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solar-wing · 6 months ago

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⚣ Too Late 💙

⚣💙 A/N → request for @alexanderstarhero! Hope you enjoy it! Also, I apologize for my extended absence. I have a job, I'm starting a new school program, and business-related things keep me busy, but I'm still here guys! I promise! Not sure how I feel about this one. I feel like I could've done better but we desperately need some more Clark Kent x male reader though so here you go. Which, by the way, if you haven't checked out @nouearth, his Clark fics and literally everything else makes me melt and feel unholy things. Churches beware. ANYWAY, Hope everyone likes it! WARNINGS: Magical Male Reader | Angst & Fluff | Childhood Friends To Lovers | SFW |

⚣💙 Summary → You know, one would think moving to a completely different city in hopes of forgetting your past life and feelings would be enough. But fate is a sneaky little bastard that just loves to play with your feelings. Is it too late for a do-over?

⚣💙 Words → 12.4K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💙

⚣ ENJOY 💙

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The city lights of Metropolis flickered through the windows of a small, cozy apartment, where the hum of traffic below provided a constant background noise. Y/N stood by the window, a glass of juice in hand, staring out at the skyline. Since moving to the city, he often found himself feeling nostalgic, with old memories of Smallville popping into his mind more frequently than he’d like. Most of those memories had a common thread.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he took a sip of his juice, the cool liquid doing little to ease the anxious tightness in his chest. Moving to Metropolis was supposed to be a fresh start—a way to leave behind his past and focus on building a better, normal life for himself, free from the constraints of small-town life.

Since he was a baby, Y/N had been gifted with magical abilities. How he got these powers was a mystery to both him and his parents; they could never find any trace of magical ability in their ancestry. With no idea where the powers came from, and no one to turn to for help, his parents did everything they could to hide their son’s abilities from the outside world. They tried their best to teach him control, but without expertise, they were flying blind.

Growing up, Y/N barely knew how to control or use his powers. You’d think in a small town like his, people would have noticed or called in the town priest, but that wasn’t the case. In Metropolis, when something strange happened—something that often happened to Y/N—people would give him odd looks, but then they’d move on with their day as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. In Smallville, though, everyone treated it as normal.

After the Kents arrived with their new kid, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, the town acted as if every strange occurrence was just part of everyday life. They quickly shut down anyone who dared to question it, and that extended to both Clark Kent and Y/N.

Small towns were usually known for everyone knowing everyone’s business. Gossip was the native language. But not in Smallville. Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little at the memory of how the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary seemed to blur there. Most places would have been up in arms if they noticed the strange occurrences that happened in Smallville. But in that little Kansas town, people had an uncanny ability to overlook the impossible, shrugging off the extraordinary as if it were just another quirk of life.

Take Clark Kent, for instance. Anyone could see that something was different about him. He was stronger, faster, and able to do things most grown men couldn’t even imagine, let alone a small farm boy. But the townsfolk never questioned it. They simply accepted that he could do things no one else could and moved on.

It was the same with Y/N. He might accidentally cause a book to float off a shelf or a light to flicker when he was upset, but no one in Smallville ever made a fuss, something his parents were very grateful for. There were whispers—there always are in small towns—but they never left closed doors. The people of Smallville had learned long ago to mind their own business, especially when it came to the Kents and Y/N.

Even more so when a bunch of guys in black suits, glasses, and SUVs showed up one week, probing around town and asking strange questions. It had been after one of the more noticeable incidents—a moment when Clark saved someone in a way that couldn’t be easily explained. If there was one thing you could count on from a small town, it was that they weren’t saying anything to those types of Feds or government officials.

The memory was still vivid in Y/N’s mind: the way the town closed ranks, the polite but firm way the locals deflected every question, sending agents on wild goose chases until they finally gave up. His parents had mentioned that it was nothing compared to when that strange meteor hit the Kent farm and a bunch of government agents and scientists showed up—the same week the Kents got a new kid named Clark.

It was as if the entire town had decided, collectively and without speaking a word, that whatever was going on with the Kents—and by extension, Y/N—was their business and no one else’s. The unspoken rule in Smallville was clear: if you saw something strange, you didn’t see it. You didn’t ask questions, and you certainly didn’t talk about it. It was a kind of willful ignorance, a way for the town to protect its own from prying eyes. And in some strange, twisted way, it worked.

Y/N often wondered how much of it was a conscious choice and how much was just the way Smallville was. It was as if the town itself had decided to shield them, to create a bubble where the extraordinary was just another part of everyday life.

But as comforting as that was, it was also suffocating. Because even in a town that turned a blind eye to the unusual, Y/N couldn’t escape the feeling that he was different, that there was something wrong with him. He couldn’t shake the fear that one day, the bubble would burst, and everyone would see him for what he really was—a freak, an outcast.

At least he had a friend.

Imagine the two kids in town who both had episodes of strange, inexplicable things happening to them or around them becoming friends. Completely ironic, like something straight out of a story. Unless...

...

Nah.

But in a place where the extraordinary was treated with a shrug, having someone like Clark as a friend made all the difference. It was as if fate—or whatever unseen force governed the universe—had decided that these two oddities should find each other. And find each other they did, in the most natural, unassuming way possible.

Clark and Y/N became fast friends, drawn together by their shared experiences of feeling different, even if neither of them fully understood why. They never talked about the strange things that happened to them, never discussed how Clark could lift bales of hay like they weighed nothing, or how Y/N could sometimes make things move with just a thought. It was an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that whatever was happening to them was theirs to carry, together.

In a town that turned a blind eye to the impossible, Clark was the one person who made Y/N feel like he wasn’t alone. There was a quiet comfort in their friendship, a sense of belonging that Y/N had never felt before. They were both outsiders in their own way, but together, they found a place where they could be themselves, where they didn’t have to pretend or hide.

But as they grew older, that comfort became a source of anxiety for Y/N. The more time he spent with Clark, the more he realized that his feelings for his friend were deeper than just friendship. He cared about Clark in a way that went beyond the bond they shared, and it terrified him. In a town that could overlook floating books and superhuman strength, there were still lines that couldn’t be crossed, and Y/N knew that his feelings for Clark were one of them.

He tried to suppress those feelings, to bury them deep inside where they couldn’t cause any harm. But the harder he tried, the more they grew, until it became impossible to ignore them. He started to pull away, putting distance between himself and Clark, hoping that space would make the feelings fade. It didn’t.

Plus, Y/N still didn’t understand the extent of his abilities, and he knew sometimes his powers would react to his emotions. He didn’t want to risk doing anything that could hurt Clark. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if something happened because of his inability to control his powers.

Yet, good old noble Clark, always perceptive and caring, noticed the change. He didn’t push or pry, but there was always that look in his eyes, a quiet concern that only made Y/N’s heart ache more. Clark didn’t know why Y/N was pulling away, but he never stopped trying to bridge the gap. He was always there with a smile, a warm word, or an invitation to hang out, never letting the distance between them grow too wide.

It was those small gestures that made it so hard for Y/N to keep his resolve. Every time he saw Clark, every time Clark reached out, Y/N was reminded of why he had fallen for him in the first place. Clark was kind, selfless, and endlessly patient—the kind of person who would give you the shirt off his back without a second thought. How could Y/N not fall in love with someone like that?

But that love was exactly what made Y/N so afraid. The more he cared about Clark, the more he feared losing him, either because of his uncontrolled magic or because of the feelings he couldn’t keep buried forever. He knew that if he stayed in Smallville, if he stayed close to Clark, something would eventually slip. Maybe he’d accidentally reveal his powers, or maybe his feelings would come spilling out in a moment of weakness. Either way, Y/N was sure that it would end with Clark looking at him differently, seeing him as something strange, something other.

Thankfully, the age of adulthood and high school graduation came, and Y/N took that as his way out. His parents were as worried as ever about him moving to a college so far away, but he reassured them he’d be fine.

He decided on college in New York, thinking the change from small town to big city was exactly what he needed. At least there, it made sense for people to turn a blind eye to whatever strange things were going on around them.

But even throughout his years of undergrad, Y/N could never shake the memories of Smallville, and more specifically, he could never forget Clark. No matter how much distance he put between them, the memories of their friendship lingered, haunting him in the quiet moments when he was alone. He would often catch himself thinking about Clark—wondering what he was doing, if he was still in Smallville, if he had moved on with his life the way Y/N had tried to.

Y/N thought that maybe, over time, those feelings would fade, that he would move on and forget the boy who had once meant everything to him. But they never did. Even in the crowded, bustling city of New York, where life moved at a breakneck pace and there was always something new to distract him, Y/N found his thoughts drifting back to Clark.

He tried dating other people, hoping that maybe if he found someone else, someone who wasn’t Clark, it would help him move on. But it never worked. No one else could compare to the boy who had always been there for him, who had seen him at his worst and never judged him for it. Every relationship ended the same way, with Y/N feeling like he was chasing something he could never have, like he was trying to fill a void that only Clark could fill.

Then, after graduation, Y/N was offered a job in Metropolis. It was a great opportunity, the kind of offer he couldn’t turn down. It wasn’t too far from where he was already living, but he figured a new change of scenery couldn’t be too bad.

Plus, he wanted to check out the rumors he’d heard of some sort of superhero who had started making headlines in Metropolis. The stories seemed almost too wild to believe—a man with superhuman strength, speed, and the ability to fly, saving people and fighting crime in the heart of the city. It was the kind of thing that would have been dismissed as tabloid nonsense anywhere else, but Y/N knew better. If there was one thing Smallville had taught him, it was that the extraordinary often hid in plain sight.

So, with a mix of curiosity and the desire for a fresh start, Y/N packed his bags and moved to Metropolis. He found a small, cozy apartment in a quieter part of the city, close enough to the action but far enough to avoid the chaos. The job was great—challenging, fulfilling, and exactly what he needed to take his mind off things. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was still running, still trying to outrun the shadow of his past.

Despite his attempts to leave his old life behind, Y/N couldn’t completely ignore his powers. He had spent too long hiding them, too long fearing them, but deep down, he believed that if he had these abilities, he should use them for good. In Smallville, he had been careful, using his magic only when absolutely necessary, but here in Metropolis, he found himself with more opportunities to help in small, subtle ways.

He’d mend a broken bike chain with a whisper of an incantation or quietly heal a scraped knee when no one was looking. He’d use his magic to nudge a stray cat away from traffic or to coax a wilting plant back to life. He was always careful, always discreet, making sure that no one noticed the little miracles he performed. It was his way of giving back, of using the gifts he had been given to make the world around him just a little bit better.

But there were times when he couldn’t help but step in and do more.

One evening, he walked past a small, family-owned bookstore that he had become fond of. The owner, an elderly man who had run the shop for decades, was sitting behind the counter with a look of deep worry on his face. Over the weeks, Y/N had noticed the shelves becoming sparser, and the customers fewer. The man had confided in Y/N once, mentioning how the business was struggling, how the bills were piling up, and how he feared he might lose the store if things didn’t turn around soon.

Y/N couldn’t bear to see the man lose everything he had worked so hard to build. So, that night, under the cover of darkness, Y/N returned to the bookstore. He stood outside the shop, focusing his energy on the building, weaving a spell that would attract more customers and give the store a sense of warmth and welcoming. He whispered incantations for prosperity and good fortune, sending out waves of magic that would subtly influence the minds of those who passed by, drawing them in with an inexplicable urge to browse and buy.

Over the next few days, Y/N was delighted to see the shop bustling with customers. The owner’s smile returned, and the store was once again filled with the chatter of people and the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the corner. The shelves began to fill up again, and the old man even had to hire an assistant to help him manage the increasing business.

Another time, he found himself playing guardian angel when he was walking home from work one night and spotted a young woman on the opposite side of the street, her pace quickening as she noticed a group of men following her. Y/N’s heart raced, and he quickly assessed the situation. He couldn’t confront them directly—he wasn’t a superhero—but he could help in other ways.

A few thoughts and concentrated focus, and suddenly a series of events unfolded: a nearby street light flickered and went out, casting the area in shadow; a loud crash from behind pulled the men's attention away from her; a gentle breeze nudged her toward a more populated, well-lit area. With the streetlight out, it gave her natural cover long enough to slip out of sight and into the safety of a nearby diner, the sound of her heels muffled by Y/N’s magic.

Y/N watched from a distance, relieved when the woman was safe inside, her would-be attackers now lost and confused. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like that, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Recently, he visited a local hospital where a friend’s child was being treated. The doctors were worried; the illness wasn’t responding to treatment, and the prognosis was grim. Y/N spent hours by the child’s bedside, speaking softly to him, holding his hand. When no one was looking, he let his magic flow through him, just a touch, just enough to help the child’s body fight back.

The next morning, the doctors were stunned by the sudden improvement. They couldn’t explain it, chalked it up to a miracle or a sudden turn of fate, but Y/N knew better. He slipped away before anyone could question it, leaving behind only a whispered prayer of thanks for the child’s recovery.

Y/N never took credit for any of his acts. And while they weren’t grand, weren’t the stuff of legends, they were enough to give him a sense of purpose, a way to use his gifts without drawing too much attention. He was careful, always careful, to remain in the shadows, to let the world think these small miracles were just coincidences, nothing more.

But now, standing in his apartment, staring out at the city skyline, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like he was right back where he started. The memories of Smallville were stronger than ever, and the loneliness he had tried so hard to escape felt more suffocating in this big city than it ever had in the small town.

It had been years since he left, but the memories of that quiet town still lingered in his mind, especially the memories of Clark Kent. He just couldn’t figure out why they had suddenly become so strong. Maybe it was the time of year, or maybe it was because he had been thinking about how he used his magic to help people in Metropolis—something that Clark would surely approve of, even if he never knew about it.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything he had done to distance himself, Clark had always been there, a constant presence in his thoughts, no matter how much Y/N tried to move on.

He took another sip of his juice, the cool liquid doing little to ease the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t seen Clark in years, hadn’t heard from him since he left Smallville, but the feelings he had for his old friend hadn’t faded. If anything, they had only grown stronger, deepening with time and distance. And that was what scared him the most—how much he still cared, how much he still missed him.

Y/N set his glass down on the windowsill, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shake off the nostalgia. He had a new life now, a good life, and he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past. Clark was probably living his own life, happy and successful, just as Y/N was trying to do.

But the more he tried to push the memories away, the more they clung to him, like shadows that refused to disappear. He sighed, turning his gaze out the window, hoping that the familiar sight of the city would ground him, would remind him of the new path he had chosen.

The city lights twinkled in the distance, a sea of illumination against the darkened sky. Y/N’s eyes scanned the skyline absently, taking in the familiar sights he had grown accustomed to since moving to Metropolis. But something caught his eye, something unusual that made his breath catch in his throat.

High above the city, a figure streaked across the sky, moving with impossible speed and grace. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the red and blue blur—a sight that had become increasingly familiar to the citizens of Metropolis. It was Superman.

Y/N watched, mesmerized, as the figure soared through the night, his movements precise and powerful. But as he watched, a strange sensation began to creep over him, a feeling that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn’t just awe or admiration—though those feelings were there, too—it was something deeper, something unsettling.

There was something about Superman, something in the way he moved, in the way he seemed to command the air around him, that tugged at the edges of Y/N’s consciousness. It was as if some hidden part of him recognized the hero in the sky, even though he knew that was impossible. He had never met Superman, had never been anywhere near him. And yet…

Y/N pressed his hand against the cool glass of the window, his heart pounding in his chest. His magic, usually so controlled, began to stir, responding to the swirl of emotions inside him. The sensation was both familiar and alien, a strange mix of nostalgia and unease that made his chest tighten.

As he watched Superman disappear into the distance, Y/N couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that had settled over him. It was as if the presence of the hero had awakened something inside him, something that had been dormant for years. And with that awakening came a sense of foreboding, a nagging feeling that his past was not as far behind him as he had hoped.

Y/N tore his gaze away from the window, trying to dispel the uneasy feeling that had taken root in his chest. But even as he turned away, the sense of familiarity lingered, haunting him like a ghost from a life he had tried so hard to leave behind.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but the image of Superman remained burned into his mind, along with the inexplicable sense that something—someone—was drawing him back into a world he thought he had escaped.

And deep down, Y/N knew that this was only the beginning.

The grand ballroom of the Metropolis City Hall buzzed with chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. The charity event his job was sponsoring was in full swing, a glamorous affair with the city’s elite mingling and donating to a worthy cause. Y/N stood near the edge of the room, awkwardly holding a glass of water and wondering how quickly he could make a polite escape.

This wasn’t exactly his scene. Networking? Sure. Small talk? Not so much. Especially with these tone-deaf, overly stiff airheads. He glanced around, trying to locate the nearest exit, but the sea of people made it difficult. And just when he thought found a suitable path of escape, a waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Crab cake?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Y/N mumbled, sidestepping the tray, only to nearly collide with a woman in a sequined dress who was clearly on a mission to get to the bar. He offered a quick apology and finally made it to a quiet corner, where he could breathe again.

As he scanned the room, his thoughts drifted back to last night and a certain caped superhero. His curiosity combined with the still overwhelming feelings of longing and nostalgia had the magic in him feeling antsy. And the last thing Y/N needed was to accidentally cause a chandelier to implode or a champagne glass to refill itself endlessly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself, not wanting to make a big scene considering he wanted to make a hasty and sneaky exit. As he opened his eyes, Y/N forced his thoughts away from Superman, away from the strange connection he’d felt the night before. He needed to focus on the present, on getting through this evening without incident.

Y/N sighed, taking a sip of his water. This was supposed to be a fresh start. The past was behind him, and he needed to keep it that way.

But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Little sneaky bastard.

Just as he was about to make a break for the exit, Y/N’s eyes caught sight of someone across the room, and his heart nearly stopped. There, standing by the dessert table with a bemused expression, was Clark Kent.

Of course, Clark would be standing around looking lost with his cute little confused expression. Even now as a grown man, Clark managed to keep his boyish and innocent demeanor. Y/N’s mouth went dry as his eyes took in the sight of the male—older, more polished, and just as big as ever.

Since they were little, Clark always stood out among the other kids for his build and height alone. And it looks like that didn't change with the way he towered over everyone in the room and how his broad shoulders filled out his suit perfectly, the fabric clinging just right in all the places that mattered. Y/N felt a familiar flutter in his chest, a mix of nostalgia and something more complicated that he’d been trying to ignore for years.

Clark, as if sensing someone’s gaze on him, looked up from the dessert table. His eyes, those same bright blue eyes that Y/N remembered so well, scanned the room briefly before landing directly on him. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he considered ducking behind the nearest potted plant.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Y/N could feel his pulse in his throat, and for a second, he entertained the idea of hiding behind the nearest potted plant.

But then Clark’s face lit up with a grin that could have powered the entire room, and he started making his way over, weaving through the crowd with the kind of determined politeness that only Clark could pull off.

Panic set in, and Y/N’s mind scrambled for a plan, but his feet were rooted to the spot, his body betraying him. All he could do was watch as Clark closed the distance between them, that familiar grin never leaving his face.

“Y/N!” Clark’s voice was as warm and friendly as Y/N remembered, and before he knew it, he was being pulled into a hug that was just as firm and comforting as it had always been.

Y/N stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected embrace. When Clark finally pulled back, still keeping a hand on Y/N’s shoulder as if afraid he might vanish, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the slight smudge of chocolate on Clark’s tie. It was such a Clark thing to have—always a little messy, always endearing.

“Clark,” Y/N managed to say, his voice coming out more breathless than he intended. “It’s been a while.”

Clark beamed at him, the smile reaching his eyes in that way that always made Y/N feel like everything was going to be okay. “Yeah, it really has,” Clark said, his tone filled with a warmth that made Y/N’s heart ache with memories of simpler times. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the Smallville backdrop.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, trying to keep things light despite the sudden rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “Yeah, I guess we’ve both changed a bit.”

Clark’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes. It was clear that Clark had questions, but to his credit, he didn’t push. Instead, he gave Y/N one of those easy, reassuring smiles that had always been able to calm him down. “I’m really glad to see you again. I’ve missed you, Y/N.”

There it was—the punch to the gut that Y/N had been dreading. He had missed Clark too, more than he wanted to admit. But standing here, face-to-face with him after all these years, all those old fears and feelings began to resurface. The fear of Clark discovering the truth about his powers, about his feelings. The fear of losing the one person who had always meant the most to him.

“I’ve missed you too,” Y/N said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was the truth, but saying it out loud made the tightness in his chest even worse.

Clark’s smile softened, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. Y/N could almost believe that they could pick up where they left off, that everything could go back to the way it was. But deep down, he knew it could never be that simple.

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a familiar look of concern flickering across his face. “You okay? You seem a little… off.”

Y/N forced a laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt. “I’m fine, just—uh—surprised, I guess. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, surprise!” Clark laughed with his usual shy manner that was somehow still charming for Y/N’s frayed nerves. “I’ve been working at the Daily Planet. Moved to Metropolis not too long ago. How about you? What brings you here?”

“Work,” Y/N answered quickly, trying to keep the conversation light. “Got a job offer I couldn’t turn down.”

Clark nodded, his eyes never leaving Y/N. It was as if he was trying to read him, to figure out what was going on beneath the surface. For a moment, Y/N was afraid that Clark could see right through him, could see the turmoil and conflict he was struggling with.

But then, the moment passed, and Clark was smiling again, his expression softening.

Y/N cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts away from the past and back to the present. "So, the Daily Planet, huh? That’s a pretty big deal," he said, trying to keep the conversation light.

Clark’s eyes lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! It’s been a dream come true. And the best part? I get to work with some amazing people—Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen. They’re right over there, actually," Clark added, his tone suddenly turning a bit more nervous. "You’ve got to meet them!"

Before Y/N could even process the idea, Clark grabbed his arm, leading him through the crowd with an urgency that caught Y/N off guard. He barely had time to adjust before they were standing in front of a petite woman with sharp eyes and a confident demeanor, who was mid-conversation with a young man enthusiastically fiddling with a vintage camera.

"Lois! Jimmy!" Clark called out, drawing their attention.

Lois turned first, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Y/N. Then her expression softened into a warm, welcoming smile. "Clark! Who’s this?"

Clark beamed, looking from Lois to Y/N with a hint of nervous energy. "This is Y/N. We grew up together in Smallville."

"Smallville?" Lois’s eyebrow arched with clear interest. "Now that’s a place with some stories, I bet."

Jimmy, now peering at Y/N through the lens of his camera, quickly snapped a picture before lowering it with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, couldn’t resist. It’s a habit."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "No worries. I’m used to it."

Lois leaned in, her curiosity clearly piqued. "So, Y/N, what was Clark like back in Smallville? I can only imagine."

Y/N glanced at Clark, who looked both hopeful and slightly anxious. "Clark and I were pretty much inseparable growing up," Y/N said with a smile, trying to keep the conversation light. "He was always the guy you could count on, the one who’d help you out of a jam and then offer you pie afterward."

Lois’s eyes twinkled with intrigue, clearly not ready to let the topic go. "Pie and jam, huh? Sounds like you two got into some interesting situations. Any fun stories you care to share?"

Y/N felt his heart rate pick up. He could sense the inquisitiveness behind Lois’s casual tone, the way she was gently probing for more. She was good—really good. "Oh, you know, small-town stuff," he said, forcing a chuckle. "Mostly just boring farm work and school."

Clark, sensing Y/N’s discomfort, quickly jumped in. "Yeah, nothing too exciting. Just your average childhood, right, Y/N?"

"Right," Y/N agreed, a bit too quickly. He could feel Lois’s eyes on him, studying him, and it made his magic stir uneasily. The last thing he wanted was for her to start asking more pointed questions that might lead her to the truth.

Lois didn’t miss a beat. "So, you two must have been really close, then. I bet you know all of Clark’s secrets," she said with a teasing smile, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in her voice.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. He forced another laugh, this one more strained. "Well, everyone’s got their secrets, right?"

Lois raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the subtle tension in Y/N’s voice. "True," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together a puzzle. "But something tells me you’re not just any old friend from Smallville."

Clark, sensing that the conversation was veering into dangerous territory, let out a nervous laugh. "Lois, come on, don’t interrogate him on the first meeting!"

Jimmy, sensing the shift in tone, chimed in, grinning as he tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, Lois, ease up! You don’t want to scare off Clark’s oldest friend."

Lois gave a soft laugh, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I’ll back off… for now."

Y/N smiled, but there was a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t shake. Lois’s perceptiveness had always been one of her strengths, and it was clear she was picking up on more than he wanted to reveal.

"Seriously, though," Lois said, her tone softening as she gave Y/N a more genuine smile. "It’s good to meet you. Any friend of Clark’s is a friend of ours."

Y/N relaxed slightly, appreciating the warm reception despite his earlier nerves. "Thanks, Lois. I appreciate that."

As the conversation continued, Y/N found himself relaxing a bit more, though the earlier tension still lingered in the back of his mind. He knew he’d have to be careful around Lois—her curiosity and sharp instincts were not something to be underestimated.

Lois, ever the sharp-eyed reporter, leaned closer to Y/N. "So, what brings you to Metropolis? Work?"

"Yeah," Y/N nodded, "I got an offer I couldn’t turn down."

Lois nodded, impressed. "Well, welcome to the city. You know, we’re always looking for interesting people to feature in the Planet. Maybe we’ll run into each other more often."

"Maybe," Y/N said, feeling a bit more at ease. "It’s a small world after all."

Clark chuckled at that, his earlier nervousness fading as the conversation flowed more naturally. "I’m really glad we ran into each other, Y/N. We should definitely hang out more. I mean, if you’re not too busy with work."

Realistically, Y/N should have declined. He should have politely excused himself and gone home, putting an end to the whole thing. But when he looked at Clark, saw the hope and excitement in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

All his nervous thoughts and reservations about what could happen if he allowed himself to get close to Clark again seemed to just fade to the back of his mind as he re-connected with him and got to know his two friends. A new familiar feeling also settled in place as well, but not so much nostalgia.

It was more of something he didn't even remember feeling. A sense of ease and comfort, his magic calm and feeling completely grounded. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time but something that wasn't new or unfamiliar, a very welcomed sensation and peace.

"I'd love to," Y/N said, his heart skipping a beat.

Clark's smile was brighter than the sun, and though Y/N knew he was in trouble just for that, emotions and impulse overtook his logic. Thus, he didn't really care.

As the night continued, Y/N found himself more at ease, the earlier tension gradually dissipating. Lois, ever the investigative reporter, kept throwing glances his way, but she seemed content for now, her curiosity temporarily satisfied. Jimmy, meanwhile, was snapping pictures of everything and everyone, his energy infectious.

Y/N had to admit, despite his initial apprehension, he was enjoying himself. The company was good, the conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was part of something. A small part of him wondered if this was what he had been missing—connection, camaraderie, a sense of belonging.

Clark leaned in closer, a warm smile on his face. "So, Y/N, how have you been? I mean, really been?"

Y/N paused, considering his answer. He could have brushed off the question, given a generic response about work being busy and life being hectic. But something about the way Clark asked, the genuine concern in his voice, made Y/N want to be honest.

"I’ve been… okay," Y/N said, the words coming out slower than he expected. "Moving to Metropolis has been a big change, but it’s good. I’m still finding my way, I guess."

Clark nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "I get that. Moving here was a big adjustment for me too. But you know, it helps when you’ve got friends around. People you can rely on."

Y/N smiled at that, a warmth spreading through him. "Yeah, it does."

Lois, sensing the shift in the conversation, jumped back in with her trademark curiosity. "So, Y/N, what exactly do you do for work? You mentioned an offer you couldn’t turn down."

Y/N hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "I work in consulting," he said, keeping it vague. "It’s a bit of everything, really. I help businesses with strategy, operations, that sort of thing."

Lois’s eyes narrowed slightly, clearly not satisfied with the lack of detail, but she let it slide, for now. "That sounds interesting. Metropolis must be a great place for that kind of work."

"It is," Y/N replied, grateful she didn’t press further.

Jimmy, ever the enthusiastic one, suddenly popped up between them, holding out his camera. "Hey, how about a picture? You guys look great together!"

Y/N barely had time to react before Jimmy was positioning them for a shot, his camera clicking away. Clark chuckled, clearly used to Jimmy’s antics, while Lois struck a pose with practiced ease.

As they waited for the flash, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of surrealism wash over him. Here he was, reconnecting with an old friend, surrounded by new ones, in a city that was starting to feel less like a strange place and more like a potential home.

The camera flashed, capturing the moment, and Jimmy grinned as he checked the screen. "Perfect! This one’s definitely going in the album."

Lois nodded in agreement, a smile on her face. "Yeah, this is one for the books. You’re officially part of the crew now, Y/N."

Y/N laughed, the sound genuine and light. "Well, I guess there’s no turning back now."

Clark’s smile was warm, his eyes shining with something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. "I’m really glad you’re here, Y/N. It feels like old times."

Y/N nodded, feeling a mix of emotions swirl within him. "Yeah, it does."

As the evening drew on, the four of them continued to chat, the conversation flowing easily between light-hearted banter and more serious topics. Y/N felt a connection with Clark and his friends that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and for the first time since moving to Metropolis, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the moment.

But as the night wore on and the event began to wind down, Y/N couldn’t shake the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Lois’s earlier questions had been harmless enough, but he knew her type—persistent, sharp, and always on the lookout for a story. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down too much, especially with his magic always threatening to reveal itself.

Yet, despite the risks, Y/N found himself wanting to spend more time with Clark, to catch up on the years they’d missed, and maybe even find a way to make this new life in Metropolis work. It was a dangerous line to walk, but for tonight, he was willing to take that risk.

As they all said their goodbyes and made plans to meet up again soon, Y/N felt a sense of contentment settle over him. Maybe this fresh start in Metropolis wouldn’t be as complicated as he feared. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to balance the old and the new, to keep his secrets while building something real with the people who were quickly becoming more than just acquaintances.

And maybe, this time, since he was older and more aware and mature, he could keep his feelings for Clark in check.

Yeah, that hope didn't last long.

Y/N sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of his apartment, reflecting on how quickly things had spiraled out of control since reconnecting with Clark. It had only been a few weeks, but in that short time, his life had become a whirlwind of old emotions, new challenges, and unexpected complications.

He’d spent more time with Clark, Lois, and Jimmy than he had anticipated. There were coffee runs, after-work dinners, and late-night brainstorming sessions where Lois would excitedly discuss her latest scoop while Jimmy showed off his latest photos. Clark, ever the supportive friend, would listen intently, adding his own insights with that same gentle warmth that had always made Y/N feel at ease.

Lois and Jimmy were friendly and welcoming, but Y/N could never fully relax around them. He still had to always be on guard, constantly aware of the magic simmering just beneath the surface.

And despite the camaraderie, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. It wasn’t just that he was trying to reintegrate into Clark’s life; it was the constant need to keep his magic under control, especially around Lois and Jimmy. The two of them were sharp—Lois, with her inquisitive nature, and Jimmy, with his keen eye for detail. They’d pick up on any slip-up, any sign that Y/N wasn’t just an ordinary guy from Smallville.

And then there were the moments of crisis—because Metropolis was never short on those. It seemed like every time Y/N was with the trio, something would happen. A runaway bus, a building fire, some random new villain on the loose—something always required Superman’s intervention. And every single time, Clark would disappear with a flimsy excuse, only for Superman to show up moments later.

The first time it happened, Y/N had been at a food truck with Clark and Jimmy, enjoying a rare sunny afternoon. They were laughing about something silly Jimmy had said when suddenly, the sound of screeching tires and panicked screams filled the air. Without missing a beat, Clark had mumbled something about needing to make a quick call and bolted, leaving Y/N standing there confused with Lois and Jimmy. Moments later, Superman was on the scene, saving the day like clockwork.

Lois and Jimmy had immediately sprung into action, Jimmy snapping photos while Lois started interviewing witnesses. They had been weirdly calm about the whole thing, a lot of things actually when Y/N thought about it. It was like Smallville all over again, things that should cause people to react with caution and apprehension, but instead, they barely blinked an eye.

It didn’t help that every time Clark returned, he looked winded and disheveled, and Lois would give him a knowing glance that made Y/N’s stomach twist with unease.

Meanwhile, he'd also been using his magic discreetly in these various scenarios to help keep people safe and minimize destruction and casualties. But in the chaos, he’d nearly been caught by Lois, who had turned around just as Y/N was subtly redirecting a beam of wood away from a trapped child.

