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confused-pyramid · 5 months

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Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

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positively-mine · 9 months

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You're a girl?!

how they find out you're a girl and their reactions

tags: afab (Floyd's part talks abt female anatomy), slight spoilers, lmk if there's any other

Series: ❤️ 🧡 🩵 💛 💜 💙 💚

Azul

After his overblot incident, he assumed that you both had ended up becoming acquaintance (he won't give up on his 2nd branch at ramshackle). So he's keeping an ear out for opportunities. Also since he has contracts with so many students, he hears an unusual rumour. The ramshackle prefect is apparently female? Well, he'll just have to check it out for himself. Sends jade to snoop around but not in a perverted way.

Once the rumours were confirmed to be true, Azul literally bursts into flames. The memories of treating you so ungentlemanly all come flooding into his head. And you saw his chubby baby picture??? Unbelievable. In all honesty though, he doesn't try to get into contracts with you. Doesn't apply to the people around you. We both know who I'm talking about. Even if your friends can't pay, he won't threaten you that he knows because there must be a reason why you're hiding it. He couldn't imagine how he'd feel if someone did that to him with his baby picture.

Jade

He knew from the start. I don't know how but he knows. It's like his secret power. Doesn't do much, but he likes to tease. Either when you're in a crowded space or when you're with your friends. He'll drop subtle hints that you're a female but nothing major. Just enough for you to know that he knows 😐

Overall 4/10 because he keeps messing around with you but since he's one of my favorites we'll forgive and forget. Won't tell Azul because it's HIS secret. So you don't need to worry about Azul threatening you into a deal.

Floyd

He knew as soon as he squeezed you. The minute he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you up to his chest he knew. Something along the lines of "eh? Shrimpy, what's this lumpy things on your chest?" And it doesn't help that his voice is l o u d. Once it clicks in his head, he's smiling mischievously at you.

He seems like someone who will use your secret against you. He's bored? He'll come find you. You don't want to hang out? Do the rest of the student body know you're a girl? Yeah, so approach with caution. Once you stop showing any reaction towards his threats, he gets grumpy and pouts. Just make sure you placate him somehow. Because one day he really might just scream out to everyone that you're a girl.

reblogs appreciated!

#azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #jade leech #jade x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech #floyd x reader #floyd leech x reader #x reader #twst wonderland #twst x reader #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #octanivelle #octanivelle x reader

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kaszuma · 4 months

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Bad Habits | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 6 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Soshiro wanted to set things right by you, so he planned a date that would've gone perfectly. Had a Kaiju not appeared in front of you.

warnings: Mentions of Blood, heavy detail on Injury and Pain. Breathlessness and lots of claustrophobia related to crowds, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Slight Kn8 Manga Spoilers

wc: 6,552

–

note: Please inform me if I missed any warnings, It has descriptive injuries so I don't want to trigger anyone who's willing to read this.

Part 7 will be a direct continuation of this. So that's why I dubbed it as a Hurt/No Comfort fic for now. The comfort will come in another part because things have been going too smoothly in the relationship. And I don't want that. Anyways, look forward to the next part. I will be adding a tags list. So if you want to be tagged. Please tell me.

Also, thank you for a hundred followers 🫶

–

Today was the day Soshiro had decided to finally make it up to you.

After weeks of moving between bases. Handling Number 10’s strange quirks in its new prototype suit. It had been an understatement to say that he had kept himself rather busy in the wake of his occupation. His attention often divided between the lousy paperwork stacked against him, as well as his individual training.

One that he had always upheld to keep his body sturdy and his reflexes sharp. Not once acting careless in his response to a Kaiju attack. Especially now where he was equipped with a powerful and sentient combat suit, bloodthirsty for war. Willing to pick a fight with anything remotely breathing in his direction.

By all means, Soshiro could not afford to slack off. And if there was a miniscule chance that he did, he'd be minced alive for sure.

Just when his hard work had started to pay off too.

Now that he had been recognized as a numbers wielder no less. He'd be one of the few melee specialists that Japan could rely on in the case of an emergency. The proof of his existence. That he wasn't just a reject of the Hoshina Family's line of descendants.

That he was more than capable to wield a blade that could slay Kaijus that came after him. And he had succeeded. He had fulfilled his place in the hierarchy. His place solidified beside Captain Ashiro who was an even stronger ally than he was.

But despite his successes. Despite the satisfaction he got from climbing to the top with only the swing of his blade.

That had not been enough for him.

It had not been enough to prove his existence to the world.

And although that had been a major goal of his. To surpass people's expectations of his limits. His boon to keep fighting. To keep swinging his sword despite the odds stacked against him, had also been the downfall of many past relationships that could not blossom because it had gotten in its way.

And you had been the first to stay.

The first to understand his sentiments.The first to clear a path for him when everyone else had all but given up.

And yet here he was. Being a stellar lover and prioritizing everything else above you.

It had been weeks. Practically an entire month since he's spent some quality time with you. Sharing the occasional kiss in the hallways where you'd start your day off. Or acknowledging each other briefly when he had been stuck in the confines of the training rooms.

Beating the lessons right into rookies' bodies when you'd pass by. Or better yet, the daily coffee you had somehow managed to squeeze in despite your equally tight schedule. His favorite blend had always been waiting for him. Ready at his office on the days he burned the very wicks of the midnight oil.

And what had he done in return?

Nothing.

Not since that incident with Kaiju no. 10 at least. That of which he worked so hard to erase any evidence left in its wake. The fake report had at least been a piece of cake to do. And they had to do over the entire prototype testing just to make sure Number 10 was usable in its current state.

And unfortunately for him, it proved to be a much more difficult task to complete. Day by day he had not once made progress in raising the Suit’s combat power. Leaving Kaiju no 10 to mock his defenses and other battle related tactics whenever it could. But that had been the least of his worries.

In all honesty, he had been feeling guilty since that day.

Although he'd be remiss to say he didn't enjoy the feeling. Soshiro had not been in the right sound of mind when he found himself getting closer to you. Drunken by your scent, he had practically seen images flash by his mind. Courtesy by the Kaiju that had seen through his desires. And one thing led straight to the next. He found himself in a troublesome situation that he had been afraid to know the consequences of.

He had desired her. Yes. That much was clear. But he wanted the relationship to evolve slowly. At your pace. One that made you most comfortable.

But he had breached that space. The inch you had given him had turned into a mile. And he was lucky he still held some sort of restraint before he did something stupid and regretted his past actions.

And somehow, you still forgave him.

You enjoyed yourself even. Welcoming him with open arms for the next time around when they had managed to squeeze in the time between work. Open to the idea of a more sensual intimacy. In the privacy of someplace else. And Soshiro had wanted that too.

He wanted to correct his haste. To properly love you right.

But not everything had been picture perfect in the way he had planned. His bad habits showed in the ways he'd prioritize everything but you. And just when he built up his courage–Built up the resolve to face you. To do right by you.

Of course, things just had to get in his way.

Things always got in his way before he could properly apologize and make it up to you. Or atleast, that was the excuse he'd find himself feeling guilty of.

And that is where he found himself outside the premises of the Tachikawa base. Strangely out of uniform and in his civvies that he had managed to find beneath the sweatpants in his closet. Dappered in a simple black turtleneck and a white overcoat. Befitting of the cooler weather Japan had been facing in recent times.

He had been waiting for you to show up with a picnic basket in hand. A few paperback novels that he thinks you might enjoy. Added with a few sweets that he hoped would lighten up your day perhaps.

The plan had been simple.

He’d already done the nerve-wracking part. Stopping you midway as you finished giving him the stack of blueprints for the Combat Suit you had worked on upgrading. His hand reached to touch the soft skin of your knuckles. An action that made you look back at him in turn.

“Is something wrong?” You had asked curiously. The softness in your voice remained. One that made Soshiro want to melt into a puddle.

He smiled. Somehow the words got stuck on his tongue. And he had to remind himself that you were his lover. Who of course would agree to a date. Should he suggest it, Right?

He gulps. Suddenly feeling a little irritated at the way his stomach had dropped and a plethora of nervous butterflies had resurfaced.

Normally he'd have no problem taking out hordes of Yoju that came his way. Boasting the highest individual kill count for slaying midsized Kaiju of his generation. Yet somehow, his reason had gona askew. And he found this situation a little more terrifying than he anticipated.

“Hey, I was thinking..”

“Uh oh- That's not a good sign.” Your comment makes him smile. His eyes rolling to give your shoulder a playful squeeze.

“-That you and I need to have a talk.”

“About what?” You had replied with a tilt on your head.

“I got a few paperbacks in the mail yesterday. I was hoping we could grab a bite to eat while we read through ‘em?” He smiled. His usual grin did not falter in the way he spoke to you. Though you could tell that he had an inkling of nervousness by the way he reached up to scratch the side of his cheek.

“Oh. And here I thought I was in trouble.” You chuckle. “So you're finally inviting me out on a date, Vice Captain?”

He had moved to stand much closer to you. Hand already at the shape of your hip, habitually writing his name on the waistband of uniform. “Is that a no I hear from ya’”

“Now when did I say that?” And it makes you smile knowing he had been trying despite the busy schedule he had.

You had long since understood his place in the hierarchy. Soshiro may have not realized it, but he was far too important of a person in the Defense Force to have been kept away from duty.

His life alone had been the cost of a thousand who'd live due to his sacrifices. And whether or not his insecurities had blocked his view of his own self-worth. You were able to see it clearly.

So despite the difficulties. Despite the yearning you felt for his proximity You did the usual and prioritized his work. Letting him handle things when command had already put so much weight into his daily responsibilities. Not that he seemed affected by it, no doubt already used to the pressure of a hectic battlefield. Much less a hectic work environment.

But of course, you wouldn't reject an offer out on a date with your lover. Not when he so sweetly asked.

And if he had the occasional free time to invite you out. Who were you to say no to his offer?

“Soshiro!” You had called out. Appearing just beside him who stood nearest the entrance of the underground metro station. And he smiled turning towards you with his usual cheeky and cat-like grin.

“You shoulda’ texted me. I would've picked you up by the train stations.” He had moved his free hand to pinch your cheeks. And it makes you chuckle. Revealing yourself completely to him.

Where his eyes had raked over the surface of the cute outfit you decided to purchase the day before. Hand already twirling a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear. Admiring your very soul. Your entirety in front of him.

“And miss your startled face? Fat chance I'd miss that opportunity.” You laughed.

Soshiro had rolled his eyes in turn. His heart pounding as his free hand immediately intertwined with yours.

“If it makes ya’ happy Sweetheart.” He didn't waste this opportunity to gently pull you close. Kissing your temple which had been nearest his lips. “You look pretty.”

His compliments had made you brighten. Your face visibly beamed when his eyes drank your figure. “Damn straight. I wasn't about to let you one up me in the looks department.”

“Alright, alright.” He found himself chuckling. “Let's get moving before the desserts I bought ya’ go bad.”

You had half a mind to drag your feet while he took you out of the metro line. Acting stubborn just to stall and ruffle his feathers for a bit. As payback for neglecting you all those days ago.

But you had decided against it, the crowded train station was far too busy in the early hours of the afternoon. And you would not risk losing each other and wasting the rare day Soshiro had all planned out for the both of you to do.

“Lead the way.” You had smiled, giddy at the mere thought of a time well spent together. And Soshiro had shared that very sentiment. Already leading you away from the busy horde where lines of people had been waiting for the next train stop.

Upon your words, he had gently walked forward. Leading you by the hand.

His grip on you was firm and you can see the way his back had engulfed and weaved through the crowd much more easily than you ever had. Broad in his strides as he tried not to go too fast. Matching your pace since he knew you weren't as built in stamina as he was.

You had admired the little details of his nape. The one mole peaking through the skin of his turtleneck, where his hair had shown every detail of his jugular. One that you had marveled at when he wasn't looking.

Just as you were about to offer your help. Reaching for the sling of the basket on his free hand.

A shiver ran down your spine. The hand that had tried to reach for the basket had paused in heavy response.

And you had suddenly flinched as a loud gust of wind had blown past you. Making the indoor lights of the metro begin to pop and flicker abnormally. An eerie buzz emitting from each light source as if the electricity had all short circuited, simultaneously.

The temperature underground had strangely heightened. Unusual for the cool metro station during this time of day.

And the crowd that had busied themselves passing each other by, had all but stopped. With people's stares directed behind the both of you in a frozen and frightened state. You look around, almost confused. And Soshiro had gripped his hand harder against yours. As if he already knew the exact dread that overcame him.

The exact thing that had been staring right back at them.

And somehow you had that inkling too.

But denial had only been your first problem. And the rest of your body seemed to know the truth. Your very palms began sweating like bullets, and you had hesitantly looked behind you. To prove to yourself that it had not been what you think it was.

But Soshiro who had somehow read your mind. Had moved much quicker than you had.

Pulling you behind him, already pushing you to the exit when people had started panicking. Screams had been the accompaniment of hasty footsteps. With people of all different ages, running in the same direction. Away from the stairs leading down the metro line.

A mere glimpse is all it took for the hair on your skin to rise. And the face of a humanoid Kaiju had looked in your direction. Its skin peeled like oranges, unlike the gritty leathery texture that surrounded its cheeks. And although it had a terrifying grin on its face. It remained calm. Observant. It seemed ecstatic in the way it reveled in the attention it had gotten. Whilst Soshiro had pulled you from your trance.

“Run. Get going!”

Soshiro had strangely screamed. Already pushing you to evacuate, weary that the Kaiju could attack you at any given moment should it wish to. But the Kaiju had a strange way of showing its excitement. Gurgling at every noise it heard. And Soshiro's yell had all been reduced to a mere whisper against your ear. The sound of a panicked crowd was all too encompassing for you to actually make out his words.

Soshiro had kept a firm grip on your shoulders. Still trailing close behind you with his gaze fixated on the Humanoid Kaiju.

Its legs had hovered mere inches above the ground. Crinkled like an old vegetable that was left out in the freezer for too long. It had double the arms, one that resembled old branches with no leaves. And although it looked sickly and frail, he was sure the damn thing was capable of major damage given the right opportunity.

But instead of grabbing onto the nearest person like Soshiro had anticipated. It surveyed the area. Weary of its nearest surroundings.

It's molars and gums chattering against each other. Echoing throughout the underground halls of the metro station. It looked as if it was occupied with something. A far off look in its beady eyes. As if it were communicating with someone.

Perhaps it had something to do with Number 9? Shit.

If that's the case, Soshiro needed to get you out of here as soon as possible.

“I can't get through. They're all pushing..” You had gasped. Feeling yourself stumble back when another person pulled at your shoulder and leaped forward. Using you as leverage to get to the exit.

Soshiro, who had seen this, was quick to catch you before you could fall. Your back against his chest in a protective stance.

He couldn't move. Not yet at least.

More than anything he'd like to handle that thing as quickly as possible. But to leave you nearby in such close proximity too? There's no way in hell he was going to let that happen. So all he could do was fixate his eyes on that Kaiju.

This thing was clearly sentient. Soshiro had seen the way it lingered to read one of the signs nearest the exit. But I didn't seem interested in conversing, let alone leave if he had asked. And he wasn't about to take his chances.

He needed to get rid of that thing now.

“Hoshina here.” He had fished out the white earpiece that he hid on his overcoat's back pocket. Pressing the small item down to his ear to contact operations.

“There's a Daikaiju sighting in the Tachikawa-Kita Station. Requesting permission to use Number 10 to neutralize it.” He spoke seriously. Unlike the usual light hearted conversations you'd have with him. And it makes you stare up at him with raised eyebrows.

