Your left eye shows you he’s in the midst of tying the two up, both of them growling in frustration and fighting weakly in protest.

Unaware of the way Zoro’s gaze falls on you, you press your hand to the ground, using it as leverage to push yourself up to your feet. Your teeth grind against one another as you lift yourself up, managing to shift your feet underneath you before a sharp shoot of pain has you crying out. Instantly, your arm gives out beneath you, and you go crashing towards the ground.

Or, at least, you would’ve, had an arm not caught your fault.

“Are you crazy?” Zoro breathes, shaking his head at you as he shifts you in his grip. “You’ve lost too much blood for you to be trying to stand up.”

Letting your hand fall on his arm, you breathe in sharply. “We… I’m worried about Kaya, Usopp and Nami,” you rasp, voice cracking at the end. “I need to check on them.”

“I told you Luffy had it, damn it,” Zoro huffs, before he shuffles, setting his left hand on your back and the other moving to hold your hand. He helps pull you to your feet, going slow to not hurt you more as his eyes flicker from the wound in your stomach to your face. You're drenched in sweat and blood, but the expression on your face is determined. “Worry about yourself.”

He says it with an expression of frustration, but he lets you lean your entire weight against him and doesn't pull away.

Meeting his eyes, you frown. “I’m worried about Luffy too.” You breathe, “and not because I don’t have faith in him but—”

“Zoro! Y/N!”

Lips parting, you glance up, eyes falling on Luffy himself as he comes racing down the stairs to your right. Behind him is Nami and then Usopp and Kaya. The smile that had been on Luffy’s lips falters at the sight of you when he sees the blood on your shirt, hesitating by the bottom of the stairs. Something shifts in his gaze, a look of anger you’ve never seen on the boy before. But before you can ponder on it for much longer, Nami pushes past him.

“Oh, my God,” Nami calls, eyes wide. “Y/N.”

She reaches you in seconds, bending to get a better look at the wound in your stomach.

You glance at her, then at Luffy, before your eyes drift past him to Usopp and Kaya. Everyone looks at you in a similar way, eyes drowning in concern.

“I’m okay,” you assure, trying to ease their worry. “It’s just a scratch.”

“She’s lying,” Zoro grunts, never letting go of you. “She needs medical attention.”

Nami shakes her head. “She probably needs stitches,” she breathes, voice pitching in panic as she pulls back your tattered shirt, getting a closer look at the wound. Turning to Zoro, she meets his gaze. “I know a little bit but not for something like this.”

“I can help,” Kaya calls out, weakly stepping away from Usopp’s arm as she smiles at you. “I know a little about stitching and cleaning a wound. Plus, it’s the least I can do. Leading Kuro away like that… I can’t ever thank you enough, Y/N.”

Smiling faintly, you brush her off; “you don’t need to thank me. You’re my friend, I wanted to help.”

Kaya looks at you astonished, but before she can respond, Nami is turning to her. “We better be quick,” she urges, looking concerned for you but also antsy. “The marines already know where we are. The longer we stay, the closer they get to catching up to us.”

Kaya nods, instantly moving towards her, just as Luffy speaks up;

“Where are we gonna go?” He asks, seemingly snapping out of his revere as he glances at his friends. “We don’t even have a ship.”

Pausing by you, Kaya turns to him; “yes,” she smiles. “You do.”

“Honestly, the both of you, I’m fine.”

Glancing at each other, Nami and Zoro make it clear they don’t believe you.

Sat in between them, you huff, touching the now stitched and bandaged wound on your stomach before letting your fingers drift across your cheek. After Kaya had stitched you up and given you something for the pain, you’d all headed out immediately. The ship she’d given you was named the ‘Going Merry’ in honour of her late friend Merry and Usopp and Kaya had shared a rather sweet kiss before the former agreed to join you.

Now with a bigger ship and five members, it was starting to feel like you all were actually a pirate crew. You felt closer with all of them and sharing that fight together, even if all you’d managed to do is get hurt, felt like you’d all truly bonded.

That, however, seemed to have both Zoro and Nami acting like overbearing, worried mothers over you. You could barely take two steps without one of them telling you to rest.

“Seriously,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not a child. I can still do things for myself.”

“You have a cut that wraps around your entire waist, Y/N,” Nami reminds, curling a brow at you as she sets down the Grand Line map. “Not to mention your face.”

You gape at her, trying to find something to argue against and coming up blank, you turn your gaze to Zoro. He’s slouched back against the edge of the bench you’re all sitting at, head turned towards the window, but the expression on his face and his returning silence tells you he feels the same as Nami.

Seriously, for two distant and rather intimidating people, they sure were overprotective.

“I promise I’m fine. And the second I’m fully healed, I’ll be roping Zoro into giving me some fighting lessons so something like this never happens again.”

That pulls Zoro’s eyes on you. “I definitely will be teaching you some moves,” he assures. “For the next time you decide to sacrifice yourself.”

He glares at you but it doesn’t amount to much and you let out a small giggle at that, cheeks warming faintly. You miss the way his gaze softens the second you do, but Nami who’s sat across from him definitely doesn’t. Zoro promptly ignores her knowing smirk.

“I think it was badass!”

Sharply reminded of his presence, all three of your eyes fall on Luffy who’s sitting at the other side of the table.

“Though,” he pauses, a smile faltering on his face. “I would rather you didn’t get covered in blood next time we fight.”

You snort at that, sending him a reassuring smile. “No worries, Captain,” you send him a thumbs up. “I’ll make sure not to worry everyone again.”

Nami rolls her eyes and Zoro scoffs, but Luffy’s face stretches into a wide smile, nodding at you.

“A shame though,” he adds a moment later, almost as an after-thought. “I did think your eyepatch was cool.”

Shoulders tensing, you’re sharply reminded of the fact that because of Kuro, your eyepatch had been sliced to shreds. You’d asked Kaya if she’d be able to stitch it back together, but she’d only frowned and said it was ruined beyond repair. You knew you could just get a new eyepatch, but you didn’t know when you’d get the opportunity to do so. Let alone if you’d even have the money to buy one.

As a result, you’d been forced to depart from Gecko Islands without it and feeling entirely too seen and vulnerable with your eyes there for everyone to see. You’d been hiding behind it for as long as you can remember and you were desperately trying to ignore the fact that you couldn’t until now.

You knew Luffy meant nothing behind it, but you couldn’t help the way you instinctively curled into yourself in response.

“Cha,” Zoro calls out, clicking his tongue, “she doesn’t need it anyways. She looks badass enough without it.”

Lips parting, your stunned eyes fall on him. He’s pointedly not looking at you, eyes focused back on the window to his right, but you notice a faint flush across his cheeks.

Nami giggles quietly to herself. “Zoro’s right,” she agrees, smiling at you when you turn to look at her. “The eyepatch just hid your face and you shouldn’t be ashamed of the way you look.”

Lips still gaping, the warmth that floods through your chest is undeniable.

“Ah!” Luffy exclaims a second later, “you guys are right! Your eye is even more awesome than the eyepatch! Both of your eyes!”

A smile curls onto your lips, eyes falling to your lap as you let their words flood through you, basking in the kindness. No one has ever made you feel so… normal about your eye and the way it looks. Not just normal, but accepted.

In that moment, every cruel insult that has ever been thrown your way becomes immeasurable to the words your friends say to you then.

“Guys! Check it out!”

Swallowing thickly, the moment is interrupted as Usopp comes bounding into the room, a grin plastered on his face. “Using my unparalleled artistic talent, I made us a new Jolly Roger for the ship.” Grabbing Luffy by the arm, he pulls him up to his feet, making Luffy hold the Jolly Roger as he opens it to show you all.

It’s a skull, as expected, but… Usopp-ified.

“Ta-da!”

Usopp chuckles in excitement, still grinning from ear to ear, as you grimace. Luffy was not going to like that.

“I know. I know,” Usopp laughs, “my flair for design often leaves people speechless.”

Folding the Jolly Roger back up, Luffy hands it back to Usopp with a forced smile.

“I already drew our flag,” Luffy explains.

“Okay,” Usopp snorts, “but this one is so much better.”

Zoro just sighs from beside you. “Neither of the flags are gonna scare anyone away.”

“Okay,” Usopp drawls, wrapping his Jolly Roger around his shoulders. “But the Jolly Roger is supposed to reflect the captain.”

Luffy doesn’t hesitate; “I am the captain. We are the Straw Hat crew—”

“—They call me Captain Usopp.”

You bite your lip, watching as the two proceed to talk over one another.

Then, Nami laughs.

It gives everyone pause, turning to her as she lets her head fall in amusement, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Everyone follows suit after that.

Pressing your hand to your lips, your eyes crinkle in warmth and delight.

“You see?” Luffy grins, patting Usopp on the shoulders. “This is what it’s all about. From now on, it’s all gonna be smooth sailing.”

As if jinxing it, the sound of a cannon firing echoes right after his words. A second later, a thud hits the boat as the entire ship rocks, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward. You tilt, pain shooting through you as you agitate your wound.

Hands fall on you.

“You okay?” Zoro asks, eyes flickering across you.

You nod, “yeah.” You say slowly, breathless, as you glance around at the rest.

“What was that?” Usopp gasps.

Nami just sighs, moving to stand. “You had to open your mouth.”

Waiting for Zoro to stand, you follow after him, moving slower than the rest as they make their way up to the deck. Cannon continues to fire, some rocking the ship, until you all see the cause of the explosions.

“Marines!” Nami yells, “we’re under attack!”

Moving up the stairs, you nod gratefully at Zoro as he helps you up the final few steps, watching as Luffy takes the telescope to see who's attacking you.

Your eyes widen, however, when he calls out;

“Grandpa?!”

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece live action #opla #opla x reader #opla x you #opla zoro #opla zoro x reader #zoro roronoa #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa imagine #zoro roronoa x you #zoro x you #zoro x reader

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 1 day ago

Text

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 10

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Wanda loses her virginity to the most eligible bachelorette in America.

content warnings: smut, cunnilingus, fingering

word count: 4.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Natasha is still. Too still. And quiet.

With her heart pounding, Wanda sets her wine glass down, her stomach dropping. Her fingers shakily trace the edge of her plate, her mind racing as she tries to think of a way to take back the words she just uttered.

“I apologize,” Natasha begins, and Wanda’s head shoots up so quickly that she feels a muscle in her neck strain from the force. “For my silence. I’m just… surprised.”

Those dark green eyes are focused on her, and Wanda practically holds her breath, her mind racing. “Surprised?”

“Well yes,” Natasha smiles slightly, her eyes slowly trailing down Wanda’s top, lingering slightly before her eyes snap back up. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Wanda.”

She doesn’t elaborate, simply draining the last of her wine before standing. Her steps are confident, her hand outstretched as she walks around the table to stand at Wanda’s side. When Wanda looks up, she notices the way Natasha’s pupils have dilated, the barest hint of dark green around them.

Taking the older woman’s hand, a brave move that Wanda barely even had the wits to think about, she stands.

“I would be honored to be your first,” Natasha murmurs.

Oh god, it's so sweet and so cliche, but Wanda doesn’t really care. This feels like a scene straight out of one of Kate’s raunchy romance books that Wanda secretly likes to read. Normally, she would have to imagine that the handsome, older man with a dark past in the book is actually a woman, but now the scene is playing out before her very eyes. She doesn’t quite know how to react.

“I would like that,” Wanda whispers, feeling Natasha’s hand squeeze hers gently before the older woman turns and starts walking down the hallway. This one is a different one, not leading towards the playroom, like Wanda had been expecting. She focuses on the hand wrapped around hers, the strong fingers guiding her as they walk in silence.

Natasha stops in front of a door, the dark mahogany framing her red hair as she turns and faces Wanda. Timidly, Wanda looks up, finding nothing but softness in those eyes as Natasha brings a hand up to cup her face.

“You can leave at any time, alright? I want you to feel comfortable with me, so tell me if you don’t like something or want me to stop.”

Smiling, Wanda feels relief course through her. She would say that Natasha is adorable, with her slightly rambling sentences and the way her eyes are earnest and kind. But, the slightly possessive grip of the older woman's fingers against her cheek says otherwise. Wanda doesn’t mind, her brain turning to mush as she feels her body relax, her heart rate quickening again, but this time, not from nervousness.

“I understand,” Wanda murmurs, stepping forward into the woman’s space, loving the way her cinnamon scent wraps fully around her. She hears Natasha’s breath hitch and smiles slightly, emboldened. “I want this. I… I want you.”

Wanda never understood what authors meant when they said that a character’s eyes darkened. But in every sense of the word, Natasha’s did. Her pupils dilated even further as she took a steadying breath, her other hand coming up to wrap around Wanda’s waist. The look in her eyes was intent, and Wanda felt as though a spotlight had just been thrust upon her, the woman’s attention solely focused on her.

“By the end of the night,” Natasha muttered, leaning in close enough that Wanda could feel her breath on her neck. Goosebumps broke out on her skin, and she shuddered as she felt Natasha’s teeth lightly bite down on her ear. “I will have you moaning my name until your voice gives out.”

Biting her lip, Wanda pulled back slightly to look at Natasha’s face. She pretended that she wasn’t affected, but her flushed cheeks were not fooling anybody. “So confident.”

“I know what I want. And I always get it.”

“Open the door,” Wanda said, her voice breathy and full of want. She didn’t care. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, her mind emptying until the only thing she could think about was Natasha. She craved to have those hands wrapped around her waist, her throat, tangled in her hair. She needed her mouth on her skin, that wicked tongue gliding over her neck and down her chest until-

“Fuck,” Natasha groaned, her voice low and raspy. The hand around Wanda’s waist shifted until her fingers grasped the waist of her pants, pulling her inside the bedroom.

Wanda didn’t have the chance to look around, the dim lighting hitting her eyes for a moment before the door shut solidly behind her, and strong hands pushed her against it. Her own limbs failed to respond, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides for a moment, before she came to her senses, reaching up and wrapping her arms around Natasha’s toned shoulders, pulling her in.

Warm lips caressed hers, and Wanda didn’t think twice before she parted her lips slightly, letting Natasha’s tongue in. She focused on the woman, loving the way her hands wrapped around her waist, her body pressing against hers until Wanda was fully against the door. The older woman’s chest pressed into hers, her hips trapping Wanda’s as her thigh pressed solidify between her legs, and a soft whimper escaped Wanda as she sucked desperately on Natasha’s soft lips.

“I’m trying to be gentle with you,” Natasha rasped out, breaking the kiss and moving her lips to Wanda’s neck. “But you’re not making that easy.”