“Hey, how’d you do that?” she’d asked, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Y/N had stammered out a weak excuse, something about adrenaline and luck, but he could tell Lois wasn’t convinced. She’d given him that look—the one that said she wasn’t done with him yet.

And it wasn’t the last time, either. Every time something happened, Y/N found himself using his magic to help, and every time, he came dangerously close to being caught by Lois. She was perceptive, and it was clear she was starting to get suspicious. Her questions about his past, about his connection to Clark, were getting more pointed, and Y/N could feel the pressure mounting.

But there was another element to this that Y/N hadn’t anticipated—jealousy. The more time he spent with the group, the more he noticed how close Clark and Lois were. It wasn’t just their professional partnership; it was the way they interacted, the easy banter, the shared looks, the inside jokes. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Clark’s eyes lit up whenever Lois was around, how he seemed more at ease with her than anyone else.

It irritated Y/N more than he wanted to admit. He knew it was irrational—Clark was allowed to have close friends, and Lois was obviously important to him. But every time he saw them together, it felt like a thorn in his side, a constant reminder of how complicated things had become. It didn’t help that Lois was so naturally curious, always asking questions about his and Clark’s past, digging into their history with a relentless enthusiasm that made Y/N squirm.

And then there were the quiet moments—those rare instances when it was just Y/N and Clark, away from the chaos of the city. They’d talk about everything and nothing, slipping into the easy rhythm of their past friendship. But every time, Y/N felt the old feelings bubbling up, stronger than ever.

Like the night they’d gone for a walk along the Metropolis River. The city lights reflected off the water, casting a soft glow over everything. Clark had been unusually quiet, his hands tucked into his pockets as they strolled. Y/N had felt the tension between them, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I’m glad you’re here, Y/N,” Clark had said suddenly, breaking the silence. “It’s like… it feels right, having you around again.”

Y/N had smiled, but it hadn’t reached his eyes. He wanted to say something—anything—that would match the sincerity in Clark’s voice, but the words had caught in his throat. Instead, he’d just nodded, trying to ignore the way his heart raced every time Clark looked at him like that.

But every time they were together, every time Clark smiled at him or brushed against him accidentally, Y/N felt his resolve weakening. It was getting harder to pretend that everything was fine, that he didn’t still have feelings for Clark.

And as they spent more time together, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder—did Clark feel it too? There were moments, subtle ones, where Y/N thought he saw something in Clark’s eyes, a lingering gaze, a soft smile that seemed meant just for him. But then Clark would pull back, or Lois would step in, and Y/N was left questioning if it was all in his head.

But now, lying on his couch and staring at the ceiling, Y/N couldn’t ignore it anymore. The old feelings hadn’t just resurfaced—they were drowning him, pulling him under with a force he couldn’t fight.

It wasn’t just about Clark, though that was a huge part of it. It was the fear of what would happen if Clark—or worse, Lois and Jimmy—found out about his magic. They were all so caught up in their own world of secrets and dangers, and Y/N wasn’t sure if he could handle being part of it. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up the act much longer.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from Clark: Hey, want to grab dinner with Lois and Jimmy? We’re thinking Thai.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before typing a quick reply: Sure, sounds good.

As he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope, balancing between the life he had built for himself and the one he had left behind. And with every step, he was getting closer to falling off.

As Y/N walked to the restaurant, he kept his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, trying to calm the unease that had settled in his chest. He needed to get a grip, to find a way to keep his feelings in check before they, and thus his magic spiraled out of control. The last thing he wanted was for Clark to notice—or worse, for Lois to start asking questions.

By the time he reached the restaurant, Y/N had managed to push his anxiety down, forcing a smile as he spotted Clark, Lois, and Jimmy waiting outside. Clark waved him over, his smile as bright as ever.

"Hey, glad you could make it," Clark greeted him with his usual warm and bright tone.

"Heh, wouldn't miss it," Y/N chuckled, trying to keep his voice casual.

As they ate, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the easy dynamic between Lois and Clark. There was a familiarity there, an unspoken understanding that made Y/N’s chest tighten with a mix of jealousy and longing. He wanted to be part of that, to be as close to Clark as Lois was.

But then Lois turned to him, her sharp eyes studying him with that same curiosity he’d noticed at the gala. “So, Y/N, what was Clark like back in Smallville? He never talks much about his hometown.”

Y/N felt his pulse quicken. He shot a quick glance at Clark, who was suddenly very interested in his pad Thai.

“Oh, you know,” Y/N began, trying to keep his tone light, “just your average small-town kid. We spent a lot of time getting into trouble and trying to keep out of it.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the vague answer. “Really? I find that hard to believe. Clark’s practically the poster boy for responsibility.”

Y/N forced a laugh, trying to deflect Lois’s probing gaze. “Yeah, well, even poster boys have their moments. We were just kids, you know? Doing dumb stuff like exploring abandoned barns or sneaking out to the creek after dark. Nothing too wild.”

Lois leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing with that trademark inquisitiveness. “Come on, Y/N, you’re holding out on me. I want the juicy details. What kind of trouble did Clark get into?”

Y/N could feel the heat rising in his face, a mix of nerves, and the pressure of trying to avoid any slip-ups. “Honestly, it was mostly me dragging him into stuff. Clark was always the one keeping me out of serious trouble.”

Clark chuckled nervously, his eyes darting between Y/N and Lois. “Yeah, Y/N was always the adventurous one. I was just along for the ride.”

Jimmy, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t know, Lois. I think Clark’s just good at covering his tracks. Bet he’s got a whole secret rebellious side we don’t know about.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Jimmy’s words, the irony of the statement not lost on him. If only they knew just how many secrets Clark was hiding—or how many he was keeping himself.

Lois, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. “I don’t doubt it,” she said, her eyes flicking back to Y/N with a knowing smile. “And I bet you’ve got some secrets of your own, Y/N. You seem like the type who’s good at keeping things under wraps.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for just a second before he forced it back into place. “Who doesn’t have a few secrets?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light and nonchalant.

Lois’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, and Y/N could practically feel her trying to piece together the puzzle she was sure he was hiding. He shifted uncomfortably, desperate to change the subject.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, his voice a bit too loud in his haste to redirect the conversation, “what about you guys? You’ve all been working together for a while now. Any crazy stories from the Daily Planet?”

Clark gave him a grateful smile, clearly relieved at the change in topic. “Oh, you know, it’s mostly just chasing down leads and trying to stay out of trouble ourselves.”

Lois smirked. “Mostly. There have been a few close calls, though. Like that time we were covering that gala and—”

But before she could continue, there was a sudden commotion outside the restaurant. The sound of screeching tires and shouting filled the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of something crashing into a building.

Clark’s expression immediately shifted to one of concern. “I’ll, uh, be right back,” he mumbled, already moving toward the door.

Moments later, Superman was on the scene, and Y/N found himself once again in the midst of a crisis, trying to discreetly use his magic to help those around him. He directed falling debris away from pedestrians, subtly reinforced a crumbling wall, and calmed panicked civilians—all while trying to stay out of Lois’s line of sight.

As Y/N moved through the chaos, he couldn’t help but keep one eye on Lois. She was already pulling out her phone, likely trying to reach out to sources or start documenting the scene for the Daily Planet. But more than once, Y/N caught her glancing his way, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to figure something out.

It didn’t help that every time Y/N used his magic, Lois seemed to notice something was off. Like when he subtly redirected a falling streetlight away from a group of bystanders, Lois had been nearby and had whipped around, her eyes narrowing as she spotted Y/N standing there, his hand half-raised.

“Where, how did you—” she started, but Y/N cut her off quickly.

“Uh, just lucky timing,” he said, flashing what he hoped was a convincing grin.

Lois didn’t look convinced, but before she could press further, another explosion rocked the area as Superman swooped across the sky in a fight with some new villain. Lois’s attention was immediately drawn away as she dashed off to get closer to the action, leaving Y/N with a brief moment of relief.

But it was short-lived. He could feel the weight of his secret bearing down on him, the fear that at any moment, Lois would start putting the pieces together. She was too perceptive, too determined to uncover the truth, and Y/N was running out of excuses.

Y/N’s heart pounded as he watched Lois dart away, her focus now on Superman’s battle overhead. The city block was in chaos—buildings crumbling, cars overturned, and terrified civilians running for cover. Y/N could feel the familiar tingle of his magic, urging him to act, but he hesitated. He was too exposed, too close to Lois and Jimmy, who were both still in the thick of things, trying to stay safe while getting their story.

But then he saw it—a mother and her young child, trapped beneath a fallen piece of debris, their terrified cries cutting through the noise. Without thinking, Y/N moved. He knew he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Darting through the chaos, he reached the trapped pair, his heart racing. The chunk of concrete pinning them was far too heavy for him to lift on his own, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He pretended to struggle with it for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely. Then, with a whispered incantation, he let his magic flow, lifting the debris just enough for the mother to pull her child to safety.

“Go! Get out of here!” Y/N urged them, and they didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and ran, not looking back.

But as Y/N released his grip on the concrete, allowing it to crash back to the ground, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He turned just in time to see Lois standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

“Y/N…” she started, her voice barely audible over the sounds of destruction around them. “How did you—”

Before she could finish, a loud crash interrupted her, drawing their attention to the ongoing battle above. Superman was locked in a fierce struggle with the villain, who was wielding some kind of energy weapon that was tearing through the city with reckless abandon.

Lois hesitated for a split second, torn between confronting Y/N and rushing to cover the story. The journalist in her won out, and she turned to run towards the action, but not before shooting Y/N one last look, a promise that this conversation wasn’t over.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, but there was no time to dwell on what Lois had seen. The battle was escalating, and the destruction was growing worse by the second. He knew he had to do more, had to use his magic more openly if he wanted to save lives. The fear of exposure warred with his instinct to help, but his desire to help won out.

As Y/N wove his way through the chaos, he could feel his magic surging within him, responding to his need to act. With each subtle spell, he could feel the pressure mounting, the risk of being discovered growing with every passing moment. But he couldn't stop, not when so many lives were at stake.

As Y/N moved through the chaos, helping people where he could, he lost himself in the urgency of the moment. He pulled a child out of harm's way, extinguished small fires with a flick of his wrist, and used his magic to steady a teetering scaffold that was threatening to collapse onto a group of bystanders. Every action was instinctual, his focus so intense that he didn’t even notice how close he was getting to the epicenter of the danger.

Meanwhile, Superman was engaged in a fierce battle with the villain, their clash sending shockwaves through the city. Clark’s attention was divided, trying to subdue the threat while keeping an eye on his friends below. But in the midst of the fight, he noticed Y/N inching dangerously close to the conflict.

“Y/N, get back!” Superman shouted, his voice strained with panic as he saw Y/N unwittingly step into the path of a collapsing billboard that had been dislodged during the battle.

Time seemed to slow as Clark realized he wouldn’t reach Y/N in time, especially with his opponent actively trying to block his way. His heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him like a vice. But just as the massive billboard was about to crush him, Y/N’s instincts kicked in.

Without even thinking, Y/N threw up his hands, and a powerful force field erupted around him, deflecting the billboard away and sending it crashing harmlessly to the ground. The magic burst out of him like a tidal wave, raw and unfiltered, saving him in the nick of time.

The impact of what had just happened hit Y/N all at once. He stood there, breathless and trembling, staring at the spot where the billboard had fallen. His heart raced as he realized how close he’d come to being crushed—and how easily he had saved himself with powers.

Superman, who had seen the entire event unfold, hovered in the air, momentarily stunned. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Y/N had powers—real, undeniable powers. And in that instant, a dozen memories from their time together in Smallville flashed through his mind, moments that suddenly made sense in a new, startling way.

The villain took advantage of Superman’s distraction, launching one final attack. But Superman, fueled by a surge of determination, quickly regained focus. With a swift, powerful strike, he knocked the villain off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious and defeated.

The battle was over, but the tension in the air was far from dissipated.

Superman landed softly on the ground, his eyes never leaving Y/N. The adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through him, but now it was mixed with a cocktail of emotions—shock, confusion, and something deeper, something more personal.

Y/N looked up, locking eyes with Superman for the first time. The two of them stood there, surrounded by the remnants of the battle, but it felt as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

“Y/N,” Superman began, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He took a step forward, but before he could say more, Lois and Jimmy rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and relief.

Superman took a step toward Y/N, his mind racing with questions, but before he could say more, Lois and Jimmy rushed over, their faces a mix of concern and urgency.

"Superman," Lois called out, her voice edged with urgency as she glanced around. "We’re in the middle of the street. People are starting to notice."

Jimmy nodded, his camera hanging by his side as he scanned the area. “Yeah, maybe we should take this somewhere a little less… public.”

Superman blinked, realizing the gravity of the situation. There were indeed a few onlookers, phones out, capturing the aftermath of the battle. The last thing he needed was more attention, especially with Y/N’s secret now out in the open.

He turned to Y/N, his eyes filled with both concern and determination. “Y/N, we need to talk. But not here. Do you trust me?”

Y/N, still shaken from everything that had happened, hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Superman gave him a small, reassuring smile before glancing back at Lois and Jimmy. “I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I need to get Y/N out of here.”

Lois gave a curt nod, understanding the need for discretion. “We’ll cover for you. Just… be careful.”

Jimmy shot Y/N a quick thumbs-up, though his expression was tinged with curiosity and concern. “We’ll handle the crowd. Go.”

With a final nod, Superman wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, holding him securely. “Hold on tight.”

Before Y/N could fully process what was happening, they were airborne, the ground falling away as Superman lifted them into the sky. The wind rushed past them as they soared above the city, the chaos of the battle below quickly becoming a distant memory.

Y/N clung to Superman, his heart racing not just from the flight but from the whirlwind of emotions and revelations that had just unfolded. He had always admired Superman from afar, but now, being so close, knowing that this was Clark—it was almost too much to take in.

They flew in silence, the cityscape sprawling out beneath them, until finally, Superman began to descend, landing gently on the rooftop of the Daily Planet building. The iconic globe loomed above them, casting long shadows in the setting sun.

Superman set Y/N down carefully, stepping back to give him space. For a moment, they just stood there, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.

Clark, still in his Superman suit but with the familiar warmth of his old friend in his eyes, took a step closer. “I know. It’s a lot to take in. For both of us.”

Y/N nodded, his mind racing with a thousand questions. “So, you're Superman?”

A faint blush along with his nervous smile appeared on his face, a glimpse of the boy Y/N had known. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

A moment of silence passed before Y/N spoke again, "I really don't get how people don't catch on faster. The only visible difference is the glasses," he said, gesturing to the frames on Clark's face.

Clark looked confused for a moment, "Wait, huh? Did you know?"

"Well, not for sure. But I had my suspicions. I mean, the glasses, the timing of your disappearances, the fact that you were never around whenever Superman showed up... it wasn't exactly hard to put the pieces together. But, I didn't know until I saw you up close. Until now, whenever you were Superman, I wasn't close enough to get a good look. Then, you were right in front of me, and well, it was like, 'Oh yeah, that makes complete sense,'" Y/N admitted, rambling a little.

"Oh," was all Clark could manage, a sheepish look on his face.

"Why did you never tell me?" Y/N asked, his voice soft.

Clark sighed, his expression conflicted. "I wanted to, believe me. But it's not exactly something I can just go around telling people. And after everything that happened back in Smallville, I didn't want to put you in any more danger. I guess, we were both keeping secrets."

Y/N paused for a moment, now realizing the irony of the situation before laughing under his breath, "Sneaky little bastard strikes again."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, just a little joke to myself," Y/N explained, before pausing and looking at his friend, taking in his entire superhero appearance, "Wow, looking at you now, and thinking back to everything, everything now makes so much sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you being able to stop cars without getting injured. Or people always calling your parents to ask for you when their tractor was broken down. And that time you and Suzy were playing in Old Man Ferris's field and he almost mowed her over with the shredder but you saved her and broke the shredder in the process. I always thought it was weird, but now, it's obvious," Y/N said, his tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"I mean, it could've just been weak metal," Clark tried to argue, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed his embarrassment.

"Clark, no offense, but anyone else verse that shredder would've been minced meat. And yet, one run-in with you and it had been totaled with no chance of repair. Which, did he ever get a new one?"

"Yeah, the town all chipped in to get him one while my parents got him insurance on it for a year as an apology."

"Hmm, you know for the amount of weird things that have gone on in that town between you and me alone, you'd think someone would've said something or freaked out," Y/N commented, shaking his head.

"Yeah, well, Smallville is a weird place," Clark chuckled, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"That it is," Y/N agreed, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

Clark cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess things also make sense for you too. All those times that lights and power in school went out after you got angry, things disappearing and reappearing in random places, and that one time you got in an argument with a squirrel. Can you talk to animals with your powers?"

"Okay, first of all, we didn't have to bring that specific instance up. You remember everyone made fun of me for like a month after that happened. And either way, that squirrel had it coming," Y/N said, a slight pout on his face.

"It was a squirrel, Y/N."

"And it was a jerk!"

"How was it a jerk?"

"It kept throwing acorns at me and always running at me like it wanted to fight. I can't understand animals naturally unless there's a spell for it that I just haven't figured out, but they do seem to gravitate towards me for whatever reason. But, that squirrel had it out for me since freshman year and I was just trying to defend myself," Y/N argued, his voice taking on a slightly whiny tone.

"By arguing with it?"

"Well, yes," Y/N said, crossing his arms, "But, it was a very heated argument."

"If you say so," Clark laughed, his eyes bright with amusement.

Clark's laughter filled the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were back in Smallville, two friends joking around like they used to. But the reality of their situation quickly settled back in, and the weight of everything that had happened—everything that had been revealed—hung between them.

"So, magic," Clark said after a beat, his tone more serious. "I can't believe you were hiding that all these years."

Y/N shrugged, looking down at his feet. "It wasn't exactly something I could just go around telling people. Especially not in Smallville. I barely understood it myself, and my parents were terrified of what might happen if anyone found out. They were always worried that some government agency would swoop in and take me away if I ever slipped up."

Clark nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. My parents had similar fears about me. We were both trying to protect each other, in our own way."

"Yeah," Y/N agreed quietly. He glanced up at Clark, a hesitant smile on his face. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? Both of us with these...abilities and we never knew about each other."

Clark smiled back, but there was something in his eyes—something that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. "I wish I had known," Clark said softly. "Maybe things would have been different."

"Maybe," Y/N echoed, the word hanging in the air between them.

A comfortable silence settled over them, the kind that only old friends could share. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the city. Y/N found himself getting lost in the moment, in the quiet presence of his friend, the tension of the past few weeks slowly ebbing away.

But then Clark spoke again, his voice filled with an emotion that Y/N couldn't quite place. "You know, I've always felt like there was something more between us. Even back then."

Y/N's breath caught in his throat. He looked at Clark, his eyes searching his friend's face for any sign that he might be joking, but all he saw was sincerity. "What do you mean?"

Clark hesitated as if trying to find the right words. "I mean... I've always cared about you, Y/N. More than just as a friend."

The confession hung in the air, and Y/N's heart pounded in his chest. He had dreamed of hearing those words for so long, but now that they were here, he didn't know how to respond. His feelings for Clark had been buried deep for years, hidden away to protect both himself and their friendship.

"Clark, I..." Y/N began, but his voice faltered. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I care about you too. A lot. But this—" He gestured to the city below them, to Superman’s suit, to everything around them. "This is complicated. Our lives are so different now."

Clark stepped closer, his expression earnest. "I know it’s complicated. But maybe we can figure it out together."

Y/N looked into Clark's eyes, seeing the hope and the warmth there, and for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could make this work. He thought about all the things they had been through, the secrets they had kept, the bond that had never really broken despite the years and the distance.

He smiled softly, his heart finally settling into a steady rhythm. "I'd like that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Clark's smile was brighter than the sunset behind him, and Y/N felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. For the first time in a long while, things felt right. Complicated, yes, but right.

But before they could say anything more, the door to the rooftop burst open, and Lois and Jimmy came rushing in, both looking out of breath and a little frantic.

"Clark! Y/N!" Lois called out, her eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. "You guys okay? We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"Yeah, we’re fine," Clark said, quickly stepping back from Y/N, though he couldn’t quite hide the smile on his face.

Jimmy glanced between the two of them, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, you guys really should be more careful. The paparazzi would have a field day if they caught Superman having a heart-to-heart with some random guy on a rooftop."

Lois rolled her eyes but nodded in agreement. "He's right. We should get off this rooftop before someone spots us."

Clark looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of reluctance and agreement. "Yeah, you're right." He turned back to Y/N, his voice softening. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

Y/N nodded, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness about what that conversation would bring. "Yeah, later."

With that, they all made their way back down to the city, where the chaos of the day had finally settled. But even as they stepped back into the world, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between them.

And for the first time, he was ready to see where it would lead.

☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

492 notes · View notes

atinystraynstay · 11 months ago

Text

Off Limits - Jeong Yunho

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Synopsis: Going to college for you was very serious. Nothing could stand in the way which meant often rejecting social events and saying no to anything to risk. That was until you met Yunho, someone you would risk it all for.

Pairing: College!Jeong Yunho x fem. reader

Genre: mutual pining, strangers to friends with benefits - MINORS DNI

Contains: mentions of celibacy, mentions of alcohol consumption, nudity, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), dirty talk, slight begging, protected intercourse, characters losing their virginity, orgasm

Note: based on a request from @jonghoslvt ☆ no joke, I adore you and never thought you'd take up my offer. I really hope this doesn't disappoint because I literally fell in love with the idea the moment you hit my inbox

Word Count: 7.8k

"But y/n, it's not even a frat party," your best friend whined. "Yeah! We're too old for that anyways," your other friend chimed in.

You currently found yourself in a standoff. At first, you had situated yourself in your bed with your textbooks to have a quiet night in. Your friends, however, took it upon themselves to propose an alternative idea. One that you often rejected.

"Are you forgetting that we have midterms next week? I would like to start spring break stress-free."

Your entire life has been focused on going to college. If asked about your childhood, you would always recall how happy you were growing up. But you never overlooked the sacrifices your parents made for you. Going to college was never realistic or them, so they worked overtime I order to provide you with the opportunity to live a better life than they ever got a chance for. Their struggles were something you can never ignore, which made you want to work hard to make them proud.

And since getting to college, it was about doing well to be able to show them why their hard work was worth it. You also had a personal goal of being able to afford to repay them for everything.

To get to that point, that meant often saying no to social obligations so you could study. Your weekends often looked like you were crammed in the library. Or, if you needed human interaction, propping yourself at a coffee shop to mix in with the crowd.

Breaks were the opportunities to let loose and have a little bit of fun. Yet, your breaks often looked like doing work for internships. Now that senior year has arrived, you are also adding in time to scroll through LinkedIn and Indeed for potential job openings

"Y/n, I adore you, and what a little studious bookworm you are. However, it is senior year. We have less than 3 months to make stupid decisions before adult obligations. There is also the chance we might not be living even in the same state or country! Do you really want to live life only when we come to visit or you visit someone else?"

You never went to a frat party. You never had a random hookup. You always played things safe.

You couldn't help but let out a sigh as you gazed down at your lap where your textbook rested. She had a point. While you were very excited about being that true adult version of you, you weren't ready for the hard parts of it like no longer living with your best friends or really having little interaction.

"And I'll tell you what. We don't have to stay all night. If you get overwhelmed or are over it, we will come straight home and watch Love Is Blind."

You perked up at her compromise. When you looked up, hopeful eyes were staring back at you before you silently nodded. That was enough to send them into squeals and start to drag yourself out of bed.

What were you getting yourself into?

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

Little did you know, across campus, a similar debate was going on.

"Guys, I really don't like house parties like that," Yunho huffed. "And how do you know if you've ever been?" Mingi challenged him.

Yunho couldn't help but narrow his eyes on his best friend. He had a point, but damn, did he hate it when he was right. Out of the two them, Mingi was the more social one. Before a party was finalized, Mingi was already receiving texts about the details so word could spread like wildfire.

On the other hand, Yunho often opted for quiet nights in. He would spend nights either gaming with Seonghwa or drinking at home with a few friends. What was the point in going to a house party when they already had beer in their apartment?

There was also a part that loved hearing Mingi's retelling of what went down. Yunho simply didn't like parties, the situations that could arise from consuming too much alcohol, and the morning recovery.

"You owe me!" "For what?!"' "I mean," Mingi began. "I am your best friend. I'm sure you owe me something!"

Yunho rolled his eyes but couldn't fight the smirk curling onto his lips. It amused him greatly the antics Mingi always tried getting into, and how he basically became a whimpering puppy for attention.

"What will you do for me if I go?" Yunho challenged. "I will literally never ask you to come out again if you absolutely hate it. Or I will do all the chores in the house for the next month."

That caught Yunho's attention instantly. He liked to consider himself a very clean man, never knowing who might step into their humble abode. However, Yunho still liked to maintain a welcoming household and seemed like he had things together. First impressions mattered the most to him. And it was no secret Mingi often dirtied up any clean space, no matter how recently Yunho finished cleaning.

"Wait? Are you being serious?"

With Mingi cleaning, that meant that Yunho could just spend time the way he wanted to - playing video games and chilling with his friends. Yunho definitely was a person who liked being around people, but he didn't like situations that could get messy quickly. Hence why there was a slight aversion to going to parties where things could go 0 to 100 too quickly.

At home, Yunho was in control. He was the mood maker who kept a warm, welcoming environment. That meant one that was clean and safe for everyone. An oasis from the chaos of university.

"I'm dead serious, Yunho." "Deal!"

Little to Yunho know just how overwhelming the atmosphere would be. Even though Yunho certainly liked making memories with his friends, he was almost intimidated. All around him were drinks being passed left and right, not even knowing what was in the drink but it made his noise scrunch up as all he could smell was cheap perfume and alcohol. It practically burned his nostrils.

"Relax, Yunho," Wooyoung laughed. "You are about to give away that you've never had pussy before."

Yunho's head snapped towards his younger friend, a look of shock on his face. "Do you ever not think with your dick?"

"Will you ever sleep with someone? Come on. You're in college. Make a bad decision." "I'm fine with sticking to this one," Yunho sighed.

It wasn't that Yunho didn't want to have sex. However, he knew just how special being intimate with someone is. What mattered to him was waiting for the person he felt like he could be that vulnerable with. Just finding a random person and doing it sounds disgusting. Not how he wanted his first time go.

Nobody has caught his attention yet.

"Oh ease up, Yunho. Woo just is looking out for you," Mingi laughed. "But if you do find someone, bedrooms are open upstairs.

I think I'm going to be sick.

"Well, to be the bearer of good news," Jongho called out. "It seems like Yunho has a pair of eyes on him."

What was he talking about?

Slowly, Yunho looked over his shoulder whereas his friends seemed to wipe their heads around. Way to be subtle. There was this pattern that always occurred where girls seemed to have taken an interest in Yunho, but he never reciprocated. He was just content with the way things were in his life - no drama, no mess.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight behind him. There's no way.

Yunho has seen you around campus before. The two of you have never had a class together, seeing as your respective programs were in two different buildings. Yet, there were always ways you two crossed paths. You were heavily involved on campus or often in the library studying. Yunho did frequent the library, but if there was no immediate open spot available, he would leave. He always thought you were cute, but the opportunity never presented itself where he could make a move.

He didn't quite think that asking someone, a complete stranger, out on a date in the library when they were obviously busy was romantic.

To be honest, he never saw you as a party girl. You were often studying out of your mountain of textbooks or typing like your life depended on it on your laptop. He adored that side of you. When your hair was pulled back and your glasses framed your face, highlighting your big eyes.

Tonight, you opted for a different look. You ditched your sweats for a short black skirt that had a small slit on the right side. You wore a white shirt but that was mostly hidden underneath the leather jacket you wore. Your hair was downing loose curls. Your makeup also looked like it was light, but he was drawn to your cherry red lipstick.

I wonder if it also tastes like cherries.

Yet, tonight, you seemed like you had no agenda. Your eyes did glance in his direction, followed by whispers and giggles from your friends. To say his interest was peaked is an understatement.

You were someone who caught his attention. And his friends seemed to notice.

"Hey y/n," Mingi called out.

Yunho's head immediately turned towards Mingi who wore a smirk on his face. He wouldn't.

But it was too late. Mingi was already halfway across the room to greet you and your friends. And Yunho was hot on his trails.

"See you finally are breaking out of the library to join the rest of us," he commented.

You rolled your eyes before greeting him with a hug. Of course, Mingi knew you. He knew everyone. How did you two meet though? You weren't an ex-girlfriend or else you would have been over to the dorms. And you had a face that was impossible to forget. Maybe Mingi got tutoring from you?

"Don't hold your breath, Mingi. I was offered an out if I want to take it," you warned.

Your voice was just as angelic as Yunho imagined it. You often studied alone, unless you were shoved into a group project by your professors. Hearing how you speak made his heart flutter.

"Well maybe I can offer a reason to stay?"

You tilted your head in confusion. Mingi nodded over his shoulder which caused you to instinctively look over.

Everything else froze the moment your eyes met. It was like a scene from a romantic movie where the lights highlight the dream girl, music fades out. Nothing else matters at the moment besides you.

"Y/n, I want you to meet my best friend, Jeong Yunho. Yunho, be nice. This is y/n."

I was brought back to reality by Mingi gently patting me on the shoulder and giving me a slight shove. Luckily, I was quick on my feet to prevent myself from stumbling into this girl and making a fool out of myself. The wouldn't be a great first impression.

By your body language, Yunho could tell that you were out of your element. But so was he. Your eyes bounced around as you noticed your friends and his had left the two of you alone.

"Why don't we head out of here? Maybe go to the kitchen? Away from the crowds?"

Your eyes instantly lit up at his offered. The sight of you feeling relieved made Yunho felt proud, but also served as a motivating factor to ensure you always felt that content especially around him.

With a hand on your lower back, Yunho escorted you two out of the main part of the house. His eyes flickered all around to see where there were less people. However, people were playing drinking games in the kitchen. He glanced down at the cup in your hand to see you still had something to drink. The stairs, on the other hand, were vacant.

"Come on, let's go upstairs. I've been wanting to get to know you, y/n," he confessed.

Instantly, you felt your cheeks heat up. You nodded before following Yunho's lead. Your friend groups watched almost in astonishment at how quickly things progressed. Mingi was the proudest, as he played cupid after all.

As the two of you descended up the stairs, you could hear the bass of the music from below but could not quite make out the words. The loud conversations faded out to where you could just hear the footsteps of you and Yunho. You swore though you could feel your racing, and you were nervous Yunho could hear it too.

He flashed you a warm smile as he began trying the doorknob on the first door he saw.

"Occupied!" Someone shouted from within. The two of you felt yourself get hot in the face.

Quickly, he maneuvered the two of you to the bedroom across the hallway. Luckily, the door was slightly cracked and lights were off. An indicator that it was unoccupied. And to confirm, Yunho stepped in first by gently pushing the door. He let out a sigh of relief as there was no one.

"Perfect. Now I can actually get to know you."

He wanted to know me? The girl who is always studying?

He stepped out of the doorway, his back against the bedroom door to allow you inside. You thanked him with a soft smile before stepping into the room. You did notice he closed the door but also left it unlocked. It honestly made you feel a bit safer just by his gentle gaze and consideration.

Whenever you've seen Yunho walking around campus, you've always taken note of his soft aura. Maybe that's why it was so easy to lean into the potential friendship with him.

You found yourself walking into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. Your hands flattened out the skirt so it covered a bit more of your legs. Yunho joined you, keeping a bit of space but nothing too much. Just enough so you could speak one another but be respectful and mindful of your own personal space.

"I'm surprised to see you here tonight," Yunho commented, a smile still on his lips. "You just never seemed to be the party girl." "You know me already," you laughed. "I'm honestly not but my friends want to make lasting memories before graduation," you explained.

Yunho couldn't help but chuckle which caused you to raise an eyebrow. He quickly cleared his throat, a light hue coating his cheeks.

"Sorry, I'm not laughing at you, I promise. It just seems that our friends are in the same mindset since that's why I got dragged out of the apartment tonight." "I guess it isn't so bad now that I'm here with you."

You swore that Yunho's cheeks got darker. You also noticed how his smile widened to the point his eyes became hidden. He was just too adorable.

"So mystery girl knows who I am," he chuckled again.