It had been weeks since you had worked on Number 10. It was still far too early to be used as a plausible weapon out in the field. And yet here he was, indirectly telling you that he had worn it out in public.

“You what?” You had gasped out. Eyes blown wide whilst his hand remained on the small of your back.

Much to your dismay, Soshiro had not answered you.

Simply moving you closer to the wall, to let other people get through. His hand still pressed against the intercoms whilst he waited for a reply from Operations.

Soshiro had been focused on shielding you for the most part. The crowd was pushing, but it seems they had still been making progress in evacuating the area. Save for a few rumbles that had happened when the Kaiju had suddenly implanted its branch-like fingers onto one of the pillars. Cracking the surface of the solid cement that held the pillar in place. And you couldn't help but worry at the close proximity you both had been.

Right in range of where the Kaiju was looking at.

“Permission granted.” Okonogi’s faint voice could be heard. Likely already booting up Number 10's system underneath Soshiro’s civvies. The bioweapon would slowly regain energy which kept it from its usual conscious state.

“Do you, or Do you not have Number 10 on?” You had asked incredulously. Prying his arms off of you to peel off his shirt. And his larger hand stops you before you could see the peak of red in the place of where his skin should be.

“As a precaution m'dear.” His reply was immediate.

And he suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. Ushering you forward along with the thinning crowd. The stairway had all been emptied now. Save for a few runaways that had tripped or were pushed earlier.

“Higher ups wanted me to get used to it. Releasing this thing’s combat power, I mean.” His voice had been an octave lower. His smile, although present, had not been enough to reassure you. And you had a feeling he was trying not to have you panic on him.

“That is stupid. Command shouldn't have let you wear it. Number 10 is still unstable. What if you go berserk and lose control?” You sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“You did try to argue with command right?”

…

“Right?”

Soshiro did not answer you. Already pacing to drag you out of here before things could escalate.

Meanwhile, you had all but looked at him once over. Now it made sense why he chose to wear an overcoat when the weather had only been a little chilly this afternoon. It had surprised you that he was able to hide its tail from emerging from his legs. But then again, he probably had his blades tucked away in that too.

“Soshiro..”

“Listen, I'll explain things later. Take this and get to the nearest shelter. I ain’t havin Number 10 going berserk. I'll be fine. Just let me handle the Kaiju first, okay-” His sentence was cut short by your scream.

A broken chunk of the large pillar had been thrown towards you. And it had startled you enough to drop the basket he handed you. Soshiro had been quick in his motion to shield you. Wrapping his arms around your shoulder to let his back hit the brunt of the pillar.

But before it could hit and crush the two of you to bits. The faint sound of number 10 chuckled inSoshiro's suit. And its weaponized tail lashed out to strike the pillar back. Destroying it before it could scratch you both from its debris.

The sharp end had all but ripped Soshiros overcoat to shreds. And he was quick to remove the unnecessary fabric on top of his combat suit. Revealing the distinct eye hollowed out in the middle of his chest.

“Lucky this bonehead woke up on time.” Soshiro had chuckled darkly. And it was followed by its immediate reply. Tail haphazardly swinging around from behind him.

“Stop with your meaningless trifles and get to fighting swordsman! My patience is thinning.” It sounded almost like a child. Though its voice had been a deep and rambunctious chatter like usual.

“You heard the darn thing.” He sighs, pushing you forward before another attack could come in.

And you shook your head, placing your firm hands against the suit of his chest. Just beside Number 10's glowing eye. Your gaze fixated on his usual smile, one that you had grown accustomed to hearing cheery laughs from. “Are you serious? This thing isn't ready for an actual fight.”

“Do not mock us Woman. By the time you have escaped our opponent would have been ripped to shreds by me.” It screamed.

Making you roll your eyes in turn. And Soshiro had all but chuckled. Already letting you get a head start as you stepped out of the underground Metro line. “Just go. I promise you I'll be jus’ fine.”

“I’ll come find you later.” He had spoken. Already turning his heel to grab the swords he had hidden on his back.

You knew this was his job. The unavoidable was bound to happen. And as much it pained you to leave him alone with a Daikaiju with only a misaligned prototype of a suit as an ally. There was bound to be trouble afoot. But what can you do other than run?

You weren't a fighter like he was.

Your use was only in the presence of a laboratory, as a technician. Paving the way to enhance his equipment. To heighten his chances of survival, even if it was a measly one percent of it.

That had been better than none after all.

So with a heavy heart. You nod. Glancing at his form for a second longer before you began running. Taking careful steps to the opposite direction where you knew the nearest shelter would be at. There was never a shortage of Defense Force Officers there. Maybe they'd be willing to let a few assist Soshiro before things could go awry.

Captain Ashiro had always made quick work of any Kaiju that appeared. The third had always been quick to respond to action. Not once arriving late when the Tokyo district needed them the most.

Soshiro would just have to hold out before then.

Deal with Number 10's strange habits and hopefully manage to unleash the suit's combat power which had proven to be a tricky feat for a while now. And if he were lucky, maybe he wouldn't need backup at all.

The optimistic side of you wished to see him make quick work of the Kaiju. Have him return to you, maybe with a couple or bruises to sport but nothing serious.

He'd smile at you. Holding peace signs with his fingertips out as a form of comfort. To tell you that he had been fine and the Kaiju had easily accepted defeat, ending the story in a clean neutralization.

You'd even be willing to hear Number 10's inflated boasting in the background. Telling you that they had sliced it to ribbons before you even had the chance to reach the shelter.

At least that's what you hoped to imagine.

Just as soon as you arrived at the familiar street. You passed by the multitude of shopping districts in the area. And you see the familiar crowd of people being ushered into the sturdy underground bunker of the shelter. Far away from the premises of the Metro Line where Soshiro’s battle had taken place.

You had immediately stepped up. Trying to fall in line with the rest of the crowded spaces that led up to the entrances of the bunker.

But somehow the temperature rose once more. And you feel the familiar rumble in your chest as a gust of wind had blown behind you. Your hair going in all sorts of directions before your eyes settled on the familiar looking Kaiju floating in the very back of the crowd. Nearing you inch by inch.

What was it doing here?

Everyone who had equally felt the same tension had been paralyzed from fear. Its beady gaze had been burning holes unto the crowd. And its neck cracked as it tried to tilt its head to the side.

This had been enough to get rid of the stupor on everyone's expressions. And another wave of panic ensued. Leaving you and a few others to be pushed around in the wake of everyone's panic.

“Report. Kaiju has been spotted here in Shelter 1121. Requesting permission to engage.”

You had heard one of the Defense Force Officers yell. The few that had been present were already aiming their firearms at the chattering Kaiju. It's head convulsing as it floated ever so closer towards the crowd. Its branch-like fingertips grazed the road. Eerily dragging its long limbs down the cement. Its pace is slow and tantalizing as if to tease your inevitable demise.

You had groaned.

Feeling yourself be pushed down to the ground. Palms hitting the coarse texture of the cement roads. Knees scraping the rough surface as you stopped yourself from falling face flat onto the floor. Luckily the crowd had been mindful enough not to trample you. With most of the citizens already crowding the entrance as Soldiers had blocked the Kaiju's path from going any further.

But you saw the way it moved.

In a blink of an eye the Kaiju had made quick work of the Officers. Sweeping them off like insects thrown to the side. Their bodies hitting the nearest surface available in the area. And you had tried to back away. The itching pain that had surrounded your knees was like putting salt on an open wound. Still fresh from the poor landing you had from earlier.

But there was no time to focus on that. Its beady gaze already staring at you and his next target had been made clear.

Just as you had tried to get up, you saw the way a car had been thrown right above your head. And you had been a hair away from being hit by the force of its pitch. Landing on a few people who had crowded up against the entrance of the base.

Likely crushing a few people in the process.

Shit.

The dizzy unease you felt had all but dazed your mind's eye. And somehow through the fire and the panicked screams. A force had thrown you off the ground.

And suddenly your body had slumped against the nearest wall. Your back landing on the very glass of a fashion boutique. Your weight had shattered its surface upon impact when you were thrown against it.

A shockwave on the ground had likely thrown you a few feet back. And you whimpered. Feeling the shards of glass puncture your shoulder and arms. A few cutting your legs that had shamelessly bleeded against the floor.

You could feel a much larger injury on the small of your back. But as it stands, you couldn't really focus on a specific area. Not when it had hurt all over.

It had hurt to stand up. Let alone to crawl away.

You were not in the safety of the base. And Soshiro had not been here beside you. Even if it hurts like hell. You knew that you had to move. You had to get away and find some help before the situation got worse.

But somehow, it had only gotten much more difficult to breathe. Your eyes which had blurred from the blood flow on your head had suddenly cleared a little bit. Just enough for you to inspect your surroundings. And you noticed it had gotten significantly darker upon your landing. Everything, even within the confines of the boutique, had been covered in a thin layer of smoke that you could've sworn wasn't here before

The scent had been weird. Both earthy and a little rusty for your liking. But it had a distinct bitter smell, like something had gone rotten in the area.

And suddenly your throat lurched. Coughing at the sheer difficulty your lungs had inhaled. Like suddenly oxygen had all but ran out and you were left with a gas that had been invading your system entirely.

Your hand had shakily reached up your throat. Trying not to panic as the breaths you made had gotten shorter and shorter.

Was this poison?

Did the Kaiju have anything to do with this?

Where was Soshiro? Was he dead?

Only panicked thoughts plagued your mind. Not entirely aware that the pain had made you almost delirious as you try not to cry from all the overwhelming sensations you felt.

Your only thought had been to gather your bearings and find Soshiro. Damned the injuries that weighed your body. Damned the poison gas that made you want to throw up your lungs.

All you needed was Soshiro.

Yet somehow, you find yourself back on the ground. With your cheek pressed up against the shattered glass. Eyes slowly fluttering to a close from the sheer exhaustion alone. And your body, had never accepted sleep more than this moment had.

–

Who knows how long you've been laying there. A few gunshots sounded out from the distance before it ultimately quieted down. A roar rumbled to the far east of where you had rested. But the sounds had gone silent a few minutes after.

And here you were, dizzy from a concussion. Bleeding from your arms and legs. And your breaths barely audible from the amount of toxic gas you had inhaled.

You didn't know whether or not your lungs were barely functioning anymore. But with the slow rise and labored falls of your chest, you were sure you had still been okay. Though it's a miracle you were still half awake.

You could still make the odd gasps and silent plea for help. So you couldn't sleep. Not yet at least. Not when help could so easily arrive and your chances of actually surviving would lower.

The smoke had not cleared up from where you had laid. And for a moment, you see the shadow of a figure step hastily through the broken boutique. Staring down at you with gritted teeth.

“Found you..”

Your breath hitched. Suddenly the blinding numbness had been replaced with a fresh bout of soreness and burning pains. And Soshiro, who had stood above your half-conscious body, had stumbled a bit.

Not used to the way your body stood so still. Arched upward from the shard of glass punctured nearest the back of your waist. His breath was stolen away, as he could only imagine how the pain must’ve felt when you were thrown off balance to crash a building no less.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, c'mere.” Soshiro's familiar voice was much clearer now that he had stepped much closer to you.

The clang of his blades had dropped beside you as his hands were already fumbling to remove the straps of his respiratory mask. Rushing to place it atop your mouth and nose. Hoping it would help you breathe properly.

“Someone get the medic. Get the medic.”

Soshiro screamed. Glancing behind him for a moment before his focus had been fixated on you. His other hand gingerly lifting your head from the ground to assess the injuries you sustained.

And his eyes. The wine color of his eyes…

You could've sworn it had darkened. Brimmed with the fear of losing you. A cacophony of unshed tears that would usually be closed and cat-like in its features.

“..Soshiro?” You croaked out. Voice a little raspy from whatever gas that Kaiju had decked out. And your lover immediately pulled you closer. Rocking your body to keep you awake.

His first instinct was to secure the straps of the respiratory mask on your face. Letting you take a few filtered breaths before you try to speak once more. Though he hushed you right after, in the case you’d drain the little energy you had left in you.

And from the deadweight he felt. He somehow feared the worst.

“Hey, hey, Shhhh. You're okay.” He spoke with a shaky voice. As if he were assuring himself more than he did you. “I'm here now. We're gonna fix ya’ up brand new. I promise.”

His words had been loud. Desperate even. But for some reason, it went in and out of your ears. Not entirely sure if he had been screaming at somebody else, or he had been talking to you in particular. His reassurances got softer and softer from the minute your ears began to ring.

The sound of his voice, which you would normally find comfort in. Had your head spinning around. Making you wince in turn.

You had wanted to reach out. To pull him close and check for his own injuries. But your arms and shoulders would twitch in pain anytime you had tried to move a muscle. The poison in your system had made it all the more heavier for your body to move. Chained to the ground as if restrained by your own powerlessness of the situation.

“You're done?” You had managed to groan out. Wondering if the Kaiju had been neutralized.

And his immediate response was to nod in your direction. Pulling you much closer so that his leg would be able to support your weight on the ground. Away from the edged shards of glass that had scattered about.

“I'm okay baby. Yer’ the one that needs the help here..” He lets out a dry chuckle. Not entirely convinced that his jokes were actually landing. His panic was more evident in his tone than it had usually been, and for some reason. That hurt more than the physical wounds you endured.

“I know.” You hissed. “Hurts all over..if you couldn't tell..”

“Shit. Medics are on their way. I'm gonna lift you up okay? You'll be fine. Just gonna meet em’ halfway..” He had started. With Soshiro gently hooking his arms underneath the knees of your legs. And just as soon as you were an inch off of the ground. You winced.

Your teeth gritted together as you tried not to cry from the pain you felt when your body had raised from the ground. His hands, although they had been careful, were far too firm against the cuts on your body.

And the pain on your back, where the glass shard had punctured your organs, had a burning sensation you wished would go away.

Soshiro who had seen the way you panicked. Stopped in his actions. Putting you back down on the ground where his leg had cushioned your bleeding head.

“I know, I know jus’ bear with me, alright? Keep your pretty eyes open.” The string of curses never left Soshiro's lips. And his hand which had gently held the cheek where the respiratory mask met the skin of your pale face. Hoping that your breaths would get steadier. The mask recording all the slow inhales you'd take.

In and out. Labored but at least it was still there.

“Breathe..jus’ breathe for me, okay?”

Your eyes had tried to blink rapidly to remove the fatigue you had felt. But somehow, you were fighting a losing battle. And you couldn't help but give into the darkness. The fatigue would feel much nicer since you didn't have to worry about the pain. And with your lover here. It was okay to relax now. No longer did you need to have your guard up to combat the fight or flight situation.

And Soshiro found himself panicking even more at the way your eyes grew distant. Screaming at his intercoms for a medic on-field. Likely already on their way to the location he had sent to Operations moments prior. Okonogi in particular was trying to reassure the Vice Captain, but to no avail.

Not when his focus had all but fixated on your wellbeing. Eyes already closed as you drifted to an unconscious state.

His hand had reached down to your cheek. Already running circles against the bags of your eyes. Running across the dried tears that brimmed your eyes. Denying that this moment had a possibility to be your last.

And without hesitation, he started lifting you up again. This time not a peep from your mouth.

He was gonna fucking take you to the neareat hospital himself if he had to.

Like hell he was going to let you die. Right?

Right?

“Shit. This ain’t funny. Wake–Wake up!”

He hears Okonogi speak on the other side. Something about how a few officers had already turned the corner nearest their location. And he found himself running to their direction, your head leaning against his shoulder leaving small blood stains on Number 10's plated armor.

Help was close. But Soshiro's mind wasn't eased by that fact. Not at all relieved.

Not when your head had still been bleeding and a shard of glass as large as his hand had been punctured just below the small of your back.