Wanda attempts to respond, but the only thing her mouth does is let out a low whine. She’s never felt like this before. It feels like all her nerves have been set aflame, and she’s throbbing with need as Natasha sucks a hickey into her neck. The strong fingers pinning her waist against the door are driving her insane, and she lets out a pathetic-sounding gasp as she ruts her hips forward, the friction against Natasha’s thigh making her head spin.

“Do you want to be mine?”

Oh, what a question. Wanda nods with every ounce of strength that she has left, her eyes intent as she locks her gaze with Natasha’s.

“Say the words, Wanda.” Natasha’s tone is serious, her eyes glancing between Wanda’s blown pupils and her swollen, parted lips. Her fingers dig into the younger woman’s waist, holding her hips in place as she waits for a response.

“Yes, please,” Wanda manages, her words breathy as she looks up at Natasha. She looks utterly ruined, her eyes half-lidded and her hips attempting to thrust against the strong thigh flexing between them. “I want to be yours, make me yours, Ms. Romanoff.”

A half-growl and half-moan claws its way from Natasha’s throat, and she grasps Wanda around the waist before spinning her around and pushing her towards the bed. The younger woman is easy to move, her body pliant and soft beneath Natasha’s strong fingers. A small gasp leaves her lips as the back of her knees hits the bed, and Natasha wastes no time capturing them in a searing kiss.

Fuck, the woman is everywhere. Wanda can’t escape her, and she doesn’t really want to. Somehow, she’s moved to the center of the bed, her hips straddled by firm thighs as Natasha’s hands explore her body. Every touch is electrifying, adding to the fuzzy waves of pleasure clouding her mind. The lips on hers are somehow both gentle and aggressive, sharp teeth gently nipping at her bottom lip before soothing it with a strong tongue. The scent of cinnamon mixes with the thick scent of arousal that stifles the air around them, and Wanda can’t remember the last time she felt this desperate.

“Please,” she manages, her voice a broken whimper.

Natasha lets out a low groan, her lips moving from Wanda’s swollen lips to the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking harshly. “You should beg more often, it suits you.”

Wanda doesn’t really have a response to that, her mind turning to mush at the low, raspy quality of Natasha’s voice. She settles for a desperate sort of nod, thrusting her hips up slightly to relieve the pressure growing between her thighs. Her actions are stopped by Natasha’s body weight resting fully on her hips, but she doesn’t quite mind.

Actually, she was quite enjoying the feeling of being trapped.

“Are you really?” Natasha asks, and Wanda flushes. Shit, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. The woman on top of her continues, her eyes glinting slightly, “We can explore that later, Wanda, for now, I’m intent on making your first time memorable.”

Wanda lets out something that sounds like “Oh!” and then promptly forgets how to speak as Natasha places a steady hand on her sternum, pushing her down until her back hits the soft mattress. The older woman's figure above her makes her head spin, arousal coursing through her as strong hands find her wrists and pin them next to her head.

“Try to stay still for me, can you do that?”

Goddamn, if that isn’t the hottest thing Wanda’s ever been asked. She manages a nod, sure that her face is flushed and her eyes wide, but she doesn’t quite care. The feeling of Natasha Romanoff on top of her is overwhelming in the best way, and she’ll do anything to please the woman.

“Anything, hm?”

Fuck.

Wanda starts to speak, to defend the words that have slipped out of her traitorous mouth, but a hand covers her mouth and muffles any attempted words. Natasha doesn’t say anything, just gives her a stern look. Wanda quiets, blinking up at the woman as she focuses on remaining still, her fingers twitching as her eyes lock on the fabric that Natasha is slowly pulling up to reveal a smooth stomach and chiseled abs.

To say that Natasha Romanoff is beautiful would be an understatement. Wanda can’t stop looking at her, every inch of skin that’s revealed sending arousal flooding through her. She practically feels her heart stop when Natasha pulls her shirt fully off, the sight of her breasts underneath a lacy black bra sending Wanda’s mind straight into a fuzzy headspace of need and pure lust.

She doesn’t even register her own hands moving until she’s cupping the woman’s chest, her thumbs caressing the fabric of Natasha’s bra in an almost reverent manner. It only lasts a brief, glorious moment, before her wrists are firmly grasped and slammed back onto the mattress.

“Ah ah,” Natasha tuts, her fingers squeezing harder for a moment. Her eyes are dark, and Wanda feels a spark of terror and arousal run through her. “What did I say?”

“To stay still,” Wanda answers, the words spilling out of her. She feels almost compelled to answer the woman, obedience thrumming in her veins. She doesn’t fight the tight grip on her wrists, but the feeling of being restrained sends her senses into overdrive in the best way possible.

“Then be a good girl and obey,” Natasha says, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Wanda nods, biting her lip as Natasha squeezes her wrists one last time before releasing them, her hands trailing down her body while her muscles tense from the electrifying touch. She has to remind herself to breathe, the sensation of Natasha’s fingers against her stomach and hips making her lightheaded with need.

Those long fingers flex as the hem of her shirt slowly slides up her stomach, revealing her muscles clenching with need as her hips try to move under Natasha’s firm thighs. She would be embarrassed, but the heat within her is rising to an unbearable level.

The look in Natasha’s eyes when she finally pulls Wanda’s shirt free is nothing short of lustful and wanting, her movements becoming slightly rough as she palms the younger woman’s breasts, squeezing gently as she coaxes pretty whines and moans from Wanda’s mouth.

It’s intoxicating, to feel and hear the woman below her reacting to every movement. Wanda’s hips are still futilely rutting against her thighs, the barest sensation against her throbbing clit driving her mad.

Wanda can barely think, Natasha’s hands on her breasts sending warm arousal flooding through her. She can’t control the movements of her hips, her body reacting to the older woman’s touch as soft moans sound out.

“Oh, please,” she whines, her voice barely above a whisper. It causes the hands around her breasts to squeeze, strong fingers finding her nipples through the fabric of her bra and toying with them.

“Fuck,” Natasha breathes, her tongue wetting her lips slightly as she looks down at Wanda. “How could I refuse when you beg so prettily for me?”

The slightly possessive words send Wanda’s mind into a soft, fuzzy mess. She finds herself longing to hear more words come out of the older woman’s mouth, a need rising within her to obey every command that slips out of those sinful lips.

She doesn’t get the chance to ask, Natasha’s fingers sliding over her body and working every nerve until she can feel electricity shooting beneath her skin. Her clit is throbbing, her underwear damp as she bucks her hips desperately up against Natasha’s strong thighs.

“Tell me what you want.”

Wanda makes a noise of protest at the words. She doesn’t know what she wants. She wants Natasha’s hands to never leave her body, and she wants her tongue to keep licking up the side of her neck, and she wants the woman to fuck her and get rid of the throbbing between her legs. But, she can’t quite find the words, so she just whines and gasps out, “Touch me.”

With a low chuckle, Natasha softly nips Wanda’s neck and finally moves her fingers to break Wanda’s waistband.

Long fingers softly cup her, the pressure driving Wanda mad. She bucks her hips, but Natasha simply adjusts her position, laying halfway on top of the woman and pinning one of her legs between her own.

“Let me take this off,” Natasha murmurs, pressing soft kisses on Wanda’s sternum before lightly biting the fabric of her bra that cups her chest. She pulls it away with her teeth, waiting for Wanda’s permission.

“Mhmm,” Wanda murmurs, regaining some of her breath. The sensations against her heating body and the intense look in Natasha’s eyes make her head spin, so she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the feeling of strong fingers undoing her bra. A small groan sounds out as the fabric falls away from her chest, and Wanda can’t help but smile, something in her soaring with happiness at the reaction.

Teeth scrape lightly against her hard nipple, bolts of firey hot pleasure shooting through her body and pooling at her core. The woman seems enamored by her breasts, her tongue flicking over her nipples and sucking the tight nubs into her mouth, alternating every few minutes.

Wanda can barely stand it. She thinks she could cum from Natasha’s mouth and fingers working her breasts. Honestly, she’d never paid her chest much attention before, instead, she furiously worked sticky fingers over her clit while under the sheets, reading some trashy romance novel that was basically 130 pages of pure porn. Today was all about learning new things, she thought, her brain going blank again as Natasha teasingly bit into her nipple.

“Fuck,” Wanda moaned, not caring what she sounds like. “I need you to touch me, Natasha. Now.”

“Oh, do you?”

The teasing tone set Wanda’s nerves aflame, her mind riddled with need as her clit throbbed desperately against the confines of her damp underwear. She was already close, the imminent orgasm drawing closer with each swipe of Natasha’s tongue and every twist of her fingers around Wanda’s sensitive nipples.

Something must have showed on her face, because Natasha quickly moved down, pressing quick kisses down Wanda’s stomach. She still took her time, removing Wanda’s pants and underwear from her wriggling hips, and kissing her inner thighs as she spread her legs.

“You smell divine,” Natasha murmurs. Before Wanda can say anything in return, most likely some snarky remark about how the woman needed to start moving quicker, her tongue dragging through her folds.

Oh. God.

Wanda cums the second Natasha’s strong, hot tongue passes over her clit. The older woman makes a surprised sound, which is quickly followed by a throaty moan, her hands moving to wrap around Wanda’s thighs.

“Keep going,” Wanda gasps out, her hips grinding against Natasha’s face, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her. Warm pleasure grows, her clit almost painfully overstimulated, but she can feel Natasha’s tongue slowly working her towards another orgasm.

Two long fingers prod at her soaked entrance, circling and gathering the slick wetness before smoothly sliding in. Wanda can barely feel them, her pussy so wet the sensation barely registers. That is until Natasha curls them perfectly against her g-spot, a wave of pleasure sweeping through her violently.

“You… I-” Wanda manages, her tongue feeling thick as she pants. Low, muffled moans sound out from where Natasha is licking her clit, her fingers pumping in and out of Wanda. The vibrations add to the pleasure, her orgasm drawing near again.

“Are you going to cum?” Natasha asks, detaching her lips for a moment to ask. Her face is slightly flushed, her lips glistening as she looks at Wanda with blown pupils. She slows her fingers as she waits for a response, a slight smirk on her face.

“Yes.”

“Beg for permission.”

Wanda blinks, her mouth falling open at the command. That was… hotter than she would like to admit. She feels her pussy clench around Natasha’s fingers, and she feels herself flush at the knowing look in the older woman’s eyes.

“Um, please?”

Natasha makes a tutting sound, shaking her head slightly as an intense look appears in her eyes. “You can do better than that,” she murmurs, watching Wanda’s face as she moves her fingers quickly. She curls them with each rough thrust, coaxing her orgasm closer. “Go on, Wanda. I know you can do it.”

“God, please, Natasha,” Wanda bursts out, the words spewing as she desperately chases her orgasm. “I’ve wanted you ever since that first day I stumbled into your office. I wanted you to bend me over your desk right then, and I need you to keep moving your fingers. Please, let me cum, I’ve been horny practically nonstop since our first meeting, I need you to just please-”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, Natasha’s lips crashing down over hers and she murmurs her permission. Wanda can taste herself on the woman’s lips and tongue, and her mind goes blissfully blank as Natasha pumps rough and deep, bringing her orgasm to the surface quickly.

Pleasure washes over her, her pussy clamping down around Natasha’s fingers as she cums. It’s a full-body orgasm, her muscles clenching and releasing as she feels herself tremble from the force of it. Her legs are tight around Natasha’s waist, her fingers moving to tangle with the woman’s hair. Wanda can feel her eyes rolling back, her back arching as she feels her body convulse with pleasure, gibberish words, and moans streaming from her lips and into Natasha’s kiss.

Those long fingers coax out every last drop of pleasure, Wanda’s slit giving one last pulse before she feels herself go boneless. Sinking into the mattress, she catches her breath, turning her head to look at Natasha.

Dark green eyes gaze back at her, something intense about her gaze. Wanda doesn’t have the energy to think too hard about it, and her mind goes fuzzy again as Natasha slowly pulls her fingers out and brings them up to her lips.

“Suck,” she whispers, coating Wanda’s bottom lip with her own juices as she runs her fingers over it.

Obeying, Wanda shamelessly sucks her arousal off Natasha’s fingers. She swirls her tongue around them and sucks, enjoying the hitch in the older woman’s breath when she does so.

Pulling her fingers from Wanda’s mouth, Natasha reclaims her lips in a gentle kiss. It’s not as rough as before, but no less intense. She moves as they kiss, maneuvering Wanda until her head is propped up by pillows, laying half on top of Natasha as her hand rests on the woman’s stomach. The kiss ends slowly, Wanda’s eyes beginning to close of their own accord.

“Do you want me to-” Wanda weakly gestures toward Natasha’s waistband.

The older woman chuckles, pressing a kiss against the top of Wanda’s head. “No, Wanda. Tonight was solely about you. There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to make me feel good.”

Smiling, Wanda feels her body relax completely, practically melting against the older woman’s comforting heat. She feels a pleasant buzz throughout her body, her face still flushed even as her heart rate slows. She tries to say something, her lips moving silently against the soft skin of Natasha’s collarbone.

“Sleep, Wanda,” Natasha murmurs, pulling a thin sheet over them. Her fingers brush over Wanda’s cheek, tucking auburn hair behind her ear. “You were amazing, and I loved every second of tonight. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Wanda doesn’t hear much after that, her tired body finally succumbing as she drifts off.

—

When Wanda wakes, the room is dark, a soft, warm glow of light creeping through the crack underneath the bedroom door. She blinks, her mind still fuzzy and content as the afterglow lingers. She has no idea how long she’s slept, her fingers grabbing the thick fabric of a bathrobe conveniently placed at the foot of the bed. Through the crack in the curtains, Wanda can see the barest hint of light, a sign that dawn is approaching.

The soft sounds of piano soar through the air, the notes almost melancholic in nature. Wanda tilts her head, tying the bathrobe securely around her waist before gently pushing the door open and padding down the hall.

Natasha is bent over the piano, a single, dim lamp softly illuminating her red hair. Wanda can just barely see the curve of her jaw, her attention captured by the steady fingers flying across the keyboard.

Somehow, they manage to draw emotion out with each note. Sadness lingers in the corners of the room, amplified with each note Natasha plays, her keys performing a somber dance. Wanda wonders what exactly the woman is thinking about as she plays, not a single sheet of music in front of her, only the smooth expanse of mahogany wood and ivory keys.

The music stops, and Wanda jolts as she realizes her presence has been noticed.