God, his laugh was so infectious. I could just sit hear and listen to it all day.

"And I'm surprised my campus crush knows even who I am." "Oh? I'm your campus crush?" He smirked.

Now it was your turn to blush a bit. Damn, caught red-handed.

"Well yeah. I've seen you all over with Mingi or when you are trying to study in the library. Guess you could say I've always been curious."

Yunho's ego soared. He didn't come here to get lucky, but he was. He felt as if he had one the lottery.

"There's something else I've been curious about," he admitted.

Your upper body had turned towards him. The moonlight shining from the window made your eyes sparkle. It was as if you had the whole universe in your eyes. Your head was tilted slightly, a habit Yunho was quickly learning about you and equally adored.

One hand remained at a respectful spot in the space between the two of you. Yet, his right hand reached across to cup your cheek. His thumb caressed your cheek affectionately as your eyes widened slightly. Yet, your body felt relaxed underneath his touch.

He never wanted to take things too far, but a little kiss never hurts, right?

"Is it okay if I kiss you, y/n?" He whispered.

Your name coming from his lips sent butterflies in your stomach. "Yes," you whispered back.

He offered another gentle smile before he leaned in to press his lips against yours. His lips felt soft and gentle as he didn't want to pressure you to kiss him back. But you would be a mad person if you didn't. You matched his tempo, allowing him to lead the kiss.

Tiny electric shocks were sent throughout your body. You couldn't help but allow your arms to wrap around his neck, which gave him the green light to move his hand off the bed to your knee. His warm hand caressed your exposed skin.

"I like the feeling of your hands on me," you murmured against his lips.

Fuck, Yunho, you're in trouble. Your statement made his brain all fuzzy. Yet, he didn't want to get too ahead of himself. He was almost positive you meant innocence in your statement.

His hand moved from your knee to your hip where he lifted you with ease. You gasped softly, pulling back from the kiss. You never expected him to be so strong! Your mouth was slightly open as you were positioned on his lap.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Yunho said. "Did I move too fast?"

You turned towards him and shock your head. Your heartbeat was felt throughout your whole body. If it was anyone else, you might have gone running out the door by how overwhelmingly intense the moment felt. With Yunho? All you wanted was to stay.

"No, this is perfect," you confessed. Your one hand stayed wrapped around his neck, your fingers running through your hair. "Is this okay? I mean, I've never done anything like this before. I don't just kiss cute boys who I barely now."

Yunho couldn't help but smile softly at your sentiment. You were too sweet. "Well, maybe we can become more than strangers?" His hand caressed your side affectionately, easing any nerves left in your body.

"I'd like that," you whispered.

You were about to go in to kiss Yunho again when the bedroom door busted open. You gasped as Yunho gently moved you off, shielding your body. The people who busted in just gasped before quickly closing the door behind them, muttering apologizes.

Way to kill the mood.

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

That was three weeks ago. Yunho and you kept in good contact, especially now that Mingi prided himself in bringing two of his favorite people together. Even though you and Yunho were as far from being a couple as anything else. If anything, you two were beginning to deepen your friendship.

Yunho now had a reliable person to study, with who would keep him accountable for actually getting work done. And you had someone who made life fell less lonely.

And it was a bonus that each study session ended with a makeout session at your apartment. It was almost a ritual between the two of you. At the end of the night, Yunho would make sure you had eaten before walking him. You would then offer to come in for some water or coffee, depending on what else he had going on in the evening. Which were ultimately excuses to go to your bedroom.

Never before had you felt so safe with someone. Yunho looked after you, which honestly blew you away considering how new the friendship was. Yet, for Yunho, taking care of you was a duty. Even if you weren't official, he always wanted to make sure you knew someone was looking out for you.

That was as evident as ever when you two were behind closed doors. Light kisses led to light touches. His hands often wondered to your lower back, maybe underneath your shirt to cup your bra-covered breasts. Your hands would fall on his chest, sometimes down his abs towards where his belt was. Kisses on your lips led to neck kisses then to hickies which your roommates teased you relentlessly about.

Nothing more though. You had told Yunho that you were always anxious when it came to sex. You didn't want to jeopardize everything you worked for. And Yunho always respected that, especially since he was waiting for the right person. He didn't want to regret something so meaningful. And you respected that too.

Yet, you couldn't ignore your own urges anymore. There was something powerful between the two of you. You just weren't sure how to tell Yunho how you were feeling without scaring him off.

The past three weeks have been the time of your life. He made you feel warm and fuzzy, as if you were the main character in a Nicholas Spark's novel. And Yunho felt like he was on Cloud 9 with you. He never wanted to lose that feeling.

Buzz buzz

You were currently in the kitchen of your college apartment, slicing up an apple and peanut butter. A favorite study time snack of yours. Your eyes warned over to see Yunho's name flash on your phone which instantly brought a smile on your face.

"Oh! Y/n must be talking to Yunho," your roommate teased.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile growing on your lips. Yeah, you were down bad for him.

"Hey pretty girl, what are you up to today?" "Not studying! I got everything done." "So you have time for me?"

Your smile grew wider at his text. You literally felt your heart flutter.

"Maybe.. is it worth it though?" "Oh darling, don't you worry. I'm going to make sure you feel on top of the world." "Where are we going?" "My place? 7pm?"

You glanced at the time at the top left corner of your phone. 5:41pm. Not much time to get ready.

"Anything I should bring over?" "Just yourself. It is all I need."

Lord have mercy.

Your snack was long forgotten as you ran up the stairs. The excitement about seeing Yunho, being alone with him drove you in ways academic achievement and goals accomplished never could.

You wear wearing a loose sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. Nothing too suggestive but also easy to remove. You never wanted to go in assuming any situation, but you couldn't help but be hopeful. Your roommates also noticed your change of perspective since Yunho came into your life. They liked seeing this side of you - the side where you were allowing yourself to enjoy life rather than focus on work and outcomes.

"Make sure you say hi to Yunho for us," your one roommate teased as you rushed to grab your wallet and keys. "Should we expect you tonight or tomorrow afternoon?"

Your cheeks were a bit red, not from embarrassment. There was not one ounce that was ashamed to be so scandalous with Yunho. Maybe it was because it was your little secret, the part of your that you were allowing to flourish for the first time, that was being exposed. While you weren't sure if you and Yunho would be anything more than friends, you were safe to say you were no longer strangers.

"I'll just text you guys when I'm heading home," you laughed, trying to ease your own nerves. Yet, you felt all the butterflies in your stomach which mad you jittery.

"Oh, no need. We have your location, y/n." "Creeps," you huffed. "Or just care about your well-being! But we also know Yunho will take care of that part."

I need to get out of here. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was 6:47pm. Yunho was just a 5 minute walk away from your apartment, so you were in no rush but any excuse to get to Yunho quickly.

"Hey, I'm heading over now :)" you texted him. "Can't wait to be with you."

You waved goodbye to your roommates who sounded off in encouraging cheers. You shook your head playfully before walking out the door to Yunho's apartment. With each step, your heartbeat is faster and louder. He had you wrapped around his finger and you didn't even know how to tell him.

"Hi pretty girl," Yunho said, answering the door. His height always left you breathless. You knew you were down bad when his height is something you adore. He was dressed in a grey sweatshirt with a yellow smiley face in the middle and black sweatpants.

Gently, he stepped out of the way to allow you to enter. You smiled appreciatively before walking in and slipped off your shoes. Mingi was in the kitchen, wiping down the countertop after dinner assumedly.

"Hey y/n. I'm about to head out!" He exchanged a look with Yunho, but you were too hyper-focused on Yunho's hand on your lower back. You could basically turn into Jell-o. "I'll see you around," he snickered.

"Bye Mingi," Yunho muttered. His demeanor softened when he turned towards you though, offering that gentle smile that makes you want to do anything he says. "Wanna go up to my room?"

You nodded before taking the lead. You've been all too familiar with the staircase that led up to Yunho's bedroom. Each time you walked in front of him, Yunho struggled. He surely had the best view in the world but wanted to do his absolute best to remain respectful.

Once you arrived in his room, you were a bit taken back. This wasn't the usual setup. You were much accustomed to the floor lamp being on, his laptop ready for a movie.

Tonight, the no lights were on. Instead, he had lit a few candles that were new additions to the top of his dresser. It created a glow in the room that was warm and welcoming. It also had a smell of vanilla and cashmere, two of your favorite scents. He was a good listener. Soft, sensual music was playing in the background from the speaker by his desk.

You stepped into the room but didn't go to the bed this time. You turned towards him, keeping a bit of distance but yearning to be close to him.

"What's all this for, Yunho?"

He loved the way his name sounded from your lips. It sent shivers down his spine. He smiled gently before taking a step closer, closing the door behind him. Once again, he didn't lock it right away. Yunho was the exception in a world of boys where he was a gentleman. He always offered you an out, always a way to leave if you so choose. Yunho never placed expectations on you. He followed your lead.

"Y/n," he began. One of his hands gently reached out for yours, fingers gently wrapping around your own but not quite holding it just yet. It was endearing. "You mean so much to me. I mean, I've always been mesmerized by you, but I never knew someone could have such a large impact until you came into my life. I've never wanted to open up to someone the way I open up to you."

Your eyes widened slightly, stepping even a bit closer to Yunho. Your mind was jumping to conclusions but you did everything to stay calm.

"There is just something special between us, angel," he whispered. His hand fully slipped into yours as the other gently moved to hold your hip, keeping you close. His touch was gentle yet firm, almost as if he was begging you to say but also allowing you to move if you desired. "You complete me in ways I never imagined. Both emotionally and mentally, and our physical connection is something I'd like to explore more."

Oh my god.

"I understand if maybe that's something you never wanted with me but-" "But just kiss me. Please."

His eyes now widened this time. You were biting your lip gently as you gazed up at him with your big doe eyes.

Come on, Yunho. Get it together.

No longer hesitating, he leaned in fully to press his lips against yours. His hand squeezed your hip affectionately. Unlike the other times he's kissed you, this was more passion. He had a certain level of assertiveness that made you melt. Your hands moved from holding his to resting on his chest and the other on his arm.

With ease, Yunho picked you up which caused you squeal. He pulled back from the kiss to look up at you. You noticed this time his gaze was a bit more seductive which made you feel all tingly.

"Oh darling, I'll get you squealing for another reason soon enough," he promised you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist. You knew he'd never let you fall, so your action was more to lure him in closer. His hands moved to hold your ass, giving a playful squeeze which indeed sent your squealing again. Even though the sensations were newer to you, it felt so good when it was Yunho touching you.

Gently, Yunho tossed you on his bed. Your sweatshirt moved a bit to expose your midriff. Your hair was sprawled out on his comforter. And with the glow from the candles, Yunho swore you looked angelic.

"You can say no at anytime, darling," he promised you. His voice was in a soft tone but firm. This was serious for him which made your heart swell.

"I trust you. This is new for me too, but I want to experience it with you."

At first, he remained standing at the foot of his bed. Just enough so he could slip his own sweatshirt over his head. You couldn't help but stare at his exposed chest. He was built so beautifully.

Yunho noticed which caused him to smirk. Not wanting to be apart from you any longer, his hands gently then moved to your exposed skin. "What do you crave first, darling? I want to make sure you're all wet for me."

His words caused your cheeks to warm up tremendously. Your brain was all fuzzy just coming to realize this was actually happening. You were about to have sex with Yunho, your campus crush. This felt just too good yet nothing extraordinary has happened yet.

"Could you eat me out? I've always wanted to know what it feels like," you confessed. "Your wish is my command, princess."

His hands moved from your hips to the waistband of your leggings. He glanced up at you once more to make sure you were comfortable and okay with proceeding. You couldn't help but giggle before running your hand through his hair comfortingly, giving him the nod he needed.

"So gorgeous, y/n, baby," he murmured. His lips kissed the exposed skin of your tummy before both of his hands began to move your legging dow your legs. "You look amazing in these leggings, but I'm so honored to be the one to take them off of you." His eyes then noticed the pink lace panties that you were wearing underneath. A tiny bow was in the front which made his mouth water.

You shivered as his hands gently began to tug off your panties. It was a bit chilly in the room for which Yunho smiled apologetically.

"I'll warm you up in no time, darling." "I have no doubt, baby. I know you always look out for me." "Always," Yunho vowed.

With your leggings and panties on the floor, Yunho crotched in front of you. His hands rested on your knees gently, thumbs caressing the outer part. He was a bit surprised how you opened them almost automatically for him, but he was overjoyed to know you wanted this just as much as him.

His cock twitched at the sight of how wet you already were, a slight glisten already noticeable. "My baby girl needs me, hmm?"

"I like when you speak to me like that," you confessed, letting out a shaky breath.

Yunho moved your one leg over his shoulder as the other rested on your thigh. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable. "What? You like knowing that I want you all to myself? That I want to be selfish?"

You were propped up on your elbows, gazing down at him. Your teeth were sunk into your lower lip in anticipation. All you could bring yourself was to nod in confirmation.

"Well, y/n, sweet girl. You are mine. You've been mine since the party, so don't doubt it again."

His tongue then licked a long strip along your pussy up to your clit. You let out a loud gasp, head tilting back. His hot breath hit your pussy causing you to shiver and spread your legs a bit wider, offering yourself completely to him. He hummed in satisfaction before letting the tip of his tongue circle your clit.

Your back arched slightly off his comforter. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let yourself immerse fully into the pleasure.

He loved the taste of you. So sweet. His tongue ventured up and down your pussy before sticking into your tight hole. You let out a soft moan. It was music to his ears, knowing that he was capable of making you feel so good.

His cock was hardening by the sounds you were making. Twitching and began for attention. Soon though, he would get the relief he's always fantasized about.

You were his main priority though. He wanted this to be just as special, as meaningful for you as it was for him.

He pulled back which made your head snap down. Yunho couldn't help the small pout that formed on your lips. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'm not going anywhere." His lips began to press kisses into your thighs as his one hand left your knee to gently trace along your pussy.

"Is it okay if I finger you, angel? Just want to make sure you're stretched out for me. Don't want to hurt you."

His speech was a bit slurred, almost as if he was drunk off the taste of you.

"Please. I want to feel all of you, want to feel of this for the first time with you."

Yunho leaned down to kiss your thighs. He moved his kisses towards your clit. He could imagine the feeling might be a bit uncomfortable for you at first, so he wanted to help ease you a bit.

When his lips met your clit, he kissed it delicately before wrapping his lips around it. He began sucking on it which had you moaning sweetly. He couldn't help but smile before sliding one finger into you. His eyes looked up at you to see your mouth slightly open. Yet, your body remained relaxed on his bed.

He moved his finger in and out of your pussy slowly. He let out a groan at the feeling of how warm, how wet you were. You just felt so inviting it sent him into a frenzy. He craved more that he was struggling to hold himself back but he knew all good things come with time. His cock was straining against his pants painfully.

"I'm going to add another, sweetheart, okay?" He murmured against you. The vibration of his voice against your pussy caused you to whimper out in euphoria as you still nodded your head.

"Can I hold your hand, baby?" you begged softly.

Instantly, his free hand left your thigh to rest against the comforter for you to hold. He didn't need to be told twice. Whether it was for reassurance or to feel close to him, he would do anything for you.

Slowly, he slipped another finger into you. This time, at the feeling of how full you were, your body tensed a bit. Yet, Yunho kept his fingers still inside of you. He didn't want to rush in as he kept his gaze on you. Feeling your fingers slip into his hand, he squeezed your hand reassuringly. And this time, you squeezed back. "Keep going. Please."

His fingers moved slowly. He couldn't help but stifle the moan from his lips as he wanted to suck on your clit a bit harder, to make sure you were still feeling good. When you started moaning again, he began to curl his fingers gently into your g-spot. That made you moan louder than before, an encouragement for Yunho to proceed.

He then began to spread his two fingers apart, stretching you out properly. Your eyes widened, your breathing becoming shaky and shallow.

"Speak to me, baby girl. How does this feel?" "S-so good, baby." "Tell me what you need." "You. Please." "How do you want me? You've already got me. Right here, angel." "I want you to fuck me."

His fingers stilled inside of you as he pulled back from your clit. He looked up at you as he knew there was no going back. He knew he wanted to continue, but he just wanted to make sure you weren't too caught up in the moment. He didn't want you regret such a vulnerable moment with him.

"Are you positive?" He asked in a gentle voice. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Slowly, his fingers slipped out of your pussy. You whimpered at the lose of contact but quickly moaned when you saw his fingers enter his mouth. He sucked on them gently, humming against his digits. You've never witnessed something so attractive before. Your cheeks were flushed at the sight too.

"So delicious, angel. Thank you for letting me have a taste."

Now standing fully at the end of his bed, his hands moved to undo his belt and unzip his pants. Your eyes widened when you saw the tent in his pants. You couldn't believe he got so turned on by tasting and touching you.

Seeing the effect you had over him made you feel powerful.

Noticing you were staring, he winked at you. "You are the only one with this effect over me. Only one I ever want." His belt clinked against the floor as his pants soon joined, exposing his grey boxers. He was so hot. Does he even know that? You were going to move up to offer to jerk him off or suck him but he stopped you before your upper body could even leave his bed.

Did you do something wrong? You frowned a bit as your eyes quickly landed on his. Was he regretting going this far with you?

"Tonight is all about you, sweetheart." "But I want to make this special for you too," you frowned. "You just being here is enough to make this special. I promise."

You were a bit hesitant, wanting to be insistent on making him feel good. But with the look in his eyes the lustful gaze, you knew it was not a topic up for debate. You settled back onto his comforter as he moved to grab a condom from his bedside table.

He was a man prepared for any scenario. Whether it be one of his friends needing a condom or when a moment like this finally presented itself.

His boxers soon joined the floor. His cock instantly slapped against his abs. You noticed the veins running around the sides and the angry red tip, begging for attention. You made a mental note that you just had to suck Jeong Yunho off.

He grabbed the gold wrapper to tear it open. His right hand grabbed the base of his cock to hold it still as his left hand skillfully slipped the latex on. It just made his cock glisten, make it more appealing.

Finally, Yunho joined you on the bed. His knees rested in between your legs to keep you spread for him. His one hand rested by your head as the other cupped your cheek. You felt his forehead press against yours but not once did he look away from you.

"I mean it when I say we can stop at any point, angel. Just say the word." "Yunho, you're too sweet to me but I need you."

You needed him. God, his eyes nearly rolled at the words you spoke.

He pressed his lips to yours for a moment. Even the room felt hot and heavy, he wanted to remind you just how important you were to him. You kissed him back for a moment until you felt his tip against your pussy. He kept his gaze on you, wanting to make sure you were okay with what happened.

"You ready?" "Yeah," you breathed out.

As slow as ever, Yunho pushed his tip into you. You bit you lip as you kept your eyes trained on him. It felt familiar, just like when his fingers entered you. You nodded slowly before he began to push more of himself into your pussy. His head nearly rolling back at the feeling of how warm and tight you were around him. "Fuck," he breathed out.

The sound of you letting out another whimper caused him to snap back to reality. He frowned when he noticed the tears in your eyes.

"Oh angel," he whispered. He didn't dare move another inch. This wasn't about his pleasure, this was about you. "What's wrong?" "It's just a lot," you confessed. Salty tears began to leave your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. "Do you want me to stop?" "No, no," you begged. "I just need a moment."

Yunho nodded understandingly. He began to press soft kisses along your cheeks, your nose - anything to distract you from the pressure and temporary pain. He wanted to kiss you fully but he noticed you were breathing in deeply, trying to collect yourself and he didn't want to be inconsiderate.

"Take your time," he whispered. His hand moved to wipe your tears. "I go when you say go. I stop when you say stop." You took in another deep breath, really being able to feel how deep he was as your puss instinctively gripped his cock. He bit his lip to not moan, not wanting to do something that pressured you to say go.

However, in the few seconds of regulating your breathing, the pain began to feel like pleasure. It felt good. It was an odd feeling for sure, but one you wanted to continue with.

"Yunho?" you called out gently.

He pulled back so he could look into your eyes. His lips were curled up into that signature soft smile.

"Keep going. Please."

His eyes were trained on yours, almost as if he was looking for any hesitation. Yet, when he didn't see any, he nodded his head gently.

Before continuing to slip himself into you, he offered his hand for you to hold again. He really was a gentleman. Your fingers instantly slipped into his and you gave him a reassuring squeeze. That's all Yunho needed to continue slipping into your pussy.

Your breathing hitched again, but you remembered to breathe through it. And while it was a bit uncomfortable, it wasn't as bad as when you two started. You moaned when he eventually filled you completely.

"You okay, darling?"

He kept still but you could feel all of him inside of you. You felt so close, so vulnerable with him. It was overwhelming in the best sense.

"Never been better," you breathed out.

Satisfied, he began to retreat his hips before thrusting into you. Your head rolled back against his pillows and he rolled his head back at the feeling. "God damn," he breathed out. "You feel so good, angel. All for me."

His thrusts were slow at first, at an even pace. He was treating you as if you were the most delicate thing in the world, something that needed to be fiercely looked after. And while you might have enjoyed the sentiment, you just needed him.

"Baby, go faster, please." "Fuck, are you sure? If you say yes, I might not be able to hold myself back anymore." "Let loose, baby boy." That's all he needed to hear. His hand planted firmly on the space by your head, his other hand still holding yours. However, his thrusts became quicker, became deeper. It was as if something primal took over him.

Your moans were louder as you felt all of him entirely with each threat. He was so big, so thick. He filled you up just so heavenly, in ways you couldn't describe besides perfection.

"That's it," you whined out. "Right there, baby." "God, I could die a happy man this way."

You couldn't help but giggle as you moved your free hand to rest on his shoulder. Your fingernails dug slightly into his skin which seemed to send him pounding deeper into you.

The sound of wet skin slapping made him nearly delirious. He never imagined this would be happening especially not with you. Yunho truly won the jackpot. He watched as your eyes rolled back, your cheeks a light pink color. Your lips were slightly parted as you moaned without any control.

"You're so gorgeous, y/n."

Your walls began to tighten around him, a fire-like feeling taking over your stomach. His jaw was clenched, almost as if he was concentrating. You were a bit curious but began to notice the veins protruding out of his forearms from how hard he was thrusting.

You began to put the dots together.

"Are you close, baby?" "So fucking close," he huffed out. "Are you?"

His eyes were practically glued on you. All to make sure you felt on top of the world. He loved knowing that you two were sharing this experience together. The grip you had on his shoulder further encouraged him to give you everything he had.

No room to hesitate or overthink. "Yeah," you whimpered.

Sweat was beginning to coat his skin. You early drooled at the sight of how delicious he looked. How did you get so lucky?

"Let go, y/n, baby. I'm right there with you."

With one particularly hard thrust, you lost it. You felt like you were being sent into another dimension but the intensity of your orgasm. Nothing could have prepared you for the feeling as you truly believed you saw stars. Your legs shook slightly as Yunho groaned loudly, spurting his hot cum into the condom.

The heavy breathing from the two of you filled the room. The world outside of his bedroom seemed so far away as you felt so consumed by Jeong Yunho. You wouldn't want it any other way.

His cock started to soften inside of you but you two couldn’t bring yourselves to move. Your arms moved to wrap around him softly as he laid gently on you, keeping you close.

There was no other place you wanted to be. I guess sometimes you do need to take a risk and do something that might seem like it is off-limits.

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strawheart-pirate · 2 months ago

Text

Keep Quiet

Trafalgar Law x afab!Reader

Words: 2907 CW: N/SFW, smut, afab!Reader (female body, no pronouns), established relationship, use of sweetheart and darling, slightly possessive Law, teasing, fingering, edging, unprotected sex, aftercare

When you drop anchor on an island for a day, you go to the library with your captain and lover to study and make the most of your day on that island. Let's say there were a lot of new things to discover in the library…

"Look, they even deciphered the signs they found in the cave. They say "I amar prestar aen, han mathon ne nen, han mathon ne chae, a han noston ned 'wilith." I wonder what that means." He heard you say as you showed Law the passage in the book you were reading about the former inhabitants of this island. It's been three hours since the two of you went to the towns library to do some research and escape the cramped quarters of the Polar Tang. You've found a cozy, more private nook where you've curled up with a stack of books and read together, showing each other certain paragraphs or reading aloud as you find useful information from time to time. At first, he was just absorbed in the information, enjoying the quiet, the comfort of your body resting against him, and the quiet reading side by side, learning about the medical history of this island and the snippets of culture you provided as you researched the general history and myths of this island. But the more the warmth of your body seeped into his and the more information he gathered, the more his brain craved a break and his body knew exactly what it wanted.

It began with his hand gently rubbing your shoulders as you told him about the cave and the secrets it held. So far, it was nothing suspicious. But in time, his hand moved lower as his focus shifted from the book he was holding to you. He loved to see you engrossed in your book, your eyes filled with wonder and curiosity. It was so damn sexy and his hand became bolder. He pulled you just a little closer, a subtle move and nothing to alarm you that he was up to something. His hand snaked around your waist and a small smirk played on his lips as he had you right where he wanted you, between his legs, your back against his chest and your head resting on his shoulder as you continued to read. One last time, he focused on his surroundings, letting his observation haki search the library thoroughly before he was sure that there were only the two of you and the old lady at the front desk who was either blind or deaf or both and wouldn't bother you anyway.

Slowly, his hand moved lower as he rubbed circles, first on your belly, then on your hipbone. You were still reading, but he noticed the soft, delicate humming that left your lips when he rubbed over sensitive areas, just a little... His hand slipped under your clothes, and it was then that you realized he wasn't reading anymore, just holding up the book as a cover. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, and your cheeks blushed that lovely shade of pink he loved, as you realized what he was about to do. "Law, what-" He put down his book and pressed his index to your lips. "Just tell me to stop and I'll do it. But if you don't want me to stop, then I suggest you keep reading and stay quiet." He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe as his hand moved lower and lower until it reached your warm folds. He noticed how you struggled, how you bit your lip as you thought about what you wanted. You hadn't done this in public before, but the thought was exciting, and he knew that as soon as his hand slipped lower, you wouldn't want him to stop. So he paused and waited for you to make the decision.

"The cave is over 700 years old and was a relic of the Void Century..." You read aloud and Law smirked, knowing that this meant you had made your decision and he was glad you chose this option. "Really? That's impressive." He whispered and his fingers began to stroke your soft flesh. He wanted to build this up slowly, give you time to get used to the pleasures he was going to give you, make it a little easier for you to keep quiet, at least that was his plan for now. A satisfied sound rumbled deep in his throat as his fingers gently caressed your folds, taking in the softness and warmth of your most sensitive parts, the parts that were only for him. It was one of his favorite positions to have you like this, with everything at his fingertips. Your earlobe and mouth close to his lips, his hands both free to roam all over your body and his legs ready to wrap around yours to hold you in place. He could feel your breathing becoming more ragged as his lips nibbled at your earlobe while his fingers began to slip between your folds and into the wetness. He chuckled amusedly. "So wet and I haven't even touched your clit yet..." He whispered in your ear with that deep, husky voice and pressed a finger down on your clit.

You jerked forward in surprise, a gasp escaping your lips before Law pulled you back to his chest with his other hand. "No running, sweetheart. We're not done yet." He knew you didn't want to run, it was only the sensation of his fingers against your clit that made your body react, but he couldn't help but tease you. Your cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and you bit your lip to muffle your sounds. "Come on, read me something. I bet this book is really interesting..." He demanded and his fingers ran up and down your slit, from your entrance to your clit and back in a slow rhythm. He saw you swallow and prepared to read to him, at first your voice was barely audible even to him, but with time your body got used to the steady rhythm of his fingers and you were able to read a whole paragraph to him. He smiled, proud of you for being able to play along so well.

His other hand slipped under your clothing and slowly trailed over your ribs until it reached your nipple. A soft moan escaped your lips as he rolled it between his fingers and the next three sentences left your lips in a stutter. He noticed the way that your voice always hitched during the reading when he flicked your nipple, and it added to his own arousal. He felt his jeans tighten as his hard-on pressed against your back and his own composure began to crumble. He nibbled gently on your earlobe to stifle a moan as his fingers found their way into your wetness, pushing gently into you. Your insides were so warm, so welcoming, and his breathing became heavier by the second. He noticed how you stopped reading, how the sensation swallowed you whole and how your legs tried to close. In one swift motion, his own legs wrapped around yours, keeping you wide open for him, and his fingers began to fuck your wet cunt with vigor. He was so close to losing himself in the feel of your soft flesh and the control he had over you, and it filled him with satisfaction to see your book fall to the floor as you put your hands over your mouth to keep your sounds down. "Law..."

You whimpered, and he moaned into your ear as he heard your sweet plea. "I know... Just a little longer, can you do that for me?" He whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. He wanted to prepare you just a little longer, to push his fingers just a little deeper into your wet warmth. He could do this all day... His mind became foggy, lust and desire pushing any logical thought aside as he let go of your ear to litter your neck with kisses and soft bites. He knew the sensation was too much when your legs began to tremble. The way his fingers curled inside you, making faint squelching noises, his lips and goatee penetrating your neck, and his other hand holding you against him, abusing your nipples. He loved to have you like this, to see and feel you fall apart for him and him alone. When you were close to the edge he stopped, his fingers pulled out of you with a plop and his hand went back down to your waist to hold you. As you panted from being edged, he licked his fingers clean of your sweet nectar, moaning softly at his favorite taste. "I need you, sweetheart..." His voice was thick with need and desire, and even though it was risky as hell, he couldn't stop now. He let his observation haki reach out once more to check, and when he was sure you had a little more time, he looked into your eyes, letting you see the whirlwind of emotions inside him and how much he needed you.

Your nod was all he needed and he wasted no time as he saw the same need reflected in your eyes. Thank God he had never insisted that you wear a boiler suit; he had no problem now pushing your clothes down to your knees and unzipping his jeans to free his cock from the restraining fabric. His eyes remained on your hand as you took his cock in your hand, gently running your fingers over it before aligning yourself with it. It always made his insides flutter when he saw your fingers around his cock, the way he felt at your mercy when you grabbed him down there. He felt a gasp leave his lips the moment his tip entered the warm wetness of your folds and bit his hand to stifle any further sounds. It helped little that he had pushed you both to the edge just a few minutes ago, the tension was still thick and he had to hold on to the very last of his brain cells not to push you over and fuck you like a madman from behind. It was painful to watch and even more painful to feel as you slowly lowered yourself on top of him, taking him inch by inch until he was completely buried inside of you. You were warm, almost boiling hot inside and so soft and sweet. Oh, how he loved being buried inside you. He noticed that you were no better off than he was, your fingers digging into his legs for support and your lips quivering as you tried to keep your composure. He was grateful that you gave yourself some time to adjust to him, to calm down before you began to move. It was enough time for him to catch his breath and begin to rub your back in soothing circles as you tried to find a good rhythm for both of you in this reverse cowgirl position.

The soft moan from your lips told him that you had found the perfect position and you began to move faster. "Just like that, sweetheart..." He whispered, kissing your neck as his hands roamed the soft skin of your hips. He knew it wouldn't be long before you both would reach your climax, he had worked you up far too much for this to last too long. But it was good, the risk of being caught increased as the minutes passed and he didn't want to use his escape plan before you were both satisfied. "Feels so good, Law... hah..." You pressed through clenched teeth as you humped his hips like crazy, your orgasm building more and more, ready to burst at any moment. Thanks to his hands holding your hips, the slapping of skin against skin was muffled and you could pound on him to your heart's content, knowing he had your back. "I'm close." You moaned softly and he knew it, he could feel your walls stiffening, your legs trembling and he felt how deadly your grip on his legs became. "Hold on a little longer, come on..." He commanded, his voice lustful and hoarse as his breathing became harder. He could see the struggle in your eyes, in the way your lips quivered and your eyebrows furrowed.