And as he ran, he had wondered what he could've done to avoid this.

Should he not have asked you to go out today?

No.

You had been far too eager for this moment. It had been his fault for neglecting you. For not prioritizing the wave of affections you gave him in turn.

He had promised himself that he was gonna cherish you. Dedicate entire days just for you.

And yet here he was. With his plans, ruined beyond repair. And he finds himself going back to the root of his bad habits.

His work, his ambition to be seen as someone capable. Someone who existed in the hands of the world who did not see his strength and dedication. It had held him by the collar, forcing him to face elsewhere. Trapped him from doing right by you.

And now?

His bad habits had now suffered the consequences of his actions. No longer did he have the chance to do everything once over.

And his apologies had fallen to deaf ears. Hoping for the chance you'd get to hear him again.

He had a bad habit of doing you wrong. And now, he hopes you'd be awake so he can set things right.

#anime #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #kaiju no 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #angst

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otomegamesforlife · 1 month

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Sympathetic Pregnancy 2/4: [Rafayel x Reader]

The boys are in for a surprise when they start experiencing sympathetic pregnancy symptoms—before they even realize you’re expecting! One shots of how the chaos unfolds: Completed:

Zayne: Completely baffled and convinced something’s off with his medical expertise. A03 link here

Rafayel: Turns into the biggest baby (as if he isn't already) A03 link here

Xavier: Positive he’s at death’s door (spoiler: he’s not). A03 link here

In-Progress:

Sylus: Frantically consulting underground doctors, fearing it’s a core malfunction.

Each reaction is uniquely ridiculous, but they all prove just how in sync they are with you—whether they like it or not!

"Couvade syndrome, also called sympathetic pregnancy, is a proposed condition in which an expectant father experiences some of the same symptoms and behavior as his pregnant partner. These most often include major weight gain, altered hormone levels, morning nausea, and disturbed sleep patterns- Wikipedia"

Rafayel’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest, much like the exaggerated antics in that Tom and Jerry show you’d introduced him to. He gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. “If you want me to die, just say so!”

You blinked, pretending innocence before a mischievous grin spread across your face. Rafayel could already tell you knew you were forgiven. “Scaredy cat.”

“I am not!” Rafayel pouted, though the slight tremor in his voice gave away his lingering surprise. You leaned into him, your familiar scent pulling him back to reality, making it impossible for him to stay mad. “You’re just too light on your feet. It’s not fair.”

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes sparkling playfully. “It’s not my fault everything here is carpeted. Nothing makes a sound! Maybe you’re just too jumpy. I barely poked you.”

Rafayel huffed, trying to regain some of his dignity as he turned off the stove. “As if you remember to wear slippers inside. I made everything carpeted for you, and now it’s backfiring on me.”

“You’re the one who loves being barefoot,” you pointed out, a teasing smile on your lips as you lightly tapped his nose. “Don’t blame me for picking up your habits.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he gently pulled you away from the stove, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you against the counter. “Did you sleep?” he murmured, nuzzling against your neck, his tone softening.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, nestling closer. “I woke up when you were still asleep and got hungry. Craved shrimp.”

“What if I cooked something else?” Rafayel pulled back slightly, giving you a mock look of disbelief. “You’d cook your own food? Scandalous!”

“I would’ve let you know if you weren’t sleeping,” you said, your reproach more affectionate than accusatory.

Rafayel rolled his eyes dramatically. “I would have woken up for you!” His hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin as he studied your face with exaggerated worry.

“But… Aren’t you still sleepy most of the time?” You cupped his cheek in return, your playful demeanor shifting to concern.

Rafayel met your gaze, his bravado fading. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whine. “I’m so sleepy. If I get any more sleepy, I’ll be Sleeping Beauty!”

You rolled your eyes, but the concern didn’t leave your expression. “Like I don’t kiss you awake enough,” you teased, bopping his nose playfully.

“Not enough,” Rafayel grumbled, pouting. “You’re stingy with your kisses. Always just a peck, I barely felt it! How is that fair?”

You shook your head in mock disbelief before returning to the issue at hand. “Let’s go to the hospital.”

He groaned dramatically. “Hospitals?! I don’t wanna go. They’re cold, smell like antiseptic, and the lights are too bright! It’s like being in a horror movie!”

You crossed your arms, unfazed by his antics. “You can just stay home and take care of me! You’re much better than any doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor, Rafayel.”

“You’re more than enough! You even had that license thingy,” Rafayel insisted, leaning into your touch.

You tapped his nose playfully. “That’s a first aid certification. Not even close.”

“No,” he whined, holding onto you like a lifeline. “I don’t wanna go.”

“That never worked, you know. You think it will now?” you said, your tone gentle but firm. “But this feels like one of your ebb days. Let’s see the doctor, yeah? I’ll take a day off and stay with you.”

Rafayel’s pout deepened as he tried one last attempt at bargaining. “2 days off, all day and night?”

You nodded, your resolve softening. “okay.”

It should have been suggestive, but this time it wasn’t. He simply wanted to sleep it off and have you there beside him.

Rafayel groaned inwardly as the nurse—a stern woman who once dubbed him “such a Romeo” with an exasperated shake of her head—fixed him with a disapproving glare. He was pouring his heart out about his symptoms, and she looked at him as if he were reciting bad poetry. Her gaze flicked to you, silently questioning the sanity of anyone who would willingly accompany Rafayel to the doctor. You, however, seemed resigned to your fate, especially since you were here for your bi-monthly check-up for the association.

In the waiting room, Rafayel fidgeted, his fingers intertwined with yours. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the stark white walls and the faint scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. “This place feels like a mausoleum,” he muttered, his voice low and dramatic, as though the walls themselves were closing in on him.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s not that bad. And we’re here to make sure you’re okay.”

“But what if they find something terrible?” Rafayel’s voice wavered, the dramatic edge sharpening as his imagination ran wild. “What if I’m slowly wasting away? I’d be like a tragic hero in one of those old novels—forever tormented, misunderstood, and doomed to a slow demise.”

Before you could soothe his nerves, an elderly woman sitting nearby leaned in with a warm smile. “Sounds like your husband loves you very much, young lady,” she said kindly.

Rafayel blinked, momentarily stunned. “I’m sorry?”

The woman chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with a secret understanding. “I’m a firm believer that your husband,” she nodded toward your joined hands, “is just getting your symptoms because he loves you so much.”

Rafayel squinted, suspicion coloring his tone. “How is that even scientific?” He wasn’t convinced; the woman’s dignified demeanor did little to reassure him that this wasn’t some whimsical tale.

Her chuckle deepened. “You sound exactly like him.”

“Him?” Rafayel started, but before he could ask, an elderly man in a lab coat approached, a friendly smile on his face.

“I know that tone,” he said, offering his hand to the woman. “What did I do again this time, dear?”

“Well, it’s not you this time. Kind of. Remember Couvade syndrome?” She took his hand, a smirk playing on her lips as if they shared an inside joke.

The man turned to you and Rafayel, his smile broadening. “Trust me, it’s real. Congratulations, by the way. We’ll leave you both now.” He then gently guided the woman away.

Rafayel watched them go, his indignation mounting. “She’s not even a patient!” he whispered loudly, as if the very idea was an affront to his sense of justice. “And she’s here?”

His frown deepened, a mix of confusion and irritation bubbling up. What were they congratulating them for? But before Rafayel could ask more, a nurse called them in to see Dr. Greyson.

Dr. Greyson greeted them with a knowing smile, the kind that suggested he had already heard all about Rafayel’s theatrics. “I heard my parents already diagnosed you outside?”

“Your parents? I knew they looked familiar— Wait, what do you mean diagnosed me? Couvade something? That’s all they said, and it meant nothing! I’m exhausted, like I was born to sleep. Am I dying?”

Dr. Greyson, clearly amused, fought to keep a straight face. He patiently explained the situation, and as Rafayel listened, the pieces slowly fell into place. The matching wide-eyed expressions you and Rafayel shared only made the doctor’s amusement grow.

“Wait, I’m pregnant?” you blurted out, your surprise evident.

“You are,” Dr. Greyson confirmed with a smile, pulling out the results and handing them to you. The room seemed to spin for a moment as the news sank in, the reality of the situation dawning on both of you.

Rafayel stared at the doctor, then at you, then back at the doctor, his dramatic flair momentarily eclipsed by sheer bewilderment. “A baby…” he finally managed, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

Dr. Greyson’s chuckle broke the tension. “Congratulations, you two,” he said warmly, leaving Rafayel to process the news in his own unique way.

“So you’re expecting, and he loves you so much—which we already knew—and now he’s getting all the symptoms?” Thomas summarized, amusement lacing his tone. Of course, Thomas would find this funny. Rafayel wasn’t laughing.

Rafayel's mind was spinning, trying to grasp the absurdity of it all. You were pregnant—that was the joyous part. But this? His bond with you, the one he had vowed to strengthen every day for the past three years, had decided to manifest in the most bizarre way possible.

“Why are you treating this like it’s nothing?” Rafayel accused, feeling a rush of betrayal as he looked between you and Thomas. Weren’t you supposed to be on his side?

You squeezed his hand, halting his restless pacing. “We’re not treating it like it’s nothing, darling; we’re just trying to wrap our heads around it.”

Rafayel gaped at you, his mind scrambling for a logical explanation. “You seriously don’t believe I love you so much that I’m in pain because of it?”

Thomas, sensing the rising panic in Rafayel’s voice, stepped in with a sigh. “Better get used to it. This is only the beginning.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrowed as Thomas patted your shoulder. “Stop touching my wife, I’m right here!” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the situation finally beginning to settle in. He slapped Thomas' hand away, protectiveness flaring.

You and Thomas exchanged a look—one of those infuriatingly knowing ones—before Thomas backed off with a grin, leaving you to pull Rafayel back to the couch. As soon as he sank into your embrace, the tension in his shoulders began to melt away, and he sighed, burying his face into the comfort of your presence.

“I know you love me so much, but this?” Your voice was soft, affectionate, as you snuggled closer. “Best husband ever. You deserve more cuddles!”

Rafayel huffed, still processing the whirlwind of emotions. “Of course I am. I’m perfect.” He smirked, though the confusion in his eyes betrayed the bravado. “Cuddles,” he muttered, almost pouting, “like that would suffice.”

You played along, tracing lazy circles on his back. “Oh, pray tell, husband… what else do you want?”

“Kisses too,” Rafayel mumbled, his ears warming as he looked away, embarrassed by his own request. “You need to love me more now that you know.”

Your laughter was soft, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’d try, but you might combust!”

“Puh-lease, you’ve tried it before and it wasn’t even enough” Rafayel drawled, closing his eyes with a content smile as his hand continued to rub comforting circles on your back. “My threshold for your love is unlimited and adaptable.”

As you both relaxed, the absurdity of the situation faded into the background, replaced by a sense of warmth. “But a little fishie… I can’t wait,” you teased, looking at him with a playful accusation. “You’d both be diving down to the sea in no time, wouldn’t you?”

Rafayel’s smile widened, his pride swelling. “Their tail will be so beautiful! You should have seen mine. It was shiny and luminescent.”

“You have pictures?!” you asked, excitement lighting up your face.

“Of course!” Rafayel puffed up with pride. “I’ve got a whole album.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” you scolded lightly, though your tone held a playful edge. “I mean, having a reflective tail as a baby in the deep sea?”

Rafayel laughed, the sound bright and carefree. “No, my little conch shell, neon is ugly. It’s more like diamond hit by moonlight glow, and it repels deep-sea predators. Blinds them, actually.”

“Ah,” you nodded, taking it in. “So, it’s practical, not just flashy.”

“It’s also the easiest way to spot them,” Rafayel added with a grin.

You both ended up scrolling through his baby pictures, melting over how adorable he was back then. Each photo told a story, and as you shared laughs, Rafayel felt the remaining tension ease away, leaving only warmth.

Leaning into you, Rafayel traced patterns on your arm, his voice soft with contentment. “You know, despite everything, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Even if you’re always sleeping the day and night away now?”

“Anything for you”

I felt like him being sleepy will be a big change for him. So yeah. Big baby at your service * giggles* Also Dr. Greyson not Zayne because-- I love that man I can't hurt him like that, not when I'm the one in control! (I'm looking at you Infold)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace mc #lnds #lnds x reader #loveanddeepspace #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #love and deep space #Love and deepspace fluffs

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cozage · 1 year

Text

Responding to “I’m late"

Characters: f reader (gn terms!) x Luffy, Sanji, Shanks, Law

Cw: some pretty major angsty emotions in this. Spoilers for Dressrosa in Law's and WCI in Sanji's. Period talk

Total word count: 1k

He walks into your alls room and finds you sitting on the bed. You’re staring at the calendar on the far wall, still as a statue.

“I’m late,” you whisper to him.

Luffy

“Late for what?” Luffy isn’t clueless, but vague statements like that go over his head.

“My period, Luffy!” Your head falls into your hands, but he’s still struggling to fully connect the dots.

He tilts his head at you. He can tell you’re in distress and that worries him. “Is that normal?”

“Obviously not,” you growl. “Or else I wouldn’t be telling you that I might be pregnant!”

His eyes widen at that statement, and finally he rushes over to where you’re sitting on the bed. He curses himself for being so oblivious.

“How late are you?” He asks. There’s a slight urgency in his voice, but he’s trying to keep the panic down.

“A week and a half!” At that response, Luffy realizes he knows nothing about these kinds of things. “Should we go talk to Chopper?” He offers. He hates being so clueless and he knows he’s not helping much.

The way you’re looking at him makes him think that was also the wrong response. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m doing this all wrong.” He sits down next to you and puts his arm around your shoulder, leaning you in to him. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” You cried, and he rubs your arm soothingly.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “We have time to figure it out. And we will.”

Sanji

He should be over the moon. He should be ecstatic. He should be absolutely thrilled. But all he feels is dread.

He tries to hide it. He really does. But you can see it. Because that’s the first emotion you felt too.

“Sanji?” You call, trying to snap him out of the daze he’s in. But he’s frozen, just like you were.

All he can think of is how his mutated genes are now forming a new human. What if it turns out like his brothers? What if it has 20 fingers and 20 toes? What if you get sick like his mother?

“Sanji?” You call again, and this time he snaps out of his spiraling.

“What do you want to do?” He asks, and you can hear his voice tremble. He pulls out a cigarette and snaps open his lighter. Smoking is always an easy sign that he’s stressed.

“I don’t know,” you admit. He nods, and comes to sit on the bed with you.

His eyes look to your stomach, still trying to process it all. “We should go talk to Chopper. He’ll tell us if it’s something we need to worry about not. Maybe it’s just a weird month for you.”

You nod, and he takes your hand and leads you to the infirmary. He has to know, he has to prepare for the possibility. He can’t help but say a silent prayer to the universe on your way there for some kind of miracle.

Shanks

“I know,” he sighs. “You know?” You stare at him, shocked.

“Of course I know! I know your schedule!” He smiles, and his arm reaches down to take your hand. He pulls you to your feet, and then holds you close to him.

You rest your head against his chest and take an unsteady breath. “How do you feel?” He asks.

“Scared,” you say, and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. He hums at your statement, and you to stand there for a moment in silence.

He starts swaying you back at forth, as if the two of you are dancing without music.

He pulls you back and spins you around, and you laugh at his moves. He smiles when he hears your melody of joy, and you can see him relax a little bit.

He pulls you back into him, still swaying. “We’ll be at a new island in two days. How about we go to a doctor there and see if we can get some answers. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

You nod into his chest. You’re still terrified, but at least you have him by your side.

Law

He stands there, eyes moving between you and your stomach. “Late?” He questions. But he already knows.