“Sorry,” she whispers, seeing the barest hint of a frown flit across Natasha’s tired features. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Perhaps I should be the one saying that to you,” Natasha responds, a wry smile gracing her features as she wipes her hands on her soft sweatpants. She stands, every movement graceful as she does so. Wanda can’t help but notice the way her pants hang slightly off her hips, a hint of her smooth stomach and abs showing as she walks towards her.

“Are you… alright?” Natasha asks, concern softening the sharp features of her face as she walks towards her.

Wanda flushes, thinking about the bone-deep ache making its way through her body, evidence of their activities earlier that evening. She finds herself nodding, her fingers running nervously over the tie of her bathrobe.

“Are you sure that you…” Wanda trails off, biting her lips momentarily before she sees the hungry look appear in Natasha’s eyes at the action. “Did you have a good time?”

A small smile makes its way onto Natasha’s face, and she reaches out an arm to wrap around Wanda’s waist as she nears. “Yes, Wanda. I had a good time,” she whispers, pulling the younger woman close. Her fingers cup Wanda’s waist, her other hand tangling with Wanda’s, their fingers intertwined as she kisses her knuckles. “It was everything I imagined you’d be like, and more. I can’t fathom ever tiring of you.”

Well. That’s the most romantic thing Wanda has ever heard in her life, and she blushes hotly, her words jumbling together as she attempts to form a sentence.

Natasha chuckles, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss against her lips. “Come,” she murmurs, pulling Wanda back down the hallway, her thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “How about we cuddle until morning, and then I’ll make you whatever breakfast you’d like.”

“You can cook?” Wanda asks, mid-yawn. Her comment earns a light jab in her side, and she fails at hiding her smirk at the reaction from the normally composed woman.

“I can do many things, Wanda,” Natasha says, a slight smirk on her lips that tells Wanda exactly what the older woman is implying. She takes a deep breath, fighting her rising blush as they walk back into the bedroom, Natasha pulling her into her side as they slide under the sheets. Their limbs entangle, their bodies pressed close together as Natasha presses a soft kiss against Wanda’s head, the younger woman’s eyes already closing again, drifting off to sleep as she feels Natasha’s lips move against her.

“I could get used to this.”

---

Dm or comment to be added!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato @justarandomreaderxoxo @godhatesgoodgirls @snowdrop1026 @maximoffmorale @noturlondonboy @wandaspuppy @xenaizogie @imjustvibingsworld @tobiaslut @subby-lesbian @xenaizogie @sxlfishbrokenheart @huggingkoalas @deliriosinrose @godhatesgoodgirls @yeetus-thyself @wizardofstories @wandastan-2 @undercoversoftie @the-ox-fan20

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haruriin · 3 days ago

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VALENTINE EVE'S NIGHTMARE ♡ * ˖ ࣪ CH. O2

★ synopsis: every teenage girl has her own struggles, so naturally, you found a way to escape yours! though you never thought you would bump into a pretty boy who had the same habit as you...oh, he's actually in the same school as you? and you two share the same taste in movies too...? wow, lucky you!

*✧·˚ cw. rin itoshi x f!reader, this is a smau & written fic! reader has family issues, so does rin, reader is 16, reader is a smoker, this is angst for like 2 chapters the rest is pure crack/fluff trust, language.

"ugh..." you groan when the sound of the notifications coming from your phone jolts you awake, who dares to bother me so early...?

you stick out your arm from under the bedsheets, ready to set your phone on dnd mode when you're interrupted by a sudden impact on your bed before you can do anything.

"what the?!" you're getting suffocated by an unknown entity! is your house really haunted, or has your brother finally lost his mind? you'll probably have time to think about it when you aren't being asphyxiated under the sheets...

"why the hell haven't you woken up already?!" says the creature that's currently trapping you. the sound is muffled, but you can definitely recognize that voice...

"get off of me eita!" that's what you used the last air you had left in your lungs for. now you're sure you're about to die, and you never even got to know that cute guy from yesterday's name...damn it!

"alright, no need to yell, princess." wait, you aren't dying, the air's finally entering your lungs again...!

"never do that again! and how did you even get in my house?!" you sit up on your bed. still gasping for air, you grab your phone that was laying next to you to check the time and your eyes widen, how did you manage to oversleep so badly...?

"i was actually waiting by the door like always, but i ran into your brother outside, i think he was going to work or something. anyway, he told me i could wait inside." he shrugged and you noticed he was munching on something. wait, your brother going to work this early? that's certainly odd...

"what are you eating?"

"oh? your cookies."

"what? those were my lunch for school today!" you furrow your brows, seriously, how annoying does otoya get?

"oh well. you can get something from the cafeteria." he shrugs again. the nerve of this guy!

"whatever, just let me get ready so we can go." you sigh and make your way out of your bed, detangling your limbs from the bedsheets to get to the bathroom until you notice otoya is still standing across from you in your room.

"...why are you just standing there?"

he doesn't give you the time to regret asking him before before his lips curl into a smirk "don't you need any help getting dressed?"

the smile is abruptly removed from his face when one of your pillows comes flying to his face at full force, "GET OUT!"

"so that's what it was about...i didn't peg you for the type to fall in love at first sight."

"that's because i'm not..." you say while smothering the wrinkles on the skirt of your uniform "i think."

you made sure to tell otoya every little detail of what happened last night while the two of you walked to school, you had such a short interaction with the mysterious guy yet it took you almost all of the walk to tell him the story.

"you think?" otoya looked at you with a raised eyebrow while walking inside the school building, waiting for you to go in too. "i can't believe you finally like someone, are you going to leave me behind now...?" he sighed dramatically and you chuckled, rolling your eyes at him.

"don't be so dramatic, plus it's not even like i'm crushing on him...i'm just curious." you stopped when you reached the door to your class; this is where you and otoya part ways, since he's a grade above you.

"sure, sure." he ruffled your hair slightly, turning around to make his way to his classroom, giving you a wave and a 'see ya later!'

you let out an annoyed sigh, trying to brush your hair back in place with your hands before opening the door to step into your class, luckily enough, you weren't too late.

"alright guys, class is dismissed now, get ready for whatever subject you have next!"

you're brought back to reality when you notice isagi turning his chair around from his spot in front of you, you lift your head up from your desk to stare at him when bachira makes his way next to you too.

"damn, that sucks, i guess we're gonna be separated for this project" apparently there's a '?' sign written across your face, because bachira immediately notices your confusion at isagi's statement,

"did you not listen to anything of what the teachers said?"

"uhh, not really...what did they say?" it's true that you spent the entire first period of class staring out the window, but damn it, it's not your fault! that guy with the long lashes just won't leave your mind...

isagi crossed his arms on top of your desk before speaking "you know how they give us a different project for each semester this year? well, they decided that for this semester's project half of our class will move to the classroom next to us, and half of the people in that classroom will come to ours." he explained while playing with the charms on your pencil case.

"yeah! they read the list too, me and yoichi are on the group that will stay here, you are on the group that will move to the other class." bachira had a small pout on his face. "oh, the teacher also said we'll have to form groups of three, we could've made one together, but i guess you'll have to work with two students from the other class for this one..."

great. just what you needed. you already barely had any friends in your class (only bachira & isagi, honestly...) and now you were going to have to pair with people from a whole another classroom? you don't think you even know the face of anyone in that class.

you gave a defeated sigh. "ugh...how many periods will this project last, anyway?" you ask, grabbing isagi's hand from your pencil case and absentmindedly playing with it

"like one period per week, i think." isagi says while staring at his hand in yours as you twist and turn it freely, "they also said this one will be shorter than the last one, it'll last 2 weeks."

"everyone go back to your seats and open your english textbooks." isagi and bachira quickly turn back to their own desks, and you straighten yourself up on your chair before bringing your books out of your backpack.

you have a feeling this project is gonna feel awfully long, what will it even be about...?

when your last class before lunch ends, you make your way out of the classroom walking side by side with isagi and bachira. the three of you are greeted by otoya leaning against the wall next to your classroom's door.

"hey you guys." he reaches out to ruffle isagi's and bachira's hair messily, you chuckle at their annoyed expressions and manage to duck away before his hand can reach your hair.

"why are you here? shouldn't you already be in the cafeteria with karasu by now?" you say making your way to his side, to which he slings his arm around your shoulders.

"yeah, but he didn't come to school today." you raise an eyebrow, that's unusual. "he's sick or something, so i'll be having lunch with you today, aren't you guys happy?" he smiles happily and tugs you closer to him

"so we're your side hoes now?" oh, isagi took the words out of your mouth!

"pretty much."

you tune out their discussion when you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, you don't usually get any texts at this time. curious, you bring your phone out.

you quickly send out a response before turning your phone off again. sigh. so you are gonna be alone again this week? it's not like you interact with your brother or anything when he's at home, but at least you don't feel the crippling loneliness gnawing at you when there's someone else in the house. you probably won't bother to call him even if there actually is something urgent, you know he likely won't pick up anyway.

"hey princess, did you hear me?" you're snapped out of your trance by otoya's finger poking your cheek, quickly looking up to stare at him,

"huh?"

"ohhh, are you still thinking about that guy with the long la-" that's about as far as he can say before you're aggressively slapping your hand to his mouth to shut him up.

'mmphjfgg!' you let go of him with a 'yuck!' when he starts trying to speak under your hand, effectively coating your palm with his spit...

"y/n, we were saying me and yoichi will see you later in class, we're meeting up with seishiro and reo to get some training done before lunch break ends!" bachira says while grabbing isagi by his wrist, they both give you a smile and a wave before turning around and making their way to the field.

those two are always thinking about training, must be nice to have something you're so passionate about...

"anyway, let's go have lunch together, you've gotta buy me something from the cafeteria after eating all of my cookies." you say as you finish wiping the remnants of otoya's spit on his school shirt, interlinking you arm with his before you hear him groaning something about having to get you lunch.

⟡ * ˖ ࣪ m.list ⟡ *˖ ࣪ profiles ⟡ * ˖ ࣪ taglist: @x3nafix @taefanclub @lukapurin @vertejay @levihanmyotp @lovelymeguru @chigiri-luvr @kaz-0e @t3chn0chan @yiiscorner (ask 2 be added!)

a/n: for some reason i thought i had already posted this days ago...i did not 💀 im also not sure if i should let this series marinate some more or start posting the chapters daily😭

#★⋆. haruriin ࿐#blue lock #bllk #blue lock smau #bllk smau #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #bllk rin #blue lock manga #blue lock x you #rin itoshi #blue lock rin #bllk fic #blue lock smut #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #eita otoya

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cambankromyy · 1 day ago

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THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.8): stop being weird - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an; lmfao i watched babygirl last night so smut coming in the next few chapters FINALLY!!

part 7- part 8 - part 9

you don’t do weird, dramatic silences. you don’t ignore each other. you don’t fight.

so why does it kind of feel like you are?

it’s been days since the last pogue hangout. since you started seeing rafe a little less. since you realized he wasn’t really… talking to you anymore. not like normal. not like you two.

it’s not like he’s outright avoiding you—he still shows up, still answers when you text—but he’s dry. dismissive. like he doesn’t really care. and maybe you wouldn’t care either, if it weren’t so obvious.

you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, your phone resting on your stomach. music plays softly from your speaker, some song you don’t even realize is on until it ends. the room feels too quiet. the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.

before you can think too hard about it, you grab your phone and open your messages.

it’s not like you to overthink things. not with rafe. but the whole thing is just… off. and it’s not like he’s going to tell you what’s up—clearly—so you do the next best thing.

meanwhile, your life is moving. no time to think about rafe. no time to care.

you’re at the chateau, cross-faded, curled up against jj on the couch, barely processing the conversation happening around you. his arm is slung around your waist, and at some point, your head ends up on his shoulder. the night moves fast like that, all smoke and static and warmth, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of music from a speaker someone set on the counter.

jj’s rolling another joint, half-focused on pope and john b arguing over something stupid, while kiara eggs them on. you don’t even know what they’re mad about, but it’s funny watching them get worked up, hands flying, voices overlapping.

jj nudges you with his shoulder, eyes lazy, smirking. “you good over there, champ?”

you hum in response, tilting your head back to look at him. “never better.”

he grins, flicking the lighter to life.

at some point, jj drags you off the couch, pulling you toward the kitchen under the excuse of “we need snacks.” the real reason, as it turns out, is to shotgun a beer with you, which you only half succeed at before nearly choking on it. jj laughs so hard he almost chokes too, smacking the counter as he wheezes, before shoving the neck of his hoodie at you to wipe your mouth like you haven’t known each other for two weeks at most.

“you suck at this,” he says, grinning.

“fuck you,” you cough, still recovering.

“nah, that was tragic,” he teases, cracking open another one like you didn’t just borderline aspirate the first. “you gotta commit. you hesitated.”

you glare at him, wiping your chin with his hoodie before flipping it back at his face. “let’s see you do better, mr. professional.”

jj winks, tilting his head back as he downs the beer effortlessly, then slamming the empty can on the counter with an exaggerated gasp. “light work,” he announces.

you roll your eyes. “congrats. you’ve peaked.”

he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a loose side hug as he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “c’mon, princess. let’s go pretend we got the snacks and not just our crippling alcohol dependencies.”

sometime past 2 a.m., you end up back on the couch, jj next to you, kiara half in your lap, legs thrown over the armrest. your limbs feel heavy, head fogged over with exhaustion, but you feel good. easy. warm in the way that only comes with nights like this.

you don’t check your phone. don’t think about unread messages or stubborn boys who’d rather sit in their heads than get out of them.

not your problem tonight.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @hello-therree

#the island lookout :cambankromyy #rafe cameron #rafe #rafe smau #rafe cameron smau #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #obx smau #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fluff #thornton!reader #topper thornton #bsf!rafe cameron #childhood bsf!rafe #sarah cameron

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luvvictoria · 1 day ago

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Tension in the Dark

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, a bit ofangst, slow-burn, action-packed military romance with angst and tension

+ summary. After the crash and firefight, you and Ghost navigate the dense jungle, exhaustion setting in. Ghost notices your worsening limp and, despite your protests, leads you to a ruined shelter for the night. The tension between you thickens as he kneels in front of you, tending to your injured ankle with surprising gentleness. His touch lingers, his eyes hold yours, and for a moment, something shifts—something unspoken but undeniable. The air between you is charged, but just as quickly as the moment comes, Ghost pulls away, retreating behind his mask. And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that, for a fleeting second, he hadn’t wanted to let go.

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

The two of you had been on the move for hours.