He was just as close as you were, but he wanted to hear you, to hear you scream his name as you always did when the two of you made love. Even though he had just learned this new trick of his, he had to try it. It would either fail and embarrass the two of you completely, or it would work. Activating his powers while making love was exhausting, and so he avoided it most of the time, but today he wanted to make this experience even more special for both of you, maybe even show off a little. He activated his room and watched as your hips went out of rhythm for a second, stuttering and slowing down slightly before you resumed bouncing up and down at your previous speed, desperately chasing your high. He whispered his command and prayed that it worked before his hands were back on your hips, slamming you down on his cock so hard that the slap of skin against skin was painfully audible. He smiled as he saw the look of surprise on your face, but as you were about to ask, he just slammed your hips down on his cock again, making you forget what you were about to ask. He felt your warm walls clinging to him and moaned softly. There was no way he could keep this up for long when your walls were so warm and slippery. He could feel your soft flesh around his cock, his tip almost kissing your cervix as he thrust you down on him and your sweet nectar coating him from tip to balls and pooling on his pubes. He threw his head back in pleasure. He loved to feel you inside and out and how well his cock fit into your warm, wet cave. How delicately your walls fluttered around him when you came. Each time he could lose himself in your sensations for hours, making love to you for hours until you were both exhausted and yet completely satisfied, but today you had to be quick. When your nails dug into his thigh and your movements became sloppy, he knew exactly what you needed.

"Come for me. Scream for me. Let me hear you, please." He rasped into your ear and one of his hands slipped around your form to press down on our clit again, rubbing until he felt your walls flutter. "Law..." You whimpered, trying to suppress the way you wanted to scream with pleasure. "It's okay, please. Let me hear you, let me hear your sweet sounds." He reassured you and continued to rub your clit as your hips moved faster and faster. He could feel your walls clenching against him as pleasure washed over you like a wave before he heard his name roll off your tongue in a cry. There it was, the sound he loved so much. The way you cried out his name in love and lust always made his heart swell with pride. You were so beautiful when you came for him, when you came on him, when you screamed his name. Your walls held him tight and pushed him over the edge with you. He steadied your hips as he rammed into you from below, biting gently at your neck as he emptied his load into you with powerful thrusts: "Take it... take it all... fuck." He moaned into your ear as he pumped his load into you while your walls milked him dry. The intensity of your shared orgasm left you both speechless and panting as you both came to a stop. He felt his cock still twitching inside your wet cave as he held you close in his lap and breathed you in, your chest pressed against his heaving chest tightly. "So good...all mine..." He murmured as he began to gently pepper your neck with kisses as the afterglow of your orgasm slowly subsided. He noticed how you began to relax, your pussy twitching less and less, and how his seed was about to spill out as his dick started to soften again. He gently lifted you off his chest and cleaned you both up before you pulled your clothes back on and he tucked his dick back into his jeans. When you turned to face him, your beaming smile and your beautiful, fucked-up eyes hit him like a bolt of lightning and he couldn't help but pull you into his arms, earning a giggle from you as he planted a kiss on your temple. "Say, what did you do? Why did you tell me to be loud when we are in a library. You wanted the old lady to catch us?" You asked and he smirked, "I just learned it recently. It's in honor of my savior." He kept his explanation vague, knowing that his little trick worked well and opened up a lot more possibilities for you. He would tell you all about it another time, but for now he just wanted to bask in your warmth, in this library, study a little more or not, and enjoy the last hour before you both had to get back to the Polar Tang and set sail again.

All content unless otherwise stated belongs to: ©Strawheart-pirate. Please do not copy / modify / translate / repost my writing, banners or art on other platforms. Comments, reblogs or likes are highly appreciated!

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blueberrypancakesworld · 4 days ago

Text

Ice cream for two

Jason x fem!reader

warning : fluff, kinda flirting, mutual feelings, Jaoson is just a sweet shy horny guy, ice cream as an allusion to many things ;)

Summary : What could be better and more delicious than ice cream on a hot summer's day? They wanted to make ice cream for the participants themselves, but with a broken old ice cream maker, nagging teenagers and two leaders who paid more attention to each other than to their tasks, it seemed that a number of things could go wrong.

info : So I'm slowly coming back after my exams, I'm trying to resume my regular upload schedule, request and I hope you continue to enjoy Jason. Thank you for all teh support and have fune readin ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the summer, there was nothing better than having a cool drink, whether it was a glass of fresh water, a sweet, delicious lemonade or, in any case, a tasty ice cream.

From vanilla to strawberry to chocolate and raspberry, every flavor could be transformed into ice cream and enjoyed in the cool.... this was true for almost everyone in the small town, except for the summer camp, which, under the heat, was just like everyone else.

Because even if the forest and the trees surrounding them provided shade, it was not as cool as a delicious ice cream.

The teenagers and group leaders had sought refuge in the dining hut, where there was the only working fan and at least something like a breeze.

,,Can we get an ice cream here too?” Jason heard the younger boy's whining voice in the main area at the table, and they were trying hard not to move unnecessarily.

One thing the bearded man could understand was that since waking up, they seemed to have been fried under the sun.

Swimming in the lake was cool, but sooner or later they would become fish before they could even do anything.

Turning away from the door, he gave the younger ones an apologetic glance and turned back to his colleague, who had been trying to get the ice machine to work for an hour. ,,No luck?” he asked cautiously, looking at the machine lying on the floor.

Her head had disappeared under the machine with a torch and wrench, and the rest of her body moved from time to time to get at parts of the machine.

,,No, Jason, that thing is at least twenty years old... don't want to destroy your dreams, but if that thing starts up, the ice cream will be radioactive,” she said, coming back out from under the machine.

He helped her up with his hand and resisted the urge to wipe a bit of dust off her body or to touch her again, they were here for ice cream, not for overflowing hormones.

The radioactive ice cream maker in question was from the early days of the fight, back then, it was probably the most modern and newest device, but now, despite being cleaned and tried to be improved, it was more of a scrap heap than anything else.

But they had the ingredients here and the fridge didn't have enough capacity to hold everything. ,,It'll be fine, just give it a try, and if not, well, there's fruit puree and milk” he tried with a smile and went to the bags of fruit and cans of milk, which were tipped into the cool metal tub.

Unable to stop herself from smiling, she watched the blond man as he went about his work like a busy little bee.

No matter how nervous he was, the harder he tried, the less he seemed to see her, her feelings and the love she felt for him. It was almost as if he was blind to her advances...but that could always be changed.

After the machine had started and the ingredients had been cooled and processed into ice cream, it was time to wait a little.

She sent Jason to the storeroom to get the ice cream cones so that they could serve the ice cream better.

He hadn't thought about anything, of course he would get everything for her, would do anything for her, not only because he liked her, they were watchmen for the kids.

How she says my name so sweetly, he thought to himself as he carried the box of waffles into the kitchen and was puzzled to see that the kitchen had become more of an ice bath.

The old ice cream maker seemed to have done its best to form a uniform mass from the ingredients.

This also seemed to have worked for the first minute he was gone, but now the relatively solid mass had turned into a liquid avalanche of sweetness.

A bright, sticky, sweet liquid that should have been vanilla had just spilled all over his crush.

,,Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? Did the machine attack you?” he asked in panic and put the box down to rush to her, almost slipping on the mass that had spread everywhere and she had to support him slightly so that they both didn't go down.

But his panic met her amusement; she seemed to find all of this extremely funny, unlike him, whose mind seemed to be thinking other things again.

When he saw the individual drops running down her, she began to remind him of something else as she licked her lips and sighed.

With her fingers she wiped away the substance and licked it off to roughly get rid of some of the sticky ice.

Such an innocuous situation, his mind kept thinking further, in a direction that made him look away...he had helplessly fallen for her. But was it the same for her? Was she just playing with him? Or was she honest?

,,Attack is a good word for it. As soon as you left, the thing went berserk,” she explained, pointing to the on and off button, which was visibly fused and thus caused the machine to also run out of control.

At least they now knew that they had to get a new machine for next year, because what was left of the kitchen was a pile of scrap metal.

,,Well, we-we could serve smoothies,” he stammered, slowly detaching himself from her as he looked into the tub and saw that it was not quite solid but also not completely liquid.

Her smirk was music to his ears as she walked past him to the sink, where she turned on the tap and splashed cool water onto her face to get rid of the attempted ice.

His bright eyes lay on her, saw exactly how the whitish substance was washed away, how the 'erotic disappeared from the whole at first and then came back when her top was wetter than before.

The outline of her bra, the ice cream, her eyes and the smile on her lips seemed to come from his own dreams, which were often rather suggestive.

Maybe he was dreaming? He was ashamed, ashamed that he felt like a teenager, he was 24 and a grown man... but she was just so beautiful.

The way she treated him, full of kindness and cheerfulness, never nagging him and joining him in his 'group activities' or helping him with repairs, she was just perfect.

Their eyes met, a wink and giggle as she pointed to his hand, wonderingly following her gaze, he saw that he had leaned his hand directly into a sticky puddle.

,,I think after feeding the kids, we both need a shower,” she said invitingly, giving him that sweet look once more before disappearing from the kitchen to tell the teenagers that it smoothies instead of ice cream.

That didn't matter to them, the main thing was to cool down a bit, and the two team leaders also allowed themselves a cooling down as they both disappeared in the direction of the showers...separately, of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@starry-night-life1 , @yearsbecomingcool , @bruhlpng , @wolverrrain , @myromanempire81 , @simonsrealwife , @marsinthespace

#hell of a summer #hell of a summer jason #jason x reader #male x female #reader is female #fred hechinger #hell of a summer jason x reader

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Daddy's Home | Part 1

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 (Alexandria) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)—oral sex (male receiving), dominant-ish Daryl, doggystyle, so much dirty talk, like one tiny spank (just a little one), mutual masturbation, vaginal fingering, oh yeah and DADDY KINK, language ❧ Word Count: 4.3k

❧ Summary: When Daryl comes back home from a week away, he doesn't want to sleep. He just wants you.

❧ A/N: Ok so yes I know the title is ridiculous, but like... what else was I gonna call this oneshot ok? Anyway, here's some major daddy kink. Like a lot of daddy kink. Daryl is just daddy. Sorry but he is. I can't explain it. Actually, yes I can. He's a protector, a provider, a big softie. He's a daddy, and I don't even have daddy issues but just let me have this. Goodbye I am never showing my face here again. <;3 Also I simply cannot get over how hot he is in this gif holy mother of god.

The quiet was nice, late nights in Alexandria, gentle summer breeze prickling at your skin. It was nice to leave your bedroom window open through the night. Daryl hated it, always going on about how someone could climb the trellis outside your window and sneak in while you slept, but when he was gone, you’d indulge yourself in that one simple luxury.

When he told you that he was Alexandria’s newest recruiter, you knew you’d be in for some lonely nights ahead. Still, you also knew Daryl was the best man for the job—you’d seen him bring dozens of people to the prison, providing them shelter while expecting nothing in return, and then going out the next morning to do it all over again. That was when he wasn’t going out on his hunts to find food for everyone, often bringing home the biggest deer you’d ever seen, until he’d do it again next week, and bring home an even bigger one.

Yes, there was no doubt about it—Daryl knew what he was doing out there, but it didn’t stop you from worrying about him. Missing him. So while the quiet was, indeed, nice, you still could not get used to being alone, in this perfect little suburban townhouse, waiting.

Your waiting became so monotonous, sitting up in your bed and reading another old Agatha Christie novel, that you decided, at length, to migrate downstairs, the living room. When Daryl would come home, you thought, you’d greet him right away. That was how much you were anticipating his arrival.

One week was nothing, really, but it was the longest you’d been apart since knowing each other, and with the world the way it was, a lot could happen in seven days. A lot of bad, bad things.

So you flicked on the lamp, snuggled yourself into a knitted blanket, and curled up on the sofa, book in hand as you let out a quiet huff. “Daryl…” you said to yourself, scanning your book to relocate the exact sentence where you left off. “Where are you, you big meatball.”

Your nervous jitters only worsened with the passing hour, your legs shaking involuntarily, your finger tapping on the edge of the book, your toes wiggling nonstop. All you needed was the sound of that bike, that big, stupid bike. That would ease your fretful heart. Well, what would really make you happy was seeing that man of yours, no doubt in need of a shower, but still, your man nonetheless.

Speak of the Devil, as they say, and he doth appear.

It started out as just a distant hum, perking your ears and making your spine straighten in anticipation. Still frozen, you listened intently. A rumble, now, mechanical and getting louder with each second your heart began to beat faster. At one fateful moment, the roar of the makeshift machine was at its highest volume, and before you could even stand, a bright beam of white light shone through the blinds of the front window.

All at once, the light and the rumble ceased, punctuated by a low huff, followed by an exasperated grunt. Heavy footsteps plodded along in a familiar pattern—you even recognized the sound of his no doubt mud-caked boots scraping against the edge of the steps leading to the front porch. You could only hope that this time, he’d take the extra precaution of removing his boots before he stepped over the threshold.

There was a spring in your step, you wrapping the terry cloth fabric of your robe over your chest as you flitted towards the front door. Finally, you stood just a few feet back, your eyes transfixed on the shiny bronze doorknob. Inevitably, a wide grin made your cheeks swell until they almost ached, but the wait was worth it.

When he came through the door, his head was hanging low, until he felt your presence. Lifting his gaze, he met your great big smile with a smaller one, though the movement of his body betrayed him. The door shut with a strong thud, just before he stepped forward to let his crossbow fall from his shoulder. With a soft grunt under his breath, he buried his nose in the warmth of your shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

For a good while, he stayed like that, only taking in the sensory relief you provided him—your faint scent of rose, your softness, your tender chuckle as your hands rubbed in vertical motions up and down his aching back. Despite the rigidity of his tired muscles, he melted into you, letting himself bask in the comfort you provided him. To hold him like this was nothing short of a ritual between you two, whenever you were apart for long enough to begin missing each other to the point of near grief.

A man like Daryl—who’d been through so much as he had, who’d seen so much and had still so much room in his heart to give of himself to others—deserved to be held the way you held him. Few people in this world had a heart as big as him, though he did not show it in ways most people would recognize. He showed it in acts of service, in providing for people who could not provide for themselves, in the ones he loved safe. It was what you always adored about him: how he gave of himself, and expected nothing in return.

“Hey, there, tough guy.” Daryl buried his face deeper into you, now snug in the crook of your neck, where he caught the scent of your perfume, applied much earlier in the day, yet still lingering sweetly. Though you adored how much he clung to you, you longed so much to see his face. Your hands grabbed a hold of either side of his head to lift his gaze to yours.

As usual, his disheveled hair hung low over his forehead, obscuring one of your favorite features of his—his eyes. Between strips of tattered brown curtains, you could make out the blue-grey hue of his irises. Pushing them back, you smiled again at those deep-set pools of silvery cobalt blue. You always found their mystery to be intriguing.

“How are you?” you asked, though you knew from the state of him that he must’ve been exhausted. He hadn’t even muttered a word, and yet the more prominent than usual bags under his eyes spoke for him. “You must be tired, hon. Let’s get you in bed.”

But as you turned towards the staircase, a firm grip pulled you back by the wrist, until you were in his arms now, laughing at his sudden burst of energy. Despite your amusement, he did not smile, only looked at you with a heavy, dark gaze, and a lick of his lips.

In your surprise, you hadn’t even noticed that both of his hands were now wrapped around each wrist, so tight that you nearly feared he’d cut off your circulation.

Something was wrong, had to have been. You’d never seen him so… intense. Of course, Daryl could often be intense, when he was angry especially, but this wasn’t that. Anger was something you could recognize in Daryl. He’d never directed it towards you, but you knew it, and this was something different.

“Are… are you feeling okay, sweetie?”

Silence, just that gaze holding you hostage, and a heat rising from his body that you could’ve sworn caused a bead of sweat to form on your brow.

Now he was scaring you.

“Daryl?”

Your voice tempted him further. If only you knew just how much he missed you, how much he needed you. A week was too long. A week without you, a week without your touch, a week without your sweet, dulcet voice. And oh, how that voice awoke in him a terrible burning, a conflagration of deadly proportions, a fire that could only be extinguished by the one he loved.

Entranced by his stare, you hadn’t noticed that he had you pinned against the wall, his strong, heaving chest keeping you there.

And when he pressed himself against you, you knew. It was obvious, the way he nearly thrusted into you.

When you realized what he wanted, you felt a wave of relief wash over you: he needed you just as much as you had needed him the past week. From the night he left, you’d not stopped thinking of him, and when you’d turn in your bed to feel for him, and he wasn’t there, the ache for him only worsened.

There was no way in Hell, though, you were going to initiate sex when he got home. You knew he’d be tired, and a good night’s rest was what he needed before you even thought of asking him to make love to you, but now, with that wild look in his eyes, that hungry snarl in his lip, that flare in his nostrils, that beating of his heart…

“Oh,” you sighed, your teeth biting back your lower lip as your eyes trailed up and down his body. With your hands finally free, you ran them up his arms, letting them settle on the broad, firm shoulders you loved so much.

For just a moment, he leaned forward, forehead and tip of his nose meeting yours. With his hardening cock beginning to dig between your thighs, and his vaguely tobacco tinged musk tickling your senses, you could only utter one word.

A soft, nearly whimpering mewl: “Daddy.”

By the time he got you to the sofa, each of you were already panting, hands moving relentlessly as you both clawed for any part of each other’s body you could get your hands on. Your mouths worked tirelessly, tongues spinning sloppily around the other’s in your haste to finally have each other again.

When you successfully removed his leather angel-winged vest, you worked on unbuttoning his black shirt, but his hands stopped you.

“Need your mouth,” he said.

Leaning back on the sofa with a low grunt, he began unbuckling his belt, while you slotted yourself between his legs, hands massaging his clothed thighs, thick and flexing against your palm.

When his cock sprang out of its confines, you’d already stripped yourself of your underwear and your robe. In only a transparent silk nightgown, your hips swayed instinctively as you watched his hand begin to stroke himself, up and down the long, thick shaft you’d come to know and love so much.

“Come ‘ere.” His hands reached out to grab either side of your head, bringing you down to his cock. Panting lips began to drool a bead of saliva down the side of his growing erection. Knowing what he wanted, of course, you took the reddened, swelling tip into your mouth, much to his immediate relief.

“Fuck.” As your mouth slid a little lower, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. His grip on your hair tightened as his head fell back on the arm of the sofa, a soft breath of your name on his lips.

Returning to watch you, he lifted your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tilting his head to get a better look at you, your eyes fluttering up to meet his gaze.

“Pretty angel.” Even just the utterance of that affectionate pet name made you feel an overwhelming need to touch yourself. With your free hand, you lifted your nightgown to slot your fingers between warm, velvety folds of aching flesh. “Ya look so good like this… Suckin’ on Daddy’s cock.”

It was somewhat of a tradition now, using that phrase, though only in the context of sex, in your most private, intimate moments. It was silly, you knew it, and he knew it, too, but you both found it excruciatingly sexy all the same. It was sacred in that you’d probably die of embarrassment if anyone else besides Daryl knew of your little… kink.

But neither of you could quite help it, you adoring his strong, protective nature, and him just finding it so alluringly sinful. Guilty pleasure type of thing, with emphasis on pleasure.

And besides, his dirty talk was sex all on its own.

As your mouth took him in progressively deeper, your fingers moved faster, increasing the friction against your sensitive spot, then slowly dipping down into the embrace of your entrance.

Not only could he admire your mouth, and your sweet soft moans, but he could watch your fingers enter you, your hand shaking as you penetrated yourself to match the rhythm you knew he liked when he had his cock in you.

“Love when you fuck yourself like that.” He only wished he was the one doing it. “You thinkin’ of me?”

Well, it was hard not to think of him, with his cock in your mouth.

Taking the opportunity to catch your breath, you answered him. “Yes, Daddy.”

His hands pulled you back down onto his cock, your lips forced open by his tip. “Just don’t make yourself come,” he said. “That’s for me.”

Yes, Daddy.

Sliding over your tongue, his cock dug deeper, towards the back of your mouth. Going down on him was always a bit of a challenge, given just how big he was, but the weight of him inside you, wherever that may be, was far more rewarding. And when you got to feel that little twitch, his cock moving all on its own as it begged for release… It only made you suck harder, sliding your mouth up and down, taking him in deeper until you were nearly gagging.

But he liked that, the sound of you struggling just a little to take all of him. Daryl was a sensitive man, yes, but he was still a man—proud of his big cock, even if he was insecure in most other areas. At least he was big, and at least he knew how to use it.

With his hand on the back of your head, firm, but still gentle enough to let you up if you needed it, he pushed you down just a bit more, hearing your gag become more guttural, more strangled. It did not hurt, though. It only turned you on, your fingers curling inside you to tickle that special spot, and your other hand fondling his balls, tightly drawn to the underside of the base of his cock.

For several moments, the only sounds coming from either of you were your strained groans, his slipping from between his agape lips, yours muffled by his length filling your entire mouth. Between those sounds of pleasure were the sloppy squelches of your lips soaking him with your saliva. You were always so messy when you went down on him, but how could you not be? His cock provided you no room to lick up your drool, stuffing you until your spit had nowhere else to go but down his veiny, hard length.

Of course, he’d have to tease you about it, how sloppy you were. “Messy girl,” he said, his hand gripping your hair to pull back your bangs. You fluttered your eyes open to meet his, and you were greeted by his crooked smile, with just a sliver of those shiny teeth showing. “Gettin’ Daddy all wet, huh? Nice and wet so I can fuck you good.”

Yes, Daddy.

Eyes rolling back slightly, he bucked his hips up with a jolt, your sucking beginning to tip him over the edge. Just in time, too, for your hand was getting tired of rubbing, and you needed him to finish you off.

“F-fuck, angel. Imma need ya to get that pussy ready for me.”

Whatever he wanted, you’d give him. After all, you were his good girl. Always his good girl. You couldn’t think of a time you’d ever been a bad girl for him. Daddy deserved his good girl.

Yes, you were a good girl, but you could still be… needy.

“Oh, Daddy.” Now straddling his waist, your fingers went straight for the first button on his shirt. “Want you.” He loved when you whined, just a little, and when you were so needy for him that you couldn’t quite make out a completely proper sentence. “Want your shirt off.”

He let you undo just a few buttons, exposing the hairs on his chest that drove you crazy, made you want to feel those wiry hairs between your pursed lips as you trailed your kisses all over his broad chest, made so strong and big by all the manual labor he did, and that heavy crossbow he always used.

That very same strength pulled at your wrists, then raised you up only to lay you down, sprawled out on the other side of the couch. Now he hovered over you, the tip of his cock hanging down to be tickled by the fabric of your blush pink nightie. He always liked pink on you, matched the color of your cheeks when he talked so dirty to you, made you feel like a whore, but not in a disrespectful way. Never in a disrespectful way.

Besides, you knew you were more than that to him. You knew he loved you. Two years together, through some of the most abject pain and suffering imaginable, would do that. But in moments like this, it felt good to be just his personal whore, whom he happened to love very, very much.

Tenderness blossomed between your lips and his, where he kissed you so deeply, so sweetly. And yet, you still clawed at his shirt, your fingers begging for him to let you see his gorgeous body, after so long away from him.

“Shit,” he laughed into your mouth. Sitting up, he began to undo the rest of the buttons, then peeled off his shirt with his chest puffed up, clearly a bit cocky. When your hands shot up to grasp at his pecs, the faded ink of the tattoo above his left nipple having taunted you, he chuckled again.

“Daddy,” you laughed back, your voice a drawn out, dramaticized whine. “Come on.”

Now you were testing him, and he held back the rest of his laughter to put on a stern, domineering face. “Hey, now. Be a good girl.”

He felt your thighs squeeze together underneath him, and your hips jolting upwards. He knew what you wanted, and he’d give it to you, but this position wasn’t quite right.

With a breathy grunt, he grabbed you by your waist, flipping you over, then lifting your bottom until it was sticking out at just the right angle. Lifting your nightie, he licked his lips to watch you move your hips from side to side, as if to taunt him.

“Cute little ass,” he practically cooed. Leaning over you, his chest pressed firmly to your back, he nuzzled his nose against your pillowy cheek. All the while, you felt his hand slide between your now nearly dripping wet folds. Eyes closed softly, you hummed a soft whimper at the feeling. His hands were always different from yours, so much bigger, stronger, rougher. You’d never felt a touch quite like his, and part of it was because he touched you with such tenderness, even if he tried to manhandle you a little. He was still always gentle, somehow.

In the most honeyed, silky, yet scratchy, voice, he rasped in a whisper, “Did ya miss me, angel?”

“Yes… Daddy, I missed you so, so much.”

“Mm, I missed you, too. So much.”

Finally, you felt his tip just barely graze your hole. Not only was he torturing you, he was torturing himself, but he loved it. He needed it, otherwise he was sure his peak of pleasure would go away just as fast as it would come. With you, in this moment, he needed to prolong the desire as much as he could. He could feel it coming soon, though, that tensing in his muscles, that tingling in the pit of his stomach, that twitching that made his cock seem to bounce against your folds on its own accord.

As he slid further into you, you felt his lips find the back of your neck, where he left little kisses the more he sank into you. It felt so good to feel him again, that fullness. It was a feeling only he could give you, his unique way of moving, his cock fitting so perfectly inside you.

Underneath your nightgown, his hands found your breasts. Tense, strong fingers curled like claws at the soft tissue. Even in his dreams, of which he had many while he was away, he could not recreate that texture—that pillowy soft flesh swelling against his fingers. And the inside of you, the warmth and tightness that hugged his cock and accepted him with each pass, in and out.

Soon, he leaned back to watch your body envelope his, the shiny, milky coating of your arousal making it easier to slip in and out of you, his hips thrusting in ever increasing speed.

“Daddy…”

God, he loved being called that. Much more than he should’ve. But, then again, he’d probably find you sexy even if you were calling him “dickhead.” He really didn’t mind, as long as you were calling him something.

“Mm, angel… Daddy’s here now, sweetheart.” He delivered a harder, stronger thrust, pulling a loud, strangled moan out from deep inside of you. “That feel good?”

“Fuck, yes!”

As if to praise you, he delivered just a small, weak slap to your bum. That was about as hard as he was willing to spank you, given how much he hated the idea of hurting you, but he knew you liked it, and he liked it, too, the clench of your body from the slap making him jolt forward.

“Takin’ it good… Real good.”

With one hand still squeezing your breast, the other now drawing tight circles over your clit, he made your lips tremble and your muscles tighten as you began to approach the height of pleasure. You could feel it, just on the brink of release. And he felt it, too, which was why he pulled himself out of you, flipping you over again like a ragdoll.

You were startled when he pulled you down by your ankles, until you were closer to him. He gave his fingers a good, long lick, then let them sink into you, where his cock had left you stretched wide open and dripping wet.

Three fingers. Three thick, strong fingers, curling up inside you, making you writhe and groan as your hands shot up to grasp at his shoulders. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched his neck bulge with the strain of trying to keep himself from coming, and it only aroused you more—those muscles flexing and throbbing and burning underneath hot, sweat-dripping skin, tanned by days on end out in the sun.

What he needed so badly was his own release, after so long of working so hard out there, risking his life for the good of Alexandria. As his forearm and biceps flexed with every push of his fingers inside of you, his chest heaved harder and harder, while you reached between your legs to find his cock. With your hand pulling on his length, and your walls clenching around his fingers as your release reached a tipping point, you both would soon be giving each other much needed relief.

“Daddy,” you sighed, tugging harder on his cock as frustration overtook you. The closer you got to orgasm, the more you couldn’t wait any longer. “Make me come… I wanna come.”

“Ah, angel… I’m gonna come, too.”

Just moments later, you tensed and gasped and writhed and moaned, rocking your hips upward as his fingers stayed inside you, squeezed by your contracting walls. “Oh, Daddy!”

He leaned forward to lay on top of you, his sturdy weight keeping you in place as you rode out your high, soaking his fingers with your arousal. The heat of your cheek seemed to burn his lips as he kissed you there, then rubbed his button nose in delicate circles to soothe you. “Yeah… Daddy’s got ya, sweetheart.”

With your hand still tugging on him, he gasped a heavy breath, spilling out over you right then and there, his hips thrusting into your hand in desperate, sloppy motions. The orgasm was so strong that he lost his composure for a moment, his head falling into your chest as he groaned your name, over and over and over again.

And now he freed his hand, using it to rub up and down the sides of your torso, your skin like fine silk under his worn, calloused fingers. In his hair were your hands, massaging his scalp the way you knew he liked, until he lifted his head to offer you a gentle smile.

“Mm, I’ll never get tired of that.”

You tilted your head with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you’d want to do it tonight. I thought you’d be exhausted.”

He breathed a low huff before rolling over onto his side. You did the same, letting him hold you with his chest pressed firmly to your back. There wasn’t much room on that tiny couch, but you made it work. After all, even if you were in bed upstairs, you’d probably still be this close to each other, clinging for dear life, never wanting to be separated again, though you knew someday you’d have to.

“I am,” he said. “Just… I dunno, needed you, s’all.” Observant as he was, he took notice of your shivering, and reached back to grab the knitted blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He covered the both of you, then tucked his chin into your shoulder, where it seemed to fit perfectly. “Missed ya so much, could hardly stand bein’ without you.”

Even now, after you thought you’d be used to his sweet words, he still had a way of sending those butterflies aflutter. “Well, now you’re back home.”

That sounded so good to him—back home.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Masterlist

Part 2 (coming soon)

#daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #twd smut

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bobbyfloyd · 3 months ago

Note

I saw you were writing blurbs! I was wondering if you can write one for Bob Floyd from the smut list? Number 4, maybe Bob is injured but desperately needs his partner?

slow sex while one or both are injured (bonus points if it’s after a battle or after they’ve patched up each other’s wounds)

he was fine. really, he was. just a little bruised, and very sore. he and phoenix had a close call during training that day, and it had forced them to eject from a jet that was hurdling at breakneck speed toward the earth. bob felt as if he’d been thrown down multiple flights of stairs. he ached in places he didn’t even know he could ache. but that wasn’t even the worst of it. no, the worst part was the look on your face when you’d come rushing into his room. you looked so frightened, and he hated that he was the cause of that fear and worry.

when you got the call that he’d been injured, your world tilted on its axis. thankfully your boss had allowed you to leave work early so you could be with your husband. you weren’t even aware of his condition. all you knew was that there’d been an accident, and that he was in the med bay, and no other details were able to be provided at that time. you were going in blind, unsure of what you were about to walk in on. would he be unresponsive? barely hanging on to life? these thoughts spiraled in your mind as you rushed down the hall toward the room they’d put him in. the only thing that gave you some sense of ease was the fact that he was in a recovery room, and not a care unit.

when you burst into the room, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed. he was obviously shaken, and there were some visible cuts and bruises, but he was in one piece, and he was alive. your knees almost buckled, but you pushed yourself forward until you reached him. “oh, bobby,” you whimpered. his eyes filled with tears, and you were quick to sit beside him and carefully wrap your arms around him, wary of doing anything that might cause him pain. “i was so scared. i didn’t know if you were okay or not.”

“i’m fine, sweetheart. just a little banged up.” he leaned over to kiss your head, despite the pain that flashed through his ribs. “one of the engines malfunctioned. we had to eject,” he explained.

“how’s nat?” you inquired, hoping she was fine.

“she’s okay. kind of beating herself up over it, even though it wasn’t her fault. she got us both safely out of the jet, that’s what matters.”

relief settled in your chest at the confirmation that your husband’s pilot was safe. you made a mental note to thank her for keeping your bobby out of harm’s way. “what are they saying as far as when you can be released?”

“it’s up to me. either i can stay for observation or i can sign some papers and get released tonight. i think i’m gonna do that. i’d rather spend the night in our bed than in this stuffy old hospital,” came his response.

that was how you found yourselves heading home a few hours later, bobby in the passenger seat as you drove. you held his hand the entire ride home, unwilling to let go. no words were spoken into the silence of the car. nothing could come close to expressing the way you felt. how terrified you’d been that you had lost him. thank god you hadn’t, but what if still lingered in your mind.

it lingered in his, too. long after you pulled into the driveway and guided him into the house. long after you helped him get ready for bed. long after you got him settled beneath the covers. he kept replaying the incident in his mind. the terror, the adrenaline, the realization that this moment could be his last.

“i was thinking of you,” he whispered. so quiet you couldn’t hear him.

“what was that?” you softly asked as you slid into bed beside him.

his mouth quivered. “i was thinking of you, when i was hurdling toward the ground. i thought…i thought for sure i was going to die. that i was never going to see your face again. hear your voice.” he squeezed his eyes shut, although his tears began to slide down his cheeks. “i-i’m glad it didn’t end that way. i’m glad i get another chance to tell you how much i love you.”

your own tears had begun to fall, and a soft sob escaped your throat. gingerly, you kissed him. tears mixing. mouths absorbing the sounds of each other’s weeping. although you were both reeling from this experience, there was an underlying tone of desperation. it manifested in you carefully climbing into his lap, straddling his hips. in your hands resting upon the sides of his neck, and his upon your hips. and when you parted, you could see it in his eyes. an unspoken need. something so strong and impassioned he could not voice it with mere words.