You ask for Midol and a heating pad at the same time every month. He gives you back massages at the same time every month. But not this month.

You just nod, still staring at the calendar. He turns on his heels and runs out the door, leaving you alone.

He walks briskly through the hallways, trying to keep his nerves down. But his mind is racing. What if his child develops Amber Lead Disease? What if he passed it on to the baby somehow. It might be out of his system, but that doesn’t mean the lasting effects are gone from the disease.

He’s also scared for you. He knows how taxing pregnancy is, and being in a submarine isn’t something you should do if you were pregnant. The pressure of the sea floor, the dangers of being a pirate, there were so many risks that came with it all.

He grabs his sword and creates a room, and quickly shambles back to you. He finds you curled up in the bed crying, and realizes his mistake.

“Im sorry, y/n-ya,” he whispers, brushing your hair to the side. “I didn’t mean to leave you without saying anything.”

You dry your eyes and look up at him, still sniffling. “I’m scared, Law.”

“Let’s find out how scared we need to be, okay?” He guides your limbs to position you to lay flat on your back, and he holds the sword over you. “Scan.”

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ataraxiaspainting · 9 months

Text

Presentiment of Massacre.

Yan Geto x F Reader.

Synopsis: Of all the people in your village, why were you the only one spared?

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, major spoilers for the start of JJK S2, some not SFW implications, and violence/slight gore.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

“You can see them, can’t you?”

The man is tall, so much taller, so much taller than you who is curled up into a ball in the corner of your home, to hide, an intention that was more or less popped like a balloon. He is so much taller than the corpses littering the floor with their blood, their vomit, their tears. Gazing at the disarray with a mix of revulsion and frustration, he found himself devoid of any trace of it on his person, his exasperation evident as he muttered the word monkeys repeatedly along with quick, muffled talks of cleaning and baths and stains.

“Miss. You can see them, can’t you? The beings around us.”

As he receives no response once more, he pivots. A terrifying grin adorns his face, an unsettling visage that seems to transcend the boundaries of humanity. It appears as if it is a mere appendage, capable of detachment at whim, akin to a magnet or a metallic fragment. This facade, a deceptive guise, conceals the malevolent demon lurking beneath its surface.

“...I… Please… Please just ge-”

“Answer my question.” Interrupting, he maintains a sickeningly warm smile and tone, though his words possess an entirely different temperature. They are demanding. Frigid. For nothing burns quite like the icy cold. “I know you can, from the way you are looking around the room and hiding. Stop pretending you can’t.”

Even when his gaze was averted, his vigilance never wavered, always deciphering the motives behind your awkward, apprehensive behavior. He possesses an uncanny ability to interrogate as if presiding over a courtroom, posing probing inquiries that unveil the heart of the matter. Every response you offer seems to hold the power to determine your verdict: a life of freedom, confinement, or even death.

Opting for honesty may prove beneficial. It could potentially strengthen your position, although there are no guarantees. Contemplating the act of praying, you ponder its efficacy, hoping for assistance from any divine entity that may exist. You certainly wouldn't want to become another disfigured body within the grasp of the beast behind the man's monstrous jaws.

So, after weighing all of this out, your lips part instinctively.

“Ah, I knew it. Unlike these monkeys, you are worthy.” As a reaction to those two sentences, about a million thoughts and questions sprout in your mind. “You will be spared if you join us. You do not want to be rotting on top of these filthy monkey corpses, do you?”

In an instant, you vigorously shake your head, causing a fleeting sense of dizziness, as you promptly respond to his inquiry this time.

“I’ll… I’ll… do it.” As anticipated, the act of surrendering proved to be a complex experience, simultaneously challenging and effortless. This situation resembles a collision of opposing forces, resulting in a powerful and explosive event. However, due to an innate instinct and the familiarity acquired from past encounters with your inebriated father, you find yourself succumbing once again. “Anything.” You don’t think of saying that word specifically, and you regret it later than sooner. “Just… Just please. I want to live.”

A gentle pull brings you to your feet as his hand reaches out to grasp yours.

“I am glad you accepted my conditions. Very glad.” The man brushes his side bang out of his face, his grip becoming slightly looser. “I am Suguru, Suguru Geto. Now, what is your name, my new recruit?”

“...[First].” You whisper your name so softly, questioning whether Geto caught it. “Do I… Do I have to use that too? Because…”

“No, you don’t. Though if you want you can be taught to wield something, something weaker than this.”

He responded to your question as if you were a young child inquiring about the purchasing of infants from a retail establishment. “...But do I have to?”

Geto shook his head and called the beast with two waving fingers. It is a dragon, you think, from how long it is and how it has large white scales, even whiter teeth, and long golden hair partially stained red, and how its large blue eyes stared into your soul.

“That depends on the future.” He says, his grip dwindling even further. The monster disappears with another wave of his hand. He chuckles. “Depends mainly on what you do, and why you do it.”

“…What do you think I would do?”

“You’re not good at hiding your emotions, you know.” Something creeps up your thigh, and before you have the chance to scream he puts his hand on your mouth and his other hand grabs one of your arms. “That gives way to not being able to hide your plans very well. You’re planning on running the first chance you get, aren’t you? Before you do such a silly little thing, I must tell you that I can give you protection, and luxuries beyond your imagination… everyone and everything will bow down to you.”

He looks down at the slimy red thing with at least six eyes, the build and size similar to that of a basketball. Its lips were sucking on your flesh with words like love leaving them in between moments. That was the answer to your unspoken question.

“All you have to do is follow me, okay? No matter where I go, follow me. Do that, and your life will be so much better.”

From the look in his eyes, you already know he had already made the decision for you.

#aya abstractions #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere geto #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #yandere geto x reader #yandere suguru #yandere suguru geto

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pluvialpoet · 6 months

Text

bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @idyllcy @wicked-laugh @ul4lume

Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

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#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing fluff #dc titans #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

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thisisxli · 3 months

Text

𖣘Apricity𖣘

٭.・゜゜・*

Rs: Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem!reader

Warnings:

major character death,

slight heavy angst,

slight spoilers!

summary: Sanemi doesn't allow himself to get close to you. When he lets his guard down just for a second, things turn out the opposite way he wants them to.

wc: 1.5k

edit: btw Sanemi doesn't get reincarnated, he just has a descendant that's super similar to him :)

If you enjoyed and liked this post, you can go to my page and check out my other works! MASTERLIST /

ABOUT ME

Sanemi literally blatantly ignores you when you become part of the now nine-filled Hashira.

He wasn't biased, no, he was far from it.

He just didn't like how you made his heart pound. He was sick of it. He didn't have time for any lovey-dovey shit. He realizes that too, would only hold him back; one would end up dead and the other heart-brokened. Although he promises himself he would never let his partner be killed, theoretically, he would never forgive himself if he ever got them killed.

He knew he was a goner when he found himself above you, pounding you into the sheets like there was no tomorrow.

He avoided you after that. Of course, he didn't want to hurt your feelings, he knows he did, but he also knew he had to. He couldn't get close. No way. So when you came up to ask him, he said,

"I don't want anything to do with you."

His words were like swords driving through your heart. But, you understood. So you walked away with a shattered heart, his own broken one missing the warmth of yours.

Of course, he couldn't avoid you forever. Far from that. But he couldn't be nice to you either. But you went into a mission with the damn maroon-head teenager he found so aggravating. He was worried cause he knew that kid brought bad luck. Honestly, he swears that kid brings nothing but chaos.

When he found you unconscious, carried by the kakushi, he immediately rushed to your side. He ignored the kakushis' protests when he scooped you in his arms, quickly going to Shinobu for you to recover. He was nervous because your injuries seemed pretty serious. When he had Shinobu nurse your injuries, he almost stayed by your side the entire time. Excluding the time where Shinobu changed you into brand new clothes. Technically.. He has seen you naked before. But it was inappropriate. And he wouldn't know what to do if Shinobu saw him stay. Before Kanae's death, Shinobu had rather.. a bad-temper and was also rather off-putting.

It took you two days to wake up; of course, with Sanemi sitting by your side. He flinched when he saw your eyes open, both of your faces holding surprise.

"Sanemi?"

His breath hitched, looking down at your lap. "I just wanted to see how you were doing," he mutters, thickly swallowing his saliva. "How.. are you doing?" He looks up at you again when he doesn't get a response, a shocked grunt escaping him when he sees tears pouring from your eyes.

"I.. I..."

Quick like it was on instinct, he pulls you into his arms, hugging your head against his chest. "I was so.. so useless! I could barely-" you hiccup, "barely help Mitsuri! I was so distracted on saving the villagers, I got caught so off-guard when it snatched me off my feet and-" Sanemi pulls you in for a kiss.

You whimper, tears still streaming down. Your hands clutch onto his haori, feverishly returning his kiss before he disconnects them.

"Don't ever say that about yourself. You did what you can and that's final. There's no what you didn't do or couldn't do. You saved people. And that's all that matters."

You sob almost uncontrollably on his chest, one of his hands petting your hair. "You're more than enough."

Sanemi grins when he spars with you, wooden swords making a 'clack' sound each time they connected. Everyone had their Hashira training, even the actual Hashiras.

You, Sanemi, Obanai, even Muichiro, would spar at night, leaving bruises on your skins. You and Sanemi especially sparred the most, wooden swords moving at such a fast speed, bodies moving across the pebble courtyard.

He knocked you off your feet with a swift motion of his leg before catching you with one arm. He smirked at you and you only gave back a fond smile.

Forget losing all the damn lover bullshit. He had you now and he wants you. He gives in to his selfish needs and has you. Making sure Obanai and Muichiro weren't looking, he kisses you. You kiss back, scrunching your fingers through his silver hair.

Boy, was he so wrong.

He should've kept his distance from you. To ignore you and weaken your spirit with insults.

He should've never met you at all.

You were standing there, coughing blood out from your mouth. You were fighting Muzan. Everyone was fighting Muzan. It just happened to be you.

You,

The one whose body was penetrated by his arm.

Your vision was hazy and you were breathing haggardly. God, he couldn't believe it.

Muzan quickly removes his arm from your body, your blood splattering across the floor. You fall to your knees, your breath becoming heavier, blood seeping more onto your uniform. Sanemi quickly swoops you up before Muzan could attack you, laying you down against a wall of a building.

"Y-you..." Sanemi sputtered, anger etched across his features. His brother, now you?!

You smile softly at him.

His angry expression quickly fades away. He panics, his hands roaming above your body, ghosting above your touch. He was scared, like if he was gonna touch you, you'd instantly die. Tears were already falling from his eyes, eyebrows furrowing together until his forehead hurt. He shut his eyes tightly, hanging his head low, hyperventilating, praying this was all but just a dream.

He imagined a normal life with his siblings, being closer to Genya more than ever. Then he would find you, be with you, marry you, have kids with you, and grow old with you. Why was that so hard to have?

A sob rips out from his throat, feeling your hand cup his cheek. He looks up at you as you look back at him with those same fond eyes.

"I love you, Sanemi. You were all I could've asked for."

When your hand falls from his cheek, he shrills. Instantly, he holds your body close to his for comfort, hugging you tightly as if you were gonna disintegrate like his little brother. His heart hurts. Hurts so bad. It was so much to bear.

He kisses your temple before looking at you one last time, going back into battle.

He takes in his last breath, his only last and ever thought being you.

Sanehiro takes his patrol on the sidewalk, whistling as he watches the wind blows against blossomed trees. He loved this time of year-

"Crap... I'm so sorry!"

Someone had bumped into his chest. It was a woman. He sees her bowing at him which he waved off, a vein popping out in his temple. "Hey- it's no worries. Just-" he pauses, his face falling when he sees you rise, your face coming into his view.

You nervously fiddle with your fingers, chuckling. "That's good, I hope I wasn't any trouble for you sir. Or!- or a distraction!" You grin at him. He quickly takes his cap off, bowing at her. She flinches in surprise, watching him silently. "You're no distraction to me at all, miss," he says, standing up straight. He runs a hand through his silver hair, smiling at you fondly. You stare at him, mouth open. You quickly shake your head, chuckling awkwardly.

"Would you.. ever wanna hang out some time?" He perked up at your suggestion before nodding. You both exchange numbers before bidding farewell.

Oddly enough, you found yourself with a prideful and rude white-haired man. Again.

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sundrop-writes · 11 months

Text

Damn The Man, Save The Empire

(Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!GN!Reader

Heaven is a place we can't afford.

Summary:

Vanessa has always taken care of you.

Since the two of you were kids, she has put her neck on the line for you, and you rarely knew how to return that epic kindness. One night, while both of you are raw and on-edge, the dark cloud of your strange past looming over both of you nearly swallows both of you whole - and once again, Vanessa is right there, taking care of you.

(Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!Gender Neutral Reader. Toxic Co-Dependent Relationship. Smut and Angst. Takes place before the main timeline of the film (features spoilers for the movie).

Word Count: 6,100

Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic contains major spoilers for the film (even though it takes place before the main bulk of the film) - if you haven’t seen the movie yet and you want to watch it spoiler-free, be cautious; general toxic relationship - the two main characters have a very toxic relationship; there is a power imbalance in the relationship due to one of the characters being a police officer; both of the main characters have a lot of childhood trauma and they show it in their actions; there is underlying dom/sub dynamics - the reader is submissive and Vanessa is dominant; somewhat dubious consent - the whole interaction starts out as an argument rather than something explicitly sexual, but the reader still enjoys it the whole time (one of those safe, consensual, but not ‘sane’ situations). The reader’s gender is completely ambiguous - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours, and the reader’s genitals are described in a way that could be interpreted as the character being amab or afab, no specific gendered terms are used; mentions of the reader having sex with someone who is not Vanessa (a random unnamed man); mentions of the reader having sex in the back of someone’s car and being caught by a police officer who is not Vanessa (and then being passed off to Vanessa); dark!Vanessa, jealous!Vanessa, possessive!Vanessa (she hates that the reader had sex with someone else earlier that night).

The reader and Vanessa have been friends since childhood; mention of the reader drinking/ingesting alcohol - not enough to impair consent or impair the general senses; the reader calls Vanessa ‘Ness’ or ‘Nessa’ as a nickname; technically, Vanessa does ‘arrest’ the reader (she doesn’t bring the reader into a police station or file any official paperwork); Vanessa puts the reader in handcuffs in a non-sexual way, and later those handcuffs are used for sexual bondage; use of Y/N (and L/N, meaning Last Name); mention of the reader character stealing and doing other petty crimes; mentions of Vanessa’s childhood trauma - her father murdering children and forcing her to help cover it up (implications that she also participated in the killings in some way); the reader witnessed one of the killings as a child and has also kept it a secret; somewhat graphic descriptions of murder/a child being killed.

Some manhandling but nothing that would insist that Vanessa has inhuman strength; hair-pulling - kind of in a sexy way, kind of in a violent way; Vanessa literally steps on the reader (again, kind of violent, kind of sexy) - some breath restriction due to being stepped on; general pain kink; the characters in this fic have a poor attitude toward casual hook-ups; there is a hand on the neck but no purposeful choking (very little restriction of breath); nipple play - Vanessa painfully tugs the reader’s nipple; something like subspace is described, but the word ‘subspace’ isn’t specifically used; slight inspection kink; spanking - on the reader’s thighs and on the reader’s genitals; Vanessa calls the reader ‘brat’; a lot of this could be seen as brat-taming/brat tamer!Vanessa; Vanessa uses her hand on the reader - because the reader’s genitals are not described, this could be interpreted as a handjob or fingering (but there are no mentions of penetration); Vanessa fucks herself against the reader’s thigh; Vanessa edges the reader (once); asking permission to orgasm; biting/marking kink; I believe that's finally everything.