After the crash. After the firefight. After nearly losing your life more times than you could count. Now, the jungle pressed in from all sides — thick, humid, alive with the distant chirr of insects and the rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t truly silence at all, the kind that made your skin crawl, made your nerves stay on edge. The kind that told you danger was still out there, hunting.

And you were slowing down.

Ghost noticed. Of course he did.

“You’re limping,” he muttered without looking back. His voice was a quiet rasp in the darkness, almost lost beneath the steady crunch of boots against damp earth.

You rolled your eyes, tightening your grip on your rifle. “Yeah, well, forgive me for not keeping up with your freakishly SAS legs.”

Ghost let out a quiet, exasperated huff, but he didn’t argue. He just kept moving, leading the way through the dense foliage with that unnerving ability to make his hulking presence feel like a whisper. You wanted to keep pace. You really did. But the ache in your leg was worsening, spreading like fire every time you put weight on it. It wasn’t just the injury — it was exhaustion, the hours of tension coiling around your ribs, the unrelenting knowledge that you were still deep in enemy territory with miles to go before you even thought about rest.

Then, without warning, Ghost stopped. You barely caught yourself before stumbling into his back.

“What—”

“Shelter,” he interrupted, scanning the area with sharp, assessing eyes.

You followed his gaze and spotted it — an old ruin, its stone walls half-consumed by creeping vines and moss, the roof long gone, but the remaining structure still standing. It wasn’t much. But it was cover.

Ghost moved first, sweeping the perimeter, gun raised. You followed, your instincts too deeply ingrained to hesitate. The two of you cleared the space in practiced silence, checking corners, ensuring there were no unwanted surprises waiting for you.

Then, finally—

“All clear,” Ghost murmured.

You exhaled sharply, slumping down against the cool stone with a tired groan. Your leg throbbed in protest, and you stretched it out, rolling your ankle carefully. That was a mistake. Pain flared up your calf, white-hot and biting, and you sucked in a sharp breath.

Ghost was in front of you in an instant, crouching low. His gloved hands reached for your boot without hesitation.

You frowned. “What are you — ”

Before you could finish, he yanked it off in one fluid motion, ignoring the way you flinched.

“Jesus, Ghost—”

“Should’ve said something,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but not unkind.

You clenched your jaw. “I did say something. It was ‘Ow, fuck.’ Thought that was pretty clear.”

Ghost gave you a look. That sharp, unreadable look that made you feel like he could see straight through you. Then he shook his head and pulled out a roll of gauze from one of his many pouches.

“This’ll sting.”

You barely had time to brace before his fingers pressed into the swollen flesh of your ankle, checking for fractures. Your breath hitched, but you refused to make a sound, refused to show weakness. The last thing you wanted was for Ghost to think you couldn’t handle yourself.

His hands were surprisingly gentle. Precise. Strong, but careful as he wrapped the gauze around your injury, securing it with an efficiency that spoke of experience. The firelight flickered over his mask, casting deep shadows that made his eyes look darker, more intense.

And for a moment — for just a breath — you forgot about everything else.

Forgot about the jungle. Forgot about the danger. Forgot about the mission hanging over your heads like a storm cloud.

All you could focus on was him. The warmth of his touch through the thin material of your flight suit. The way his gloved fingers brushed your skin, careful despite their roughness. The steady, unwavering presence of him so close, closer than he’d ever been.

Your pulse pounded against your ribs, loud in the quiet space between you. You weren’t sure if it was the pain or something else entirely, something deeper, something dangerous that made your breath hitch when his fingers lingered for just a second too long.

Then—

His eyes flicked up to meet yours.

And something shifted.

The air between you grew heavier, thick with something unspoken, something neither of you dared to acknowledge. His eyes held yours, unreadable, but intense in a way that made your chest feel too tight, made your throat go dry.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to break eye contact, to focus on anything other than the weight of his presence, the heat of his body so close to yours. But you couldn’t shake it. Couldn’t push away the feeling that, for just a second, Ghost had wanted to stay close.

He exhaled slowly, then pulled back, his touch slipping away like it had never been there at all. Just like that, the moment was gone.

“Get some rest,” he muttered, already moving away, already retreating back into the quiet, controlled soldier you knew.

You let out a slow breath, watching as he settled against the far wall, rifle across his lap, his eyes already scanning the darkness. Always on guard. Always in control.

But you weren’t fooled.

Not anymore.

tag list : @jajouska @hao-ming-8 @pinkpookiebear

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #ghost call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon x reader

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starredblood · 13 hours ago

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NOWHERE GIRL

PART EIGHTEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: before your ultimate departure, you spend your last moments with sae-byeok.

wc. 3.5k (i think lol)

warnings: angst and lots of fluff | authors note: after this only two chapters left guyssss

(nowhere girl masterlist)

When Sae-byeok was done changing she walks to the living room, expecting to see you amidst slumber, however traces of you were vanished. Her eyebrows furrow and she paces to the calendar hanging in the kitchen—you leave tomorrow. She knows you aren’t in the bathroom because she was just there. You are nowhere in the apartment. Did she get the date wrong?

Sae-byeok might have to pause a morning of pickpocketing—which she calls work now…again—to figure out if you actually left. She steps out the apartment, knowing there aren’t any traces of you inside.

Her mouth is set in a hard line, growing more worried by the second.

She sweet sense of relief bubbles in her stomach when she sees you sitting on the concrete staircases leading to the complex—you were painting something. She swallows back a sigh of content and carefully makes her way to you.

When a shadow looms through your small canvas you immediately flip it over to conceal it from whoever is walking past. The corners of your mouth turn up when you see who appears before you. “Hi.”

“Hi.” she greets, in the same tone of timidness. Her worries vanishing once she sits down beside you. “I thought you…”

A sense of deja vu overwhelms her looking at you. You have on your denim overalls and sporting chipped nail polish however this time they are orange—it reminds her of the day she first met you. It boggles her mind how much things changed since then.

“Left?” you question with a chuckle. “No, I just went to drop off Cheol.”

Sae-byeok’s chest fills with pride. She insisted last night that you wouldn’t drop off Cheol solely to get enough rest, however you did it anyway. No one cared for her or her brother this much.

“Where’s your suitcase though?” she mutters. She stares at her folded hands so you couldn’t see her cheeks turn pink.

“Oh, I forgot it in Ji-yeong’s room. She was helping me pack last night.”

You start putting away your brushes and watercolor set back in your bag, however the canvas was still facing away from her. It peaks her interest because usually you’ll proudly present your work.

“What are you working on?” she asks you, trying to peer over your work.

“I can’t tell you yet.” you say cheekily, wagging your paint stained finger in her face. “It’s a surprise.”

She raises a suspicious brow but doesn’t poke you any further. If anything, it excites her that you still find ways to make her stomach all fuzzy. Not that she’ll ever admit it though.

Today feels bittersweet. Although it’s your last full day, today is the only time you have your schedule free ironically enough. Sae-byeok has to take advantage of that—she still wishes for the day you two do nothing together and today might be it.

“Wanna go grab a meal. On me?” she asks out of the blue.

“That’d be great.” you say, after you finish packing your things. Your smile gets wider just looking at her timid eyes that she tries masking with a poker face. “You want to go right now?”

Sae-byeok nods. She waits for you to put your belongings back inside the apartment and all while she tries preventing her face muscles from forming a grin. When you come back, you seem to be in higher spirits because with every step you make, there was a slight bounce to them.

“Can’t believe you’re leaving already.” Sae-byeok sighs.

The restaurant was quaint and hidden beneath the towers of flashy signs with only two tables inside for sitting. However, you both enjoy the fact that it was so small, it made this day all more intimate and personal. And you both got the perfect seating near the window.

You both decide to share a large bowl of noodles with black bean sauce.

“Yeah.” you reply to her with an anxious chuckle. “I’m nervous—I’m going to be with all sorts of international students so I don’t know if I’ll make any friends.”

“You’ll have fun regardless.” she says coolly before slurping a serving of noodles.

“Is that my shirt?”

Sae-byeok quizzically looks at you before peering down at the shirt she’s wearing. A slightly oversized blue stripped button up shirt she barely remembers picking.

“You—You said I could—“

“Oh. Right.” you facepalm. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Two nights back, you were sorting through and choosing clothes to bring to Italy. And you offered Sae-byeok some of your clothes you weren’t bringing along. Although she was highly reluctant at first, this was the only item of clothing she picked.

“I could give it back to you—“

“No. It’s yours now. It looks nice.”

After that you both silently finish eating the noodles. Your faces flush whilst avoiding making eye contact.

After you two confessed, you both began acting more awkwardly towards each other. Neither of you knew what to say or how to act around each other. And neither of you told anyone what occurred that night. As days pass by, the tension just got thicker.

At one point you both dip your chopsticks in the bowl, causing them to collide against each other. You quickly mutter an apology while Sae-byeok blinks rapidly. It was just too awkward.

“Thanks for the meal.” you murmur after Sae-byeok finishes paying.

“I owed you one remember?” she says to you and covertly focuses on the small grin forming on your lips.

It would be a lie to say that she didn’t think about that night more than she’d like. Especially whenever you smile, it’s like she could still feel your lips moving against hers. When she realizes what she’s currently thinking of, she clears her throat and soars off her seat.

“Do you want to spend the rest of the morning together?” you hesitantly suggest once you’re out of the restaurant.

“What?” she mutters, still dazed and scared that you read her thoughts.

“You’re probably busy but I just wanted to spend the rest of the morning with you before you know…”

She clears her throat again. “Sure.”

“Any place in mind?”

A glint of mischief forms in Sae-byeok’s eyes making your eyebrows furrow up. She nods in a direction for you to follow and you just let her lead the way.

A relatively short and silent walk led you both to a familiar block you remember running away from a gangster. Sae-byeok notices the crestfallen expression surfacing your face when you figured out where she’s taking you.

“Don’t worry.” she reassures you. And you just silently take her word for it.

She grabs your hand when you both spot her old job and your old apartment then starts walking faster. Her eyes dart around like an owl in the night, making sure prey isn’t in sight. The visible confusion in your face doesn’t dissipate when Sae-byeok lures you to the back of the bakery building, where there is only a narrow staircase leading up high.

“What’s—“

Sae-byeok places her pointer finger onto her lips to signal for your silence as she opens the door to the rooftop. There, she pulls two familiar plastic chairs for you two to sit on the edge of the roof.

“I used to come here during my breaks.” she explains flatly and pats the empty seat beside her for you to sit.

You clutch the straps of your bag and stiffly sit down. She chuckles in amusement.

“Don’t worry. No one knows about this place.” she states, a teasing smile indistinctly forming. “Besides, you’re a little reckless too aren’t you?”

You throw her a look. “You have a cute smile.” you say bluntly, completely throwing Sae-byeok off. “Sorry, that was my recklessness talking.”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.” she grumbles yet the smile still remains.

“I’m serious though,” you say, looking far ahead at the city beneath you. “I think you’re really pretty. And—I meant to tell you that for a while.”

The confession made her eyes grow wide. She couldn’t stop looking at you and your scarlet face.

“You’re pretty.” Sae-byeok whispers. If the wind blew any louder you would’ve missed it. “And cool.”

“No,” you snort. “you’re cooler. And tougher. And badass.”

Sae-byeok hums to herself to think. Being a woman of few words she wants to try her best to her thoughts now.

“I think…” she speaks up. “there are different types of cool people. And you’re the artistic—freedom of expression type of cool.”

Your entire face lit up. “Wow. That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.”

“How did you do it?” she blurts out. “Express yourself?”

You blink at her. “Oh…Well, it wasn’t until I got to college when I started experimenting. Before that I was just trying hard to fit in. But when I got to college everyone was so colorful and fun I slowly began to be more…spontaneous I guess.”

“…When you come back maybe you could help me?”

“Of course. I’d love that.”

The exchange of fleeting glances is reciprocated for a second before you both look away.

“Sae-byeok.”

“Hm?

“You’ll be okay, right?” you ask apprehensively. “I know you’re incredibly resilient and smart but I’m just worried—“

“Don’t.” she interrupts. “Don’t worry about a thing. Just focus on enjoying your trip.”

“Yes, I know it’s just—“

“You said it yourself. I’m smart and resilient. Everything will be okay—I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

You let out a huge exhale of relief. “Alright. You’re right.”

“And I just want to say,” she breathes, scooting her chair so she could get closer to you. “thank you for everything. Not just for helping with rent this month or dropping off and picking up Cheol but…I discovered a lot about myself and a big part of that is due to you.”

Your pupils dilate just by merely observing her. Sae-byeok couldn’t help her rapid chest movement after speaking and she goes back to sink further in her seat.

“That means a lot to me that you said that.” you murmur happily. Sae-byeok’s eyes get rounder, this overwhelming feeling of kindness and admiration is going to give her a heart palpitation. But she hides it so well you don’t even know. “Could I ask you one more thing?”

“Yeah.”

“What were you like…before you came down south?”

Sae-byeok’s expression dulls up. No one has ever asked her that question before. The unimaginable horrors she’s been apart of whilst being Deok-su’s posse made her forget about her life before all the crimes. But you patiently wait as she takes her time to regain the blurry memories back.

“I remember that I wasn’t always like this. When I was a kid I think I was pretty lively—like a child should be. You know, I always thought I would have a miserable life for a long time. Even by the time I rescue my mom I had a feeling I would still be this lonely, untrustworthy person till the moment I die…But it wasn’t until I came here and saw my father get killed that I buried that part of me a long time ago…now I don’t know what it feels like to be a youthful person. I’m sorry I don’t really remember…”

Sae-byeok flinches when she feels a finger pad trace down her face. She blinks at you and it dawns to her that she was getting teary eyed. And you were wiping them off.

“It must’ve been hard for you.”

“Yeah.” she mutters.

“But you’re not alone anymore.”

Sae-byeok wishes that would be true. But a deep dark part of her still thinks otherwise. She slowly adverts her gaze back at you—like she was trying to get one good look at you before you go. Because soon enough, you will become faded memories in the cruel passage of time. But to not worry you, she just shakes her head.

“Are you alright?” you ask seeing her sullen expression deepen.

“Yeah.” she quickly says.

You stare at her, still skeptical. “…Okay.” you whisper.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

“It’s going to be so boring here now.” Cheol grumbles, arms crossed whilst watching you from the couch.

“Ouch.” Ji-yeong grumbles at the boy, pressing her chest to her heart as if she was in pain.

“Sorry…” he winces.