“please, honey, i…” he couldn’t speak. could barely breathe. suddenly it felt as if his skin was on fire.

“i know,” you breathed against his mouth. “are…are you sure? i don’t want to hurt you.”

“i’m sure.” trembling voice. barely able to breathe.

once again, you kissed him. you were frantic, yet gentle, as you rid yourself of your pajamas, and guided his soft sweatpants down his legs. lips finding his again, you reached down to wrap your hand around his soft cock, stroking him to full hardness as your other hand came down to prepare yourself to take him. it wasn’t long before you were aligning him with you, and he looked down to watch you sink down onto him. a guttural whimper escaped his throat, and his chest heaved as he let out a sob.

“oh! oh, sweetheart,” he sighed as you sank down fully, body flush with his. he wrapped his arms around your body, and you wrapped yours around his shoulders, holding him close, his head against your chest.

“i’ve got you,” came your whisper of reassurance. you held each other, bodies joined as one. tears streaming down your cheeks. mouths open and hot against each other’s. crying and moaning, breathing words of love and adoration. words of devotion.

“never let me go,” he pleaded. he wished you could hold him forever. that he could stay here in your arms, protected from the rest of the world, basking in the warmth of your love.

“never,” you sighed, hips rolling against his, trying your best not to hurt him. but you weren’t hurting him. far from it. you made him feel more alive than he’d felt all day.

“i love you,” he confessed into the air. “i need you. i never want to live without you.”

fingers laced through his hair, you let your forehead rest against his. “i love you too. never wanna live without you, either.”

the gravity of the situation weighed heavy on you both, but you took solace in this intimate connection. and if only for a little while, right here, connected to each other, you found peace. your bobby was safe in your arms. and you were thanking the stars that they’d seen fit to let him come back home to you.

#asks #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #lewmagoo’s blurb day

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suspiciouslypinkrosegarden · 5 months ago

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⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡Armin x Reader⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Description: You and Armin exchange comfort, taking place somewhere after Eren's physical fight with Armin while he is still healing. While dwelling on past events, Armin joins you and the two of you share some emotions. This does ignore timeline accuracy as I wanted to provide some care for Armin following him getting rather beat.

The relationship between the reader and Armin is left more undefined, as I wanted to allow in a broader audience. This goes out to everyone who feels they grew up with the characters.

The two of you sat side by side now, on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was silent aside from the crackling of the burning wood, and it would have been dark if not for the orangey glow cast upon the common space.

At first you were alone, staring at the dancing flames with a sense of melancholy. In a way, you felt a kinship to the burning cedar, the fire licking at its unmoving form until there was nothing left but ash. Once an element strong enough to build homes with, now becoming a pile of dust. The wind could just as easily blow you away in this miserable state, going over memories from the cadet corps and early scouting years. You envied Marley’s photograph technology, memory foggy recalling old faces of your fallen comrades.

Armin was quiet as he approached and sat beside you, and you wouldn’t dare make him feel that his presence was unwelcome in your turmoil. You also wouldn't dare to further question the remnants of fast healing wounds upon his face from his recent encounter with Eren. Instead, you leaned into him selfishly, your head resting on his right shoulder as the two of you faced the fire. In the late hour of the night, you both found your eyelids heavy with sorrow instead of sleep. He gently nudged you, and you turned to look up at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice was soft and full of care.

“I’m just…thinking. About everything. Old memories, mostly.”

He did not push further, knowing what it meant to mull over all of the past events in your mind. As the stars took their rightful place in the sky, the pain of change and loss caught up to you soldiers, unable to forever outrun the weight of grief alone with your thoughts at night. And it would still follow you underneath daylight of course, chasing you through the world of wonders you were denied inside those walls. Your chest sank with a breath as you felt the pain now, as if someone stuck their hand in and gave that precious beating organ a squeeze. There was a fault in your breathing that Armin could hear, the unmistakable sound of someone trying not to cry.

The man beside you was quick to act, gentle as he gave you space. Armin had a look about him, one of guilt or shame, as if he felt it was a sin that he didn’t know what to do in order to comfort you, to save you. It was you who felt truly guilty though, for somehow hoping his presence could blind away the devil on your back by enveloping you in his bright sunlight. As if he could turn all of the leaves killed over the long years into fresh greens, simply by not leaving you to be alone with your sadness. You must have been a pathetic sight, and you felt sheepish to not stand tall and kind in front of him when he was also hurting beyond measure. As his hand then found yours, it grounded you as you let him see you this vulnerable. You then began to distract yourself with thoughts of him as he enveloped your space and your senses, his hand warm and firm in yours as he again inched closer.

Armin was… special, and his appreciation for the beauty of life drew you closer to him with a magnetic pull. You understood Eren’s old pedestal for his friend, the awe and wonder in Armin’s eyes unreplicable, him acting as a reminder for your tired heart to keep beating in order to see what the world had to offer. Here, by his side so close, you wished you could simply rub against him and take with you his magic that is human hope. You clung to him as his friend not only for your shared qualities, but because he felt like what you needed in order to survive your darkest days.

As he grew taller and Eren strayed, Armin’s eyes were dimming with the beginning of manhood. However, that still never changed the way you saw him and his nature. You really couldn’t picture him blooming underneath anything other than the sun’s light, a strong stalk constantly absorbing what the world had to offer like a sunflower. You only wished he had better soil to stand on as he matured. You only wished that things could be better for both of your sakes.

Your gaze lingered upon his face that should have still been dramatically bruised after Eren’s beating, if it weren’t for his titan aiding in his healing. He awkwardly smiled at you as you studied him, shifting as if self conscious. You decided to bite the bullet and ask about his feelings, turning the conversation away from yourself.

“Sorry for all this. I’d really rather hear how you’re doing right now, Armin.”

There was a silence as he sat there looking at you, and you gave his hand still in yours a light squeeze.

“There’s not much to say, I guess. I’m…hurt. I can’t believe Eren would say those things, or do those things.”

His blue eyes rippled with emotion.

“Say what things..?”

“He said he had always hated Mikasa. So I punched him.”

“Oh…so that’s how-”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m currently waiting for my titan abilities to fix me up.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his comment regarding Mikasa. You didn’t have to guess that she must be heartbroken right now in her own right too, briefly imagining her sadness under the cover of the darkness of her room. After all she had done for Eren, that’s how he treated her?

“Why would he say something like that?” you said a bit angrier than you meant to.

Armin sighed gently before responding with an “I don’t know.”

In your dismay, unable to fully grasp the weight of comprehending the changes your old friend was going through, you decided to continue to reach out to the one directly in front of you. Your free hand lightly touched a bruised spot on his right cheek, and it was unusually hot to the touch as it healed. You looked at him desperately, as if he’d change under the light of the full moon too.

“Are you in a lot of pain, Armin?”

You lightly fussed over him, examining his face. He did not stop you, no matter how embarrassed his expression seemed to show he was. Your eyes mulled over his features, and he felt himself burning up under your caring scrutiny.

Armin’s signs of aging were the easiest to recall of all the guys, going from a soft, rounder face to having a slightly more defined look. However, that wasn’t to say he lost his prettiness for a traditionally “chiseled” appearance, still adorning a button nose and fuller cheeks. While he couldn’t pass for a double of the cutest girl in the previous squad anymore, he was certainly tender in his looks. He broke the silence again as your fingers grazed over bruised skin.

“No, I’ve been in worse pain. I’m just upset.”

“Rightfully so.”

You dropped your hand from his face, watching as Armin’s expression changed to a gentle plea of sorts.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I don’t think I can keep…talking about this. Please don’t tell the others what I said either for right now, we don’t need more conflict. We’ve got to keep it together to keep fighting.”

In the quiet, your “ok” was all he needed to feel respected. You took initiative to gain back your previous closeness, leaning on him once again. Your head found his shoulder once more as you again switched conversation topics, urged on by the feeling of his newfound broader nature. You felt like telling him every first thought on your mind, as if losing a basic conversational filter.

“When did you become a man, Armin? Your shoulders were smaller when we were cadets.”

His laugh was clumsy, not forced per se, but a quick reaction to a strange question. He suddenly paused for a deep inhale, then exhale, as if gathering thoughts.

“You don’t have to keep deflecting the conversation away from yourself, you know. I came in here to check on you, but you’re making it all about me.”

“I’m…technically not deflecting right now. I was thinking about everyone we’ve lost and how we’ve all changed so much when you sat next to me. Then, looking at what Eren did to you… I guess I just never stopped to appreciate the good changes you’ve undergone. I think Eren’s changes for the worse scare me into not seeing what’s right in front of me. Thank you for surviving with me.”

It was here that you could tell Armin felt his familiar shyness creeping in, unsure of how to truly respond to the new conversation you were starting. You ran around him in circles here, it already feeling gauche to comfort you. He’d never admit the pressure of yearning for your approval in particular, tip-toeing around his discomfort with the topic of his own survival.

“I…am happy to be by your side.”

You sighed comfortably, deciding to talk about yourself as he seemed to have wanted.

“To…talk about earlier a bit more. I miss everyone we lost in Trost and after. I miss laughing with Sasha and Connie together, and I even miss the warriors when they pretended to be our friends. If we had those…cameras…that Marley has, I could remember exactly how Mina and Thomas looked still. It just sucks, all of it. I am…scared to lose you. I am scared you’ll change too, that you’ve already stopped seeing the world in so much color with everything happening.”

Armin thought for a moment, wishing to give you a solid response. He was, in fact, emotional too as he heard you say these things about how he saw the world. He couldn’t remember exactly when he last spoke to you about something he was excited to experience, more focused on battle plans in a fight for survival.

“I don’t think I ever stopped seeing the world in color, maybe. It’s more that I wish we could collect those colors and form rainbows, not wars.”

You remained quiet as you thought his statement sounded poetically cheesy, but good for what you needed to hear at this moment. His brain always seemed to translate the world as if pages in a book, inking those words into your tired mind as they left his mouth. He awkwardly glanced at you, giving you a reminder to react to what he had just said.

While you wouldn’t say Armin was the type to actively ask for external validation from others, you could always tell it’s what he craved in moments like this. To be told his words weren’t strange, to be reminded his presence was welcome and that he wasn’t out of place in the emotional space between you two. As he looked at you, you pondered on his silent plea for…something.

“Can I hug you, Armin?”

He did not falter, his cheeks a dusty pink as his eyes filled with tears. He moved closer on instinct as he answered.

“Yeah...”

And as the walls around you built by age seemed to crumble down, you found yourself face to face with that familiar boy from all of those years ago. You saw it now, the salty air rippling through his long blond hair, water the shade of his eyes slipping through the cracks between his fingers on that special day. You couldn’t tell who reached out for the physical comfort offered first, crashing into each other as if by the pull of the moon. Your old friend gathered you into his arms in a swift motion. At the same time, you offered him shelter from the roaring tides in yours. Armin’s familiar nature was not lost in the sea of emotions shared tonight, but found. You felt his arms squeezing tightly around your torso as you did the same to him, the tickle of his nose in the crook of your neck as he buried his face close. You both clung to each other as if buoys in the middle of all that blue, promising to always be there to help each other stay above ebb and flow of the current.

#armin arlert #armin aot #armin x reader #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #armin arlert x reader #snk armin #mysweetarminily

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only-lonely-stars · 2 months ago

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you should know I'm a liar (chapter 1 - crossroads)

[chapter 1 - you are here!] // [chapter 2] - (FFN) (AO3)

Summary:

After the Merge, Lloyd is alone. Ninjago has moved on, and it doesn't need the Ninja anymore. As he's slowly rotting away, Lloyd meets someone he has a bit too much history with: someone who owes him more than a couple answers.

Co-authored by @dragon-gem!

Majorly inspired by this beautiful piece of artwork, drawn by @diamonddogs-terrarium! It's embedded in the text below.

I’m the only one left.

The rooftops weren’t as distracting as Lloyd had hoped. Down at street level, the Crossroads were a barrage of color and noise. Sixteen realms and countless cultures had moved into Ninjago City, making it their own.

Lloyd, a remnant of the old Ninjago, was left behind like garbage.

Memories of the city he loved grated against Lloyd’s heart, in places that were still raw from the last time he’d remembered–

–the last time he’d bled.

Don’t think about it. Just go home.

The way down from this roof, the peak of the Crossroads’ highest building, required a challenging jump to the next building. The pagoda-styled roofs provided a decent footing, but still it took him a moment to calculate just how hard to push himself.

Just before the jump, he reached for his mask, and found nothing.

I really need to get a new suit, he thought with some frustration. This is getting annoying.

He leaped.

Seconds later, he rolled to a stop on the lower roof, and from there, latched onto a water spout. He rode it down the wall, maneuvering his body weight to avoid the clamps that held it to the brick, and was on the dirt street below in moments.

The Crossroads turned a blind eye to him, just as it needed to. A ninja couldn’t always be seen. He needed secrecy, especially because he worked alone–

Lloyd shook his head, trying to banish the miserable thoughts that followed him. Why can’t I focus today? I sound like a supervillain, monologuing everything. Nobody needs that.

Besides… the Monastery was empty. He could cry about his terrible fate as the fated Green Ninja in privacy. Nobody had to know what he did there.

Nobody saw that every night, when he sat before his uncle and father’s pictures in the courtyard, he cried.

His family, his world, the life he was supposed to have. All stolen, according to some fate.

I didn’t ask for this.

He let himself focus on the hustle and bustle of the Crossroads, the comforting weight of his well-worn sword on his back, the sound of crowds, the crashing noises–

What was that?

The sound repeated, and Lloyd turned, hearing it come from down the street. It sounded close, and worse, someone was groaning.

He ran, turning the corner to see a pile of rubbish spread across the street. The majority was a rather tall pile, pinning down a prone figure. A few passersby were approaching the figure, pulling off garbage to let the person stand.

Lloyd watched, not sure what to do.

After a few minutes of garbage removal, a Mucoid stepped forward from the crowd and offered the unfortunate person a hand up. The figure stood– a woman, based on height and frame– and nodded appreciatively.

Lloyd was just about to turn and leave when the woman turned her head.

Green eyes, tinged with pink, watched him.

He watched, too, in mute fascination and horror.

The woman pushed back her hood. White hair came spilling out, now cut to only brush her shoulders.

Still, she didn’t look away, and Lloyd reached for his sword out of habit.

Harumi, the Quiet One, the Jade Princess, his arch nemesis… shook her head.

He narrowed his eyes. “Harumi!”

She flinched as a few pairs of eyes turned toward him. He ignored them, stepping close enough to speak with her. “Please. Not here.”

“Why not?”

Harumi glanced around. “There’s too many people around.”

Lloyd’s skin prickled, fear and anticipation warring in him. She was still the same person who had lied to him, kidnapped him, caged him, tried to kill him. Some people never changed. “I don’t think so. Why are you here? To kill me?”

“No!” She took a step back, looking genuinely offended. “Geez, Lloyd. You have a one-track mind.”

“Well excuse me for wanting to get to the truth. What do you want?” His voice cracked on the last word, betraying its disuse from too much time living alone.

She noticed, and smiled weakly. “Can’t a girl just go about her day in peace? I just got squished by a pile of trash. It’s not been a good day already.”

Imagine how I feel, he thought, but didn’t say. “And what exactly do you do in a ‘peaceful’ day?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

“If it needs to be.”

She scoffed, and with a roll of her eyes that he’d all but memorized, she stepped past him and began walking down the road. “Fine. I don’t have to stay here and let you insult me.”

“Hey!” He wheeled on her, drawing his sword. “Stop!”

“Or what? You’ll cut me down where I stand?”

“If it comes to that.”

She waved a nonchalant hand. “Please, Lloyd. Do you think I’m really going to let you do that? I can always take you in a fight.”

“Hand-to-hand versus a sword? I find that hard to believe.”

Harumi smirked, and Lloyd felt like a spider had crawled up his spine and settled right on his neck– right where it could bite and bleed him dry. “As if I ever go unarmed. You’re as foolish as ever.”

Lloyd felt his pulse pounding at his temples. “Well– well I’m not letting you go.”

“Oh, no! The Green Ninja isn’t letting me go.” She pouted. “I’ll just have to do whatever he tells me.”

Unkind memories sprang up, of time on a boat and an almost-kiss that he hadn’t quite expected. They made Lloyd white-knuckle his sword grip, all his muscles tensed for a fight. “Explain yourself. Why are you in the Crossroads? Why now?”

“Maybe I’ve been here this whole time.”

“Then why show up now?”

“See my previous comment about having a pile of garbage dropped on me. Seriously, Lloyd. You’re not stupid.” She paused. “In fact, you’re supposed to be the dead one. Why are you questioning me? I have every right–”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Lloyd cut in, irritated by her non-answers.

“Did you take a job as a cop?”

“...No.”

“Then don’t treat me like I’m under arrest.” She rolled her eyes again. “Look. Why don’t we find somewhere to just talk this all out. If it makes you feel better, I can swear on my dead parents that I have zero evil plans right now.”

Lloyd was about to yell at her, but he stopped himself. There was something about her frustratingly casual demeanor that didn’t quite look like when she was tricking him– any of several times. “...Swear it.”

She crossed her heart. “On the lives of all of my dead parents, I swear.”

He watched her closely. Show me a tell. Give me a reason to beat you into the dirt.

She met his gaze with an even stare.

All he got were those green eyes, still with pink flashes now and again. A poker face trained by years in the Imperial court, keeping secrets and telling lies like a second language.

She’s telling the truth this time.

He felt sick to his stomach, but sheathed his sword. “Fine. Say I believe you,” he bluffed. “Come back to the Monastery, and we can talk.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? You want me in your home?”

“Where I can keep an eye on you,” he corrected, not sure if either statement was more true than the other. “I’ll sweeten the deal, even. We can have an even fight and work out some of these old grudges.”

Harumi laughed, throwing her head back. “You want a fight? Haven’t I almost killed you enough times?”

He glared at her again. “With staves. I’m a ninja. We value the sanctity of life.”

Harumi, for her part, listened to his correction with only a trace of a smug smile. “...Don’t you mean ‘staffs?’”

“No, I meant staves,” he snapped. “Who’s the trained ninja here?!”

She shook her head in dismay. “Clearly not you, or you’d be harder to rile up.”

“I will drag you back to whatever prison replaced Kryptarium, or so help me–”

“Fine.” She interrupted him, and offered a hand to shake. “If you want to work our your repressed emotions by letting me throw you around, then fine. I’d love another chance to show you who’s the boss here.”

Lloyd felt himself flushing, but he took her hand and shook it with as much strength as possible. She winced at his grip, which made him smile. “It would be nice to show you just how wrong you are, actually.”

“Fine. Let’s get on with it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” she snapped, always having to have the last word.

Lloyd turned on his heel, heading in the direction of the Monastery, and listened carefully to the footsteps that followed him through the crowd.

If fate wants to punish me, I think I just asked for it.

-------

In a parody of everything normal in Lloyd’s life, he walked the thousand steps to the Monastery of Spinjitzu with Harumi at his heels.

The Merge had made everything discordant, but nothing was more grating than her constant talking, boring into his brain through his ears.

“How is it, being dead? Are you liking being ignored?” She sounded flippant, but the words cut deep, making Lloyd step a little more firmly as they rose toward the not-so-ancient building. “I didn’t like it very much, you understand. Nobody to talk to gets quite boring.”

Lloyd balled his hands into fists. “I liked it, actually. Nobody to talk to leaves plenty of time for meditating.”

“Meditating? What are you, a guru?”

“I’m a ninja master. Meditating is an important part of the job.”

“Please,” she drawled. “You’re just mulling over all your past mistakes, like letting me get squished by a skyscraper.”

“I told you already, that’s not true.”

“And I still don’t believe you.”

Lloyd stopped walking and turned on her. Her expression was smug, a smile pasted across her pale cheeks. “Harumi. For the last time, I didn’t let that happen to you! The Overlord may have revived you before I got there, but I was there.”

She paused, obviously considering her next insult. “You could have been more timely about it.”

“I was a fugitive!”

“I was dead!”

“Gah! You are impossible!” Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Just shut up, we’re almost to the top.”

Harumi snickered. “Make me.”

Instantly he tensed. The look on her face was oddly mischievous, and it sent shivers up and down his spine– a sensation that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“No.”

“Really?” She clasped her hands behind her back, fluttering her eyelashes in a girlish manner. “That’s too bad. Seems like you’re stuck with my chatter.”

Lloyd opened his mouth to retort.

You’re only giving her more ammunition. Quit digging a deeper hole for yourself, Lloyd Garmadon.

He shut his mouth, turned his back, and started up the stairs again.

She followed, walking at his side with only an inch of air between them. Every few steps, her knuckles brushed against his.

He pulled his hand back and veered to the side, and then a few steps later, it happened again.

Ignore it, Lloyd. You’re almost home, you can beat her senseless there.

The thought was not helpful, and neither was the one it came with.

This is too much like the first time I met her.

Harumi kept talking, but this time she didn’t demand any replies. Instead, she commented on the Merged Lands, with their nonsensical combination. In the time since the Merge, he’d noticed strange combinations, and she spoke aloud the things he hadn’t mentioned to anyone.

Mountains giving way to oceans of deep purple waters that were safe to drink.

Petrified forests that only reached up to the knee.

She told him stories. Last year, she got caught in a spring snowstorm, and she was trapped in the home of friendly strangers for a week. They weren’t from Ninjago, so she’d been welcomed.

(It wasn’t worth asking if they were still alive.)

She walked the bank of a river which split two realms, and helped the locals build a retaining wall along it. They were using the water to irrigate their fields, and had cooked for her as long as she kept working with them.

(Manual labor? Hard to believe, but…)

Worst of all, in the middle of the Wyldness, she ran out of hair products. As it turned out, the pre-industrial apocalypse was rather unwelcoming.

(He’d had to snort at that one, and her smile in return was unsettling.)

The walk kept going, and going, and going. Lloyd’s thoughts wandered toward his family– and Jay’s much more tolerable rants.

I miss them so much.

I’m a complete moron.

-------

They reached the Monastery, whereLloyd hauled one side of the gate open. “After you.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. “Thank you.”

They stepped inside, and Lloyd was hit with a realization that it was rather sad to be here alone. He’d gotten used to dead silence, but it made him want to cry now that he faced it; that, and throw something off the edge of the cliff.

He ignored both urges, instead shutting the gate behind them.

Harumi blinked. “Did it get larger in the Merge?”

“No,” Lloyd grumbles. “It’s just bigger than one person needs.”

“I suppose so,” Harumi replied lightly. “It still looks nice, like new construction. I suppose I won’t be receiving a tour or a cup of tea?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You want to play houseguest? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“No, it’s not. Perhaps I turned over a new leaf.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You shouldn’t.” Harumi rolled her shoulders, smiling mischievously. “Knives or no?”

Lloyd gave her one dry look. “I told you, staves only. Cleaning blood off stone is harder than it sounds.”

She laughed. “I’ve heard that. But really, I’m not a heathen. I would only try and really kill you after we’d fought a couple times! Imagine if I succeeded the first time– which is quite likely. How awkward.”

“You’ve become a master of understatement,” Lloyd commented dryly, then walked across the courtyard to put away his sword. “Maybe the Merge did you some more good than it did me.”

Harumi chuckled softly, and when he glanced over at her, she was plucking a knife out of her waistband and placing it against the wall— far enough away so neither of them would be able to get to it while they were sparring. “Maybe. It’s been an odd couple of years.”

“Tell me about it,” he commented, focused on re-tying his gi so it wouldn’t get in his way. He hadn’t had a good fight in too long, and the training course wasn’t a great substitute. Could he still take a real opponent, with months or years of cooling his heels only dulling his skills?

It’ll be good for sharpening your skills, the practical part of his mind contributed. Iron sharpens iron.

Harumi taunted, “I can still kick your butt.”

Lloyd scoffed in reply. “Doubt it.”

Harumi’s laugh echoed off the silence etched into the courtyard walls. He approached and stopped in the center of the yard, assuming a defensive position. She stepped closer and did the same. Again he noted the strengths and weaknesses in her stance— how best to knock her off balance, to force her to retreat. She was easily exploited, when done right.

He grinned. I really needed some action.

Harumi grinned back. “You’re so slow. Scared to hit a girl, Lloyd?”

“Is that what I should be calling you?” He taunted back, squaring his heels, and launched himself into a roundhouse kick. “I was referring to you as my sworn enemy!”

“Aww, I’m flattered!” Harumi snorted, dodging his kick and launching an attack of her own. “Sworn enemy does have a nice ring to it!”

Lloyd dodged her punch easily. “That’s what you focus on?”

“What, would you prefer something else? I’ve got a whole host of names I could go by.”

He ignored her comment for just long enough to try to sweep her legs out from under her– and miss, coming back into a standing position. He was just quick enough to block a blow to the head. “Don’t call yourself the Quiet One anymore. You’re not quiet!”

“Pssh, no one calls me that anymore. I’ve also avoided the whole ‘damsel in distress.’”

“Really? Your list of former nicknames is getting long.”

“I could make it longer. I even managed to shake being called your girlfriend,” she shot back.

Lloyd stiffened, despite all his training demanding flexibility and loose muscles, and his rhythm dropped. He stood back, resting on his heels, steadying himself. “...Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Harumi smirked, still in defensive position. “Are you still going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Lloyd’s annoyance flared into anger. He knew his face was red, and worse, he didn’t care. “I’m not interested in your games.”

“Funny. I don’t believe that you invited me all the way up here to get even. You’re lonely, and I was there.”

He returned to a boxing stance. “I’m not that pathetic.”

“Just a little pathetic,then.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong, Lloyd. I dare you.”

“We both know you’ll ignore anything I say. Stop stalling.”

“Hey, I’m right here!” Harumi spread out her hands, opening up to a punch they both knew Lloyd wouldn’t throw. “If you have something to say to me, just spit it out already! I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m good with secrets, you know that.”

Irritation won out, and Lloyd threw a kick. He aimed for her head, almost landing it, but she ducked just in time. He lost his balance and took a moment to step back, but the deep, heaving breaths from the failed strike only made him angrier.

“Do you know what the problem is?” Harumi was still talking, and watching him with a heavy gaze. “You’re not used to being alone anymore. You can’t handle yourself now that your team is dead.”

“They’re not dead. They’re missing. It’s different.”

“Really? Then why aren’t you looking for them? You’re just rotting away, up here in your lonely castle.”

“My monastery–”

“Is empty,” she interrupted, crossing her arms. “And you’re empty too.”

Anger won out, again, but this time Lloyd couldn’t lash out. The rules of sparring were too deeply drilled into his mind, from years of training with his brothers and sister. When sparring with a friend, never strike when they’re undefended.

Harumi, with crossed arms and unbalanced posture, wasn’t prepared. Despite how much she grated on his nerves, she was his guest.

He poured his anger into words instead.

“My family is not dead. I’m doing fine, no thanks to you, and all the ways you’ve tried to ruin my life. Insulting me is a step too far, actually! You could’ve walked away, ignored me, left my life again. You came to my home, because I invited you, of your own free will. And now you’re playing it like you hate me?!”

She scoffed. “Hate is a strong word. I loathe you, Lloyd Garmadon.”

“Fine, that’s just as bad! If you’re going to act like you’ve always hated me, then I guess there’s no pleasing you. There’s no such thing as ‘good enough’ for a prissy princess like you!”

Harumi glared at him. “Do not call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want! You’ve always wanted to destroy my life, Harumi. Congratulations, it’s destroyed, and you get to see it!” He gestured at the rest of the Monastery courtyard, just as miserably empty as before she’d come to visit. “Are you happy? You didn’t get to do it yourself, but you still got what you wanted. Is it good enough?!”

Harumi shifted her weight, uncrossing her arms. “Now you’re putting words in my mouth? That’s so mature, Green Savior. What’s next? Are you going to tell me that I should still be dead?”

Lloyd grasped at words, finding nothing good to throw back at her. “You– you really love ruining my day!”

She rolled her eyes and settled back into a fighting stance, fists raised to protect her face. “You ruined your own day.”

Finally! Lloyd didn’t wait for an invitation to whale on her. Instead, he launched himself full-body in her direction.

They collided, and Harumi fell back with a cry of surprise. Her feet slipped out from under her, and Lloyd angled just so she didn’t crack her skull on the stone– not that he would have minded, once upon a time– and instead bore the first impact with her shoulder.

Harumi grunted loudly, and Lloyd took advantage of her dazed state to pin her down by the shoulders and hips.

Red and purple tinged his vision, pounding with his pulse. When was the last time he’d been so angry?

Harumi tapped out, pounding her fist three times against the flagstone. Her breath was coming in gasps, and a secret, evil part of Lloyd wished she would just stop and be quiet.

He sat back, letting up pressure on her chest, and sat on her legs to keep her down on the ground. The haze of anger was beginning to clear, and he realized he was panting just as hard.

The red vision cleared, and he slowly came to see the blinding paleness below him. Harumi, with white hair and pale skin. There was no healthy flush in her cheeks, despite all the exertion. She was more dazed that he’d realized, and presently began to cough.

I did that to her.

Lloyd let up, getting off her so she could roll onto her side. Harumi was heaving full gasps of air, and she curled into a recovery position to regain her breath. He watched with some measure of worry, but within a minute, her cheeks were flushed again.

Good. If she was hyperventilating… He didn’t let himself finish the thought, along with its awful implications. She’s fine. Just don’t get so rough with her next time, Greenie.

When she was able to sit up, she choked out a few breathless words. “You were holding out on me. I haven’t seen you act like that since…”

Lloyd looked away, answering the unasked question. “That’s because I haven’t. I refused then, and I refuse now.”

“I’m not surprised either way… your father is a real piece of work.” She took a deep breath, sounding more stable. “Like father, like son.”

Lloyd bristled. “You’re still insulting me after I almost give you a concussion? You must love to hate me, Harumi.”

“I told you already, I don’t hate you.”

“Oh, right. How could I forget. You loathe me, which is a synonym for hating me.”

“It’s not the same.” Now it was her turn to avoid his gaze. “Besides, we’ve been enemies for years now. If I treated you any differently, you’d think I’m lying. It wouldn’t even be a bad assumption.”

Lloyd couldn’t help scowling, even though she wasn’t looking. “And where do you think I got that assumption?”

She rolled her eyes, but looked at him again. “Probably my devastating betrayal that broke your heart, followed by resurrecting the evil reflection of your dead father, dying as a direct result of your actions, and then acting as the right hand woman for your greatest enemy.”

Lloyd stared at her incredulousy, and she had the audacity to laugh. “Come on, Lloyd. I’m more self-aware than you give me credit for.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Enough was enough, so Lloyd stood up and offered her a hand. “If you don’t hate me, then you could have the decency to be honest and tell me how you really feel.”

Harumi accepted the hand up, letting go as soon as she was on her feet. Her hand was smaller than he remembered, but still strong, and he wondered how strong her grip would be if she was trying to hurt him.

As soon as she was standing, Harumi drew back her hand. He thought she would make some witty retort, but instead she took hold of the hem of her hoodie and pulled it over her head.

Lloyd averted his eyes. She wasn’t wearing a shirt, and her pale skin on display made him distinctly uncomfortable– that, and hot under the collar. “Do you have to do that?”

“Do what?” She sounded genuinely confused.

He felt a blush creeping up his neck and ears. “...Not wear a shirt.”

“Oh.” She laughed at him. “No thanks. If I’m going to get hot and sweaty, I’d rather not make my jacket stink too. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

He groaned. “Fine. Then you should at least answer my question.”

“What was your question, again?”

“Your feelings,” he gritted, glancing at her. She was wearing a smug grin, of the type that made his skin crawl– and not entirely unpleasantly, which irritated him even more. “Since we’re apparently working out all our issues today.”

She laughed, throwing back her head with amusement. “Apparently, but you seem content to insult me instead. I can play dumb, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Less of a play for you,” he sniped, “and more of a reality.”

Harumi sighed, still sounding like he amused her, and looked him in the eye. “Look, you were convenient at the time, alright? My feelings had nothing to do with it.”