A/N: This fic is named after a Pierce The Veil song of the same name. I definitely recommend listening to the song, because the lyrics fit with this fic so so well. A very large part of her characterization in this is informed by the 'if you bring Abby back here again, I will shoot you' moment from the movie - rage fuelled by compassion and love and protectiveness for another person. I really love that part and I think it's such an interesting aspect to her character. Also, I put a lot of thought into making this completely gender neutral, making sure the reader could be interpreted as amab or afab, so I hope that everyone enjoys it! Also - I know that it might be weird for Vanessa's nickname in this fic to be 'Ness' because that's the name of Matpat's diner character (named after a character in one of his theories??) but I think it's a cute nickname, and if I actually knew her, that's what I would call her. So I am going off the idea that neither of the characters in this fic know Ness the diner waiter, and the reader has just always called Vanessa 'Ness'. So - yeah.

...

“Get in the car.” Vanessa barked - the pure anger and annoyance in her voice echoed through the night.

You hated that it brought you a certain kind of warped joy.

She put a hand flat on your back, between your shoulder blades, and roughly shoved you toward the back bumper of her police cruiser.

You purposefully walked slower, just to mock her, and she let out a harsh sigh. You bit your lip to hold back a grin. At this point in your lives, this was just the nature of your relationship with your best friend. You didn’t just get under her skin, you lived there.

“God, I can’t believe you!” She shouted. “Public indecency? You’ve gotten in shit for some pretty stupid things, but having sex in the back of some random asshole’s car-?!”

“The back of someone’s car should not be considered ‘public’!” You argued, laughter edging on your voice.

It was difficult to take things seriously when you knew that the consequences wouldn’t be too severe. Vanessa always swooped in to save you. She would just bring you home, scold you a bit. But she wouldn’t do anything that would leave a lasting mark.

“Did you even know the guy you were fucking? Did you even use a fucking condom?” She screeched at you.

Did you know the guy? Sort of. Did you use a condom? Yes, you did.

But you were in the mood to annoy Vanessa even more.

You shrugged. “Why does it matter? Your stupid cop friend interrupted us before we could even finish, so-”

“Ugh, get in the car!”

She was lucky that Officer Lamontange had been on duty, and he owed her a favor. Anybody else would have slapped a pair of cuffs on you and hauled you to the station without a second thought. You’d be in processing by now, and you’d be in jail for the next few weeks before they could even get you a public defender.

But that was you and Vanessa. You fucked up, she stuck her neck out for you. This was probably going to be one time too many. This was going to be the one that got her fired. She had already been warned about letting you off, performing ‘special favors’.

“Get in the car!” You repeated back, mocking her voice in a silly way before you let out a chuckling howl.

So what? You liked to party. So what? Those parties got a little out of control.

It’s not your fault some uptight suburban yuppies called the cops on you for having fun. You didn’t even know that having an ‘open container’ of booze and having sex in the back of someone’s car was illegal anyway. Live and learn.

“God, how much have you had to drink?” Vanessa gritted through her teeth, low and full of breath, the way she always did when she was angry.

It was something that made your stomach twist and made you far dizzier than the alcohol did. You weren’t sure if it was from lust - from your underlying attraction toward her, or if it was from fear. Perhaps a bit of both.

“Let me smell your breath.” She demanded.

Truthfully, you hadn’t had that much to drink. One or two sips from a bottle, enough to get you a bit buzzed. You had been planning on having more later. But you were in a nagging mood, and didn’t want to give into her so easily.

“Ness, I’m not a fucking teenager-” You argued, still facing away from her as you trudged toward the car with lazy steps.

She put a hand on your elbow and whipped you around with a surprising strength, forcing you to face her. She was tight in your personal space before you could blink, and instinctively, you clamped your mouth closed and held your breath - though you knew that the smell of Jack Daniels would be apparent coming off your nose and lips whether you breathed on her or not.

“You’re not a teenager anymore, but you’re sure as fuck acting like one.” She said harshly.

You finally released your breath, giving another laugh and a shrug.

“At least I know how to have fun.” You argued, entirely careless about the situation.

You expected that you would get into the front seat of the car and she would drive you home. She’d probably make you drink some water before tucking you into bed, and you would fall asleep to her giving you a long lecture about responsibility. She would come by in the morning with coffee and bagels (despite the stereotypes about cops, Vanessa was not much of a donut person).

But instead of partaking in this predictable routine, Vanessa surprised you with her next move.

She put a hand in the middle of your back and shoved you toward the car again. This time you were closer - your stomach landed against the back bumper, and you let out a small grunt as you collided with it. You turned your head over your shoulder to question her, but before you could get any words out, she pulled one of your forearms to the middle of your back and you felt cold steel on your wrist.

“Y/N L/N, you’re under arrest for Public Intoxication and Public Indecency,” She announced, her voice deadly calm, and stern.

“Ness, you’re seriously arresting me?” You asked, insult and scorn running through your voice.

Her answer came in the form of her bringing your other wrist to the middle of your back - she joined it into the cuffs with the harsh, echoing grind of metal as the cuffs slid into place.

“You have the right to remain silent-” She said, continuing to go about the routine in a very unfeeling tone.

“You have the right to fuck off.” You bit back bitterly.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you-”

“Is that everything I’ve ever told you from when we were kids, or is that just starting now?” You asked, feeling spite rise up in you.

“Will you ever learn to shut up?” She replied with a sarcastic, spiteful question of her own, and grabbed you to bring you around to the back door of the car.

You heaved out a sigh as she opened the door. As she put a hand on the top of your head and tried to push you into the car, you resisted further.

“Ness, seriously?” You said, hoping one last push against her would get her to take off the cuffs.

“Just get in the car.” She repeated again, her voice entirely stern.

You sagged, and let yourself become pliant to her motions as she guided you into the backseat.

It wasn’t the first time you had been in the back of her police car. But it was always under other circumstances. If something else was occupying the front seat, like a large tool box or her gym bag, then she would make you sit in the back. Sometimes, if you were too drunk to sit up and she was afraid you would puke on her, then she would make you sit in the back. You found it to be a decent place to fall asleep.

However, this was the first time you had been in the backseat in handcuffs.

This was the first time she had officially arrested you.

You found it uncomfortable to sit with your wrists behind your back, but you knew that was currently the least of your problems. Vanessa leaned in, reaching for the seatbelt, ready to strap you in, fiddling with it for a moment before she grunted with frustration.

“The seatbelt back here is still broken.” She said through gritted teeth as she moved to stand at her full height outside the car. “Because someone insisted on-”

“Oh, shut up.” You barked back. “Where else was I supposed to strap in Sir Bearrington?”

A few weeks ago she had picked you up from a carnival.

You had been detained by security there for stealing a large lock box of money from one of the vendors - it had been out in the open, too tempting. When you had taken it with no real plan and simply started running, you had eventually been caught by the security staff on the grounds.

And when you had been locked up in the office, you had called Vanessa - and she had arrived to bail you out without question. Earlier in the night, you had won an oversized teddy bear and refused to give it up even when Vanessa insisted that it was stupid.

Apparently your insistence to try and strap the bear into her back seat, the ensuing argument the two of you had over it, grabbing the seatbelt and tugging at it - had broken the seatbelt. You hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.

“You’re not cute.” Vanessa mumbled, clearly disgruntled by the whole thing.

She slammed the back door closed, leaving you unrestrained in the back of the car, fully prone to be injured in a car accident. Though, you supposed she didn’t care about that with how angry she was at you right now.

She walked around to the front seat and got in, leaving the two of you in a sullen silence as she started the car and drove away. She didn’t even bother putting on the radio to buffer that silence, and you hated how much it made you feel like a child sitting in the principal’s office.

You stared at the back of her head through the metal mesh of the cage separating the front and the back - something that supposedly kept her safe from the dangerous criminal that you were. You felt a deep bitter ache form inside of you as all of it truly set in. With the handcuffs biting into your wrists and your fingers beginning to tingle with numbness, it truly hit you.

Vanessa wasn’t going to protect you anymore.

“You’re seriously bringing me in?” You choked out, not intending for the hurt to come through in your voice as much as it did.

“Yes.” Vanessa replied. “You did something wrong. You deserve to see justice.”

“Justice?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You sure have a funny sense of that.”

“How so?” Vanessa asked, her voice entirely timid.

She kept her eyes straight ahead, not daring to catch a glimpse of your disappointed face in the rearview mirror. She had a feeling that she knew what you were going to say, and she wasn’t going to like it.

“If you had any sense of justice, you wouldn’t have begged me not to rat out your father all those years ago.” You said, your voice choked off by emotion. “I would have told everyone what I saw, and he’d be in jail. You would have gone into foster care with some other family, and you’d be miles and miles away from this shithole town. And… I’d probably be in the psych ward. Making paper crafts with some nice woman named Martha.”

“Please don’t talk about my father.” Vanessa gritted out - it was a very tender spot for her, which was something that you already knew.

The day you met Vanessa was one of the worst days of your life.

It started out as a day that was entirely unassuming, at best. You had divorced parents, and when your father got you on weekends, he didn’t like to try too hard. He was the type of dad who turned on the TV and fell asleep, left you to your own devices. You liked it that way.

That weekend, he had brought you out. Freddy Fazbear’s was a place kids could have fun, and their parents could sit back and forget about them. You liked it there - just like any other kid would. You ran around, played arcade games, ate pizza. You gawked at the animatronic band and danced to their songs.

At one point, you ran into a shy little blond girl and she introduced herself to you as Vanessa. She told you that sometimes being at Freddy’s got boring for her because her father worked there and she was there all the time. She showed you all the best arcade games, and a hack to get a free play (unplugging them and plugging them back in, which reset them to ‘demo mode’). She even snuck behind the prize counter and got you a decoder ring that you had been admiring, but didn’t have enough tickets for.

The two of you had the best afternoon together. And you hated it when your father shouted your name and told you that you were going home. So you told him that you needed a spare minute to say goodbye to your new friend Vanessa. And then, innocently enough - you sought her out.

This search for her mistakenly led you into one of the back rooms.

The horrors you saw could barely be described. A Yellow Rabbit mascot missing its head. A twisted, laughing face covered in blood. A horrifically large knife plunging into a small body. Bright red, thick blood. Guts, flesh. Carnage.

Vanessa found you just as her father spotted you out of the corner of his eye. He came at you with the bloody knife at the ready. That crazed expression on his face was the most unforgettable thing about him. Whenever you closed your eyes and thought back to that day - the expression on his face was the thing that you remembered most.

Vanessa threw herself in front of you and begged for your life. The discussion between them that followed was a blur in your mind as your heart thumped hard between your ears. Something about ‘witnesses’ and ‘loose ends’. All you knew for certain was that Vanessa had saved your life.

At one point, using his large, yellow mascot hand, he thrust a knife toward her, forcing it into her small fist - and he told her that it was time for her to start ‘pulling her weight’. Vanessa took you by the wrist and took you to another room.

But you never felt afraid with her, not for a moment.

She made you swear not to tell anyone what you had seen, and you did. And because she just didn’t have it in her to take a life, especially not yours - she let you live.

It was too weekends later when your father brought you back to Freddy’s.

You were excited to see Vanessa. Her father was not excited to see you. When he pulled you into one of the back rooms and berated Vanessa about why you were still ‘around’ - you finally found your courage, and told him that you ‘wouldn’t tell’. The smile he gave you was almost as horrifying as the killing had been. He patted you on the head, and said that he liked loyalty ‘in his friends’.

The Bonnie plushie that he gave you - a kind of reward for your silence, felt tainted. You threw it away at the closest opportunity, but you kept the decoder ring. You still had it in your jewelry box, even to this day.

Strangely enough, that wasn’t the last time you saw Vanessa. The two of you spent more and more time together, quickly becoming best friends. You were two lost children in the world, two warped branches of a tree growing to lean on each other, desperate to find the sun. You were the only person who knew all of her dark secrets and didn’t care. You were the only person around her who wasn’t dead, or didn’t fear the rumors about her after Freddy’s shut down - even after she started going by her mother’s maiden name, desperate to escape the dark shadow her father had created over her life.

Being around Vanessa, spending more time with her - it meant that you did see her father in passing. Every time you did, it felt like seeing a ghost. It did feel like the man with the knife and the crazed expression on his face was a completely different person from the man with the thick glasses who sat across from you at the dinner table, offering you more peas and asking about how your classes were going.

Vanessa was always the same person. She was always stubborn. She was always a champion for the innocent. She was always someone who needed intense control over every aspect of her life. You thought she would have been destined to become a social worker - but you guessed that she had seen too many broken, dead kids for a lifetime. And she liked the security of having a gun on her belt. So that’s why she became a cop.

You became a highschool drop-out, part-time drunk, petty criminal, sex degenerate, and general failure.

It was a real case study of the two roads that trauma corrupted people can take. If anybody were ever willing to take a closer look.

Vanessa fuelled her anxiety and anger into going forward, charging ahead without thinking, and your anxiety and nightmares caused you to fall more and more backward by the minute.

“How is dear old daddy, by the way?” You asked, picking at the raw nerve out of spite. “Has he missed me at family dinners?”

“Shut up!” Vanessa barked. Then after a heavy moment, she let out another quiet, mousy sentence. “I haven’t seen him in years. You know that.”

“Oh, but your bank account says otherwise.” You replied, a cocky tone breaching through. “The new apartment is so nice. I know you’re not bankrolling all that on a cop’s salary. What kind of dirty work does he have you doing these days?”

Vanessa’s silence was painfully knowledgeable.

He had sucked her back in somehow.

“I knew that you always had a soft spot for him.” You sighed. “You probably wish he had gotten rid of me all those years ago, huh?” You mumbled quietly. “It’s not like you ever actually cared about me.”

Of course, you were feeling hurt by her putting you in handcuffs, threatening to turn you in, something that felt like the ultimate betrayal - so the words slipped out.

You were shocked when Vanessa slammed on the breaks and the car came to a screeching halt. It was lucky that you were on a desolate backroad with nobody else to rear-end you at the sudden stop. If not for your instincts (even while slightly inebriated) to put your foot against the cage, keeping yourself from smacking forward, then you likely would have had the harsh shape of that mesh imprinted on your cheek.

“I never cared about you?” Vanessa asked, her voice filled with an intense, dark rage.

You caught her eye in the rearview mirror, and save for the tears dancing on her waterline - she had a look almost identical to that same crazed look her father had worn all those years ago. You almost would have mocked her for it if you didn’t feel your stomach clenching up with fear.

You had to remind yourself that this was your Vanessa. This wasn’t him.

“I never cared about you?” She repeated, so utterly insulted by what you had said that she could feel her reality tearing apart. She almost could believe that you had said it.

“Vanessa-” You choked out, calling her by her full name for the first time in so long.

Before you could beg for mercy or apologize, she abruptly cut you off.

“No.” She said. “Shut up.”

The pure force of her voice sent chills through you, and this time you couldn’t help but to comply.

You sat in a dizzying silence as she slammed on the gas pedal again, and the car went speeding off. She seemed very determined with where she was going. After a minute or two, where you were becoming increasingly light-headed from your worry, Vanessa whipped the cruiser into an empty lot - a random patch of old pavement that looked like it was on the back end of a place used to keep scrap cars.

It was dark and secluded. Nobody would find you here.

She turned off the car and got out, and the back door was open before you could blink.

“Vanes-”

You tried to speak to her again, but she reached into the back and grabbed you harshly. One hand tight in your hair, fierce, like a catty teenage fight, and the other on the collar of your crappy old band shirt. She tore your body out of the car (once again, her strength amazed you), stretching out the neck of your shirt in the process. You pattered along with your feet, struggling to keep up and whining in pain as she tugged harshly on your roots, likely pulling hair out in some places.