You were currently crouching in front of the living room trying to zip up your carryon suitcase. And by the looks of it, with your large sunglasses and sun hat, you are ready for an amazing journey through Italy.

In all honesty, you are still deeply in denial about this once in a lifetime opportunity granted to you. You still feel guilty about leaving everything behind—even your internship at the gallery especially after the begrudging look your boss gave you two weeks ago when you told him the news. It’ll be hard for you to navigate this short coming life across the globe without your friends and Sae-byeok, who you aren’t sure where to place her—friend or something more complicated. But relationship or not, what you two built was the most beautiful thing. And…she might be the person you miss most of all. You assume she feels the same with the intense gaze she’s giving you. It was like she’s trying to bore you into her mind.

“When I get back you’ll have so many cool paint sets everyone in your class is going to be envious of you.” you tell Cheol with a mischievous look he exchanges back.

You let out a huge sigh of relief after successfully closing the suitcase thanks to Ji-yeong sitting on top of it to apply pressure.

“My ass hurts now.” she whines and leaps back up.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket so you scramble to check it. This being your first time boarding an airplane you want to arrive there extra early, meaning every second needs to be accounted for this early morning Saturday.

“The taxi is almost here.” you gasp and remove your sunglasses and hat off your head.

Your heart rate increases now, it’s getting more real by the second.

The living room grows quiet for a brief moment, all sharing with the knowing that you’re truly going away. Ji-yeong is the first to envelope you in a bear hug.

“Bye, Ji.” you say against her hair, reciprocating the embrace.

“Can’t believe you’re going to fucking Italy.” she says with a laugh. “You always had it in you though so I shouldn’t be surprised. Have fun, alright? Wait—not too much fun actually.”

“I won’t.” you roll your eyes and give her one last squeeze before letting go.

The pang in your chest became more intense when Cheol rushes to give you a hug as well. Now, it all is starting to feel real. This is happening—you’re going.

“I’m going to miss you a lot, Noona.” he says with a pout.

“You’ll see me soon enough.” you assure him. “Take care of my acrylic sets, okay? Oh, and when you use acrylic don’t forget to prime your canvas before you—“

Sae-byeok coughs and signals you start heading out.

“Right.” you stammer and send Cheol a thumbs up. “Good luck, little artist.”

Sae-byeok removes her hands from her jean pockets to grab your suitcase for you. Cheol and Ji-yeong mutter their last goodbyes to you out the door—you already start getting choked up.

The day was still so young, yet it all felt like it was over. You were having a hard time swallow back the tears.

“How long until the taxi arrives?” Sae-byeok asks flatly, leaning against the apartment building once you’re both outside.

“Five minutes…” you trail off.

You and her look at each other, sharing the same forlorn expression. If you know her well enough, Sae-byeok was putting on a hard front to not appear sad for you. But it was all in her shimmery eyes, it said everything.

“Before I go,” you sniffle as you pull out something from your personal bag. You pull out a small rectangular item that’s covered in red gift wrap. “here’s the painting.”

Sae-byeok looks at you and back at the gift, slowly reaching for it. She pushes herself off the wall to stand closer to you.

“You finished it already?” she murmurs in awe, tracing the striped wrapping paper with her finger.

“It was already done when you saw it this morning I just needed to sign it of course.” you wink. Before she dug her nails into it you clamp your hand on top of hers. “Open it when I’m gone.”

Sae-byeok sighs. She checks the time on her phone and gulps like she was nervous to speak.

“I had fun yesterday. I wish we did more of that when we had the time.” she confesses quickly since time is running out.

“Once I come back we’ll have many more of these don’t worry.”

But at this point you couldn’t hold back the tears threatening to spill. You kept smiling but your eyes were flooding.

In panic, Sae-byeok gently placed the gift against the wall and heads closer to you to start wiping away the tears streaking across your face. After you felt her touch, the waterworks got more intense.

“Don’t cry.” she murmurs gently.

“But I’ll miss you.” you choke up and let out a hiccup after failing to hold back the tears.

“I’ll…I’ll miss you too.”

Even after finishing wiping your streak of tears, she doesn’t remove her hands from holding the sides of your face. Like she remains frozen due to your touch. You two stare at each other, silently asking the same question. The quiet response was you both leaning closer to share a sweet kiss.

“When you come back I promise we will figure us out.” she mutters against your lips, staring into your eyes beneath her long eyelashes.

You respond back by kissing her one last time, fully savoring the feeling of her—not caring about the fact that you two were pressed against the wall outside the apartments. Not when you’ll be gone in a split second.

You gasp into the kiss when you hear the screeching of tires behind your back. Your heart completely falls into the pit of your stomach when you see the taxi pull up.

Sae-byeok holds her breath and takes one last look at you before reaching for your suitcase. She helps the taxi driver put your luggages in the trunk and reaches to open the car door for you.

“Bye, have fun—“

You cut her off by engulfing her into a hug. Inhaling deeply, you also want to remember the woody scent of her cologne and run your fingers through her short tousled hair. If it wasn’t in your imagination, you could’ve sworn you felt her chapped lips press against your cheek.

“Don’t forget—you aren’t alone, Sae-byeok. I’ll be back soon.” you whisper into her ear one last time before pulling apart.

Her bottom lip is quivering but she nods and gestures you to enter inside the car. She shuts the door gently and waves at you through the car window. Your face is almost hidden beneath the window tints but she could almost catch your small smile and teary eyes as the car starts driving off. She doesn’t move from her spot until the car becomes a small obscure dot in the distance.

She takes a long deep breath. The emptiness she had in her chest, she could feel it coming back.

Control yourself, she thinks and bends down to pick up the canvas you wrapped for her.

“So, did you guys kiss?” Ji-yeong asks the second Sae-byeok enters the apartment.

“K—Kiss?” Cheol stammers.

“Ji-yeong.” Sae-byeok sighs in disappointment. “Not now.”

While she reaches to shut the door, she didn’t see the worried looks Ji-yeong and her brother shared. It’s like they knew that she was holding it all together by a thread. But they fall silent after she spoke, knowing that anything else they might say or do might cause an avalanche.

Sae-byeok marches to her room and locks the door. With a large exhale she sits by the edge of her bed and stares intensely at the gift. She sniffles and forcibly holds back tears as she aggressively tears open the wrapping paper.

It’s unclear how long she continues to stare at the painting. But her jaw slackened just admiring every brush stroke, and her fingers gently trace down to the signature you marked at the bottom. It was a large garden of flowers with a beautiful blue and purple sky backdrop. The only flowers in the field being yellow lilies and lavender you gifted her a while back as bouquets because they reminded you of her. She remembers it well enough. Now regret brews in her stomach that she rejected them because you must still remember.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. Her mouth opens to let the sobs escape her. When Sae-byeok blinks away the tears, she didn’t notice some droplets splatter onto your art work, permanently leaving tear marks on it.

Her life is still full of uncertainties and now that you’re gone she wonders what obstacles she has to overcome to stabilize her life again. She knows it won’t be easy.

And she knows for certain that this will be the last and only time she will let her emotions get the best of her. After this day, she will bring her guard up to the fullest extent. And she will do anything in her power to stay afloat by the time you arrive again.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts @wlvlurvsfimmia

#kang sae byeok #kang sae byeok x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #fanfic #kang sae byeok squid game #kang sae byeok x fem!reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #kang saebyeok #kang saebyeok x reader #sae byeok #saebyeok #squid game x reader

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hoo-n-i-ki · 2 days ago

Text

Cold One. (Chapter 2)

Anyone but her.

PAIRING - Volturi!Riki x Cullen!fem!reader

GENRE - Twilight AU

CHAPTER WC - 7801 (I got carried away)

WARNINGS - Vampires, graphic violence, blood, death (like a lot of it). Very plot heavy. Morally grey Riki (this is a complete work of fiction and is in no way a representation of him).

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

The throne room is silent, save for the footsteps of a messenger approaching the dais. The hooded figure kneels before the three kings. Aro, perched on his throne, eagerly extends a cold hand for the messenger to press his own against.

Excitement flickers in Aro’s eyes—then, he laughs.

“Well, well,” he muses. “Carlisle has turned another for the first time nearly a century.”

Riki, leaning against the carved stone walls with his arms crossed, finally looks up. Very little intrigues him after exactly 200 years of this life, but hopefully this is something as rousing as the Cullens’ hybrid debacle from 18 years ago.

Caius scoffs in distaste. “I assume this one will be another vegetarian?”

“If Carlisle turned them, he must believe they’ll adapt to his way of life,” Jane says simply from the side, youthful face as stony as ever.

“Pity. Setting up yet another for an eternity of insatiability.” Marcus shakes his head.

Aro hums. “What do you think, Mind Stealer?”

Riki’s crimson gaze meets the ancient ones. “He’s sired several, before.” He shrugs.

“Such apathy,” Caius sneers.

“Someone has to keep an eye on the bigger picture.”

Through his several altercations with them, Riki knows that this coven doesn’t seek trouble, but they’re always at the center of it, and it always finds its way to Volterra.

They are a family of honor. As honorable as he once was.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Present day.

The crack of thunder drowns out the sound of the victim’s screams.

You finish feasting on the redhead, and toss her corpse into a nearby dumpster like she’s nothing but an empty sack.

To be fair, that is true.

Let the cops find her. Even on the off chance that they could trace this back to you, then what? You can now take 20 of their strongest in a heartbeat.

As you saunter out of the alleyway, a lone car drifts by, music playing in the dead of night.

“Ooh, you set my soul alight,” you sing along to the familiar tune beneath your breath, off-key.

This is what sets your soul alight. The hunt. The taste running down your throat like no expensive champagne ever has.

Your heart? A different story. Perhaps it’s your human self’s dedication to saving lives rather than ending them trying to peek through.

But your heart stopped a month ago—so it certainly does not win this battle. It is merely a symbol, just like your humanity altogether.

You are now certain of three things.

First is that you are now a vampire.

Second is that your parents were murdered by vampires.

And third is that you are now a murderer.

You strut without a care in the world. Even if someone were to discern your features despite the dark, Vancouver is full of interesting characters. No one would bat an eye at some messy hair, and you could easily play off your blood-stained lips and red eyes as some new goth makeup trend.

You consider chasing the car’s driver, but you’re full.

For now.

So why you ended up finding yourself at your aunt and uncle’s neighborhood? You can’t really tell—you’re just going off on the instincts that have carried you thus far.

There weren’t any street cameras back when you lived here, but just in case there are now, you use your speed to move so fast they wouldn’t even be able to catch a single glimpse of you, and you enter the damned house without a sound.

The only problem, probably, with being a newborn is how heightened your emotions are. This isn’t you, (Y/N), you have to endure, Carlisle tried to tell you the last time you saw him.

But he doesn’t know a single thing about you.

He doesn’t understand the bitterness you carry.

You’re 11 years old, standing in this same doorway, clutching your school bag that’s soaked from the rain because they conveniently forgot to pick you up.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so pitiful,” your aunt sneers, “if you weren’t so ungrateful, perhaps we’d actually want to help you.”

She wipes imaginary sweat from her brow as she flicks through primetime channels. “Do you know how hard it is to take care of a child that isn’t even ours? We had plans, (Y/N). You ruined them. We should’ve sent you to a foster home.”

You’d scrub the floors until your fingers ached, only for her to find some invisible speck of dirt and make you do it all over again. You remember how they’d lock the fridge at night, how they’d turn off the hot water before you could shower, how they always reminded you that you don’t belong there.

And your uncle’s attention would only come in the form of disappointment. “The chores aren’t done? Didn’t we feed you last night? Maybe you need to start earning your keep before you start demanding so much.”

But the chores were always done—just not in his wife’s eyes. Demanding so much? The only thing they give you is a roof over your head—and even that comes with strings attached.

You never forget.

And now you truly don’t belong in this house, so let’s see if they recognize you.

Your lips curl into something between a grin and a snarl in preparation as you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“(Y/N?)” Your uncle gasps as he rounds the entryway.

You can only imagine what he’s seeing. It’s what you saw that first time you looked in a mirror after you woke up. You, but not really you. A version so polished it almost gives off the uncanny valley effect.

You wonder if he noticed your eyes. If they’re unsettling him as much as the dreaded man’s did to you.

“Hi, uncle!” You chirp.

He gulps. “Um. How did you get in? We had the locks changed years ago.”

You inwardly scoff. Of course they did. Surely, the second your 16-year-old self left, they decided that you’ll never be welcome here again. It was probably your aunt’s idea—he’s always been her puppet.

You’re glad you’re seeing him first. That way, you can save the best for last.

“Hm? Aren’t you happy to see me?” You ask, faux confusion dripping from your voice.

Your uncle takes a step back, bumping into the console table behind him. The lamp wobbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are locked onto yours.

Then—her voice.

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

Right on cue.

You hear her heels clicking as she approaches, the sound triggering something deep in your bones. An old instinct, long since buried. But that fear isn’t yours anymore.

She steps into view, arms crossed, annoyance painted across her face. “Oh, it’s you.” Her gaze flicks over your bloodstained clothes, your too-perfect features, your red eyes. She scoffs. “God, you look ridiculous.”

You grin. She has no idea.

Your uncle makes a noise—half gasp, half whimper. She turns to him, irritated. “What is your problem?”

That’s when you strike.

You’re on him in an instant, fingers wrapping around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground. His feet kick uselessly.

“You should’ve been nicer to me. I would’ve spared you.” You fake-pout.

A choked gurgle escapes him, cut short when your teeth sink into his flesh.

The first time you were forced to scrub wine stains out of the carpet, you cried. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but the red wouldn’t come out.

Now, you don’t care if the stains never fade.

Your aunt screams.

You drop his lifeless body and turn to her, licking the blood off your lips.

She stumbles back, trembling, clutching the silk of her robe as if it’ll protect her. “What—what are you—”

You mimic her earlier words, tilting your head. “God, you look ridiculous.”

She turns to run. You let her. For just a second.

She barely makes it three steps before you cut her off, slamming the door shut with one hand.

She gasps, spinning around, eyes wide with terror. “Please—”

“Please?” You chuckle. “Please?” You lean in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You never listened when I pleaded.”

Then, you take what’s yours.

Afterwards, you finally step outside, not caring enough to hide the bodies the way your parents’ killers did.

The night air is cold and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement and something else—something vaguely familiar. You stiffen.

“Newborns. Always so messy.”

The voice is warm, teasing. You turn just as a towering figure steps out of the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, dimples flashing.

“Hey, little sis.”

Your jaw clenches. “Emmett.”