Nothing.

Lloyd watched her, thinking of all the times they’d had this conversation already, all the times she’d held a knife to his throat.

The ways she’d touched him, spoken to him– it was too convenient for her to say that. It was the most convenient option. The easiest answer, to change the topic and make him move his focus away from the real her.

She’s lying again. I need to try something new.

Lloyd turned away from her and approached the wall where the training weapons were kept. “You know, Harumi, I’m not stupid. You might think so, but I’m still the Green Ninja. I’ve had girls screaming over me for more than a decade, and you know what I’ve learned?”

She snorted. “You’ll tell me even if I don’t ask.”

Lloyd was glad she couldn’t see him roll his eyes. She’s predictable now. He opened the cabinet and pulled out two bamboo staves, both engraved with simple words of power his uncle once remembered from ages past.

“Here’s the bit you don’t get, Harumi. Those girls really did like me, even if I didn’t pay them any attention. And you’re no different! You’re not the first to have a crush on the most powerful martial artist in all of Ninjago.”

She laughed at him, but when he looked at her, she seemed uncomfortable. “Believe me, Lloyd, my only screaming at you has been from pure anger. You were the easiest target to reel in, not to mention the most likely ninja to sympathize with a defenseless princess. It’s as easy as that.”

Lloyd closed the cabinet with the butt of one staff, thinking over his next reply. She was watching him, taking note of his reactions. If he wanted the truth, he’d have to force her into a corner.

When he came back to Harumi, he thrust one staff into her hands. “I know a lie when I smell it. You can’t trick me again.”

She took it with a bitter sneer. “Even if I tell you the truth, you don’t believe me. At this rate, let’s just bet on it.”

Lloyd eyed her. “Bet on what? The odds you tell me something true for once?”

“No, stupid. A true, honest answer.” She tested the weight of the staff he’d given her, tapping the ends against the flagstones. “The catch is that you have to beat me in another fight.”

Lloyd spun his staff around, testing its familiar balance. It was just like his uncle’s old weapon, but still too new– there were no ridges or damage, no scorch marks, to attest its age and usefulness. It wasn’t ancient yet, and neither was he. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever get to that age, but today he didn’t particularly care.

“Will you give me a truthful answer?”

“Only the truth. No tricks, no lies.”

Lloyd thought it over as he examined his staff. It was a tempting offer… would she deliver on it? What if he lost?

He glanced at her. Over so many years of fighting, he’d figured out her tells– she never covered them all completely. Here and there she’d smile, or toss of the hair more than she really needed to. Her fingers would twitch if she lied, like the truth was itching to escape through her fingertips.

She was still, calmly gripping her staff. Truth.

“Swear it to me.”

Harumi rolled her eyes. “I swear on the lives of all of my dead parents. Happy?”

Lloyd nodded, taking the stance required by bo staff combat. “Yeah. It’s a deal.”

Harumi stepped back the same way, raising her staff readily. “Deal. Let’s get on with it.”

They faced each other again. Lloyd watched her, an unshakeable feeling of premonition coming over him.

They were a matched pair, and not really opposites anymore. One predator and one prey, but even the prey was still a predator of its own right. Harumi twitched like prey, but if he went too easily on her, he would lose quickly.

The promise of a truthful answer was too valuable to risk.

I have to win this fight. I owe it to myself!

Lloyd stepped to the side, and Harumi copied him. They began to circle, and he settled into waiting, prepared…

The ghost of a smile, right at the corner of her mouth, betrayed her attack. He had his staff raised in a moment, blocking her blow with a hollow thock!

Harumi smirked, and he smiled reflexively as he threw her off.

She tried again, striking multiple times– high two, low five, a strike toward the ribs. He blocked them all, but the force behind them made him step back once.

With a little more ground, Harumi became bolder and stepped forward again. Lloyd pushed back. She’s got too much momentum.

He gained one step, and they were right back where they started. Their staves cracked against each other loudly, echoing off the silent walls of the courtyard, echoing off the ghosts of the empty space.

Once, these sounds had been second to cheering and laughter…

Harumi moved suddenly, jerking Lloyd out of his reverie. She feinted, then side-stepped, and suddenly they were all turned around. Lloyd had his back to the gates, and she was gaining momentum again.

Stupid! You know better than to get distracted! Lloyd berated himself internally, but he knew why he wasn’t focused.

Harumi was silent: no taunts, no insults, not even heavy breathing. She seemed completely unharmed from her previous fall, and she attempted to hook his staff and pull it out of his hands.

Lloyd turned his staff instead, trapping hers, and pulled. She stumbled, and he freed himself for a chance to land one strike on her right shoulder.

She grunted, stepping back so she could defend more easily.

Factually, Lloyd knew that he was the better of their two. He had more training, better technique, sharper skills, experience. All the things that a battle-hardened ninja should have. Harumi had none of them.

She still gave him a run for his money. Between constant attacks, she spoke. “You know, on the walk up here, I realized something.”

Lloyd grunted, blocking a poorly-timed strike at his abdomen. “Something besides everything you were rambling about?”

“I used to read a lot about you,” she continued, ignoring his jab– and when she ducked, she made a reach for his staff and tried to steal it. Lloyd landed a weak hit on her arm instead, making her pull back.

Lloyd watched her closely. “And?”

Harumi rolled her eyes. “And I remembered that you used to fly dragons up here. You weren’t ever supposed to walk, were you?”

He made an attempt at an attack, but she seemed to be expecting it. “That’s difficult when all your dragons are dead, Rumi.”

“Pity. I like dragons.” She grinned, pausing her attacks. “Did you just call me ‘Rumi?’”

Lloyd’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest– or maybe that was his stomach churning, some unseen power making him sweat. He looked at her with what he hoped was a withering stare. “Slip of the tongue.”

His hope must have been misplaced, because she just kept grinning. “You’re really not a good liar, Lloyd.”

“Then you should know that was true,” he rebuffed, and meant it entirely. “Unlike you, I don’t make a habit of lying to people.”

“You must not be including yourself in that statement.” She rested the end of her staff against the flagstones. “I like the way you say it.”

His stomach churned a little more. “Say what? ‘Lying?’”

“No, idiot.” She rolled her eyes again. “My nickname. It’s nice to have someone call me that again.”

Unsettled, Lloyd only found the presence of mind to smile back at her– and weakly, because he still wasn’t sure he meant it. Last time Harumi had made him smile, she’d tried to kill him. “I guess that’s good?”

“I’d say so,” she said with a laugh. “Especially these days.”

Harumi gave no warning. In a flash, she struck out with her staff and hit against his, yanking it from his hand. Lloyd barely had time to process it before he heard the sound of it clattering against the ground, useless at a distance.

Then she went after his feet, and he fell hard. He grunted in pain as his back struck a particularly rough stone, immediately smarting, not to mention his pride at being bested so fast.

He glared at her. “Hey! That was a dirty trick!” He pushed himself up on his forearms, but before he could stand, Harumi had her staff pointed at his head.

She raised an eyebrow, and he glared. “You’re a bad sport.”

“Hey, I could have used a dozen other ways to take you down. At least I was quick.”

“That’s not better!”

“You’re really going to complain about this?”

“When you cheated in a fair fight? Yeah, I’ll complain!” Lloyd slapped her staff out of the way and stood up.

“Oh, please.” She put her free hand on her hips, shifting her weight. “Lloyd, it’s not cheating to move quickly. If I took you by surprise, that’s on you.”

“You weren’t following the rules of sparring. That wasn’t a fair win. The deal’s off.”

“I still don’t see the problem,” she argued, watching him with a careful eye. “I won, you lost. By all rights, that means you don’t get any answers from me.”

Lloyd rolled his eyes, searching for some good jab to throw her way, but he came up empty. “Since when do you care about rights?”

Harumi groaned. “You are impossible, Lloyd!”

“So are you.”

“...Touché.” She rolled her eyes. “If you’re so set on it, then let’s go again. Same terms, but if you win or I cheat, you get two honest answers. Does that sound fair enough to you, Green Ninja?”

Lloyd paused to think about it, but the deal was too tempting to resist. The real truth was on the line, and honestly, his broken heart still hurt.

I still want answers.

Lloyd took his time retrieving his staff from where it had rolled away from him. When he came back to face her, he focused on his determination.

No more standing around with my guard down. “Fine. Time for a rematch.”

She nodded, and again they faced each other in ready stances. Harumi held her staff lightly, but in such a way that Lloyd knew she would defend herself. Again, he let himself begin on the defense.

She wasted only a moment.

Harumi threw herself at him, striking her staff against his with another hollow thock! It made his hands vibrate painfully, the sensation running up his forearms. It took more than a little effort for Lloyd to push her off.

She was playing with me before, wasn’t she?

Harumi was silent, and this time, intentional with her strikes. Lloyd had to keep moving– every time he slowed down, she prodded at his weak spots, and once she landed a smarting strike against his shin.

He replied with a jab to the shoulder, making her stumble. Her expression afterward was not angry, per se…

Competitive, his mind supplied, and motivated. You poked the bear.

Not the first time I’ve done it, either.

Harumi was still the Quiet One, even after all this time, and she kept Lloyd on a constant defense. His few thrusts at her were easily parried away. How had he forgotten that she’d studied him, not so long ago, and knew his weaknesses?

Spider bit the mouse, sleep deep…

She’d caught him like a fly in her web, penned him in and trapped him. She was still the same enemy he’d fought for months while living on the run, the same villain who’d given him the slip repeatedly in more recent years.

She did have skill, and it was obvious now.

Lloyd threw himself into a desperate offense toward her legs and head, but it was no use. Harumi seemed to know where he’d go before he moved, and her back was still to an open space, while his was not. She had no problem maneuvering, pushing him back one step at a time, until he bumped against something waist-height.

Harumi took a menacing step.

Lloyd backed again, and tripped over the column which held the switch for the training course.

Despite the stumble, Lloyd raised his staff just in time to block her downward blow.

Harumi, still silent and more than a little intimidating, had a strange look in her eye. Why was it so unsettling?

Her constant chatter had been annoying, but silence from her felt wrong. Where were the insults and the gloating? She was forcing him onto the defensive without even saying a word!

He struck his staff against hers with a fervor, unable to find an opening. When he did find one, she feinted, and the trap closed.

One deft upward motion stole the staff from his hands. She butted the end of hers against his chest, thrusting him to the ground.

He landed hard for the second time, and Harumi pinned him down with one knee pressed down on his chest.

She was breathing hard, panting as she stared at him.

Lloyd swallowed, trying to catch his breath. She's so fast. Her breath was brushing against his face, confusing and disorienting him.

The ground below felt like it was spinning.

They stared at one another. Harumi had that same strange light in her eye, but Lloyd didn’t know what it meant. She eased her knee off his chest slowly, once she was sure he wouldn’t try to fight her off.

(Not that he could.)

“Was that fair enough for you?” Harumi was still breathless, still quiet, still confusing.

Lloyd swallowed. “...Yeah. This time.” His voice was weaker than he liked.

“Are you going to ask me a question?”

Lloyd blinked. “I… I lost. I thought I didn’t get any.”

She shrugged. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

It was true… and not worth denying it. Lloyd didn’t have to justify himself to Harumi! When had he ever needed her to understand him?

Besides, it always worked. Annoying people led to them putting down their guard. If he was an annoying kid, he’d get his way–

Focus! Lloyd wished he could slap some sense into himself. Harumi was still watching him, and the quiet dragged on to the point where she almost looked bored.

He blurted out the years-old question, not trusting himself to be careful with his words. It would just have to do.

“You said I was the easiest to trick. That you picked the easiest target, and that was me, and– and that’s all it was to you. Was any of it actually real? Anything?”

Harumi watched him, her pupils dilated. Her gaze flicked all over his face.

For a second, Lloyd wondered. Would she answer him?

But…

Was this the real Harumi? A glimpse of the girl he’d actually fallen for? The one he thought he’d known, without all the walls?

(Walls, built with bricks of disgust and hatred, were only that: walls. Not real hatred.)

Harumi leaned down, and Lloyd strained to hear past the ringing in his ears.

She paused, a few inches above his face… and touched his cheek.

He shivered, but her only reaction was a smile. She spoke quietly. “There’s one thing you should know about me, Lloyd. I’m a liar. Feelings are always involved.”

He took a breath, meaning to ask her why, what do you mean–

She silenced him by leaning down, and without bothering to ask, Harumi kissed him.

He froze.

She ignored his abject confusion, keeping the kiss going. It was his first, and he didn’t know what to do. He reached up to touch her face, and when he thought he felt her smile, reached farther to tangle his fingers in her hair.

She sighed quietly, oddly patient as he figured out just what he was supposed to do, and Lloyd suddenly realized just how much he wanted her to touch him.

He’d been starved of the touch of loved ones for so long. It didn’t matter that it was Harumi– her warmth pushed away the loneliness. Her exposed skin was radiating warmth, bringing heat to his face in a rather pleasant way.

He wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it all– he was comforted by the presence of his greatest enemy.

Then Harumi tore away from him, and the moment shattered.

She sat up, and then pulled away and got off of him. He watched, breathless and confused and reeling. Her shoulders were heaving with large breaths. Her cheeks were rose pink.

She swallowed, speaking quietly. “I… shouldn’t have done that.”

Lloyd felt light-headed, but he sat up anyway. “Rumi?”

“Don’t.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

She wouldn’t look at him now. Her flush was pretty, bringing color to her normally pale face. She clutched at the fabric of her pants, holding it in tight fists at her sides, and her scarred knuckles were white.

Lloyd hesitated. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She jerked her head over to look at him. Her green eyes were shining, filled with more emotion than he’d seen from her in a long time– more than she’d allowed as any of her masked selves. Her true self was here, and hurting.

“You can’t trust me, Lloyd. Stop while you're ahead. You got everything you wanted.”

He didn’t allow himself to flinch at the bitterness of her tone. She was angry about something, but he didn’t know what. Maybe angry at herself– it didn’t actually matter, did it?

He looked her in the eye, and in that moment, his determination crystallized into a more powerful motivation. “Stop lying to me, Rumi.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.” He shifted to kneel in front of her, the flagstones digging into his kneecaps, reminding him of the arthritis he’d surely develop in the next fifteen years. “Enough of the lying. Be honest with me.”

“What is there to be honest about? I gave you what you’re looking for, right? Or are you trying to get more out of me?” She looked down at the ground, defeated. “You should know I’m worthless.”

“Stop!” He reached out and touched her knee, and while it made her flinch, she looked at him again. “Harumi. Listen to me.”

She scowled. “How could I not? You never shut up.”

“Enough of this,” Lloyd insisted. This was too important to abandon.

The unpleasant, obvious truth. It was scraped bare, an angry red gash against their futures. It was like every other important relationship in Lloyd’s short, painful life: undeniable.

The bedrock of their broken relationship was painful enough to at least try repairing it.

“I think…” He searched for the right words, watching her expression shift. “...I finally understand you, Harumi.”

She laughed miserably. “Yeah? What makes you think you have any idea what’s wrong with me?”

‘Because we’re the same.” He smiled, trying to be encouraging. “Rumi. You don’t actually want me to leave you alone, do you? You’re not just lying to me– you’re lying to yourself.”

She shook her head. “No. You really don’t want this, Lloyd. You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? I know what it’s like to be lonely, to be self-destructive.”

She rolled her eyes, so he pressed harder. “Harumi. Listen to me for just five minutes. I want the truth.”

“That’s not what you sound like you want.”

“Well– well maybe that’s not the only thing I want! So what?”

“So you’re asking to get hurt. There is no us,” she spat.

“But there could be! Don’t you want a relationship that’s not based on betrayal?” Lloyd laughed, unable to hide his bitterness. “That’s all I ever wanted from you.”

Harumi scoffed. “We’re not meant to be! We’re horrible to each other. It’s not possible. It’s not healthy!”

“So? Since when do you care about healthy?”

“Since I started to actually care about you! Somehow, I managed to end up caring what happens to your useless carcass!”

Lloyd blinked, taken aback by her shouting. “...Yeah? Obviously.”

She flushed an angry red. “You are so–! Lloyd, we can’t. We’re just not right for each other!”

“Who says?” He looked around, gesturing at the empty courtyard. “The world’s practically ended already. Nothing is what it was before. Why hold on to this?”

“Because I’m going to hurt you again. It’s inevitable. That’s the truth. That’s what we are.”

“That’s what we were!” Lloyd groaned, his heart aching. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Harumi. We could be better, happier–”

“Can we really? How do you know that?”

“I don’t need to know. There’s no way to know.” He reached out and took one of her hands in both of his, and he held on tightly. She almost yanked it back, giving him a dirty look, but didn’t actually make a move.

Lloyd stared her down. “Harumi. Don’t you understand me yet? We don’t have to keep playing this stupid game. The entire world has moved on, we can rebuild too.”

“Oh, sure. Rebuild what never existed, great idea. You know better than to trust me again.”

“Well, maybe I’m stupid enough not to listen.”

She laughed. “You’re not stupid. Don’t make me be the one who’s talking sense.”

Lloyd smiled, absurdly hopeful. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s never how it works between us. That part isn’t going to change.”

Her good humor dissipated. “You’re not thinking straight. You don’t actually want this, Lloyd.”

“You don't,” he countered. “Why not?”

“We both know there’s no future for us. You need someone who hasn’t tried to kill you multiple times. Lying to ourselves won’t change how pointless this all is.”

“It’s only pointless if we think it is!” He leaned forward, daring her to pull away. “Harumi, you have to try to make it work, or it never will.”

“It’s always me who has to try–”

“I’m already trying!”

“Still!” She tried to pull her hand back, but Lloyd kept his hold, and she didn’t end up moving. “...Look. Even if I wanted it to work, it’ll get messed up again. It would be easier on us both if we stopped trying.”

Lloyd watched her, feeling their pulses through their entwined hands.

He saw her, and what he saw made his heart ache with compassion.

Harumi was… anxious, scared, angry. Confused above all else. She wanted comfort, some encouragement that it wasn’t futile.

And he knew how that felt, because that’s how he felt and what he wished for.

“It’ll hurt,” he admitted, watching the way her eyebrows rose in vindication. “I’m okay with hurting, Harumi. That’s how loving people works. But… there’s no one left. It’s just us, and the world is moving on. Ninjago doesn’t need me anymore, and it won’t remember you either. There’s no better time for a fresh start.”

She hesitated, listening, thinking.

Maybe… they could try again. A real shot at actually working. No more lying, no more hurting each other over and over; a real future, a possibility.

Could I actually be that lucky?

Harumi leaned closer, and with her free hand, she brushed one loose curl off his forehead and behind his ear. Her fingers were gentle as she tucked it back, and her expression was soft.

“You’re right, Lloyd. You do need a fresh start.”

Lloyd thought his heart should be soaring, but something stopped him. “...We need it.”

She smiled, the gentlest he’d ever seen her, and her hand fell back into her lap. “No. Not together, or at least, not right now.”

Crack– the sound of Lloyd’s heart fracturing anew. “But…”

She sighed, reaching up to press a finger to his lips. “Not with me, Lloyd, even if we both wish for it. I don’t deserve you, and I never have. If you really want me to love you, then believe me now. Let me go.”

He stared at her, every word a separate blow. Her touch kept him silent.

She’s lying. She’s always lying. The mantra repeated in his mind, like always. You can’t trust Harumi or anything she says.

But she looked so sad! What if she was being honest here? Did it matter, when her words felt like a knife?

Lloyd pulled back and let go of her hand. “I…”

Harumi sighed, and after a moment, she stood up. There was hurt written across her face, in the lines of her frown. She seemed small.

It’s not an act.

She reached down to pick up the two staves from where they’d rolled away, then offered them to Lloyd. He took them numbly, listening to her.

“It’s past time I left, Lloyd. You won’t have to see me again.”

He looked down at the staves, with their uncomfortably new wood and grain, because it hurt less than looking her in the eye. If his brothers and sister had been here, these staves would already be battered and useless from too much training, but they were still new. An artifact of the world which created the Green Ninja, now they sat around and rotted. They would slowly return to dust, just as Lloyd eventually would.

He forced back tears. His voice was pitifully weak. “...Good luck, I guess.”

“Same to you,” she said softly. “Don’t give up yet, Lloyd. Your family isn’t dead, you’ll find them.”

He nodded, not sure what to say to that. “Ninja never quit.”

“I know, believe me.” Harumi stepped back. “Don’t lose that annoying optimism quite yet.”

Lloyd had to laugh, feeling a bit sorry for himself. “Yeah, well, I have a talent for being annoying. I’ll be alright.” He finally looked up at her, despite how it gouged at his heart. “You’re tough, so… I know you’ll be fine out there.”

Harumi smiled, but it wasn’t mean spirited. It was softer, more amused than anything else. “I’ll figure it out. Just don’t die– I still reserve the right to kill you someday.”

“Yeah?” He smiled in return. “Sounds like a date, Rumi.”

She sighed, beginning to walk across the courtyard again. She retrieved her knife and put her hoodie back on, and when she straightened, she was smiling at him. “Thanks for the spars, Lloyd. It’s good to know we’re still evenly matched.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep working at it, if you want to kill me. You might figure it out next time.”

She laughed and pulled open one of the gates. “Just you wait. You never know with me.”

Lloyd nodded as she slipped through the gate. The only thing he could think to say choked him.

Of course I never know! You run away as soon as you’re honest with me.

But there was no way to change a person, no matter how much he wanted to do so.

He didn’t get up until she was well and truly gone. Numbly, he put the staves away, carefully closing their cabinet to keep away the dust.

He sat down on the shallow wooden steps by his uncle’s memorial and rested his chin in his hands.

Then, and only then, did Lloyd cry: miserable, silent, and embarrassed. There was nothing else to do.

Harumi’s words played over and over in his head.

Not with me, Lloyd, even if we both wish for it.

What was he supposed to do? What ‘fresh start’ did she think he needed? He’d only meant another chance for them to… get along? Be friends, or more? At least not try to kill each other every time they met, maybe even enjoy each other’s company. It had been a reasonable thing to want– even something reachable, if it weren’t for her blasted habit of giving up on everything good in her miserable life!

Besides, what about Lloyd? What about his feelings? Harumi was the only person he had left!

He cried a little harder, burying his face in his hands.

And now you’ve left me too!

What do I do now?

#OLST writing #OLST fanfic #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago lloyd #ninjago harumi #lloyd garmadon #lloyrumi #llorumi #lloyd x harumi #harumi jade #princess harumi #the quiet one #thank you diamonddogs-terrarium for permission to use your art! it is just GORGEOUS!#also thank you to dragon-gem for being the BEST CO-AUTHOR EVER <3333 #yskial

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bigtreefest · 10 months ago

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Chapter 6: Missing Someone

From: Bigger Houses Series

Pairing: Mountain Ranger! Ari x Reader

Summary: It’s time to tell all and talk about each other’s pasts

Word Count: 2,417

Content/Warnings: ANGST, kissing, use of pet names, no-good exs, crying and near-crying, miscommunication but it’s resolved

Author’s Note: I was gonna make it bad, but then I realized, it’s not like this couple to have a huge blowout fight and misunderstanding. They’re too good at talking it out.

Shoutout to my childhood friend I visited last week for helping me write this. He won’t read it, but I appreciate him indulging my thought process. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo welcome and appreciated!!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Below is the song which inspired this chapter. It makes me very sad tbh. I skip it a lot when listening.

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

You and Ari were going to build a new dresser in your bedroom. It had been nearly six months of being together officially. Your old furniture was breaking down already, so the two of you had gone shopping. Ari insisted he was just going so that he could provide his truck for hauling it, but you knew that wasn’t the case when he turned down the first three you liked.

“No, that one won’t match the wood grains of your cabin.”

“What’s the material on that one? Pressed composite? No good.”

“Sure Duchess, that one could work…if you’re blind.”

You rolled your eyes at that last one,

holding back a laugh. Sure, those were valid reasons, but any minor criticism was something you took personally. He didn’t even live with you! Finally, you’d gotten him to agree to a nice, subtle piece that complemented your bed frame without clashing against the rest of the cabin. The only issue was, you had to build it.

Once the two of you had gotten home from the furniture store, you were exhausted. Not only from the shopping, but from long drive since you had to go to the nearest city with hopes of finding anything good.

After eating dinner, you and Ari settled on the couch together, cuddling to catch up on the show you two were binging at the moment. Sure, you usually preferred to do things away from screens, but sometimes, there was nothing that could replace classic, trashy TV. The dresser could wait. Ari was laying on his back and you were laying directly on top of him, ear over his steady heartbeat until you drifted to sleep.

You began to stir awake and stretch when you realized the TV wasn’t playing anymore. Strong hands stroked your back and your eyelids fluttered open. Your sleepy pupils sparkled and dilated as you moved your chin to Ari’s chest to see him looking down at you the same way, him not even realizing the way he smiled when you were within this eye sight.

“Well good morning handsome.” Your voice was full of sleep.

“Good morning.” Ari leaned forward to kiss your nose as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Looks like it really is morning. 2:47 am.”

You hummed in response. “I think we kinda threw off our sleep schedule with what was supposed to be a nap.”

Ari nodded and laughed. “Oh definitely. But now we’ve got all this time to be productive. You wanna build that dresser?”

You groaned and threw your head into his chest, smushing it your nose and mouth. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You groaned and sighed before your muffled voice came out against his pecs again. “Lemme go pee first.”

You pushed off of Ari’s chest, causing him to exhale most of the air in his lungs with a laugh before he watched you scurry to the bathroom.

Ari got up and walked toward your room to get started on the dresser while he waited for you. Just as he sat on the floor straddling the instructions and some spare parts, he heard a buzzing coming from the nightstand, lighting up your dim bedroom.

“Duchess, your phone is ringing.” He yelled out the bedroom door.

“You can get it. I’ll be out soon. It could be important since they’re calling this time of night.” He heard your faint response.

With a groan, Ari stood up again and took the few large strides towards your nightstand, picking up the phone off the charger. The number wasn’t saved.

“Hello?”

“Hey, is that you? I miss you s’much. You should come over.” A man slurred from the other side of the line.

Ari was confused. He knew the area code of the phone number wasn’t from around here, but who was this man and why was he calling at this hour?

“Who is this?” Ari gritted out the words. He was beginning to feel something. There was anger, there was frustration. He was hurt that this seemed like something that was kept from him. The man on the other side of the line continued to call out your name.

“It’s me. It’s Oscar. Where are you? My bed’s cold.”

That got Ari. It hit him where it hurts and he felt a pang in his chest. He hung up the phone and stalked over to the bathroom where you were washing your hands as his hands shook. You hadn’t looked up yet.

“Hey Bear, was it anything important?” You were met with silence, only Ari’s heavy breathing and the sound of running water filling the air. When he finally spoke up, you could hear a near-growl in his voice.

“Who is Oscar?” Your head darted up and your wide eyes met his through the mirror. You shut off the water, dried your hands, and turned around.

“He’s no one. No one that we should be concerned about, anyway. Why did he call?”

You could see the worry on Ari’s brow and the tears that threatened to fill his reddening eyes. “He said his bed was cold. He misses you. Is there something I don’t know?”

You broke your gaze with Ari, looking at your shifting feet on the cool floor while you fiddled with your fingertips. You took a deep breath and a step towards Ari, surprised by him taking a step back. He’d been hurt before and he didn’t need it coming from you, too. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his distance.

“Oscar is my ex. I should’ve known it would be him calling at this hour.” Ari’s look of hurt took on even more emotion; it was his turn to be confused.

“So he calls you often at this time of night? When I’m not around? And you don’t tell me? Do you always pick it up?”

You shook your head, reaching out to Ari, glad that this time he let your set your hands on his waist.

“No.” You whispered back, your watery gaze meeting his. “I know you and I have been a little private with our pasts, but I think it’s time we tell each other everything.”

Ari nodded as you followed him to the couch. A place where you two had just had your bodies pressed together found you sitting on opposite ends, your legs criss-crossed in front of you and Ari’s long legs out to the side. You weren’t touching at all as you pulled a pillow up against your chest for comfort and took a deep breath, preparing to start.

You told Ari everything. All about the relationship. The expectations, the lies, the late night phone calls, the broken promises, the new girl after the breakup. He nodded along, keeping a mostly level face, although he maintained a mild layer of disgust. How could someone so awful keep you for so long? You were too good for Oscar. Heck, Ari thought to himself, you were too good for him, too. But he would spend the rest of his life becoming better for you if he had to.

As Ari was taking it all in, you continued on. “Mostly during the relationship, but even for a few months after, he would still call me late at night. It’s been over a year since the last time. I honestly thought he would’ve forgotten all about me by now. I don’t have his contact saved anymore. Something must’ve happened, though. But it’s not my problem. He was always whiskey drunk and saying he missed me, just like this time, but I knew that wasn’t the case.”

You looked up at Ari. He seemed like he was beginning to understand. “When we were dating, I fell for it. I fell for all the sweet, yearning things he would say, and I’d come over. We’d dance down the hallway and fall into his bed. We’d lay there and talk, well, it was almost always him doing the talking and lying until the sun came up. I really lost my voice over that whole thing.”

Ari felt such deep sadness for you. His favorite thing was when you would talk passionately about something random or speak your mind against the popular opinion. To hear that someone took that away, someone didn’t appreciate you and your amazing qualities, made him want to scream. His jaw clenched and he kept his silence, grateful for the full insight on your life. If Ari ever met Oscar, well, who knows what would happen to that punk?

Your voice began to break as you sniffled. “I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, or break my heart, but I felt used. Like I was a late night lonely drug. I know he thought he loved me, and he would say that I was all he wanted, but I think he just wanted someone. At one point, I wished that I was that one he wanted, but I think a part of me always knew I wasn’t.”

Ari had crept closer again over the duration of your story. He pulled you in tight to his chest and rubbed your back as you wept, tears staining his old t-shirt. He had no idea how someone so awful could bring down someone so amazing, so angelic. You were everything. The sun rose and and set on you for Ari.

He pulled away and set his eyes deeply on yours, his hands holding your fingers. “I’m so sorry, Angel. I’m sorry you had to go through that. You deserve the world. Anyone who can’t see that was never worthy to even be in your presence.” He kissed your forehead and your eyes gently closed at the gesture as a soft smile graced your face again at his true, genuine sweetness.

“You are the world. You’re my world, and I’m going to spend as long as I have to so you can see how much you mean to me. Every day, I’m going to do everything I can to give you the love you deserve. To show you just how much I really, truly, honestly love you.”

You sat there, mouth agape in shock. There it was. That was the first time either of you had dared to say the L-word to each other. It wasn’t haphazardly thrown out there as a last-ditch effort to stay. It wasn’t overused and thin. It was heavy, it was intentional, and it was true. It carried such a weight to it, but your were sure Ari wouldn’t have dropped it had he not meant the word with his whole soul.

You felt it too, though. That was the part that astounded you. There was no other person who you believed could ever hold a place so fitting for the word love. There was only Ari.

“I love you, too.” You spoke firmly, gazing into his bright blue eyes, lit up extra from his beaming smile. His hand moved up to your cheek and he leaned in for a kiss. His soft lips met yours as your tongues danced together. There was no greed, no rush. Just love.

When you pulled away, you rested your foreheads against each other. You sighed and giggled. “While I’m out here being honest. I feel like there’s something else I should tell you.”

Ari’s head tilted to the side, confused on what other bombshell you could be hiding. The truth was, you had never been completely forthright with your thoughts.

“Did I do something to make you feel like you couldn’t be honest with me before?” You could hear the wavering in his tone. After such a vulnerable moment, what else could be coming?

“No, no, that’s not at all what’s going on. It’s just…ugh….” You were beginning to grow frustrated with yourself. There was so much you kept locked inside as a result of how Oscar hurt you. You were elated it was coming out for Ari to see. He deserved to know every side of you, but words were hard to formulate in the right way.

“I’m sorry. I want to communicate more openly with you. But it’s scary. I thought when you found out about everything with Oscar, you’d judge me for it. You’d look at me differently.” He shook his head, about to speak up before you cut him off.

“I want to be able to explain it all fully. I should’ve told you all this sooner. I knew once I gave you everything, it would lock me in. It would have solidified everything in a way we can’t come back from. You knowing all the details of my life. I didn’t want it to blow up, because I knew if it did, I would never recover. If I’m being honest, I was so scared to give it all over to you because I’ll never get it back.”