You would deny that you liked the pain, especially when it was inflicted onto you by her.

She tossed you onto the ground and the roughness of the pavement bit into your skin. You let out a sharp groan as you felt some of the skin on your elbow being scraped away.

“Ness-”

Before you could speak, she put a hefty boot on your hip and turned you over, turning you over onto your back. She then pushed that boot into the middle of your stomach, forcing all the air out of you. With the force pushing down on you, your arms became numb as your hands got pushed into the pavement, the metal of the cuffs biting into your wrists even more now.

You looked up the length of her body at her, admiring her like a monument in the darkness. Oddly enough, equal parts fear and lust tingled through you as you had nothing but her in your view. Your mind became hazy from the grounding weight of her boot pushing down against the middle of your body. She was a goddess - piercing blue eyes, glassy and crazed, and the swell of her breasts, tightly pressed against her blue uniform shirt, the slight of her shoulders just barely blocking out the inky blue of the night sky as she towered over you.

You knew that she could have killed you. She could have easily shot you and left your body there, and nobody would have cared about a petty criminal fuck-up like you turning up dead.

But in that moment, you weren’t afraid. You never had to be afraid with her.

“Vanessa-”

“Shut. Up.” She ground out, the words harsh through her teeth.

She pressed her foot down slightly, causing you to moan out in pain.

“Do not, for a moment, even begin to judge-” She almost choked on the words, grinding like harsh knives against her throat. “Do not begin to perceive how much I do or do not care about you.” She said, the words harsh and venomous in the cool air. “If I didn’t care about you, you would fucking know it.”

You knew there was more to it, more waiting on her tongue. Words she couldn’t say.

‘If I didn’t care about you, you wouldn’t be here right now.’

You were lucky to have her. You knew that.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked out, finding it hard to breathe around the boot pressing into your diaphragm.

Once again, this reminded you of her power over you - the way she towered over you like a proud monument. You hated the fact that even as you struggled for air, you felt a demanding need growing between your thighs.

It certainly didn’t help that you hadn’t been able to cum earlier. Like you had said, you had been interrupted before you and your ‘friend’ (acquaintance, a random guy you kind of knew) could finish up. And although you hadn’t been expecting that to be a very satisfying sexual encounter, you were hoping for it to be distracting and take the edge off of your general horniness, at the very least.

Now you were here - unintentionally edged and hornier than ever.

“Yeah, I’ll show you sorry.” Vanessa muttered, that anger still ripe on her breath.

You thought maybe she would hit you.

It wouldn’t be the first time that the two of you had gotten into a physical fight, volatile and wonderful as your relationship was. You did think it was unfair that this time you were so unmatched, with your hands cuffed behind your back. But she surprised you when, instead of punching you, she took her foot off your stomach completely. And then she came down to straddle you, sitting on that same sore spot above your waistband where her foot had just been.

Oh, so it was that kind of sorry.

This wouldn’t be the first time you and Vanessa had sex either. Frankly, you should have been expecting this.

A lot of your arguments with Vanessa ended in fistfighting - or fucking. Sometimes a combination of both.

She glared down the length of her body at you and you were aggravated. She wasn’t sitting low enough on your waist for you to grind yourself against her, to get any good friction where you needed it most. You whined with torment and pain as more pressure, the whole weight of her body and yours was put on your cuffed wrists and they were pushed into the ground.

Your wrists were going to be so fucked - but you tried to make that a problem for your later self.

You squirmed helplessly, trying to get more comfortable. Vanessa put a stop to your movements with a hand around your neck, shoving your head backwards into the pavement. You instantly stilled against the tightness of her fingers, especially as she pressed into the tender point at the side of your jaw with her thumb.

She didn’t apply any intense pressure - as long as you sat with your head back and stayed still, she only used the touch to make you pliant and trap you there.

She put her other hand above your head and leaned down slightly, creating a looming shadow over you as she spoke.

“Do not ever accuse me of not caring about you.” She said, her voice still painted dark with anger. “Do you think that random guy you were fucking cared about you?”

You knew the question was a trap.

“No.” You said, your voice the timid one now.

“Do you think he would give a shit if you live or die?” She asked, moving her free hand to skim her knuckles across the side of your cheek - a touch so gentle that it made you shiver. “Do you think he would give his life for yours?”

“No.” You whimpered in return, feeling that aching need between your thighs growing more hot and prominent.

“Do you think he would even give a fuck if he made you cum or not?”

With these words, she reached down suddenly and - with picture perfect aim, grabbed your nipple through your shirt, giving it a harsh twist. The pain shot through you, causing you to arch up against the hold she had on your neck. This made you lightheaded, but you knew better than to keep her waiting for an answer.

“No!” You whined out breathlessly. “No, he wouldn’t care!”

“Exactly.” She growled out. “I care. I’m the only one who cares about you in this godforsaken world.”

She was probably right.

You sucked in a breath, desperate to fill your lungs when she let you go.

You looked on with intrigue as she descended down your body. While sitting on your knees, keeping you pinned to the ground, she opened the button and zipper of your jeans. She dug her fingers into the waistband and yanked them down.

It was a bit of a struggle with you acting as deadweight against her, becoming more dizzy as heat swelled between your legs and made you dumb between the ears. She managed to get your pants down to your midthigh before she left the fabric there. This left your bare ass scraping against the roughness of the pavement, left all of you exposed to the cool night air - open, waiting for her.

You clenched your thighs tight together, waiting with nervous impatience as she looked down at you. Her jaw was tight, tern; her blue eyes glistening with rage and betrayal.

“Did he cum inside of you?” She growled.

All at once, she lifted her weight off your legs, sitting up onto her knees. She hovered above you as she put her hands on your inner thighs and ripped your legs apart - as far as they would go with the waistband of your jeans holding you in place.

“Ness!” You protested quietly, knowing it was in vain.

You felt open and exposed to her as she blatantly inspected you - her fingers dug in, holding tight against your squirming attempts to close your legs once again. She knew that even past your embarrassment, you were turned on by this. Blatant evidence of that came before her eyes as a bit of wetness pathetically leaked out of you, glistening in the low light for her to see, smearing across your skin as you struggled against her.

“Stay still!” She snapped, giving a harsh smack to your inner thigh that resonated through the air, chasing air out of your lungs. You thrashed from the pain for a moment before going still upon instinct, knowing that your hole was now visibly clenching around nothing, waiting for her. “So misbehaved. Such a brat. It’s like you don’t even want me to fuck you at all.”

She sat herself on top of you once again, sitting on your thighs right where your jeans were, causing the denim to cut into your skin as she weighed on it. She specifically barred your thighs open against the ground, and you made no protest as she placed a hand between your thighs and began touching you. She worked in slow, teasing strokes that made the muscles of your thighs quiver and made a moan get caught in the back of your throat.

“Look at me.” She ordered - you hadn’t even realized that your head was tilting back, your body so loyal to her that the pleasure of such a simple touch from her already overwhelmed you. “Y/N. Look at me.”

She put her free hand on your neck again, slowing down the hand that was between your thighs until she was just barely teasing her fingertips against you. She used two fingers on your jaw to force your eyes toward her, and then she put that hold back on your neck - not yet putting any pressure, but making her presence well known to you.

You were powerless against her, perfect below her - and you knew that’s where you belonged.

“Who’s in charge?” She demanded, her voice low, scraping against her throat in a way that made goosebumps form all over your skin.

She was still touching you in that slow, barely there way. You swallowed down a whimper and resisted the urge to buck your hips up into her, knowing that it would only get you spanked in a very sensitive place.

“You are.” You said, your voice cradling around the words in a very pathetic, fucked-out kind of way.

“And who takes care of you?” She asked, ever present to remind you of this.

“You do.” You told her.

“Good.” She growled.

Then she sped up her hand, her movements almost vengeful as she worked between your legs, touching you in a way that she distinctly knew would make you fall apart.

“Ness!” You shouted, not even slightly mindful to keep quiet. If you were even slightly present mentally, you would have remembered that’s why she chose this location. She liked to hear you scream. “Oh fuck me!”

“That’s the plan.” She chuckled.

She worked you hard and fast, made you breathless. Your mouth gaped like a fish on land as you desperately tried to steal air into your lungs, ever mindful of the hold she had on your neck - a presence, not a hold, not yet.

Just when your thighs were quivering and you were on the brink of orgasm, she pulled back. Before you could curse on her, she hauled her touch back from you completely and delivered a harsh, sharp spank to the most sensitive part of you.

“Fuck!” You screamed. “Fuck you, Vanessa, I’ve been good!” You quickly argued, anger surging through you.

You didn’t even hesitate before you gathered spit in your mouth and launched at her savagely, bitterly angry with her as the pain stung through you. You would never admit that in this state, it mixed with the pleasure in a deliriously confusing way, and might have brought you to orgasm if she had done it again too quickly.

The glob of your spit landed on her shirt, making a small spot, and she glared down at it for a moment. She didn’t seem to pay it much mind.

“No, you haven’t been.” She told you, her voice stern. “You need to remember how to be good.”

She landed another spank between your legs, and as your almost-there orgasm faded from your stomach, this one stung a lot more.

“Fuck!” You cursed again.

“Now ask me nicely.” She demanded. “I won’t take care of some brat who doesn’t appreciate it. I’ll take care of someone who asks me nicely, and says thank you.”

You were too far gone to argue against her.

“Please.” You begged, tilting your head up to look at her.

She was still so well composed, not a single hair out of place - the only evidence of sex on her being the stain you had left on her shirt and a tinge of pink coming across her cheeks from the obvious heat you were drawing out of her.

“Please, Nessa. Please, I need it.” You begged, your voice breathy and fucked out. “I need you.”

Those were the magic words.

She put her hand back on you - gently, this time, and began steadily working you.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you!” You sighed.

You were now making a slightly sloppy sound with your own wetness as her hand moved - she pushed a steady stream of moans out of you as she worked up the rhythm. It wasn’t long before you noticed her weight shift, and felt her rubbing herself against your thigh. You loved the impressive heat coming off her cunt, even through her pants it was apparent. From the way she moved her hips with intense urgency, she needed this too.

You felt yourself getting close again, that deadly heat curling in your gut. You knew what needed to happen, and you weren’t going to make the same mistake again.

“Please!” You begged, breathless. “Please, Ness, let me cum!”

“Why should I?” She growled, working her hand even faster now, vengeful as she pumped her wrist and canted her hips against your thigh.

“Cause - cause you’re the only one who cares about me!” You replied. “Please!”

It seemed that this was enough to satisfy her.

“Cum for me.” She growled out.

You couldn’t bring yourself to disobey.

She worked you through it - part skill, part knowing from exploring your body so many times before, from being the only person who knew you like this. She moved her hand from your neck and leaned down to sink her teeth into the skin there. The feeling of her canines digging into you while you arched up as the orgasm rocked your body only made everything more dizzying.

The sharp pain of her bite was grounding, and as your body quaked through the last aftershocks of your orgasm, you whimpered out her name. She hushed you, gently petting her hands all over you before she soothed her tongue over the stinging bite.

“It’s okay.” She whispered into your neck. “It’s gonna be okay.”

After a few moments of stillness, Vanessa helped pull your pants up, silently admiring the mess you had made all over your own thighs. And then - she sat you up and unlocked the cuffs. Your wrists were incredibly sore and raw in some places from the metal cutting into your skin, but neither of you said anything about it.

She opened the door for you to get into the front seat, and wordlessly, she drove you home. When you used your key for the front door, you left it open - a silent invitation for her to come inside after you, and she sighed loudly before doing so.

That night, she slept in your bed. Both of you pretended that everything was okay.

You and Vanessa were both very broken people. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. You showed that brokenness in very different ways, and ultimately, she probably handled it a lot better than you did.

But one thing would always be true - she took care of you, no matter what.

...

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starmapz · 4 months

Text

shame on me || chapter four || monster

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 5.8k.

edited but not beta-read.

a/n || please enjoy what will likely be the last bit of fluff for a while :')

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The grass is damp beneath your feet as you tend to the garden you had finally had time to start. Yaga had sent Gojo out to investigate after your recent outing, given that a grade one curse shouldn’t have been present during your mission. Yuji had taken care to mention to you as well that “Nanamin” had seemed nothing short of furious as they had discussed the mission. It was heartwarming, to say the least. Along with Gojo being away in Ginza, Choso had been sent out along with Yuji and another student you had yet to meet to investigate a potential cursed object. Either way, it allowed you a moment’s peace.

Golden rays warmed your skin, cascading down over the quiet landscape of the school. You bring the back of your forearm up to wipe sweat from your brow, the sunhat adorning your head not enough to block the heat. Smiling to yourself, you brush dirt from your hands as you finish planting a row of white peace lilies.

Letting out a gentle sigh, you borrow Miriko’s technique for a short moment, watching as you focus your cursed energy on one seed. The seed buds, pushing through the soft earth and flowering in seconds. You hold the pristine white petals between your fingers, gentle and careful as you admire the gorgeous blossom.

Taro’s head raises suddenly, bolting from his position beside you to run circles in front of your visitor. Curiously, you follow his movements, a smile finding your lips as your eyes land on Kento. He’s smiling warmly at you from the edge of the treeline, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He isn't wearing his usual blue shirt and yellow tie, but rather a simple white button-up shirt and tan slacks. He’s the definition of handsome.

“Pretty,” Kento comments, honeyed gaze soft and calm as he approaches you with hands in the pockets of his slacks.

Your pink-tinted vision falls to the simple curves of the petals gently held between your fingers. The corners of your lips upturn as you turn your gaze back to Kento.

“Thank you,” you grin. “It's the one thing I can do with Miriko’s technique that doesn't come at a cost,” you explain, fiddling mindlessly with the edge of the petal.

Kento hums slyly. “I didn't mean the flower, dear.”

Your lips part, eyes wide as you stare at him, your words failing you. Your cheeks warm, the heat spreads quickly to the tips of your ears and base of your neck and you're thankful for your sunhat blocking much of the flattery painted across your features. Your heart pounds against your chest in your moment of weakness, earning a heartfelt chuckle from the man who scratches behind Taro’s ear and makes his way over to the flowerbed, kneeling beside you.

“A peace lily?” He asks, tilting his head curiously and you're surprised to find he recognizes it.

You nod, finding your voice once again. “Yeah, they’re always the first flowers I try to grow.”

“Is there a reason for that?”

Your eyes fall to the flower, the only sprouted one in all the flower beds around you. Your smile fades, a solemn expression tugging your lips into a frown. “They're in honor of someone,” you whisper, letting your silence speak for itself.

Kento understands, his hand finding solace in resting gently on your shoulder as his thumb rubs small circles over your bare skin. His touch sends electricity through your every nerve as you're forced to remain in place to avoid shivering.

“I apologize, I didn't mean to bring anything up,” his voice is kind, understanding. You got the feeling he was far too kind to push the subject if you weren’t ready to talk about it.

“You didn't know,” you flash him a somewhat bittersweet smile, the most you can manage as you attempt to erase the images of the hospital so long ago from your mind. “What brings you here?” You ask, changing the subject. Releasing the peace lily from between your fingertips, Taro sets his head on your lap, his tongue lolling out happily. Your hand finds a place between his ears, scratching his thick fur.

“I know it’s short notice, but I came to see if you two,” he points to Taro as well, “would like to join me for an outing. A date.”