From behind him, Rosalie emerges, golden hair cascading over her shoulder, arms folded like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her sharp eyes flick to the bodies inside the window, then back to you.

“I see subtlety isn’t your thing,” she remarks dryly.

Your lip curls. “What are you two doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Emmett answers. “Carlisle was hoping you’d come back on your own, but…” He gestures vaguely at the crime scene. “Yeah. That wasn’t happening.”

You scoff. “And what, you’re here to convince me? Because I’m not interested.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “You’re barely over a month old, and you’re already acting like you know everything.”

“I know enough,” you snap.

Emmett sighs, stepping closer. “Look, I get it. You’re angry. You think we don’t understand, but we do. We’ve been there.” He gestures between himself and Rosalie. “But this isn’t the way.”

You bark out a laugh. “And what is? Playing house with a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites?”

Emmett doesn’t flinch, but there’s something softer in his gaze now. Something that makes your throat tighten.

“Come back with us,” he says. “Just for a little while. Hear Carlisle out.”

Your eyes flick between them. Rosalie’s expression is unreadable, but Emmett… Emmett is genuine.

You glance back at the house, at the bodies cooling inside.

Then, after a long beat, you sigh. “…Fine.”

You follow the couple as they run to Victoria, your feet taking you faster than a helicopter could have. The ocean breeze whips against your face as you make the leap from the mainland to Vancouver Island, landing on the rocky shore with grace.

Within moments, the Cullen house is in sight, nestled in the trees, glowing softly against the dark night. Emmett and Rosalie lead you inside, not a word spoken, but the tension in the air thick enough to taste. You cross the threshold into a house that doesn’t feel like home but feels oddly familiar all the same.

Carlisle is the first to greet you. He’s calm, even in the face of your obvious disdain. “(Y/N),” he says with a warm tone. “We’re glad you’re here. Let’s sit down, please.”

You look around at the family, noting their stiff postures, their eyes full of… concern. Each couple stands off to a side, watching you, even the dhampir girl with brown eyes with her werewolf—now human—mate, who has long since healed from the tiger shifter attack since the last time you saw him.

Carlisle gestures for you to sit, and you do so reluctantly, crossing your arms. “We need to talk.”

You don’t respond at first, your eyes narrowing as you keep your attention on him. Carlisle continues, his voice steady. “There were questions about you at the hospital. They asked if we had seen you. I told them you had to leave suddenly. Your uncle fell ill, so you went to take care of him.”

You freeze for a second, a bitter laugh slipping from your lips. He did indeed fall.

“Does Dr. Park know?” Not that it matters. It’s not like you’ll be returning to that open buffet of death.

Carlisle nods. “He knows, but he can’t say anything without directly implicating himself. It’s why he just… let us go.”

“Our chief convinced the tigers to make a treaty with the Cullens—with you—to leave them be as long as they no longer turn anybody else or drink from locals,” Jacob, the wolf, speaks up.

Which drags your eyes once more to Renesmee, next to him. There is blood coursing through her veins, and her scent is very sweet. It doesn’t beckon you as strongly as human blood does, but it doesn’t stop you from looking.

Bella follows your eyes, and her head whips toward you instantly, eyes narrowing. “Stay away from her,” she warns, voice low and dangerous.

You raise an eyebrow and lean back in your seat with an exaggerated casualness. “Relax, Bella,” your voice drips with amusement as Renesmee rolls her eyes, her vampiric side giving her enough courage to not be phased by your red gaze. “She smells good like perfume, not like food.”

She’s still tense, growling ever so quietly, but her shoulders relax a bit.

You roll your eyes and turn to Carlisle. “I’m obviously not welcome here. Can I go now?”

He sighs. “You are always welcome here, (Y/N). You’re one of us now—this can be your home. We really needed to make sure that you were safe.”

“Safe?” You echo with an incredulous laugh. “I am safe. You want to weaken me with your animal blood.”

Carlisle’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he waits for you to continue, and you do, your emotions swelling as the words slip out without thought.

“Do you know what my entire life has been about, doctor?” you ask, the last word bleeding with mockery. “It’s been about studying so I could get away from my aunt and uncle, or wondering what happened to my parents—why they were murdered, why I was left behind, and working on how I could be the savior I couldn’t be as a three-year-old. But now? Now I know, and now I can live.”

The room goes silent. The family watches you, each of them processing what you’ve said. You don’t look at them as they exchange glances. You don’t need to. Your mind is already made up.

You stand to leave, but Carlisle doesn’t back down. “I understand you’re angry. But what happened to your family… it doesn’t have to define who you are now.

“What you call weakness, is actually anything but. It’s the strength to endure, to be able to live publicly. You can learn to temper the cravings, if you would just allow yourself to try—you’d thank yourself for it, in the long run. And you’ll never have to be alone.”

You can feel the anger rising within you again. You’ve heard this speech before. The right way. The safe way. You’re done listening to those words.

“I don’t feel alone,” you growl, eyes locking with Carlisle’s, and your voice comes out cold, controlled. “And don’t treat me like I’m broken, because I’m not. I’m free.”

You’re not sure if you’re convincing them or yourself. If this is true freedom, or if you’re letting yourself into a new cage, one barred by thirst.

The Cullens are silent, watching you carefully, but you don’t let your voice waver. Every single one of your senses is telling you what you want, so no one is going to take that from you.

“Don’t worry.” You turn to them one last time. “For saving me, I’ll respect you enough to not drink from locals.”

You step outside, where the only sound accompanying you is the crunch of leaves and snaps of twigs beneath your feet.

Until another set of footsteps catches up to you, and you groan.

“I know what it’s like.”

You turn around to see the quiet one—Jasper.

“The hunger. It’s like an intrinsic part of you that you can’t outrun. And I didn’t. When I first turned, I couldn’t fathom living without it. Every human scent, every drop of blood, it felt like I was drowning in it… and I enjoyed that drowning.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

He groans, as though remembering his red-eyed days pains him. Whether out of temptation or guilt, though, you can’t tell.

“It wasn’t like I decided to become vegetarian overnight,” he continues. “At first, I kept giving in. I slipped up, again and again. But I needed to learn that I’m now different, and that I can’t spend an eternity surviving instead of living.”

You cross your arms, but it feels like your armor is starting to crack.

“It was about progress. Day by day, it’d get easier. Of course, I had Alice through it all.” He smiles fondly at the ground at the thought of the pixie girl. “She was my anchor.”

You don’t respond right away. You feel your jaw tighten as you scoff inwardly. An anchor. Right. How nice for him. Alice might have been there to hold him steady, but you? Nada. Romance, connection, it all seems so… impossible with your current circumstances. You’ll never have someone like Alice, and you sure as hell won’t let yourself rely on anyone else. Not now.

Jasper watches you closely, sensing your hesitation, but he doesn’t push. He simply waits.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The idea of controlling the thirst, figuring out a whole other way to live this life that still feels so foreign, it’s completely overwhelming.

Jasper gives a quiet, knowing smile. “I can train you, if you want, because I didn’t know if I could, either. But I didn’t let myself give up. And neither should you. Not if you want to be more than just alive.”

For a moment, silence hangs between you, and then, finally, you nod. “Okay. I’ll let you train me. But don’t expect me to be easy to work with.”

His grin widens just slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a newborn.”

A week.

Two weeks into this stupid training.

And it’s not getting any better.

You’ve always tried to be someone who dealt with things head-on, but this… this is something else. The thirst is an ever-present beast, gnawing at your insides, and yet, no matter how hard you try, the animal blood just doesn’t sit right with you.

Jasper’s patience is a constant, though. Every time you fail to control your desire for human blood, he’s there, offering gentle guidance, but it feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. And you hate it.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Jasper urges, his voice calm but persistent. “You’ve got this. Just focus on the hunt.”

You growl, fangs flashing as you push through the motion, trying to force yourself to focus on the deer in front of you. But every time you go in for the kill, the blood is just… wrong. The taste is foreign and metallic, the warmth lacking. This hunt isn’t the same.

“I don’t get it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping back from the animal. “Why can’t I just do it my way?”

Jasper sighs. “Because, (Y/N), that way isn’t sustainable. You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake. You will have to live with the guilt for eternity once the newborn frenzy passes.”

You were a doctor.

You’ve been trying, for weeks now, to make the animal blood work, but it’s just not you—not the current you, at least, and to hell with that meek, old version. It’s too bland, too unsatisfying. Like trying to replace a steak with a bowl of cereal.

“This isn’t living.” You shake your head. “This is sacrifice.”

Before Jasper can respond, a smooth voice breaks through the tension.

“What a nice surprise!”

You both turn to see a black-haired girl leaning lazily against a shadowed tree, arms crossed, watching you intently with a smirk playing at her lips. You catch the now-familiar smell of immortality. A vampire with the relaxed air of someone who’s seen a lot and doesn’t care to hide it.

Jasper’s eyes narrow slightly, recognizing her. “Misora.”

“Jasper.” She nods coolly, pushing herself off the tree and taking a few steps forward, her gaze shifting to you. “And who’s this? A new recruit?”

You glare but say nothing.

“Carlisle turned her a couple months ago, and I’m trying to teach her how to hunt animals.” He turns to you. “Misora is a nomad. We traveled with the Mexican coven around the same time, over a century ago.”

“Still not fond of animal blood, huh?” Her smirk widens, voice dripping with casual amusement. “You know,” she continues, her voice low and thoughtful, “forcing yourself to drink from animals is never going to feel right. It’s unnatural. But that doesn’t mean you have to give in to the bloodlust completely. You just need to learn how to control it in moderation.”

Jasper stiffens at her words, but Misora doesn’t seem to care. Her gaze never leaves yours, her confidence only growing as she speaks. “You’ve got that thirst in you. I can see it in your eyes. But the trick is not to drown in it. You can learn to kill subtly. Take what you need, don’t waste. You’d be surprised how much you can get from a little. You’re a predator, after all. You just have to think like one.”

She walks by close enough for her red eyes to shine beneath the afternoon sun, and for her skin to sparkle as brightly as you and Jasper’s.

You look at her, stunned. “You… drink from humans.”

“Of course I do,” she responds with a chuckle. “Why would I waste time hunting animals? Humans are far more interesting. And, let’s face it, they’re a lot more filling.”

Jasper steps between the two of you, his eyes flashing with warning. “I don’t think this is the kind of training (Y/N) needs.”

Misora raises a brow, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve taught her all about controlling her impulses, Jasper. But there’s a world out there beyond your little rules. She needs to learn how to survive in it. You can’t live in a bubble forever.”

She is speaking your language.

“You’ll never feel alive if you’re constantly fighting yourself. Live for what makes you feel whole,” she says with a knowing look.

You feel the pull of her words, and for a moment, you’re caught between the two very different perspectives: the Cullens’ careful, controlled existence and Misora’s unapologetic freedom.

You turn your eyes to Jasper. “Well. I already gave your way a try.”

The girl grins as you walk over to where she stands in the clearing.

“I’m gonna teach her the Nishimura way,” she laughs in Jasper’s direction and drapes a hand over your shoulder as she leaves, and without a second look, you choose to follow.

Your life is too long for you to not explore every option.

Over the span of just a week, the girl helps you adapt to the art of subtleties—of doing what you want, but having the peace of mind that you did not cause a ruckus.

Not that you’d ever felt guilt at your messiness, but you’ll take the Cullens’ word for it that you’ll be hit with more sense after the newborn frenzy passes.

See? You did gain something from the righteousness they spewed.

“So where are you from?” You ask your new mentor.

“Japan.”

“A long way from home, huh?”

She remains quiet for a second, jaw clenched, not turning to you. “There is nothing that makes it a home for me there, anymore. Hasn’t been in over 150 years. It’s why I travel all over, except Japan.”

“How did you turn?”

Misora doesn’t speak right away, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped.

“I was sick,” she finally says. “I knew I didn’t have long.”

Something tightens in your frozen chest. “What kind of sick?”

“Didn’t have a name for it, back then, but it was the same thing my father had. My body was weak. My bones ached, my breath was short. Healers tried, but I always knew.” She shrugs. “So I lived as much as I could. Climbed mountains, even when my lungs burned. Ate what I wanted, danced even when I was coughing blood.” She pauses. “I wasn’t afraid. I made my peace with dying. I was surrounded by my mother, my sister, my friends, and if I’d died, I would’ve been with my late father and brother.”

Her smile is all sorrow, but you can do nothing but listen with furrowed brows.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “But I woke up, and I was this.”

You don’t have to ask what this means. The blood-red of her eyes, the effortless grace in her every movement, the unnatural stillness that clings to her. The inescapable weight of eternity.

“I don’t even know who did it,” she admits, voice bitter. “One moment, I was dying, and then… I wasn’t. Instead, I was forced to live long enough to be the one watching everyone I love die.”

You don’t know what to say. You think you should say something, offer some kind of condolence, but what would that even be worth? Misora doesn’t seem like she’d appreciate it anyway.

“I hate this,” she says, her voice raw, but her expression carefully blank. “I hate this immortality. It’s a curse. A joke. But I have to make the most of it, I guess.”

You glance down for a second, before deciding to ask the question you’ve been wondering for a while. “So why do you bother being discrete? Fuck this world and its rules. It’s not like anybody could harm you, anyways.”

“Oh, but there are people who can.”

You frown. The Cullens—Carlisle, especially—always made it sound like it’s morality.

“If we’re that powerful, we should be able to handle it.”

Misora laughs—actually laughs—but it’s sharp-edged. “Tell that to the Volturi.”

“The who?”

“The leeches who think they’re kings,” she says dryly. “They’re the reason we hide. The moment a vampire gets too flashy, too ambitious, too noticeable—” she drags her thumb across her throat. “Gone.”

You tilt your head. “And they’re strong enough to make everyone listen?”

“They have numbers. And power.” Her pale fingers flex at her sides. “There are vampires in their ranks who can do more than just be strong and fast. They can blind you, torture you, there’s even one they call the Mind Stealer, or the Puppeteer—very few people actually knows his name, but he can make you do whatever he wants with a single thought. If he wanted, he could make you kill yourself, and you’d do it with a smile.”

A chill runs down your spine, remembering the moments you behaved quite noticeably. Did Emmett and Rosalie clean up after you?

Misora scoffs. “Cowards, all of them. They hide behind their pretty little powers, thinking they’re gods.” Her lip curls. “Aro, their dear leader, is the worst of them all. Slimy little bastard.”

You smirk at her words. “Not a fan, I take it?”