Ari’s blew out a puff of air, processing your words. He simply nodded, allowing you to finish. He completely understood where you were coming from. To trust someone so deeply again after pain like that was the scariest thing he could think of, and he was going through it, too. He was just glad you did trust him. Because he’d give you everything you deserved and more in a heartbeat. The two of you weren’t locked in to anything bad at all, you were just securing yourselves in something you already knew.

After all the heaviness, you made an attempt to lighten the mood. “And, I think you should know, I’m completely capable of assembling a dresser by myself. There are just some times I ask you for help because I want to spend time with you. Not because I need it.”

You winked and Ari heartily laughed in response. “Is that also why you asked me if I needed help cooking dinner last week?”

It was your turn to laugh, throwing you head back before pulling it forward and shaking it back and forth. “No. Sometimes I offer help because I can’t stand to watch as you do something wrong.”

Ari playfully rolled his eyes and pulled you in close for one of his signature bear hugs. He spoke into your hair. “Well, I’m just happy you keep me around. And I’m always happy to do whatever, right by your side, like a true partner. I love you.”

You both inhaled each other’s scents deeply. “I love you, too.”

When you pulled away, Ari opened up and told you everything about his past, too.

Next >

Bonus A/N: reverence is rare and lies are plentiful

Series Taglist:

@patzammit

@hawkeyes-queen

@identity2212

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izzabela · 8 months ago

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Solace in Silence -Tomas x fem!reader

in which Tomas comforts you as you remember the pain your former husband, Bi Han

You wander outside the compound aimlessly, the only companions being the light winds that kissed your cheek, and the sound of rustling leaves.

Fall in Japan was near its end for you and the Shirai Ryu, the new clan Kuai Liang and Tomas made. Of course, with the help of Kuai's bride, Shirai Harumi. Without her, you all would have been destitute, so it made sense Kuai named the clan after her.

You were happy for them, even the bridesmaid for Harumi on their wedding. Yet, you envied them. The joys of married life you once knew were nothing but a bygone memory. Thrown away by your husband's feeble mind and blind ambition- Bi Han's corruption haunted you.

You stared at your right hand, the ring finger empty and devoid of the symbol that once defined yours and his undying love. Like Kuai Liang, he thought his bond with Bi Han was strong and stable. He may have been thick in the head, but he was noble, kind (in his own way), and dutiful. Those qualities, plus the undeniable fact that he was handsome, made you fall for him.

Where did it go wrong?

Was it when Cyrax and Sektor entered the picture? Or perhaps when Father-in-law had passed? You knew the answer though- the betrayal at the old fortress.

Swayed by the snake, Shang Tsung, his nobility fell and became tainted. The man you knew was gone, and he completely disappeared when he attack his own blood.

You sigh sadly, sitting down on the wooden edge of the compound, leaning on one of the poles that held the roof up. A calm came over you, and you closed your eyes as you listened to nature's voice.

You dozed off for a bit, because you felt a light fabric cover you, and the creaking of wood by your side. You wake and lock eyes with Tomas, a small and kind smile on his face. His eyes crinkle as he offers you a cup of tea.

"I got your favorite," he said, "It's a bit chilly tonight, so please, drink up."

You smile, "Thank you, Smokey."

He blushes at the nickname, "I am not five, you know."

You chuckle, "I know, it's just fun to see you react."

You take a long sip of tea, the flavor resting on your tongue as the heat of the liquid warmed your body.

For a ninja, assassin ninja nonetheless, Tomas reacted more than his brothers. He was kind and caring, and wore his heart on his sleeve. He loves his brothers, even if one of them had hurt him, he wishes for nothing but reconciliation.

You both sit in a comfortable silence, doing nothing but stare at the stars that bring light to the eternal darkness of the night sky. It grows a bit chillier, the wind aiding in the task, but the blanket Tomas provided proved useful.

He looks at you sadly before returning his eyes to the sky, "You're thinking about him again, right?"

Perceptive as ever, you thought.

"Is it that obvious?" You ask and set the tea down.

He smiles sadly, "It's a decently chilly night. Autumn is almost finished, which means snow and ice is bound to follow."

You bring your legs to your chest, curling into a ball as you think of your past. You were assigned the mission too, accompanying him and the rest of his brothers to take down Shang Tsung and bring him to Liu Kang. Confronting them was easy, but you three were quickly overwhelmed by the opposing side's forces.

The memory was still fresh, like fallen snow, even if it had happened many years prior.

Shackled and on your knees, Shang Tsung began his siren's song, tempting and winning your husband over with his empty promises. The look of horror on your face when he told you to obey him.

Your heart broke there, but he did not relent.

The horrid confession of the truth of Father-in-law, and how he left him to die split your heart more. The man who treated you like the daughter he never had, the man who beamed happily at his eldest getting married.

You agreed with Kuai Liang, he would indeed turn in his grave.

But the breaking point that destroyed your heart, broke it into pieces finer than sand, was when he attacked you and Kuai Liang. You offered your support to take him down, denouncing your marriage, and he surprised both of you. Tomas, who backed away at the right moment, fought back against Bi Han, taking you into his arms to hold you back from joining the battle. You tried to fight his grip, even scratching his arms to get him to release you, but he would not let go.

Leaving the past memories, you eye the current Tomas in front of you. He stared at you with concern, but you were looking only at his body. His arms exposed, you could see the deep, but healed scars from that day, the countless nicks and cuts from training, and more. His chest was barely exposed with the deep v-neck of his attire, and his legs were completely covered, though you could see the muscles hugged his shin guards.

"Tomas," you ask gently, "Is it wrong for me to miss him?"

He shook his head, "No, it's not. There isn't a day where I wished our relationship was better, a day where fate and destiny could change for him."

Tomas's relationship with Bi Han was... rocky, to say the least. But it did not stop him from treating him kindly, respectfully, and with high-regard. Even now, he still loves his brother.

"However," he continued, "Bi Han is different now, and I do not see a semblance of his former self. I wish dearly to help him, but I believe he is no more."

You sighed, your mouth beginning to wobble and tears lining your eyes. You hide your head in your legs as you sniffle, eyes releasing the tears.

"Oh Tomas," you cried gently, "Where did I go wrong?"

He inhales sharply, unsure if he should hug you, hold your hand, or let you be. He scoots a little closer to you, the wood creaking a bit more as he sat by your side.

"I don't think you made any fault," he says, gently saying your name, "He made his choice at the fortress that day, and you made yours. He miscalculated your love, dear."

Your body begins to shake, sobs racking your chest and shoulders. You lift your head and begin to cry loudly, no one hearing but the night and Tomas (and perhaps Kuai Liang and Harumi). You scream, shouting senseless why's and how could you's into the night scene of Japan. Tomas knew it wasn't towards him, but he couldn't bear to see you like this.

Distraught, pain, anger, and more negative emotions did not suit you. Tomas loved you most when you were smiling, laughing, or at peace with a content look on your face. It had been a while since he had seen those emotions on you.

Tomas gently took your shoulder with one arm, using his other to cup your cheek and face your face to his. You saw a look of sadness and a twinge of frustration on his face, his brows furrowed.

"Please, dearest, how can I help you? How I wish nothing more but to remove this pain from you, from all of us, but only of you tell me what I can do."

You barreled into his chest, holding onto him in a deathly tight hug. Tomas's arms remained in the air before you began to cry again, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Your sobs continue, and Tomas brings his hands down to hold you in a warm embrace.

Tomas doesn't speak for the rest of the night. He simply holds onto you, allowing your tears and snot to cover his shirt. You heave in and out, your cries not stopping even as you feel yourself lulling into sleep.

You stay locked in his arms, hoping, praying, that your pain would leave you.

For now, though, you find solace in his arms and the darkness of the night, the silence bringing you temporary peace.

=====================

Hello! First minific done and I must tell you all.... I wanna give Tomas the world and muffins. My cutie patootie.

I'm also thinking a trademark of my writing could be using the title in a line of dialogue, or anywhere in the stories I write. I used to write like that in my other fics, so i'll take it with me here.

thank you guys so much!

#mortal kombat #tomas vrbada #x reader #tomas x reader #bi han #sub zero #scorpion #smoke #mk1

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sweet-evie · 9 months ago

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The Best Surprise: What was Going On Before the Party Started?

A glimpse into the life of a single dad who's doing his best.

masterlist || pt 4 || pt

Content: ⚠️ OCs, Gojo family headcanons, Mentions of afab!oc, fem!oc, nameless!oc, she/her/hers pronouns for said nameless OC. Also includes singleparent!gojo, dad!gojo, OOC Gojo (because he has parental dispositions and raising kids).

A/N: EXTRA SCENES ...AKA scenes that didn’t fit the vibe of the 4th installment for some reason, but I like them too much to leave them around.

Never Grow Up Pt 4 Extras

May 5, 2013

Satoru pays his mother a visit at the Gojo Estate

“I advised you, if you recall. You would have had an easier time here.”

“It wasn’t as difficult as you all said it would be either way. Nothing hired help couldn’t fix. Thanks for that by the way, Mom.”

Kaede Gojo — mother of the clan head, said nothing in response and watched her son closely over the rim of the expensive bone china cup that she’d raised to her lips. Satoru leaned back and propped his left elbow on the arm of his mother’s bouclé sofa — a picture of nonchalance and ease.

“My advice still stands. If you resumed residency here, you would not have to divide your time between three different places so frequently.” She finished her sip of gyokuro tea and folded her hands primly over her lap again — as she was wont to do. “You would be closer to Jujutsu Tech and should urgent events arise, you will be able to attend to matters that require your attention much more swiftly. Plus, I am sure I am not the only one who certainly wouldn’t mind being graced with the presence of my beautiful granddaughter every day.”

Yeah… Leave Satsuki in their hands, and let the higher-ups and his own family play tug o’ war with him as the unbreakable rope?

No, thanks.

As much as he respected his mother enough to tame his usually sharp tongue while he was around her, Satoru was not blind to the fact that she was loyal to her own agendas. Public opinion and appearance always mattered to her ever since he was a child. And on top of that, she was a willing follower of his father’s ideas.

The day his daughter would relocate to the Gojo Estate would be the day jujutsu society would fall and his presence from this world would be removed.

He was raising his kid his way and no one else’s.

It was off-putting actually, that they were having this discussion today of all days.

“Your father once mentioned that an apartment would be an ill-advised place to raise a child born with Limitless.” Kaede added, watching her son closely in an attempt to decipher how he felt about this.

Satoru’s brows furrowed slightly behind the blindfold. His daughter was barely a year-old. It would be cool to discover she had the clan’s prized technique, but he was still hoping his daughter would manifest something unique. “No one knows until Satsuki turns 5 or 6.”

“But she has the makings of a sorcerer.”

“Of course. We are staying in Roppongi though. That won’t change for a while.” It won’t change for a long time, actually — not if Satoru had anything to do with it. “Wherever Satsuki is, Fushiguro’s children will follow. And as hilarious as it is to rub it in the Zenins’ faces, I’d rather not aggravate the delicate situation we’re in. Megumi deserves better than that.”

At the reminder of one his riskier ventures, Kaede’s lips tightened into a grim line of quiet disapproval. “It pains me to say, but it is a precarious situation of your own doing.”

“Eh…” Satoru waved off her concerns with a nonchalant hand. “I gave the kid a choice. He chose not to go back to the Zenin clan.”

“Tsk. Providing for him and his sister financially was more than enough. Taking them under your own roof was a step too far… and at the behest of your former paramour at that.”

Satoru was gracious enough to spare his mother his insolent behavior that was usually reserved for the higher ups and his father, but Kaede had no such compulsion towards her son — she could spare Satoru a tongue-lashing or two.

All the same, he didn’t need to explain himself to her, or why he decided to foster the Fushiguro children together with Satsuki’s deceased mother.

“What’s done is done. Point is, moving here permanently would mean having Fushiguro’s kids here as well, and I don’t want to add further insult to injury. I can, of course, if I wanted to, but that would be a problem on your hands too. And we wouldn’t want to burden your shoulders further, would we, Mom?”

She shifted in her seat and brushed off his barbed words. The supposed ‘burden’ on her shoulders could never compare to his, and she never said it, but she knew it just as much as Satoru did — a fact that had been apparent from the moment he was born. “You do as you see fit.”

“Well it was nice speaking to you. I’ve said all I needed to say—” Satoru grinned and rose to his feet, pushing the manila envelope closer to his mother across the coffee table, “—and I’ve brought what you asked for, so if you’ll excuse me… I have somewhere I need to be. Later!”

He could sense her eyes following him even after he’d closed the door on her private tea room.

=OoOoO=

JUSTICE FOR IJICHI! (also boycott Gojo’s unjust solicitation of Ijichi’s assistant services)

Ijichi didn’t realize that when he’d fully assumed his role as an assistant to jujutsu sorcerers, it would also mean catering to their needs outside of sorcery work. If he knew that would have been the case, perhaps he would have advocated for a pay-raise from the beginning. At the rate he was currently going, Principal Yaga really ought to know the reason behind the extra leg work and why the school’s official sedan was guzzling gas faster than a vacuum cleaner operating at full efficiency.

At the moment, he was less auxiliary manager for jujutsu sorcerers and more like Satoru Gojo’s executive assistant.

And as glamorous as that latter title sounded, it wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be.

He wasn’t even an employee under Gojo… Ijichi answered to the school and above all else, to the higher-ups too.

Why was he letting Gojo run him ragged again?

“Sir? Sir, excuse me? Hello? Are you there?” The voice inquired on the other line, slightly distorted and possibly exasperated at Ijichi’s lack of an immediate response.

Right… Because Gojo would have never let him have a moment of peace otherwise.

“Uh… yes. I’m here.”

“Right. As I was saying… My team will be over at Mr. Gojo’s apartment residence thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Would that be all right? I called to make sure we’re not intruding on any family happenings before that time.��

“Ah, yes. That would be fine. Gojo is not there at the moment, but someone will let you in.”

“All right, thank you. That’s all we needed.”

Ijichi breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the dial tone.

That was the sixth call in a row. The string of calls from various vendors that had plagued him just now shouldn’t have sounded as stressful as it seemed, but that was exactly how it came off. It was a Sunday and today was hectic. So ironic… It was the consecutive calls on top of all the other party-centric errands Ijichi found himself doing too.

With the number of vendors and all the moving parts scuttling about in the background, you’d think it was a mini charity gala and not a toddler’s party.

And to think, Gojo had approached him and called this a favor.

The man claimed he would have done all of this on-the-day organizing himself, but—

“I have a Grade 1 case to investigate and exorcise outside of Tokyo.” Gojo had quipped, cheeky and cheerful despite the circumstance, “I’ll be done before the end of the day, but I can’t have vendors calling me in the middle of the mission to ask about technicalities, you know how it is. So I left them your number and you’re in charge. Thanks, Ijichi, I owe you one! Bye!”

And Ijichi hadn’t even managed to get a word in edgewise before the line went dead and he was saddled with chief party organizer responsibilities at seven in the morning.

Talking over Gojo was impossible, and it was worse if your brain could barely catch up to whatever his mouth was spewing.

A warning at least three days in advance would have been nice.

Ijichi understood that today was a special day for someone important to Gojo.

Only the truly ignorant wouldn’t know of Satoru Gojo’s daughter and her appearances at Jujutsu Tech now and again. Satsuki was a precious bubbly little thing that resembled her father far too much for her own good, capturing hearts and eyes whenever she was at the premises, and truth be told, Ijichi wasn’t any different from his other colleagues, the faculty, or the students who folded to Gojo’s daughter’s effortless charms. Seeing her smile with her baby teeth was more than enough to make anyone’s day, and who wouldn’t want to make a toddler happy on a normal day, never mind her birthday?

So yes, he was a slave to Gojo’s whims for now, but it was for Satsuki in the end. It was for the happiness of a child.

Or at least, that’s what Ijichi was content to tell himself to keep from feeling robbed.

Grumbling to himself with a sigh, the assistant massaged the edges of his temples in an attempt to alleviate an oncoming migraine.

Stress wasn’t good for the skin… especially on a weekend. He was too young to get fine lines and wrinkles for the gods’ sakes!

“I really should ask for that pay-raise.”

And his justification for the increment request?

Satoru Gojo’s ad-hoc tasks, of course.

=OoOoO=

Megumi and Tsumiki + Satsuki, the nannies, and Satsuki’s maternal grandma

In all their years living with Gojo, Megumi had never seen the apartment so busy… and so full of people.

Aside from Tsumiki or Gojo, the only other people who arrived on a regular basis were Yumiko, Kaoru, and Shiori — Satsuki’s nannies that worked in shifts throughout the day. The trio had been present in Satsuki’s life ever since she was a newborn, and Gojo didn’t want to be without their assistance just yet.

Part of him wanted to hide in his room and curl up in bed to finish the book he had attempted to binge-read last night, but the other half stewed in unquenchable curiosity for the odd things unfolding in the apartment bit by bit. The organized chaos began after Gojo left this morning for a mission. Since then, Tsumiki had gone back and forth from the main room to the front door with every buzz that rang through the apartment. And every time she did, a different person or a group would enter.

First came the decorators, then the event organizer who tried striking up a conversation with Megumi while he was busy reading, then the caterers, and then a team of three people who were hired to do something Megumi couldn’t figure out yet.

As the time for the party drew closer, a woman who introduced herself as Ms Minori made an appearance. Apparently, she was the host for the party. Megumi had a hard time looking away from her, because she certainly dressed the part. Her costume (because that was certainly what it looked like she was wearing) was familiar; the poofy yellow skirt and the off-shoulder top reminded him of a particular Disney princess that Tsumiki favored because, “She’s kind’a like you, Megumi.”

He always just figured it was Tsumiki’s way of getting back at him because he often said his sister reminded him so much of weird animals, like capybaras or beluga whales.

Another distinct buzz vibrated through the apartment, and again it had Tsumiki bounding up to the foyer, all bright smiles and welcoming aura. The door opened to reveal a rumpled-looking Ijichi with two boxes of what looked like Baskin Robbins cakes between his hands.

“Is Gojo back yet?” Ijichi asked immediately as he weaved through stray white and gold balloons and remnants of cut-up ribbons on the floor.

“Not yet. Did he say he’d be back by now?” Megumi piped up behind Ijichi after trailing behind him the entire time.

The older man apparently didn’t notice because Megumi’s voice startled him to the point of almost fumbling the cakes. It was Tsumiki’s quick reflexes that saved him from the inevitable trouble of replacing the desserts. She carefully placed the cake boxes on the counter, relieving Ijichi of his source of anxiety.

“Gojo said he’d be back before the party started.” Ijichi sighed, producing a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants.

“It’s not too bad. I don’t think the guests have arrived yet.” Tsumiki hummed thoughtfully. Not that there were that many guests to begin with.

The birthday girl didn’t exactly have playmates her age yet, although Megumi was of the opinion that Gojo should fix that. If the baby wasn’t around Megumi or Tsumiki, she was with her nannies. And if it was neither of them, she was with Gojo.

If he wasn’t mistaken, most of the guests attending today were adults and teenagers.

Megumi blinked once… twice; less out of shock and more out of surprise that Gojo actually hired people to dress up as Sesame Street characters. The three weren’t wearing the mascot heads yet, but it seemed Big Bird, Elmo, and Cookie Monster would be gracing Satsuki’s 1st birthday after all.

Ijichi heaved a long-suffering sigh and whipped out his phone, thumbs flying over the screen as he typed out a message, presumably to Gojo. Tsumiki excused herself and made a beeline for the nursery where the birthday girl and her nannies were, and Megumi decided on following her.

He could hear Sesame Street playing from the television inside, and entering the room had Satsuki shifting her attention from the loveable characters to Megumi himself.

“Mi-mi!” Satsuki crowed, kicking her legs out excitedly as she pointed at Megumi hovering close to the chest of drawers.

“Who is it, Tsuki?” Tsumiki encouraged, leaning closer to the baby on all fours.

“Mi-mi! Mi-mi bi do-do!”

Recent experience told him Satsuki wanted him to bring the Divine Dogs out whenever she so much as mentioned ‘do-do’. She adored their fluffy tails and pointy ears, wholly oblivious of their capacity for exorcism and their need to feed on curses. Normally, he would indulge her request, no problem, but—

“Not now, Satsuki.” Megumi shook his head no and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. “I can bring them out later.”

“Do-do?” The baby mumbled, looking back at Tsumiki as if to confirm Megumi’s own refusal, and the older girl just shrugged.

“Later… I’ll have new shikigami for you to meet soon.” He was banking on taming the rabbits, and then Nue. He’d run it by Gojo first on one of their upcoming training sessions, but quite honestly, Gojo saying ‘no’ to introducing Satsuki to aspects of sorcery were rare. “New shikigami means more friends like your ‘do-do’.”

But Satsuki had already moved on to crawling towards her rattles and her scattered Digimon plushies strewn across the floor.

“How’s everything out there?” Kaoru spoke up suddenly, finally allowing herself to get busy with folding freshly laundered linen for the nursery, now that the Fushiguro siblings had taken up babysitting.

“Busy. Too busy.” Megumi scooted closer to Tsumiki and the baby, and reached out to straighten the skewed collar of her dress. The fabric’s colors matched the decor outside. Apparently there was a theme — a theme that Megumi doubted no one but the birthday girl was going to stick to.

Tsumiki giggled as she handed tiny plushy after tiny plushy to Satsuki’s greedy little hands. “It’s like a whole other venue.”

“Poor Ijichi looks so stressed already.” Shiori piped up as she left the bathroom — probably all done organizing the essentials in there. “All for a baby’s party. He should relax more.”

Kaoru, from her place next to Shiori, pursed her lips. “I doubt Ijichi is at fault for his own distress.”

Kaoru, ever the polite one. In truth, Megumi knew (and so did Tsumiki) that she was just being a good person and not actually trying to badmouth her employer. As far as he knew, Ijichi was new to being an assistant, but that fact never really stopped Gojo from pushing people to make them do his bidding. Ijichi was just the latest victim apparently, and everyone knew that.

And because no one wanted to say it—

“Gojo’s stressing him out, that’s all.” Megumi shrugged.

“Go-go!” Satsuki interrupted them all with her giggling. “See Go-go Go-go~”

“Mhmm…” Tsumiki nodded along, wrapping her arms around the baby as she brought the girl to her lap. “Go-jo. It’s your last name, Tsuki. Say it. Go- Jo—”

“Jo-jo! Jo-jo jo-jo jo-jo~ See Jo-jo!”

Despite his usual disposition, Megumi couldn’t fight the smile that caused the edges of his lips to turn up just a tiny bit. Tsumiki had always been particularly good at entertaining Satsuki’s baby talk, encouraging her to keep speaking and communicating. ‘Da-da’ may have been Satsuki’s first word, but Tsumiki was quickly shaping up to be a most favored guardian. Megumi had seen it several times before; even when the baby girl was safely nestled in Gojo’s arms, Satsuki always reached for Tsumiki whenever she so much as spotted the other girl.

Three timid knocks followed by the door swinging open slightly drew the attention of the nursery’s current occupants.

Megumi couldn’t attest to knowing this person at all, but the face that poked in was familiar. The woman had the face of his and Tsumiki’s beloved caretaker, and that was all he needed to see to know who this person was.

“I’m sorry for intruding, but I rarely see her as is, I thought I should see her before everyone else arrives.” The middle-aged woman offered the children and the three nannies a smile.

“Of course, please come in.”

His sister always knew what to say and how to be so welcoming. What Megumi lacked in amicability, Tsumiki made up for with the kindest smile. Satsuki looked content to stay on Tsumiki’s lap, happily grabbing and pulling on the ears and faux whiskers of her toys, as Megumi scooted further back to make room for the lady.

She moved carefully — almost fearful of disturbing the mess of colorful plastic on the nursery floor — and settled next to the bean bag that Megumi had claimed when he made space for their visitor. Seeing the woman up close was even eerier. Gojo’s deceased girlfriend looked so much like this woman. Megumi didn’t like to dwell too much on the permanent loss of someone important in his and Tsumiki’s life, but there were instances where Fate would graciously remind him of what their — dare he say it — family was missing.

No one said it, but everyone agreed that Satsuki’s mother should have been here.

“—So big now, little Satsuki! Can you believe it’s been a year since you were born?” The woman mused; her soft voice almost drowned out by the sound of Satsuki squealing and giggling in response to being tickled. “I understand your father is a busy man, and I’m sure he’s doing his best, but only seeing you once a month feels like it’s never enough. Can you say Na-na? Go on, say ‘na-na’.”

“Da-da!”

“Na-na…”

“Da-na! Da-na da-da!”

Megumi watched quietly as the women continued to fawn over Satsuki, deliberately pretending he didn’t discern the sadness that Satsuki’s maternal grandmother tried her best to hide behind smiling eyes.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #dad!gojo #girl dad gojo #gojo satoru x oc #gojo x oc #satoru gojo x oc #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #wbad fanfiction

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kindheart525 · 6 months ago

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I can’t make a Smiling Friends next gen without showing what our own Allan Red is up to! Other than paying for abortions of course /j

Allan never really thought about having kids or starting a family. Sure, he has the occasional one night stand, but that doesn’t mean he expects them to go anywhere. Plus he doesn’t like little critters running around and invading his space, even without counting the especially bad experience he’s had with that. Once his coworkers start having kids and he’s forced to be around the rowdy little ras-cales, it only affirms for Allan that this is not the life he wants. He does not like kids and isn’t eager to get married either. In my personal headcanon he’s on the aromantic spectrum, but Allan doesn’t care to label himself like that. All he would say is that he’s simply not interested and he has better things to do.

But that doesn’t mean Allan is a total loner. He cares about his friends and enjoys a little companionship even though it’s not the kind most critters prioritize in their lives. So as the rest of his friends took on the title of “father,” Allan became a proud cat owner! But don’t call him a “cat dad” or the cats his “fur babies” or anything like that; he finds the whole thing to be pretty ridiculous.

To him they’re more like roommates and close friends who he happens to feed and clean up after. They’re quiet, well-behaved, and nothing like his friends’ children (who aren’t allowed to meet the cats for the most part). He finds it insulting for them to be compared to children and arguably the cats are insulted by that too. I don’t know, their faces just all look like that.

Here are the cats themselves:

Noodle (pronounced “New-dell”) is the Foreign Shorthair that Allan adopted when his friends’ kids were little and who he owned throughout his 30s. He fits the classic “pet looks like their owner” stereotype with his squinty, judgmental eyes, his long gangly limbs, and his unusual “honking” meows that kind of sound like Allan’s monotone voice. He’s very selective with his affection yet seems to think of himself as some kind of god; he’ll scratch almost everyone who touches him but will loudly demand that Allan carry him around everywhere like a king on his throne. Allan will argue with Noodle over who’s really the boss of the house, but oblige anyway to keep him satisfied.

Coca Cola and Pepsi (pronounced “Cokey Coh-lah” and “Bepis”) are a bonded pair of Sphinx cats who serve as Allan’s companions during his midlife. Much like Noodle before them (and most cats to be honest), they have a god complex and expect to be treated like royalty, which is amplified by these littermates egging each other on in everything they do. They’re like a sassy villain duo that you would see on TV, causing mischief in their stylish coordinated sweaters that Allan paid a lot of money for (“it isn’t a fash-awn statement, they have a medical condition-uh”). One minute they’re screaming at their owner to feed them and the next they’re looking photoshoot ready, so you can never expect what kind of mood they’ll be in.

Quesadilla (pronounced “Queue-salahd-yuh”) is Allan’s final and longest-lived cat. An ugly, scraggly black hairball since kittenhood, she was the runt of her litter and the last to get adopted, but ended up outliving all of them. Allan takes excellent care of all of his cats, providing them the best food, enrichment, and exercise he can reasonably afford, but even he is surprised at Quesadilla’s longevity. She makes it to almost 30 years old! He didn’t even have to spend a fortune at the vet to keep her alive like some critters do for their pathetic little dogs—Quesadilla would kill the vet herself if he did subject her to that. Even as she slowed down, even when she was blind, deaf, and could barely walk straight, she stayed alive out of pure spite.

#KindsArt #smiling friends #allan red #allan smiling friends #smiling friends allan #alan red #smiling friends alan #alan smiling friends #noodle red #coca cola red #pepsi red #quesadilla red #dottieverse #cat

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supernaturalscribe67 · 1 year ago

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Just Like Mama Used to Make

Words: 6,178

POV: 1st & 3rd Person

Pairing: John x Son!Reader - Dean/Sam x Brother!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, John Winchester, Fluff, Mention of Childhood Trauma, Mention of Death, I think that's it??

Summary: Taking inspiration from his father, the reader starts his very own journal. For his first entry, he recalls some of the memories that shaped him into the hunter that he has become.

Request:

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request John/Dean/Sam Winchester reaction to having a brother who looks like their mother and picked up hunting like breathing?

@xweirdo101x

A/N: My very first request! It kind of got away from me, but I really hope that I was able to do your request justice. Hope you like it!~

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Hello

Hey!

Dear Diary

SEPTEMBER 2014

To be honest, I have no idea how to start something like this. I was never one for writing, nor have I been one who can easily express my emotions. I guess I got that trait from the Winchester side of my family. Still, I have thought a lot about Dad’s journal lately. The things that he wrote down. It’s not detailed. It’s nowhere near what it was like growing up with him, but it still provides Dean, Sammy, and me with some information and nostalgia from time to time.

So, I figured ‘Why the Hell not’, I might as well write down some things in my own journal. I’m going to die someday anyway, and I want people to read this and be able to see what my life was like. From the good times that I spent with my family to the bad times when I lost my family. Hell, maybe this journal will get me into a history book someday when someone else discovers the Men of Letters Bunker. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be famous after I die, or perhaps it’s just wishful thinking.

This journal has already turned into a clusterfuck. I don’t even know what to write about. I can’t even think of things to write about. Should I say things about my life? Should I just write down random things I think of throughout the day? I don’t know how to do it. Even when I look at Dad’s journal for inspiration, there’s nothing to inspire in it. A lot of it is notes on how to kill monsters and other stuff is just a bunch of personal bullshit he was going through.

Well, we were all going through it.

I guess I’ll start by writing down some of the memories I’ve had. If I don’t like it, then I’ll throw this journal away and start another one. I don’t want future historians to think of me as some scatterbrained moron, despite what Sammy and Dean say at times. If you’re reading this now, I’m actually the smartest Winchester brother. Don’t believe a thing Sam and Dean say. I’m the brains of the operations and our day-to-day lives. I’ve saved them more times than I could count.

Then again, they’ve probably saved me just as much.

Alright, I’m getting side-tracked. I guess I’ll just start writing.

Should I introduce myself first before I do so?

My name is (Y/N) Winchester. I’m a hunter.

This is my story (God, that was terrible)

AUGUST 1991

I remember the first time I mentioned to my father that I wanted to be a hunter, just like him. I was six years old. Dad didn’t take it very kindly. He yelled, a lot. Screamed sometimes. I never truly understood why he would always get so upset whenever I would ask him to teach me how to hunt.

It wasn’t until I was a man that I understood why.

I look just like my mother.

I don’t know how I could have been so blind all those years. I have her hair. I have her face. I have her smile. All of these things have been said by my father before. Not necessarily when he was sober. I was always the one person that reminded my Dad of his wife. Of my mother. I think a part of him wanted to keep me safe, just so he could always look at me and remember what she looked like. Even when I was a child, though, I could see the hurt behind his eyes every once in a while when he would look at me. It made me feel guilty.

Still does.

I know that none of it is my fault, that he made himself hurt.

Still…

For months, I would ask my Dad to teach me about hunting. To teach me about the monsters that crept through the darkness. Each time I asked, he would reject my request and I would get scolded for asking such a stupid question.

So, one night, around the age of seven or eight (one of the two, I can’t remember exactly), I decided that school wasn’t very important. There were occasions when I snuck out of classes to go to the library of whatever town we were in at the time to search the limited amount of lore books that they had. There were times when I got caught by Dean before I was able to sneak out. Other times it was by Sammy. Sometimes, my father would get a call from the school because I had been reported missing.

I was a problem child, as you could tell.

It’s not that I hated school.

It just wasn’t my favorite.

And I wanted to hunt.