You study his expression for a moment. His eye is somewhat lidded, the mahogany of his iris full of hope. It’s sweet, the way he regards you as though he’s never seen something so pretty. The feelings that stir within you are foreign after years of setting them aside, but they aren’t unwelcome. The blush on your cheeks is the only answer he truly needs, but still he waits for your response, more eagerly than he’s letting on.

“I’d love that, Kento! I think Taro would too,” you say, gently petting between his ears. You wonder what Nanami has in store for you as you get to your feet, brushing leaves and grass off of your short dress. “Can you watch Taro while I get ready?” You ask with a giddy grin, to which the blonde sorcerer nods.

It doesn't take you long to open your cabin door, adorned in a warm crimson summer dress that ends just above your knees. The dress pairs well with your sunglasses and your hair is done up in a partial updo that pulls the outfit together.

Nanami’s gaze rises from where he’s throwing a ball for Taro. His eye widens as he takes in your appearance. A soft blush rises on his cheeks before the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at you.

“You look beautiful.”

It's your turn to blush once again and you giggle bashfully to yourself while you turn and lock the door. Taro’s leash in one hand, you take the hand Kento offers at the edge of the stairs as you make your way down off of your porch to his side. Kneeling down, you hook the leash onto the Rottweiler’s collar, looping it around your wrist. Taro loops between your knees excitedly, not used to the leash as you attempt to untangle him.

Kento’s gaze doesn't leave you for a moment, his eye sparkling as his small smile fails to leave his lips. It’s hard not to feel nervous when his honeyed gaze is glued to you, your heart fluttering uncontrollably. It was flattering, something that would take you a while to get used to. It had been so long since you’d been on a date that you can't help but let small anxieties further fuel the nerves you already feel. Regardless, it’s hard not to be excited in Kento’s presence.

“Ready to go?” Nanami’s voice is smooth, patient. It even eases your anxiety somewhat. Nodding, you let him lead the way, Taro excitedly following along on his leash.

“Did you have something in mind?” You ask curiously.

Nanami’s chest rumbles in a soft laugh. “Did you think I asked you out with no plan?”

“I- well-” you stammer over your words.

“I do have something in mind,” he smiles, saving you from stumbling over words. “I’m fairly old-fashioned in that sense.”

“It’s sweet,” you assure him. Nanami leads the way out past the entrance of the school, down a quiet forested path until he reaches a small shaded clearing. Flowers of various colors are speckled across the clearing and a large beige and white striped blanket is spread in the center of the clearing. Your eyes sparkle at the sight of a cooler on the blanket, realizing what exactly Nanami had set up for the two of you.

“Kento…” you gasp, turning excitedly to face him. He's fondly watching your reaction, the way your eyes sparkle in wonder at what was a simple, yet well-thought-out first date for the two of you.

“I hope you like it.”

“It’s perfect!” You grin, turning to unleash Taro, who you knew wouldn't go far. Taro bounds around the clearing excitedly, immediately taking to smelling every inch of the new surroundings.

Your date’s hand finds its way to the small of your back, directing you gently to the blanket. You sit down alongside Kento, watching eagerly as he sets out a wide array of different food options, from fruits and pastries to sandwiches and salads, including some he brought just for Taro. He was so thoughtful and you were so hopelessly flustered.

Every kind and romantic action from the blonde sorcerer had your mind spinning, your heart pounding in your chest. It was almost like he was a gift delivered straight from the gods to your doorstep. Everything you could ever hope for. He had an interest in flowers and listened intently as you explained your wedding flower business. His eye would glimmer as he spoke about a novel he finished recently and it seemed he enjoyed baking and cooking too.

He told you about how he had once done an office job but returned to sorcery when he felt he was no longer able to make a difference. Although he didn’t feel he had found the right fit for himself even now, he found some sort of belonging in using his abilities for good.

The conversation flowed naturally as you told him about your cottage and the kind people you lived near. How you had a massive yard and how Taro had been trained for the explicit purpose of tracking Gojo, which amused Kento.

For a moment, it allowed you to feel almost normal. With your cursed energy suppressed and Miriko shut out of your brain, you were allowed to just be you. To laugh, and enjoy the shade beneath the warm spring sun of Tokyo. Embarrassingly, it had you feeling giddy like a middle schooler with a crush.

Though when it came down to it, when was the last time you had a crush? Went on a date? Living with Miriko for over ten years, it likely was in high school. It had been so long since you had allowed yourself to get close to someone and shut everyone out that these feelings were so foreign they struck fear into you.

“y/n?”

“Hm?” You blink at him, eyes flickering to his hand on your forearm as you jump.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he offers a sympathetic smile as an apology. “I asked if everything’s alright,” he repeats himself.

Your lips part to speak but you pause, pressing them into a thin line as you examine Kento’s expression. He’s ever patient with you, allowing you to work through your own thoughts like the perfect gentleman he was. You can't help but wonder if maybe admitting to him that you haven't been with someone in over ten years won't be the most embarrassing thing on earth, but the nagging feeling in your chest says otherwise. Someone like Nanami had to have boatloads of experience, after all. A successful sorcerer as handsome as him? How could he not?

“You don't need to tell me, if you aren't ready,” he pulls you from your thoughts again, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your forearm and you sigh, unable to hold his gaze.

“It's just… been a long time since I’ve-” you pause, biting your lip. “-been with someone.”

Nanami nods slowly as he takes in your words.

“I guess I’m just having a hard time convincing myself this is right,” you mumble, unable to meet his steady golden-flecked iris.

“I see,” he hums, squeezing your forearm reassuringly. “We can go slow. At whatever pace you're comfortable with.”

Somewhat embarrassed, you shoot him a grateful smile, unable to hide the growing blush heating your cheeks and the back of your neck. Your heart does a backflip at the sentiment he expressed.

“This may be forward of me, but why do you hold yourself back?” His head cocks ever so slightly to the side as he watches the way you purposefully avoid his gaze. “You don’t fight, you should have no reason to be in any trouble, no?”

Your lips part, but the explanation dies on your tongue before you can voice it. I killed someone, you think to yourself. Was that really something to bring up on your first date?

“Don’t feel pressured to respond,” Nanami’s hand brushes your cheek. Wide eyes face him, the way he’s staring at you so softly, so gently. So full of adoration. Sure, you had spent your time over the last couple of weeks texting him non-stop like a giddy teenager (which was surprising given that Kento didn’t strike you as much of a texter), but still the way it seemed you had both fallen so fast was nothing short of terrifying for you. Yet, somehow, comforting.

You trusted him.

“I took someone’s life,” you admit, stealing a glance in his direction. His expression is neutral, giving nothing away as to how he feels. “I-” your chest tightens, anxiety threatening to claw at your composure. “I took away a young boy’s mother.” Kento doesn’t move, he doesn’t react. He simply lets you speak, but it does no favors for the growing feeling of unease tearing at your lungs. “It was an accident.” Your voice is barely a whisper, tiny and weak.

Sensing your growing anxiety, Kento shifts until he’s sitting flush against your side, pulling you into his chest. He gently rubs circles into your back, his breathing and heartbeat a steady reminder of where you were sitting. Grounding you. Accident or not, the guilt had always eaten you alive. It was something you couldn’t forgive yourself for, no matter how hard you tried. A constant nagging in the back of your mind, a reminder of why you kept your distance from the rest of the world, despite being lonelier than you cared to admit.

“All the best sorcerers have to make sacrifices,” Nanami admits, his voice a soothing reminder that you were safe. You lift your head to face him, his gentle gaze forlorn and solemn as he admits his own faults. “Unfortunately that’s the nature of a world with curses.”

Still, it wasn’t an easy reality to come to terms with. A weight on your shoulders that would never be shed, something you feared you would never truly come to terms with. Your one true reminder of the reality of what Miriko really was, and what she was capable of when it came down to it.

“My point is,” Nanami continues after an extended silence, his fingers finding a place on your waist, igniting a fiery warmth beneath his large hand. “There are consequences to our abilities, that doesn’t make any of us more or less deserving of companionship.”

You let out a small sigh, neither unhappy nor content, simply taking in his words. “You’re too kind, Kento,” you smile up at him, leaning forward to grab a strawberry. Best not to dwell on it during your first date. You didn’t want to bring yourself or Kento down.

The sun’s unwavering rays broke through the canopy above as the afternoon turned to evening before you knew it. Time with Kento passed quickly, maybe even too quickly. His genuine interest in your every word, your every movement, was captivating. If your heart had anything to say about it, it’s that you were hopelessly falling fast and easily, because that’s exactly what things were with Nanami. He was so willing to be open and honest, to be understanding, that although you found yourself shaking and nervous here and there, he was quick to soothe any worries. It was almost as though he knew you better than you knew yourself.

Taro’s head rises from your lap at the sound of a nearby car driving up the dirt road towards the school entrance, likely either Gojo or Yuji returning from their missions. Taro’s tail begins wagging, knocking over a small container of blueberries. Smiling at your dog’s excitement, you take a moment to glance at the sky, realizing it’s beginning to get dark and now Taro was eager to head back to the cabin.

“What do you say we head back?” Nanami offers the suggestion, taking notice of the same observations as you had. You nod with a sheepish grin, taking the blonde’s hand as he lifts you effortlessly. A bubbly giggle passes between your lips as you both gather the blankets and fill the cooler with food, walking along the dirt path up to the school.

“Thank you for… everything,” you shoot Nanami a grateful smile, who shakes his head as though it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s nice to have a break away from the school,” you sigh.

“And Gojo,” he adds with a soft chuckle.

“That too,” you roll your eyes playfully, curiously tilting your head. “I got the feeling you two were friends?” You ask, though your question is phrased more as a statement.

Nanami’s brow raises as he thinks about it before shrugging. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” his gaze flickers towards you. “Acquaintances, co-workers,” he shakes his head. “But I don’t believe Gojo would tell anyone he has friends,” your lips part in confusion, as your thumb rubs mindless circles into Nanami’s hand.

“Someone as outgoing as him having no friends? I find that hard to believe,” you scoff.

The sorcerer hums in comprehension, but he doesn’t say anything, mahogany gaze cast to the side deep in thought. As you near your cabin, any thoughts of Gojo dissipate as the blonde’s full attention returns to you. He squeezes your hand as he turns to face you.

“Thank you-” “-I had a-”

You blink at one another, a light blush dusting both of your faces as you speak over one another. A chuckle rumbles in Nanami’s chest as his hands find your waist and pulls you closer.

“Go ahead, dear.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your blush deepens at the pet name he used.

“I had a great time today, thank you Kento,” you grin, your eyes sparkling. The way Kento’s mahogany irises dilate, shining in utter happiness, warms your heart. It’s good to see him able to relax, it’s good to see him smile when you’re so used to his constant tired expression, ever observant. Contentment suits him.

“Thank you for joining me,” he hums, his voice deeper than usual as his face nears yours, his breath fanning your cheeks. Your heart threatens to break free from your chest with how hard it’s pounding in your ribs and a shiver runs up your spine. His right thumb rubs soothing circles into your skin, as time seems to freeze. “I’d love to take you out again soon,” he says, examining the way you nod with a sheepish smile before his gaze falls to your lips and back to your eyes. A silent question of consent, one that you respond with by setting your hands on his shoulders and pushing yourself up onto your toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Your eyes open to Kento’s, an undeniable happiness painted on his features like the most gorgeous masterpiece you ever had the honor of witnessing. He pulls you back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brush yours for a moment before he presses another chaste kiss to your soft lips, full of fondness and admiration. His hand raises to cup your cheek gently as he parts from the kiss.

But no moment could ever last so long for you, could it? As if the gods had other plans for you, Taro’s alert barks warn you of what you once considered an incoming threat and was now more of an incoming nuisance. A grating voice cracks through the barrier keeping you from the outside world.

“Hey, Yaga needs to talk to us.”

You rest your head on Kento’s chest in disbelief, groaning. His chest vibrates in a chuckle beneath you, his hand raising to smooth your hair gently. At least Gojo didn’t completely ruin the moment.

“Go ahead, I should be getting home,” the blonde sorcerer’s eyes are understanding as he pulls you just barely away from him, his voice low so that the awaiting snowy-haired man couldn’t hear him. “I had a great time today though, y/n.”

You lift your head to meet Kento’s eyes, smiling. “I did too,” you grin. “Text me?” A little tilt of your head earns a smirk from Nanami.

“I will,” he assures you, letting you go as you quickly unlock your door and let Taro in. You pause beside Nanami for a moment, a glint of longing flashing through your eyes as he gently squeezes your arm before allowing you to follow after Gojo.

You spare a glance back at Nanami as a goodbye as you trail after the sorcerer who had the gall to interrupt your date. At the end of the day, it wasn’t worth fighting with Gojo over it and so you decide to move past it.

“Do you know what Yaga wants us for?” You ask, catching Gojo’s gaze from behind his sunglasses.

He shrugs, his usual smirk pulling at his lips. “Choso, Megumi, and Yuji just got back, might be about that.”

You nod, remembering they had been sent out in search of a cursed object. The idea they were heading after a cursed energy had piqued your interest, though you’d made a conscious effort not to make it known. You couldn’t help but wonder if Miriko’s last piece was out there somewhere. Then again, if she was made whole, would she consume you? Drown you in your own soul? Surely not, but it was hard to consider her to be benevolent at the end of the day in spite of her kindness.

“Did you find anything in Ginza?”

Gojo’s smirk falters. “There were residuals that make me think we were set up,” he admits, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have a guess as to who, but…” he shakes his head. “No matter, I can handle it,” he grins, though it does nothing to ease the discomfort you felt towards the whole situation. When two vessels, a grade one sorcerer, and the self-proclaimed strongest were attacked, it left you wondering who exactly the target could be of the four of you.

You make your way to Yaga’s office in silence, your thoughts preoccupied with the mission you had all been on just a few days ago. As the door to his office opens, you couldn’t help but wonder if this meeting should have been held elsewhere. Choso and Yuji are seated in chairs in front of Yaga’s desk, while another student with black spiked hair leans against the wall off to the side. He looked mildly uninterested in the meeting, turning to irritation as Gojo ruffles his hair.

You and Gojo file into the office, shutting the door behind you.

“Thank you both for coming on short notice,” Yaga nods, his expression unreadable behind his dark glasses. “I wanted to discuss the outcome of Yuji, Megumi and Choso’s mission.”

Yaga passes the floor to Choso, who had an uncomfortable expression as he proceeded to explain that the object ended up being a finger that a special grade curse had consumed, and that Yuji had eaten it. Or more specifically, Sukuna had eaten it through his hand. Again.

“Again?” You ask in disbelief, interrupting Yaga before he had the chance to say anything.

Choso looks like a deer in the headlights and you make a conscious effort to shoot him a reassuring look. It wasn’t him you were frustrated with.

“Sukuna got one or two that way,” Yuji cranes his neck to look at you as he tells you this.

“So that’s, what? Seventeen fingers?” You ask, met with the silence of the room, save for a nod from Yuji. “And when he has twenty, the goal is to kill him, yeah?” Again, silence. Yuji nods.

“What’s your point, y/n?” Yaga’s rough voice interrupts the river of thoughts you’re struggling to find words for, drowning in disbelief that a room full of adults didn’t see an issue here.

“Did no one here think that maybe a mission like this that puts lives in danger and grows Sukuna’s power might be better suited for someone else?” Your voice wavers as you clench your jaw. Choso won’t meet your gaze, though the rest of the room is again silent. “He’s just a kid,” you hiss, your gaze flitting between Yaga and Gojo, who you can’t help but feel are truly at fault here.

“He can handle it,” Gojo assures you confidently, but you shake your head in disbelief at him. “It’s eating the last finger of Sukuna’s that I’m concerned about,” he casually hums as though you weren’t teetering dangerously on the edge of an argument.