She laughs, sharp and cold. “Not in the slightest.” There’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “If I was able to, I’d rip those smug assholes apart, just to watch the dust settle.”

So you follow in the cynical, but lively vampire’s footsteps.

In the span of another week, you feel more spirited than you did in the two months before. Hell, in the 22 years before.

Every night, you and Misora scour various cities, blending into the nightlife, finding your prey with ease. Her laughter is infectious, and her confidence bleeds into your own.

Tonight is no different.

You lay your lovely squad of victims near a warehouse deep in the city—somewhere no one should care to notice, but you’ll clean up after yourselves regardless.

Then you indulge.

Your movements are gradually growing more precise, with razor-sharp instincts. You sink your teeth in before the woman can scream, drinking deep, feeling the familiar rush flood your senses. The warm tang of fresh blood coats your tongue, leaving you buzzing with energy and satisfaction.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, chuckling at something Misora’s saying, but the laughter dies in your throat when moonlight casts a silvery glow over the woman crumpled at your feet.

A middle-aged woman. Her face is ashen, eyes wide open, unseeing, accusing. Your hands shake as you take her in. The faded scars along her limbs. The slight dent in her chest where a surgeon once worked to save her life.

Your hands worked to save her life.

The memory crashes into you like the most vicious wave. Around six months ago, your first week as an intern at Victoria General. A late-night car crash. Blood pooling on the gurney.

You’d stabilized her, alongside Dr. Cullen.

And now, you’ve killed her.

Your breath hitches, the remnants of her blood burning like acid in your throat. Memories flood back—the beeping monitors, the tense urgency as you prepped her for surgery, the relief that had filled you when it went well.

Something inside you breaks. Your knees buckle, hitting the cold, hard ground. The weight of your actions crashes over you, suffocating and heavy. This isn’t just a random victim. This is someone whose life you held in your hands—twice.

“(Y/N)?” Misora’s voice is sharp, alarmed. She crouches beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

You shove the body away like it burns. Your fingers tangle in your hair, pressing into your scalp, like you can dig into your own skull and tear this moment out.

But you were never able to do that.

“I—I knew her,” you choke out, eyes glued to the lifeless body. “I saved her. I saved her, and now she’s dead because of me.”

You were a doctor. You were supposed to save people. Not this.

The breaths you don’t even need, just taking them in because you need to feel human right now, rattle in your throat. The newborn instincts that have ruled you since your turning are drowned out by something deeper. A guilt so raw it feels like it’s killing you. The heightening of emotions makes your horror so unbearable, it’s sickening.

Misora’s expression shifts, her usual indifference faltering, shifting to worry, as she processes your turmoil. “Shit.”

The world tilts, spinning around you, and all you can see are the faces of the people you’ve drained. Were any of them people you saved, too? Are you undoing all the good you did in your human life?

Misora tugs at your arm, desperation seeping into her voice. “We need to get you out of here.”

You don’t resist as she hauls you to your feet, your body numb as she practically drags you away, leaving the carnage behind.

The night blurs past you.

And suddenly, you’re at the Cullens’ doorstep. The house is quiet, lights dim against the backdrop of the dense woods. Misora pounds on the door, her urgency echoing through the trees.

Esme answers, her eyes widening at the sight of you. Blood on your trembling hands. Red eyes shattered. “What happened?”

“She’s breaking down,” Misora blurts, a rare tremor in her voice. “She needs help, and I’ve never dealt with this before.”

The Cullens are there in an instant, guiding you inside, their faces painted with concern. But your gaze remains fixed on the floor, unable to lift the crushing weight pressing down on your chest.

For two days.

You don’t hunt.

You don’t move.

Carlisle sits with you in quiet understanding. Esme’s soft voice tries to soothe. Jasper subtly tamps down your emotions when they get too overwhelming. But none of it fixes the gaping hole inside you.

You don’t know how to live with this. You can only sit with the haze of guilt and horror hanging over you like a storm cloud.

But then Alice gasps.

Your head snaps up, and find her with her fingers gripping the back of the chair, knuckles like stone. Her golden eyes are distant, unfocused.

She’s the one that can see the future.

“Alice?” Jasper’s voice is low, worried.

Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with dread. “The Volturi. They’re coming.” She turns to you, eyes shaking. “For you.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence, everyone’s eyes on Alice as the reality of your actions settles over them. You share a glance with Misora, and it hits you.

You didn’t clean up after yourselves.

Now you’re gonna be the prey.

You brace yourself for the fallout. For Carlisle’s disappointment, for Esme’s soft but inevitable grief. Maybe even for Bella to suggest running and get her own little family away from everything, or for Rosalie to outwardly scoff that this isn’t her problem.

But Carlisle steps forward, his expression calm, steady. Decisive.

“Then we prepare.”

You blink. “What?”

His voice is firm, without hesitation. “We stand with you.”

Your chest tightens.

Esme nods, her warm, unyielding presence wrapping around you like a shield. “You’re family now,” she says softly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “And family doesn’t abandon each other.”

Alice finally blinks, the vision fading, and when she refocuses, there’s something sharp in her gaze. “They’re not here yet. We have time.”

Jasper crosses his arms, his posture shifting into something subtly protective. “Not much, though.”

Emmett grins, cracking his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. Let them come.”

Rosalie exhales sharply through her nose, but there’s no venom in it. “You’re a reckless idiot,” she mutters, but then, after a long pause— “And if you die, it’ll reflect badly on us.”

The words are sharp, but the meaning underneath them is clear.

She’s in.

A lump forms in your throat. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their loyalty. Not after what you’ve done.

But they’re giving it to you anyway.

“I’m staying too.”

You snap your head toward Misora.

She leans against the wall, arms crossed, but her usual smirk is gone. There’s no amusement in her eyes, no mischief. Only something cold. Determined.

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “I messed up right there with you. Do you think I’d let you die alone?” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You’re annoying as hell, but you’re my friend, now. And besides, the Cullens are gonna need someone on their side who actually knows how to fight dirty.“

Jasper arches a brow but doesn’t argue.

Night shifts to dawn. Saturday shifts to Thursday, and the air isn’t any less thick with anticipation.

A suffocating stillness settles over the clearing outside the Cullens’ house. As the sun starts to rise, your skins begin to glimmer, a show of beauty despite being braced for a fight. With bodies coiled like springs, golden, crimson, and even two pairs of brown eyes lock onto the shadowy figures emerging from the trees.

A group of five. No fanfare, no grand entrance—just the soft rustling of their cloaks as they step forward, but the air of authority that radiates from them is unmistakable.

“Why is it always your family, Carlisle?” A blonde girl, barely a teenager, starts.

“Lovely to see you again, Jane.” He responds with a curt smile at her.

There’s a guy who’s identical to her, another guy who’s insanely tall. But it’s the fourth one that steals your breath away.

The moment you see him, something in you stops.

He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Of course, all vampires have an unnatural allure, but him? It’s something else entirely. Sharp jawline, full, rosy lips, hair as dark as the midnight sky. His presence is quiet, effortless, but every movement is precise, lethal in a way that doesn’t need to be flaunted. And his eyes—deep crimson, glinting like polished rubies beneath his hood—fix on you, unreadable.

Jewels. Not the bloodstains that are your eyes, that are the eyes of the vampire from your childhood, but rubies.

You should be afraid. You are afraid.

But a part of you can’t look away.

Until Misora gasps. A choked, disbelieving noise.

She’s staring at him, wide-eyed, something breaking across her face.

Edward stiffens beside you, his eyes flicking between them as he reads her thoughts. “Riki is your brother?” He murmurs.

Your gaze snaps to Edward, then back to Misora.

Misora, whose lips part soundlessly, whose expression is stuck somewhere between recognition and denial.

“Riki?” she echoes, like the name is foreign in her own mouth.

You whip back to her, confusion knotting in your chest. “I thought you told me your brother was dead.”

Her hands clench at her sides, voice barely above a heartbroken whisper, “My brother is dead.”

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

For the first time since Riki became the Volturi’s most valuable weapon, he is distracted.

He doesn’t get distracted. It’s not possible. His gift demands complete control. His mind is a fortress—impenetrable, untouchable, locked into his duty like an ironclad machine. He does not waver. He does not hesitate.

And yet.

When his eyes land on her, something fractures.

She is standing among the Cullens, body tensed. She’s afraid, but she’s hiding behind the bravado of a newborn. But all he can see is her eyes. They aren’t golden like the rest of the coven. But it’s not just the color that pulls him in—it’s the weight behind them, the quiet storm she carries in her gaze.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

A foolish thought. A human thought. One that shouldn’t exist in his mind.

But it lingers.

Then, he sees the other pair of red eyes—a stranger vampire who didn’t stand with the Cullens 18 years ago.

At first, he doesn’t register who she is. Because this girl—no, this woman—is not Misora. Misora was fifteen. Misora was still human, still soft around the edges, still warm. This person standing before him is none of those things. She is tall, fully grown, her limbs no longer awkward with adolescence but poised, sharp. She does not have a heartbeat.

And yet—

He knows.

Knows in the way an older brother knows his little sister, no matter how many centuries, how much distance has warped them apart.

For the first time in decades, something cold and dangerous slides under Riki’s ribs. An emotion he was never supposed to feel again.

What have they done to you?

Jane is saying something. Bringing up all of the newborn’s victims.

Riki isn’t hearing her.

The words slip past him, distant and irrelevant. Even the steady presence of the guard beside him is background noise.

His focus is fixed entirely on his baby sister, except she’s not.

He takes a step forward, the movement small but purposeful. The Cullens tense. The girl with the beautifully scarred eyes watches him with something unreadable in her expression, but he barely registers it.

He does the only thing he knows how to do.

“Step forward.”

The words are soft. Deceptively calm.

Misora flinches.

And something inside Riki wrenches.

The command had been soft—barely more than a breath—but the moment the words leave his lips, he sees the exact second she realizes what’s happening.

She knows.

She knows what he’s doing. Who he is. What he is.

A flicker of resistance shudders through her, instinctive and useless. His grip is too strong. His gift—so carefully honed, so ruthlessly wielded—is absolute.

And still, she fights.

Misora has always been stubborn.

Even now, as her body jerks forward against her will, her jaw locks tight, her eyes burning with defiance. The others react immediately—a low growl from the golden-haired one, a blur of movement—protection, Riki realizes, they’re protecting her—but before anyone can intervene, Misora lifts a hand. Wait.

Riki swallows against something thick in his throat.

He tightens his hold, his gift slithering into her nervous system like an iron vice, seizing control of her vocal cords, pressing against her prefrontal cortex. His voice, when he speaks, is measured. “What is your name?”

Misora’s jaw locks.

But against her own will, against every ounce of resistance in her body, the truth gets wrung from her throat. “Misora Nishimura.”

The sound of her voice, of the name he hasn’t heard in centuries, his name, hits him like a stake to the heart.

“This isn’t the newborn we were sent to kill,” Demetri leans in to whisper, “this is her accomplice.”

But Riki knows, and he doesn’t care. Not anymore. He holds up a hand to silence the guard—his peer in title, but Demetri knows which one of them is truly in charge.

“When and by whom were you turned?” He forces his expression to remain neutral.

Her teeth clench. She’s fighting so hard.

Something curdles in his chest. This is the girl that used to play fight with him, when he’d come home from a long, painful day with the Yakuza. She didn’t fight against him. She’d tug on the sleeves of his kimono, demanding his attention.

“1832. I don’t know who turned me, I was sick.” A tremor runs through her limbs. Her eyes burn with fury, with desperation, with something pleading.

And for the first time in 200 years, his hands start to shake.

And he lets her go, taking a second to steady himself.

He turns to the other girl—the one who isn’t his sister, the one he should’ve questioned first. The one who, for a split second, had stolen his breath before the rest of the world fell away.

But now, he hesitates.

It’s a minuscule thing, barely a fraction of a second, but in his line of work, in his particular skillset, a fraction of a second is an eternity. It’s the difference between absolute dominance and doubt. Between control and chaos.

“You’re working with her?” He asks Misora, voice quieter than before, almost contemplative.

He shouldn’t have asked. He should’ve commanded. He should’ve taken the answer like he always does, forced his will into her bones the way he’s done with so many others.

But he doesn’t.

And Misora—now free, her limbs shaking, her breathing ragged—fixes him with a glare that’s both razor-sharp and filled with something wounded, something raw.

And then she scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound. “Eat shit, Riki Volturi. Or should I say Mind Stealer? Or Puppeteer?”

The name lands like a strike of lightning, coming from her mouth.

Not Nishimura. Volturi.

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t let himself react. Doesn’t let himself acknowledge the way it burns. But she’s staring at him like he’s nothing, like he’s a stranger, like he’s already long gone.

He remains silent as he sorts his mind for what to do. A side of him that has long been dormant is now resurrected, and he doesn’t know what to sacrifice.

“You hesitated.”

The other girl with red eyes.

The girl with eyes like his. Maybe his eyes are even as broken as hers, right now.

One whose voice sounds like music to his ears.

Carlisle and Esme try to tug her backwards, but she’s already caught his attention.

A scoff from the guard behind him. “Hesitated?” the vampire sneers, like the very idea is laughable. “The Mind Stealer doesn’t hesitate. Don’t delude yourself, newborn.”

Riki doesn’t react.

Alec takes a step forward, eyes gleaming with malice. “She’s wasting our time. They’re wasting our time. Kill the two girls and be done with it.”

Kill them?

Anyone but her.

Misora stiffens beside (Y/N). The Cullens brace themselves, prepared to strike.

And Riki exhales his first breath in two centuries.

Slowly, deliberately.

“No.”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Like the Earth has stopped rotating.

“What?”

Riki doesn’t look at Alec. He doesn’t need to. His focus is elsewhere.

He takes a step forward. Towards Misora. Towards her.

The Cullens shift instantly, poised for defense, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s barely taken another step, when he’s met with white-hot agony.

The force of it is instant, an explosion of suffering detonating inside his skull. He crumbles to his knees before he can stop himself, hands clawing at the cold ground.

A curse tears from his lips.

Jane. He doesn’t have to see her to know. He can feel her amusement, her punishment from here.

“You dare defy an order?” Her voice is sweet. Delighted. “How strange. Have we gotten soft, Mind Stealer?”

Another wave of pain. It burns. He grits his teeth, locks his jaw, and endures.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears something. Murmuring. The Cullens. Something fast.

Then the pain stops.

It’s not gradual. It doesn’t fade. It just… ceases.

Riki gasps, shuddering. He blinks up at the sky, disoriented, reeling, and realizes he’s standing.