“I don’t care if he can handle it,” you hiss, turning your attention to the white-haired sorcerer. “You shouldn’t be rushing out to find all these fingers just to kill him.”

Gojo’s brow furrows and for once, you think maybe you’ve gotten through to him. But then he huffs. “He’s a strong kid, we’re not rushing. We’re just making moves when the time is right.” Maybe you didn’t get through to him, but for once Gojo is reacting to what you’re saying. You could count that as a win in its own right.

“But the time isn’t right!” You raise your voice, making a motion with your arms in disbelief in front of Gojo. “He is a strong kid, but that’s just it, Gojo,” you pause, taking a step towards him. “He’s just a kid.”

“I brought you here to teach him, you don’t get to make these decisions,” Gojo’s voice is tense now. Finally, finally, it seemed you were getting through to him. Getting something out of him more than the usual devil-may-care attitude he threw around.

“Don’t you dare throw that shit around,” you hiss, your voice dangerously low. “You and I both know exactly why I’m here.” You straighten yourself as you face Gojo, just barely able to see the way his eyes subtly narrow behind his dark sunglasses. Though you wore the same accessory, his pissed you off if only because you couldn’t see the subtle shifts in his expression behind his dark lenses. “But I’m not about to let that happen.” You swallow the lump in your throat, unwilling, on every level, to raise a finger in Yuji’s direction, regardless of what Sukuna could do.

“It’s okay, y/n,” Yuji solemnly interrupts before Gojo can respond, fidgeting with his thumbs. His voice is full of determination as he continues. “This is my purpose.”

Your lips part in disbelief as Yuji, a kid, admits to you that he’s come to terms with his own fast-approaching death. Your crimson eyes blink as you take in his words, shoulders dropping. How were you supposed to sit on the sidelines and watch someone so young sacrifice themself because someone told him to?

“No,” you whisper. “No, it’s not okay.” A lump forms in your throat and as you glance at Choso you see a forlorn sadness reflected in his eyes that matches yours. Whether he chose to say it or not, it was clear he agreed. “I’m not about to watch you steal his youth from him,” you hiss, looking between Yaga and Gojo.

An eerie silence falls over the entire room. The air is tense, between you and Gojo, between Director Yaga and everyone in the room. Clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms are the only reprieve from the silence that followed.

To your surprise, it seems that your words resonated with Gojo of all people. After arguing with him mere moments ago, you’re not sure what exactly it is that breaks through his usually tough shell, but he takes a step forward regardless.

“From now on, I want Fushiguro on missions for cursed objects,” he surprises you as he leans forward, setting his palms on the back of Choso's chair. You glance at the other boy in the room, assuming he must be Fushiguro. The boy casts you a glance but nods slowly.

Yaga takes a moment to consider all the words exchanged before nodding as well. “Very well,” he agrees. You blink in shock, wondering what it was that pushed Gojo into having a change of heart. Either way, you breathe a sigh of relief. “I do think it would be wise, however,” Yaga cautions, “to keep Fushiguro and Itadori away from one another.” You follow his gaze, looking between the two boys. Before you can voice your question, Yaga explains his thoughts to you. “We suspect Sukuna has some sort of interest in Fushiguro, but we can’t be sure what he has in mind.”

“I feel like that would have been important information,” you mumble just loud enough for Gojo to hear.

Do you have any idea what Sukuna could want?

No, Miriko hums, I’m not certain. If his technique affects others, I could see a correlation.

Dropping the subject, you figure that’s a discussion for later.

“I’d like to call Okkotsu back as well,” Gojo tells Yaga. “We don’t need another incident of cursed objects disappearing.”

Yaga nods again, going over details before dismissing you all. “Oh, and y/n,” Yaga adds before you can leave. “Watch your tone in my office.” You nod with wide eyes as you slip out of the office, letting out a breath as you pause in the hall outside of Yaga’s office.

“Thank you,” a deep voice addresses you. Choso comes into view, his sheepish gaze fixed on the floor. “For standing up for my brother.”

You tilt your head curiously. Him and Yuji didn’t look alike at all, but you supposed you were in no real place to judge with a dragon curse stuck inside you.

“I’m just glad someone’s on my side,” your laugh comes out with more exasperation than intended and Choso softly smiles. His eyes slowly shift behind you as he focuses on Gojo, who cheerily thanks the two boys for dropping by, taking an extra moment to bother Fushiguro before his eerie blue eyes rest on you.

“What was that all about?” You question Gojo. Sensing the tension in the air, Choso is quick to slip away.

“Whaddya mean?” He grins nonchalantly as though you didn’t just yell at him. Though, that was just how Gojo was. He always bounced back like nothing was a big deal.

Raking a hand through your hair, you lower your voice as you lead Gojo away from Yaga’s office. The halls of the school were still unfamiliar to you as you hadn’t taken the time to explore beyond visiting Shoko on occasion. Leading the way into a corner with vending machines, you turn to face Gojo.

“Why did you agree with me?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” His jaw hangs slightly ajar as he busies himself looking at the vending machine.

“It is, but-”

“Do you have any cash?” Gojo interrupts, eyes fixed on something sweet in the vending machine.

“What?” You stare in disbelief at how little he was paying attention. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Blue eyes fix to you from the side of his sunglasses, not blocked from this angle. “C’mon,” he insists.

Baffled by the man, you pull your wallet out of the pocket of your dress. If it would make him listen for one goddamn moment, then sure, you could shell out some cash for him to get food. Gojo mumbles a ‘thanks’ as you slide a couple of bills into the machine, watching as Gojo punches a button and grabs what might have been the most sugary option in the machine. You wrinkle your nose at the treat, repeating your initial question.

Gojo sighs, leaning against the machine. “What’s it matter?”

“It matters because you’ve been nothing short of disagreeable the entire time I’ve been here, so I wanna know where your change in heart is coming from.” You cross your arms over your chest, shifting on the balls of your heels.

Gojo’s brow raises. “I’m not heartless.”

“Could have fooled me,” the snide words tumble from your lips before you have a moment to think about them. For a split second, a frown pulls at the corner of his lips. Even with how Gojo’s acted towards you, guilt still decides to eat at you for that comment. “Sorry,” your apology is barely a whisper.

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air between you as you avoid his gaze.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t agree,” Gojo speaks up between bites of the sugar-coated ice cream bar he was eating. He rolls his shoulders as he pushes off of the vending machine to stand closer to you. The light blue shirt he wears pulls taught at his chest from the movement as he eyes you with a more serious air to him.

You take a step back, preferring the distance between you but tilt your head questioningly, a small hum parting your lips.

“One of the second years was in a similar situation last year. I said pretty much the same thing to the higher ups.”

That comes as a shock to you. Though, no, he didn’t truly strike you as heartless, you’d always gotten the impression that Gojo was still too much of a child at heart to truly see the weight these children needed to carry. It was only a glimpse, but maybe Gojo was more mature than you’d given him credit for.

“Then why-?” Your words fail you. Why everything? Why let Yuji eat so many of Sukuna’s fingers? Why let things get this far? Why let a child eat them in the first place? So many unanswered questions, you didn’t know where to begin.

“I wasn’t lying, y’know.” He takes another bite of the ice cream bar. “I don’t want to kill him. I told you that back in the cafe, yeah?” You nod slowly. “I’m on your side, y/n.”

Your brow furrows. “Then why don’t you act like it?”

For once, the man who never shuts up is silent. He runs his tongue over his lips. His voice is distressingly serious when he speaks. “Because someone needs to be the monster if everything goes wrong.”

It chills you to the bone. A shiver runs straight up your spine and to your heart. Never once had Gojo struck you as the kind of person who was capable of being so stark. The guilt of your previous words gnaws at your chest like a weight you couldn’t escape. The gravity of the situation you’d found yourself in wasn’t lost on you, but you had always figured you were the contingency plan. That Gojo wouldn’t kill Yuji, that he would force your hand. Or that he believed he would die and you would be forced to, that was the way he had always phrased it.

No, you weren’t the contingency plan. You never had been. You were nothing more than a dangerous gamble that Gojo was willing to kill if it came down to it.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || thank you so much for reading! i've gotten so much love on this series and it's been so much fun to write ♡ and for those of you waiting for gojo, consider this my promise that the next chapter will be quite long, and very full of gojo and also angst

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loveliest-venus · 1 year

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bittersweet - straw hats crew x reader

includes: Straw Hats crew x f!reader warnings: major character death summary: In your last moments, your crewmates reflect on their time with you before saying goodbye. content: angst, slight fluff, can be read as romantic or platonic, no spoilers, 1.5k words.

Dying was never part of the plan.

Then again, none of this was ever part of the plan, from getting experimented on to meeting a rowdy pirate crew that called themselves the Straw Hats to end up joining them, thus starting what would be the biggest adventure of your whole life. Of course, you regretted it from time to time, it was a wonder how this wasn’t one of those times.

Well, maybe a little bit. You didn’t like seeing tears further dirtying Luffy’s face. It didn’t suit him, you weren’t used to seeing him with anything but a huge smile on his face, the smile that gave you hope despite everything. Your ears were still ringing but you thought you could vaguely hear Nami’s cries, or were they Chopper’s? It was hard to say, the poison had spread fast and you were certain that the blurriness in your vision wasn’t because of tears, as your eyes were dry and bloodshot, most likely from the toxins pumping through your veins, making each breath just a little more painful and… Was it just you or was Zoro screaming? You honestly couldn’t tell anymore. Your eyes closed as your body fell forward, stopping as Luffy’s arms wrapped around your torso to hold you up, making your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Hang on!” Your captain called your name hoarsely, snapping his head to the side, desperate yells piercing through the air as Chopper clumsily dashed over to where you were, slumped over Luffy’s shaking form. “Chopper!”

“D-Don’t worry, I will save her!” Chopper’s fur was wet, snot and salty water mixing as he cried, his voice cracking at the vowels of your name while his arms reached out to help stabilize you. It hurt your heart to see them so distraught and you hated that there was nothing you could do to comfort them.

“Chopper… Stop.” Both of them froze, Luffy’s body growing stiff against your clammy skin. “It’s okay… I’m not scared,” the words tasted bitter in your mouth, in contrast to the serene look on your worn-out features. Blood was trickling down your forehead, hanging on your eyelashes and joining the tiny trail spilling from the corners of your lips. “I’m happy to die… for my crew.” You meant it, your heart had never felt lighter.

“Oi! What the fuck are you going on about?! You can’t just–!” Zoro’s voice was unmistakable, rough like the numerous knives on your body. From the looks of it, your peaceful declaration hadn’t settled well with him. You wished you could meet his gaze one last time, blissfully unaware of the milky sheen on yours. It was then that Chopper realized, with a heartbroken sob, that it was truly too late. “Chopper, do something! Hurry up!”

“Moss-head…” Zoro’s earrings jingled when he turned to look at Sanji, ready to cuss him out until he saw the look on his face, somber and pleading. It dawned on him that the cook had already begrudgingly accepted that this was it. But the swordsman wasn’t known for admitting defeat that easily, if ever.

“Save it, you damn– ,” he was cut off when a pale, delicate hand landed on his broad shoulder, Robin’s lips set in a thin line, the only thing betraying her true feelings was the tight grip she had on him.

“Zoro.” Her eyes were fixated on your battered form, her brow furrowing at your labored breathing. “This isn’t the time. She’s too far gone.” It was Franky’s turn to lose composure, aggressively kicking away the remnants of what had once been a beautiful tree. Taking away the destroyed flora, the unconscious enemies around you and your own blood splattering the ground, this could’ve been called a scenic place to die.

“B-B-But Chopper can fix her up! He always can! R-Right, Chopper?! Tell Robin that she’s wrong!” Usopp’s arms were tightly wound around Nami, both of their eyes growing misty, holding each other up in a fruitless attempt to hold it together. At the archeologist’s soft murmur of your name, their hopes were shattered, Nami’s knees buckling under the weight of her grief, almost taking Usopp with her, forcing him to stand up straighter than before, for once staring at death right in the eye. If only it wasn’t your bloodied face staring back…

Brook remained silent, for once devoid of all joy. It was happening again, someone he held dear was being taken away from him all too soon, your life cut short at the capricious hands of fate. Jinbei had a similar expression on his face, choosing to honor your wishes as you clearly didn’t want to leave them without a proper goodbye.

“Why…?” Luffy, who hadn’t stopped crying, tried shaking you as if that would rip you out of your dazed state, your hair tickling his cheek as you didn’t have enough strength to lift your head up to look at him properly. “Why did you do it?!” He kept yelling your name, now crushing you against his scarred chest, refusing to let you go. “You can’t leave us!” A choked sob rocked his body, a shiver running down your spine at the sheer pain lacing his youthful voice.

Chopper was clinging to your leg, burying his face in your calf to hide his swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry! Please…” The mink was talking to himself at this point, stuck between begging whatever deity was listening and apologizing to you for not getting to you in time, for not being smart enough to find a cure. Zoro’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, loathing the helplessness wrapping around their group viciously, refusing to look away from you, still being held up by the devil fruit user’s embrace. His heart was fighting tooth and nail to keep itself from breaking, minuscule cracks growing the heavier your eyes got. Unbeknownst to him, there was already a scar in the shape of you.

Sanji gritted his teeth, taking a few steps in your direction, blinking away the moisture building up in his lash line, he didn’t want to miss any detail in your face, knowing it was the last time he’d ever get to admire it. In his eyes, you were as beautiful as ever, not even death could take your beauty away from you. Nothing would convince him otherwise.

Their allies could only watch, growing restless as the silence continued, were you gone already? None of them were close enough to see your face clearly, your crewmates had formed a circle around you, protecting you from unwanted eyes. Each of them had different opinions on your rambunctious group, however, none of them could deny that you were fiercely loyal to each other and seeing such a tight-knit crew lose a member was disheartening, a few of them inching closer to their own. It was an unspoken agreement, to pay their respects to the person who had given it her all to win this battle, saving them from a similar fate.

“Because… you called me your friend.”

Your soft voice cut through their thoughts seamlessly, a few gasps escaping from Nami, Usopp and Chopper. Zoro’s eye widened, almost losing his grip when the meaning behind that phrase registered in his brain; whereas Sanji chose to let his feelings take over, slowly sinking to his knees. Brook hung his head, and if he had eyes, he would’ve closed them, not wanting to witness the inevitable. Franky, on the other hand, kept his steely gaze on you, his fists growing tighter with each droplet of your blood that had touched the ground, none of this made any sense to the cyborg whose robotic body shook with the strength of his pained weeping. Your sweet words were like a knife to Jinbei’s kind heart, all of his memories with you as part of the crew playing like a cinematic sequence in his mind, you were one of the first to approach him when he had finally accepted Luffy’s invite. Robin could only smile, finally allowing her tears to drip down her face, wishing she could hold you for one last time. Life without you was unfathomable to them at this point, could this truly be reality? Wasn’t there any way to rewind time to save you?

None of them could see Luffy’s face, his reaction to you admitting that you were willingly exchanging your life for theirs in the name of your friendship. But it wasn’t hard to guess, seeing as he’d pressed his face into your neck, inhaling your scent to soothe his racing heart, torn to pieces by you and his inability to help you. He knew from the moment that he saw you that you would become an important part of his crew, however, he never imagined that it would end like this. He wasn’t ready to continue his journey without you. How could he become the King of the Pirates if you weren’t by his side?

“You truly are the best crew I could’ve asked for. I’m thankful for you… From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Your eyes were fully closed, the corners of your lips curling up ever so slightly in a loving smile. It was a breathtaking image that would be branded into their hearts forever, sealed with your very last words to them.

“I love you.”

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