Not collapsed. Not writhing.

Standing.

He turns, dazed, and then he sees it.

The translucent shimmer of a shield encasing him.

Bella Cullen’s eyes are locked on him, jaw set, hands clenched at her sides. And the shield he found his way around 19 years ago is protecting him.

The murmurs behind him are hushed, but Riki hears everything.

“This shouldn’t be possible.” Felix’s voice is low, urgent. “Chelsea’s gift, she’s supposed to bind us. Our loyalty. Our devotion.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Demetri exhales sharply. “She does. But her ties don’t work when opposed by true love.”

True love.

There was a time when he would’ve mocked such things—love, feelings as a whole, even—after spending a century with the Volturi, and forgetting how to feel them, to begin with. He would’ve thought they were a liability.

But Misora is not a liability. She is his sister. And he truly loves her.

The realization settles into him like fire in his veins. Steady. Absolute. And love—true, unbreakable love—frees him.

So he does what would’ve once been unthinkable.

In a flash, he turns faster than any vampire could expect.

His power surges outward, deadly and precise. He seizes two minds at once—Jane and Alec, the Volturi’s twin nightmares, their most precious weapons besides him.

Their limbs jerk violently against their own will. Jane’s eyes widen in shock, and Alec lets out a strangled sound of protest.

Let them scream. He isn’t focusing on their vocal cords, right now.

They reach for one another.

Gasps ring out, but he doesn’t stop to relish in the astonishment. Jane’s shriek is cut short as her own hands grasp Alec’s throat. Alec’s arms move like a puppet’s, seizing her head in turn.

With their own hands, they rip each other’s heads off.

Silence.

Horrified, disbelieving silence.

The twin blades are reduced to nothing but limp, severed bodies.

The Cullens stare. The newborn stares. Misora stares.

Even Felix and Demetri are frozen. The two guards—once his comrades, witnesses of centuries of executions—stagger backward, fear flashing through their crimson eyes.

And then they run.

They don’t fight. They don’t look back.

They flee, blurring into the trees, retreating to Volterra. To Aro, Caius, and Marcus. To report the unthinkable.

Riki doesn’t stop them. His hands are still shaking, but he doesn’t care to.

Because for the first time in centuries—

He is free.

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Ok tbf I really could’ve cut this into two chapters and I do think we have lost the plot slightly BUT DO YOU SEE THE VISION

Comment if you’d like to be tagged on the next one (where the romance starts) :)

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

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foreignjaykay · 2 days ago

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company (a jungkook fic)

part one - "you wish i'd miss you,"

company - a jungkook fic

can we keep each other company?

their workplace was chaos, but jungkook made it fun. their camaraderie was effortless—until he decided to leave. no big deal. people quit all the time. so why does it feel like everything is about to change?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: r18+ (angst, fluff) minors do not interact!

chapter warnings/misc: workplace!au, coworkers!au, event planner!jk, event planner!oc, jk is not famous, angst, fluff, sad, crack, event planner!mingyu, bts in event planning company, unserious friend group, they are so silly and unserious, mean boss - yeah no she sucks, flirty!jk, dense af!jk, shy!oc, ANGST, IDIOTS both of them, yeah i guess thats it...for now hehe

notes: hello everyone!!! hehe its my first fic on tumblr and my first ever jk fic so i really hope you guys like it. im writing after so mant years so please ignore some mistakes. its kinda based on my experiences so yeah. its intentional whatever you are reading hauahahah, things will only get interesting as well progress.. lots of characters will come in the next chapter, this is just the base. It picks up from the second chapter!! anywho lets get into it!! <3

moodboard • playlist • series masterlist

The first thing you saw when you unlocked your phone this morning was a text from Jungkook. That in itself was weird—he wasn’t the type to be up this early, let alone texting people.

jaykay (work) [8:50am]: hi :)

you [8:50am]: oh my god. what did you forget?

jaykay (work) [8:51am]: have some faith in me. i was texting for something entirely different. 😒

you[8:51am]: are you sick? held hostage? blink twice if you need help.

jaykay (work) [8:52am]: how da hell are u so dramatic in the morning

you [8:52am]: come to the point jungkook

jaykay [8:52am]: fine. 🙄 don’t bring lunch today

you [8:53am]: why?

jaykay (work) [8:53am]: lunch is on me. taking you, shane and mingyu out for ramen

you [8:53am]: 🤨🤨🤨

jaykay (work) [8:54am]: see you in office🥰

You squinted at the screen, trying to process the words through your morning haze. This man barely made it to work before noon on most days, always breezing in with an iced americano and a sheepish grin. And yet here he was, awake and making lunch plans at 9 AM? Suspicious. Very suspicious.

It’s fixed, you know? Him being late to work, getting sarcastic remarks from the bosses - Natasha, the reporting manager (god did she love micromanaging the team) and Kim Song, the director of your company.

But whatever, free ramen was free ramen and, on that note, you finally woke up and went to get ready for the weird day that was ahead of you.

By the time you got to the office, the usual chaos had already begun. Natasha, wasn’t physically present today, thank the lord for that, you thought, but her presence loomed over Zoom calls like a dark cloud. You had barely set down her bag before her laptop screen lit up with an incoming call. Does this woman ever chill?

“Good morning, team,” Natasha’s clipped voice rang out as the screen loaded. “Let’s go over the deliverables for today.” Her screen was hidden and she was on a holiday like she had very explicitly mentioned the week before she left.

You suppressed a groan as you saw Jungkook and Mingyu joining the call too. Shane, their CS intern, looked half-asleep. Jungkook, though, was oddly quiet, his usual playful banter nowhere to be seen. His leg bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the tabletop.

You shot him a look, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

Okay that was weird, wasn’t it?

You looked towards Mingyu and Shane to see if they noticed Jungkook being a little off today but to your surprise they were engrossed on what Natasha was instructing on the upcoming event which was the luxurious Cartier dinner.

Classic Natasha, putting her work on us while she sips on pina coladas on the beach after this 10-minute meeting. You wanted to be as carefree as her sometimes, how easily she just threw her tasks on others.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Jungkook which thankfully he didn’t notice.

Or at least that’s what you thought.

Jungkook knew you. He knew how curious you got sometimes and he also knew currently the wheels were turning in your head wondering why he was being so awkward. He smiled internally, thinking how much you knew him and how much he was going to miss you.

If you kept looking at him like that, he was going to crack. He just hoped you wouldn’t figure it out before he told you himself.

Once the meeting was over, you quickly went towards the design studio in the office, greeting Yuna and So-hee who seemed like had just come to office with the way they were switching on their systems for the day.

“I really need the final design renders for the stage setup and the seating plan for Cartier, Yuna,” You said worried knowing that if you don’t get these renders in next half an hour then the costing would delay and then Natasha…yeah no.

Its as if Jungkook got a sign, he entered the design studio greeting Yuna, So-hee, and Dae and standing next to you as if to ease the tension you had going on.

“Babe, give me 10 minutes, the renders are ready. I’ll email it to you, Natasha and Namjoon,” Yuna said as she started working on her system. You nodded your head and gave her a worried smile.

“Mark me in the email too,” Jungkook said instantly and you gave him a pointed look. Yuna seemed to mirror your thoughts and raised her eyebrows towards him.

Seeing that you both were confused, Jungkook chuckles and says, “__, you should be happy that I am willingly asking to be marked on emails,” which makes you roll your eyes playfully and smirk.

“Also, I don’t have nothing big going on currently, project wise, so I’ll follow up for the costings and Natasha will stay away from my ass,” Jungkook continues and laughs with Yuna, So-hee and Dae.

You looked at him as he was sort of back in his carefree self but something still felt off. You just couldn’t put your finger on what this feeling was.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. The second Natasha’s second call for the day wrapped up the call, you shut your laptop and turned towards Jungkook who along with Mingyu and Shane was joking and was waiting for you to get done.

“Okay, spill. What’s with the mystery since today morning?” You immediately asked him and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Mingyu slung an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, dude. You’re making me nervous.”

Shane, ever the observer, just raised a brow. “Is this about work? God I can’t wait to dig into some good ramen after hearing Natasha ramble since past 15 mins. 15 mins with her feel like 2 hours,” Shane continued rambling earning laughs from the three of you.

Jungkook let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get to lunch first.”

That didn’t help your growing suspicion, but you let it slide—at least until the 4 of you reached the ramen place.

The aroma of rich broth and sizzling garlic filled the tiny ramen shop. Shane and Mingyu were already practically vibrating with hunger, menus discarded, ready to order. You, however, were still scanning the options, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. Just as you were about to decide, you and Jungkook spoke in unison: “Japchae.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “You wanna have japchae too?” you asked, a little thrill of connection sparking despite the weirdness of the morning. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and ordered for both of you.

Minutes later, steaming bowls of ramen and the shared plate of japchae arrived. The savory scent made your mouth water. You took a tentative bite of the japchae, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables crisp and flavorful. It was delicious. But Jungkook just sat there, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He had a strange expression—not quite annoyed, but… something. You knew that look. It was his tell when food was exceptionally good. That’s just his weird trait.

You took the second bite yourself to see if it was and it was really good.

“I got another job.”

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

Then, Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook shifted in his seat, avoiding their gazes. “I got an offer from an event company. They handle production for A-list musicians—concerts, world tours, all of it.” But you could see how proud he was. This was his dream.

“Oh, shit, that’s huge,” Shane said, eyes wide and dramatically keeping his chopsticks on the side.

Jungkook looked at you trying to gauge for your reaction.

You swallowed, gripping your chopsticks a little tighter. “Wow. That’s… incredible, Jungkook.” You said genuinely but why did it feel so off? Why did it feel like you were losing everything? People leave jobs all the time and this is no different, so why was it feeling all to different suddenly?

When you congratulated him, you meant it. You really did. He deserved this. But there was a weird, hollow feeling in your chest. Something tight that you couldn’t quite name.

Jungkook was watching you and asked, “You okay?”

You forced a smile but to everyone it looked genuine. “Of course. This is a big deal. I am so happy for you, Jungkook!” Mingyu and Shane mirrored your smile and congratulated him to which Jungkook threw an honest smile.

His eyes still lingered for a second longer before he nodded, turning his attention back to his food. But you could tell he didn’t fully believe you.

Mingyu and Shane immediately started asking him the questions about his new company and the new job and Jungkook excitedly answered them all and you were interested too to know all the details.

Once the 4 of you were done with the lunch, you asked him, “So when are you telling Natasha?”

“Next week, and then 2 weeks’ notice,” He said looking at you as if he was trying to find an emotion out of you.

“Damn bro, you are leaving us so soon.” Shane said and you looked at Jungkook.

“Now at least I will have some proper desk space at the office,” You tried to joke which earned you a playful eye roll from Jungkook.

“Oh my god, I have to plan a farewell party for you now,” Mingyu joked and you laughed. For the whole lunch, this is the first time Jungkook noticed you genuinely smiling and it was all thanks to Mingyu’s dramatic nature.

The rest of the workday felt strangely off-balance. Even though nothing had technically changed yet, you felt the weight of the upcoming shift pressing down on you. The knowledge that soon, Jungkook wouldn’t be here anymore—wouldn’t be there to roll his eyes at Natasha’s ridiculous demands, wouldn’t be crashing at her desk with an iced coffee and a new piece of gossip, wouldn’t be around to share those unspoken glances when things got too absurd.

You had started hating how much that realization unsettled you.

It was Jungkook who got you out of your dazed thoughts when he said, “___, I have asked Namjoon hyung for the Cartier costing and he is working on it,”

You threw a sincere smile towards him and nodded while he went back on his desk and worked on some small projects he had going on.

gyu (work) [3pm]: are you okay?

Once you read the text, you immediately looked at him but he acted to be so engrossed in his work and you couldn’t help but look back into your phone and text back

you [3:01pm]: yeah, why?

gyu (work) [3:01pm]: you sure about that? ever since jk dropped that bomb, you have been quiet and so has he.

That got your attention. Were you that obvious?

you [3:02pm]: no nothing like that. im happy that he got this. he deserves it!! also when is the blue label bottle engraving costing going to the client? natasha has been on my ass about it since morning. send it asap please <33

gyu [3:03pm]: girl i gotta give it to you, nice attempt to change the convo but we aren’t done yet. ugh why are you my senior? im sending it in 5

By the time the day ended and finally the costings for Cartier had gone out (thanks to Jungkook and Joon), you had convinced yourself you were just being dramatic. People left jobs all the time. This wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mingyu and Shane had already left for the day and the design studio was also empty leaving only you and Jungkook in the client servicing department. For a Monday, people had left earlier than usual, you thought to yourself.

You looked at the clock and saw it was 7pm already.

While you packed your bags, like routine, Jungkook waited for you. He dropped you home everyday given that you both lived nearby and your apartment came on the way to his.

However, the silence between the two of you felt heavier than usual.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said as the two of you entered the elevator.

You forced a laugh and adjusted your purse, trying to look anywhere but at him. “So are you.”

The two of you exited the elevator and sat in his car, he started the engine. For the first time ever, the silence between the two of you was uncomfortable.

Jungkook sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he took the familiar route and said, “Are you really happy for me?”

You immediately turned to look at him, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Yes, I am. Why would you think I am not?”

His smile was small, a little sad. “Alright. You and I haven’t spoken much since lunch,”

You didn’t know why, but something in your chest ached at that. But you ignored it, and looking towards and giving him a smile and said, “Jungkook, I am so happy for you. I am. I know you wanted this and now you have it,”

For the first time in the whole day, he smiled genuinely at you.

“Will you miss me?,” He asked as he stopped the car right out of your apartment and looked at you with his doe eyes that carry the sta-

Wait what?!

You ignored whatever that thought was and quickly composed yourself and laughed at him. “You wish I would miss you,” You joked playfully and he rolled his eyes.

“On a serious note, yes I will. Who will I tolerate Natasha with?” You continued and he let out a small chuckle.

“Anyway I have to go. See you tomorrow boss,” you finally said, and then you were gone, disappearing into the building.

Jungkook sat there for a moment, staring after you.

He knew you better than you thought. He knew when you were genuinely happy, when you were just pretending, when you were holding back something you didn’t want to say. And tonight, you were definitely holding back.

Jungkook sighed, leaning his head back against the car seat. Leaving this job was supposed to be exciting, a step up, an opportunity of a lifetime. And it was.

But why did it feel like he was losing something, too?

#jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts hobi #jin bts #mingyu #bts namjoon #bts jimin #bts taehyung #fic: company #workplace au #office au

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