So, anyway…from town to town, I would skip class, go to the library, and learn everything that I could learn about hunting if there was anything to learn. Sometimes, I would ask Dean questions. Sometimes he would answer, other times he told me to not worry about it and to mind my own business. It used to hurt whenever Dean would reject any of the questions that I would ask, but I know now that it was so he didn’t get in trouble with Dad. I remember giving him a hard time about it, about not answering me. Dean, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for being a jerk.

Then again, Dean, if you’re reading this, you shouldn’t be reading this and expect some glitter to appear in your body wash.

No one knew about my secret research. No one knew the reason behind my skipping classes. I would constantly make up lies, most of them being about how much I hated moving around and just wanted to rebel against my father. Typical kid stuff.

It wasn’t until August of 1991, when I was ten years old, that I was finally able to put that research to use.

(Y/N) stared down at the paper that rested on a notebook in his lap. His eyes were wide and filled with stress, fingers tangled in his short hair, his back slouched ever so slightly. Dean sat a couple of inches away from him near the end of the bed, his homework in his lap, while Sam leaned against the headboard, a book in his hands that he had gotten from the school library. Dean looked up from his work, noticing the look of despair on his brother’s face before he glanced down at his worksheet. Dean grimaced and let out a hiss.

“Multiplying fractions?” He asked, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

Without looking up, (Y/N) gave a short nod. Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line before he set his pencil down beside him.

“Do you need help?” Dean offered.

(Y/N) lifted his head and looked at his older brother, giving a small, soundless nod. Dean offered a smile as he moved closer to him so that they were sitting next to one another. Dean craned his neck to be able to look at the paper, tilting his head as he studied the equations.

“Which one are you having problems with?” He asked.

“All of them,” (Y/N) answered.

Dean snorted. “Okay, so, it’s easy-”

“Wow, Dean thinks math is easy?” Sam mumbled, a smirk playing on his lips.

Dean lifted his head and glared at Sam. “Shut up, bitch,”

Sam shot a bitch-face towards Dean. “You shut up, jerk,” he retorted.

(Y/N) let out a frustrated grunt. “Will both of you assholes shut up!? I don’t understand this!” His voice was filled with annoyance and desperation.

Dean and Sam shot their brother a look. Sam rolled his eyes as he returned to the book. Dean looked back down at the paper, mumbling an apology under his breath. He then began to help (Y/N) with his homework, walking him through all of the problems that he had. (Y/N) still felt as if Dean was speaking in a foreign language, but he could understand the homework a little easier.

When the paper was halfway finished, the door to the motel room suddenly burst open, causing the three brothers to jump, their eyes wide as they turned and looked at the person who had just entered. John stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. He stomped over to the couch that sat in front of the small television set and plopped down on it. He ran his hands down his face and let a small growl emit from his throat.

Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) shared a glance, almost as if they were communicating telepathically. After a while, Dean and Sam both turned their attention toward their brother, their eyes locked on his. After looking back and forth between the two, (Y/N) let out a soundless sigh as he set his homework beside him. He moved off of the bed and padded across the aged carpet to the couch. Slowly, he walked around the sofa so that he could see his father.

John looked tired. Dark circles were prominent underneath his eyes. One of his legs was propped up on the couch while the other lay bent in front of him. His elbow rested on the arm of the sofa, his cheek placed against his right hand as he stared at the television in front of him. Nothing played. When (Y/N) came into view, John glanced at him out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment. He said nothing.

“Hey, Dad,” (Y/N) greeted. “Um…how were the, uh, interviews with the victims’ families?”

John shook his head. “Not great, kid,” he grumbled.

“No?”

“No.”

As (Y/N) stared at his father, he timidly moved over to the couch. John hesitantly moved his leg as (Y/N) sat down next to him.

“Did you…learn anything?”

“Why aren’t you boys in bed?” John grunted.

“We’re finishing our homework.”

“Then shouldn’t you be working on it?”

(Y/N)’s shoulders slouched. “I just…wanted to see how it went is all…”

“You want to know how it went?” John’s voice got deeper. “You really want to know how it went? Fucking terrible. That’s how it went,” John straightened himself out on the couch before he stood up. He began to pace around the room, his tone of voice getting more and more irritable. “I thought I had a good fucking lead going. All of the victims went to the same fucking bookstore a couple of days before their deaths and got the same book. Seems like a fucking coincidence, right? Then I go to the goddamn bookstore to see what the book was and all it was was something called Aradia or some shit like that. Some type of foreign book bullshit, I don’t fucking know.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as John continued to rant. He looked down and away from his father. He got lost, deep in thought, the words that John was speaking irrelevant to him now. Finally, he turned back to him, kneeling on the couch as he raised his brows.

“Did you say Aradia?” He questioned in the middle of John’s rant.

John stopped pacing around the room as he looked back at (Y/N). Dean and Sam’s attention immediately turned to him, their eyes wide. John’s jaw was clenched, the anger and irritation still emanating from him. “Yeah,” he replied deeply.

“Aradia…” (Y/N) trailed before he shook his head. “That’s not a foreign book, Dad! That’s only the first half of the title. The full title is Aradia or the Gospel of the Witches. It was one of the most influential pieces of literature in the nineteenth century to witches! You’re dealing with a witch!” (Y/N)’s eyes widened as a smile appeared on his face.

John’s expression went from furious to confusion. He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about that book?” He questioned.

“I read about it in a library a little bit ago.” (Y/N) answered quickly.

John pressed his tongue into his cheek as he slowly nodded his head. He looked at Sam and Dean, who were still staring with wide eyes at their brother, and then back at (Y/N). He ran a hand down his face stressfully.

“You boys finish your homework,” he mumbled as he walked towards the door. “I have to make a call.”

Without allowing anyone to respond, John left the motel room, closing the door behind him a little gentler than when he entered. (Y/N)’s smile faded as he watched his father leave, his shoulders dropping. The three brothers sat in silence for a minute before they looked at one another.

“Come on,” Dean said as he patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Let’s finish these math problems.”

Even though Dad never told me, I knew I was right. I knew it was a witch that he had dealt with. We didn’t even get to go to school the next day. He had found and killed her before I was able to turn in that math homework. What a waste of time.

I would like to think that Dad was proud of me in that situation, but he never said anything. He never brought it up again as far as I can remember. It was something that he had put in the past, along with all of the other hunts that we had been on. However, even if he wasn’t proud of me back then, I was proud of myself. Proud that I was able to help my Dad even if I wasn’t beside him when he took that bitch down.

God, I hate witches.

MAY 1993

I didn’t touch a gun until I was twelve years old. By that point, I had stopped begging Dad to teach me how to hunt, because it seemed that the only answer I was going to be getting was ‘No’. I figured that I would go to the next best person for the job.

I had to ask Dean.

Dean was very protective of Sammy and me when we were younger. He still is super protective of us, even in our ripe old ages. But because of how protective he could get, he was very hesitant about teaching me how to shoot a gun. However, with Dad talking about Dean going on hunts with him more and more by then, I knew that I would be left alone with Sammy. I used the excuse that I needed to learn how to shoot a gun eventually so that I could protect the two of us when we were by ourselves. I couldn’t be expected to be safe when the only two people who knew how to shoot were away.

That reasoning caught Dean’s attention.

After the fifth or sixth time asking him, Dean had finally agreed. A couple of days passed and, when Dad was a couple of towns away gathering information for a hunt, Dean and I skipped school. Shocking, right? I think Dean used the excuse that I hadn’t been feeling well and he had to take care of me. He even wrote out a fake doctor’s note and everything. Back then, you could get away with a handwritten note. I’m not too sure if you could now.

Once Sammy had been dropped off at school that day, Dean and I walked to a creek a couple of miles away from the school. He had set up a couple of cans on a log, some recycled stuff that he had picked up along the way. He had brought one of Dad’s small handguns with him. When he gave it to me, it felt so surreal. So different.

I never really understood what the big fuss was about, though.

Shooting a gun was easy.

“No, you can’t have your hand that low! You have it that low and the gun is going to come out of your hand when you shoot it,” Dean grumbled.

Dean took (Y/N)’s hand in his and adjusted it so that it fits perfectly onto the grip of the handgun. He then took his other hand and placed it on top of the one that was already on the gun. (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he looked at the way his hands nestled against one another.

“This doesn’t feel right.” He said. “Why can’t I just hold it with one hand like the cops do in the movies?”

“Because you’re twelve, dummy. You’re not in your forties and have years of experience under your belt,” Dean rolled his eyes. “And that is exactly how you should hold it if you don’t want to get hit in the face with your weapon after you fire it.”

(Y/N) listened intently to what his brother was saying, giving him a small nod before he straightened his back up.

“Stop.” Dean held up a hand.

(Y/N) shot Dean a confused look. “What?”

“You’re standing wrong.”

“I’m standing wrong…”

“Yeah, here,” Dean walked over, pressing his hand against the top of (Y/N)’s back ever so slightly, leaning him forward. “If you have your back too straight, then you’re more likely to fall backward. You also,” Dean kicked (Y/N)’s feet apart. “Need to have your feet apart. Keeps you more ground.”

(Y/N) looked down at the ground for a moment, taking in the appearance and feel of his stance. The way his back leaned forward and the way his legs were spread. He nodded.

“Okay, now I shoot?”

“Is your safety off?”

“Safety?”

Dean sighed, moving back over to him. He took the gun from (Y/N)’s grasp and flashed the left side of the gun. “You see this little trigger?” When Dean received a nod from his brother, he continued. “If it’s facing side-to-side, that means the safety is on. That means the gun won’t fire. All you have to do is flick this little switch,” Dean turned the safety off. “Once it’s up and down, then that means it’s ready to fire.” He handed the gun back to (Y/N). “Now, get back into position.”

(Y/N) glanced down at the safety mechanism on the gun for a moment before he nodded. He got back into the position that he was in, spreading his legs apart the same length Dean had and slouching his back forward ever so slightly. Once he received a nod of approval from Dean, (Y/N) lifted his arms, cocking his head to the side. He aimed at the can farthest to the left. He closed his left eye and placed his finger on the trigger.

“Stop!” Dean said more abruptly.

(Y/N) jumped and moved his finger off the trigger, standing up straighter to face Dean. “What!?” He asked exasperatedly.

Dean shook his head. “You can’t have one eye closed.”

“Why not? Snipers do it!”

“Because snipers are far enough away from combat. They need to look through a scope to get a good shot. You, on the other hand, are feet away from whatever monster you’re dealing with. What happens when you’re facing more than one monster? You leave yourself open to being taken out on your left.” Dean’s tone was stern, yet calm. His arms were crossed over his chest.

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded as he grasped an understanding of Dean’s thinking. “Both eyes open?”

“Both eyes open.” Dean backed up a bit. “Back into position.”

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath before resuming his position. Legs spread, back bent, arms up, head tilted, both eyes open. His goal was to hit the used can of peaches that sat on the outside of the log. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiousness and anticipation. He was surprised the gun wasn’t shaking in his grasp.

His eyes were on the cartoon peaches that were etched onto the label of the can. More specifically, the pit that sat in the center of the peach. He wanted to hit the pit. He never moved his eyes from the pit as he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising. Finally, as he exhaled, his shoulders dropping, he pulled the trigger.

The can flew into the air and seemed to dramatically and unceremoniously fall into the creek. A small splash echoed in (Y/N)’s ears, accompanied by the ringing of the gunshot.

One thing that (Y/N) noted was that his hands ached, both from the vice grip he had on the gun and the recoil that he hadn’t expected. Sure, Dean had informed him about it before, but he wasn’t sure how it would feel. His hands would definitely bruise.

(Y/N) lowered the gun, looking over at his brother to see that Dean wore a stunned expression on his face. Dean’s mouth hung open as his eyes were glued to the can that lay in the flowing water. (Y/N) watched in silence as Dean walked over to the can. He reached down and picked it up by the opening, wincing from the heat of the bullet hole before he swapped hands. He studied the can. It seemed like too much time had passed before he turned the can so (Y/N) could see.

(Y/N) had gotten it on his first try.

The bullet hole?

Right in the pit.

(Y/N) raised his brows, a mixture of pride and surprise coursing through him. A wide smile appeared on his face. Similarly, a smirk appeared on Dean’s lips. Dean chuckled before he tossed the can into the water.

“Beginner’s luck,” he said, brushing his hands onto his jeans. “Let’s see if you can hit the other ones.”

I shot through the rest of the cans, the same as I had done for that can of peaches. Not to toot my own horn, but I was a natural when it came to a pistol. I don’t mean to sound egotistic about this, but Dean can back up any statement that I’m making about this story.

I could tell that Dean was proud of me that day. He never said he was, but the way he looked at me and the way he treated me afterward told me things that words couldn’t. It’s hard to describe, but it almost felt like he had gained some respect for me that day. It felt good. Even as I am writing about this story, I can’t keep the smile off my face. I always looked up at Dean, so it feels great to think that I had done something to bring a smile to his stupid face.

My hands hurt like hell after it was all said and done. I had gotten a couple of bruises near the thumb on my right hand that I brushed off to my Dad as something that I had picked up when I got into a fight at school. Dean had backed me up when Dad got on my ass about it. Dad told me that I had to get along with the other kids so I didn’t give the wrong impression at the schools I went to. It wasn’t like they would remember me anyway. Of course, I didn’t tell him that. I knew when to bite my tongue.

Dad never found out about the shooting practice. I get a feeling that he had a sneaking suspicion as soon as he took me to practice himself years later, but I never told him about it. I never told him that Dean had been the one to teach me how to stand correctly, or where to find the safety of a gun. I know that he knew it was Dean. A part of me wonders if Dean ever got in trouble for it, or if it was something that Dad even brought up. I would never ask Dean about it now, though.

Some things are best to be left in the past.

NOVEMBER 1999

By the time I turned eighteen, I had already been on several hunts with Dad and Dean. The majority of the time, though, I would stay back and watch Sammy. Even though he was a teenager and had the capability of taking care of himself, Dad expressed that he was still a kid and needed to be looked after. A part of me thought it was bullshit at the time, but another part of me was glad that I was able to spend time with my younger brother.

Now, I know the real reason behind my staying with Sammy was because some of the hunts that Dad and Dean went on were ‘rough’. A little ‘too hard’ for me.

Dad didn’t want to lose the son that reminded him of his wife.

At least, that was what Dean told me, and I believe him.

It was a blessing and a curse, come to think of it. There were times that I stayed behind and Dad called me up, needing me to do some research for the case that they were working on. He had said it would be faster if someone was working on the research while he and Dean were out taking interviews. In the end, it was more efficient. I would gather the necessary information and hand it off to him and they would be back at the motel a lot quicker than if they had been the ones to look up the information.

That was the system that we worked with for a while. After a couple of months, Dad informed me that he didn’t want me to do the research anymore. He wanted Sammy to be the one to do it. I remember him saying that Sammy needed to focus more on the hunting aspect of his life. That school was just a waste of time at that point. He was old enough to get into it.

Sammy hated the idea when I told him. He loved school. He was always such a nerd. Still is. An even bigger nerd if you can believe it. I knew how much school meant to him, and I didn’t want him to be discouraged from doing his schoolwork. He shouldn’t have been forced to do anything that he didn’t want to. So, I decided that I was going to do the research and just tell Dad that he had been the one to do it. Sammy was thankful.

That was until Dad called.

Dad wasn't as stupid as I took him for most of the time. He knew that Sammy hadn’t done any of the research, that I was the one that did it all. By the time he and Dean got back, he gave Sammy a verbal lashing. I tried to defend him, but nothing worked. In the end, Sammy gave in. He would do the research for the next hunt.

Like clockwork, when the next hunt rolled around, with Sammy and I staying back at the motel, Dad had called. He had given Sammy the information that he needed to research and we headed off to the local library. Once we got the necessary books, we took them back to the motel and he began to work.

I could tell that it wasn’t going well.

Sam sat at the small table near the motel room door, two books placed in front of him. His back was slouched as he looked from one book to another, flipping through pages frantically. He had been going at it for several hours by then, evident by the bags that were present underneath his eyes and the redness around his pupils. (Y/N) sat on the couch, watching some old western show. Now and then he would look at his little brother. He could see how tired and stressed he was about the entire situation. (Y/N) had never seen Sam that stressed out before, even when he was studying for a test in one of his AP classes.

Eventually, Sam pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, lowering his head, as if accepting defeat. (Y/N) studied his movements, and, after he saw that he had not moved in a while, he decided the best thing to do was to help him out. He picked up the remote and turned off the television before tossing it aside. He stood from his spot on the couch and walked over to the table. He grabbed the spare chair, pulled it beside Sam, and sat down.

“Having some trouble?” He questioned.

Sam’s shoulders rose and fell as a sigh escaped his lips. He removed his hands from his face and placed them into his lengthy hair. His eyes were cast down towards the table. He stayed in the same position for some time before he looked up at (Y/N).

“No,” he answered, pulling the books towards him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said ‘I’m fine’,” Sam repeated through gritted teeth.

(Y/N) studied him with an expressionless face. Sam kept his eyes down, looking from one book to another. (Y/N) was able to see the stress that was emitted from his brother even better with how close he was sitting. He took one look at the books before he shook his head.

“I’m sorry Dad’s making you do this.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You shouldn’t be doing this alone the first time…” he trailed. “But if Dad found out I helped you-”

“You’d get in trouble, and so would I. Yeah, I know.”

(Y/N) pursed his lips. “You know, it took me a little over a year to get comfortable with translating Latin. I sometimes screw up from time to time.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, still,” he chuckled. “That’s why I got something that helps me out now and again.”

With that, (Y/N) stood from his spot on the chair and waltzed over to the bed in the far corner of the room. Beside the bed sat his black duffel bag. He picked it up and placed it on the bed. He began to rummage through it, sorting through clothes and weapons that rested at the bottom. Wedged into the corner of his bag sat a book. He picked it up and brought it over to the table. He took a seat next to Sam once more and placed the book in front of him.

Sam furrowed his brows as he studied the cover. It was a Latin-English translation book. It looked rather similar to the one that he had picked up at the library. The only difference was the color of the cover was a little faded and, along the outside of the book, between all of the pages, were multi-colored Post-it notes. Each Post-it note had different letter combinations on it, as well as notes written on some of them. Sam opened the cover and he raised his brows when he saw that the first page was replaced by a notebook-sized piece of paper, taped to the front page. There were multiple words in English on the left side with their corresponding Latin translation on the right.

“What’s this?” Sam asked.

“It’s a translation book I picked up a couple of years back at a bookstore. I figured since there were going to be a lot of things that needed translating, then I was going to have to make it easier for myself to find the words. The only problem is that most of these translation books are so damn compressed that it’s hard to find certain words without getting blurry vision. So, I took the liberty to mark down all of the times when the letters change in the words. For example, when the words that start with ‘AB’ transfer to words that start with ‘AC’. It always made it easier to find. Plus, I made a page at the beginning about common words that I have found in my research so that it would be easier to translate them.”

As (Y/N) explained, he gestured with his hand toward the book. Sam listened intently, taking in all of the information that he was given, nodding his head. Once (Y/N) was done talking, Sam looked down at the book and then back up at him.

“You did all this?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Crazy, right?”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. Wish you put that much effort into your homework when you were still in school.”

“Hey,” (Y/N) leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “School was fine and all, but this is something I enjoy, and I’m good at it. I’m good at hunting research and you’re good in school.”

“And what’s Dean good at?”

“Being a pain in the ass.”

Sam smiled widely, his dimples more prominent than (Y/N) had seen in a while. After a beat or two of silence, the smile faded as he looked down.

“I wish Dad could see that I’m good at school.”

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth curved downward. It was his turn to look down at the table. He reached over and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder comfortingly. “I know, kiddo,” he mumbled. “But Dean and I both see how much of a nerd you are. Don’t worry.”

A smile returned to Sam’s face, but it wasn’t as happy as the last one. They sat in silence for a little bit before (Y/N) lowered his hand and Sam moved back to the books.

“You got it from here?” (Y/N) questioned.

“Yeah, I got it,”

“Great,” (Y/N) said as he stood from his seat and patted Sam on the back. “Call me over if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to call you over when I get to the part about multiplying fractions.”

(Y/N) glared at Sam and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“No, no I’m not.”

Sammy still teases me to this day about not knowing how to multiply fractions. Even though it was decades ago at this point, he still likes to tease me about it. Little shit.

With my help, Sammy was able to get the translations done a lot faster than he expected. I remember seeing the relief on his face when he had finished. Poor kid was so exhausted. Dad was more than pleased when he called and asked about it. Dad never found out that I had helped him out a bit, and neither Sammy nor I were planning on telling him. I just wanted Sammy to have an easier time than I did when I was first learning about research, specifically translations.

In the end, I would have to say that Sammy is better than me when it comes to research. He’s taken the reigns on many different hunts because of how proficient he is with technology. I’m good with old-fashioned ways of research, but Sammy’s the nerd when it comes to computers.

Sammy has told me once or twice, though, that I was the one that helped him the most when it came to his knowledge of research. That, without my help, he wouldn’t have been as good at it as he is now.

I call bullshit. Sammy has always been a smart kid.

He could do anything he put his mind to.

SEPTEMBER 2014

This is all I can write at the moment. Dean called me to the kitchen a couple of minutes ago saying that dinner was ready. I need to wrap this up before he or Sammy comes in here and sees what I’m doing. I know that I would get endlessly teased about keeping a ‘diary’. I need to make sure to hide this in a good enough place where neither of them will find it if they go snooping through my room.

Sam, Dean, if you guys are reading this, I’ll get you back.

But if you’re going to read it, I just want to let you know that I love you guys.

Not that I’m into chick-flick moments or anything.

I’m just glad that I have you guys as my brothers. No one could ask for a better family than you two.

Okay, that was cheesy. I wish I wasn’t writing this in pen so I could erase it.

Dammit.

I’m not too sure how to end this, so I guess I’ll just write again sometime when I can. Perhaps I could do like Dad did in his journal and write about all of the new monsters we have discovered over the years. Or maybe write more memories down. This journal is going to be so cluttered that no one is going to want to read it. There’s no way I’m going to get famous from this.

Dean just called me to the kitchen again.

Until next time.

Happy hunting. (That was stupid, think of something better).

WE LOVE YOU TOO - SAM + DEAN

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 1 year ago

Text

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜰᴇʟʟᴏᴡ, ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴ'

Summary: When trouble in paradise ruins your otherwise perfect life, you find yourself fleeing in a rented car and heading off into the sunset. Stopping for a quick bite to eat along your journey in a dusty roadside diner, trouble finds you there too. And things quickly take a turn for the worse.

Notes: Around 11.4k words. This is a prequal to my first fic, Stripped Bare, but you don't have to read it for this one to make sense. Caleb remains turned and everyone lives AU.

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, death, blood. Severen is NOT nice in this. He sees the reader as prey and treats her as such until right up at the end. He gets a little nicer. The reader does not like Severen in this, apart from mild flirting in the beginning, but all those feelings quickly go out the window due to regular Hooker clan antics. The reader goes through it in this. Violence such as biting at and aggressive hair pulling is committed against her, so please don't read if that is triggering to you.

Part II

You should have known it would have turned out this way. It was doomed from the start, feigned interest and superficial attraction embellished underneath plastic "I love you's" and planned kisses. What hurts you the most is how blind you were to it all. Force fed lies by everyone in your life, Sam, his father, your friends- hell even your own parents had told you that you were just making assumptions. Being paranoid.

That all of the late work nights, the impromptu business meetings, the abrupt hushed phone calls throughout the day. They were perfectly normal things. Nothing to be concerned about. "It's just business, muffin. " Your father had told you once, reading the morning paper while sipping coffee from a ceramic mug. " He has to make money for all those pretty dresses you wear somehow."

God, you had been so stupid. You had let everyone blindfold you and muffle your ears because you were too afraid of the truth. Too scared to accept the fact that the man you have loved since you were nineteen had turned his back on you. He spat on your three-year long relationship like it was nothing. All for his secretary . . . And that cute blonde maid at his father's country club.

You can't help glancing away from the cracked backroad to sneer at your left hand that clutches the steering wheel in a death grip. Your ring finger is now startlingly bare, no longer shackled by the thick band of yellow gold and the obnoxiously large sapphire diamond - a horrid caricature of princess Diana's engagement ring. Lack of originality is what it was. And to think you had been so overjoyed when he had gotten down on one knee and proposed. But you do still feel some satisfaction to know that the ring is gone. Sold off in some greasy pawn shop off the street corner back in Scottsdale. About 90 miles behind you. You technically didn't need the money. You had your own little stash of savings despite Sam's insistence that you didn't need to worry about such things. That he'd provide for you. Yeah, right. Initially you had been tempted to flush it down the toilet. The less petty side of you had even contemplated simply leaving it on the table next to his side of the bed. But then you had a thought- why give up all of that free money? It is technically your ring. It was bought with you in mind, right? You could at least get something out of it.

And so that afternoon, you had found yourself standing behind the glass case of a pawn shop. Scanning the numerous arrays of items from the safety of the display case. Everything from antique pistols to frosted bracelets, passing the time while the man on the other side of the counter examined the ring you had proudly worn only a few hours ago, squinting at it through a loupe magnifying glass, delicately turning it this way and that.

"I'll give you five thousand for it," he suddenly speaks, pulling your attention away from a velvet tray showcasing old war medals. You can't even contain the scoff that leaves you, all decorum and self-restrain completely ran thin after the night before. "That's nearly a twenty-thousand-dollar ring." You counter, eyebrows pinching with poorly disguised frustration.

He chuckles with a loose shrug that telegraphs his opinion better than his words ever could. Not my problem, it had said. His stained dentures peeking out from behind his lips when he goes to bite in a horridly dry looking donut, flakes of the glaze chipping and falling onto his button up.

"That's my price. Take it or leave it."

As previously stated, you didn't technically need the money. You had your cheque book, but not all places took cheques. You had your bank card, but a lot of places outside of big, wealthy cities still didn't have the machines to even use them. You needed the cash. And despite the fact that the man is woefully skimming you on the price, five thousand is still five thousand.

So, with a great amount of swallowed pride and defeat you managed to grit out a stiff: "Fine. I'll take it."

And now you're driving down a desolate road, seated inside a rented Ford Escort, with long stretches of the vast desert on either side of you. It's a boxy little car that Sam would have absolutely turned his nose up at. Good. Both of the front windows are completely down, letting the warm summer air tunnel inside the cabin of the car and tussle your hair around. The radio is on full blast, with a random rock music blaring out the vehicle's speakers without care. You tried to find a steady station earlier but had quickly given up whenever the music would dip down low and speckle out into static every time you drove through a patch of slopping hills. It was gorgeous, you have to admit. The way the landscape shifted from soft creams and rich rusted oranges and browns, with saguaro cactuses looming across the expanse of the dry desert floor like tall watching figures.

But what struck you the most was sunsets. The ones you got back in New York were often dull. Muted by layers of pollution and the glow of the city lights, blocked by the sheer scale of the skyscrapers that blocked out the sun. It couldn't compare to the sheer vibrancy that painted the sky out here.

With the sun dipping low, just barely peeking over the horizon, splashing shocking shades of pink and gold across the faint blue. It was also a painful reminder that this was all temporary. That eventually your little joy ride would have to come to an end. You would have to return to New York and face reality. Listen to the barrage of questions and accusations that would no doubt be thrown your way like stones and rotten tomatoes. You couldn't wait for the disapproving glare your mother would give you. The disbelief and disappointment. The excuses from Sam and the arrogant satisfaction that would waft from his parents. They never liked you anyway. Luckily, you still had your own apartment. Thank God that past you had the foresight to keep it and drag your feet on it giving up. That at least means that you won't have to stay with your parents or burden one of your friends by laying up in their place. You're not sure if you could stomach that honestly.

Up ahead you notice a glint of a red light shining in the growing dark from a muted outline. It takes a few more minutes for the building to take shape, but you're quick to recognize it as a quaint little diner. The first thing you notice when you pull into the gravel parking lot is that the roof is in shambles, the old tiles cockeyed and skewed looking like they might take off in a good storm, and a red neon 'open' sign flickers unsteadily from behind a window - the only thing that would let you know that the building isn't abandoned, if not for the couple of cars scattered about out front. And there's a random statue of a horse standing next the dusty glass entrance. It looks like someone tried to paint it brown some time ago, but the paint has begun to chip from years of enduring open weather, exposing the grey base underneath.

It's . . . cute . . . in a rustic sort of way. But you could hardly care about the aesthetic. Your legs could use a stretch and you honestly haven't eaten much today apart from a hastily grabbed bag of potato chips the last time you were at a gas station. And you should have a decent amount of distance put between you and your fiancé - ex fiancé.

The bell above the door chimes when you enter, announcing your arrival. But the first thing you notice is how empty it is. Not that you were expecting it to be packed full and brimming. The lighting is a tired gray tone, which does nothing to combat the cool tones of the white walls and you can hear the light fixtures buzzing with electricity, almost competing with a low energy country song playing in the background. You don't notice any staff, but you do spot an older couple - the only customers apart from yourself - sitting at the first booth to your right, the pair leaning conspiratorially over a collection of post cards spread over the tabletop. Old love birds probably here to see the Grand Canyon and Tombstone. You wonder how long they've been together. How they've managed to find love in someone over all the years. "What do you think about this one, Curtis?" She's asking, tapping a glazed card with a manicured nail. "Do you think he'll like this one?"

You turn away from the private exchange to perch yourself at the L shaped counter, sitting on the tearing and stiff vinyl of the stool cushion and notice a sheet of pale paper sticking out against the faint yellow of the counter. The bold letters atop proudly declare that it's the menu that you notice as the standard font from a computer and the page is laminated with thick strips of packing tape. The low effort does have you wondering if you might be risking the chance of food poisoning, but with the combination of a shitty few days and a rumbling stomach, you can hardly find the energy to care.

Suddenly there's an exchange of yelling coming out from past the serving window that peers into the kitchen, making you pause in your examination of the menu. You can hardly make out the words thrown back and forth, but the tones are heated. It sounds like a man and a woman, and the latter is confirmed when a frazzled woman comes barreling out of the kitchen, leaving the swinging door to slam up against the bar, rattling the glass cake displays and napkin dispensers. And based on the name tag - Rachel it read - she seems to be the waitress. The man's voice must belong to the cook . . . or maybe the owner then. She looks mortified when she sees you, face flushing pink and you do your best to reassure her with a soft smile.

" I'm so sorry you had to hear that, " she tries to laugh but it's strained and short and not at all convincing.

"It's alright, " you replied with a light shrug. "I could hardly make out what was said. And I think the pair behind me are too engrossed in their post cards to notice."

That seems to settle her a bit, shoulders relaxing. Her eyes notice the menu in your hands, and she nods her chin. " You see anything on there you'd like?"

You glance back down on the back, going back down the quaint list available with a hum. "Just a cheeseburger with cheddar and a side of fries is fine. And a coke. "

She's quick to give you your drink before she leaves with your order, slipping back into the kitchen to deliver it personally. And you can't help but feel bad for sending her back into the hypothetical lion's den. You take a moment to breath and really focus on events of today. How you wound up in a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere after spending the first few days of your vacation alongside the country clubs pool in a sleek hot pink two-piece bikini, drinking mixed drinks and enjoying the sun while Sam spent his time playing golf with his father and new colleagues.

And that's how you found him. After days of trying to get him to go out, to go on a date like a normal couple, and him deflecting, saying that he was busy with his father's business friends, you found him balls deep in the young housekeeper that you had seen pushing a maid cart down one of the halls a few days before. She was moaning in that exaggerated way that porn stars do.

For a moment you all you did was stand there. You didn't know how to react, water soaking the carpet from your damp feet, still wet from your recent swim in the pool. And there was a nasty voice in your head telling you that it was your fault. That it was all of your paranoia and insecurities that had drew him away from you. That it had probably made you distant and cold and you were too caught up in your own fears to see the strain you had put on him and your relationship.

But it wasn't your fault. You weren't crazy. You were right the entire time. All of those little glances that his assistant used to send him, the looks that would linger a bit too long. Like the time that you had showed up to his office to surprise him. You had known how stressed he was at his job, the workload pilling up with no end in sight and so you figured you'd pop in and see him. It was after hours but the guard knew you and let you in regardless. And when you were rounding around the corner of cubicles the door of his office had swung open and she had walked out, tugging at the edge of her skirt to smooth it out. And when she had saw you, her body visibly stiffening while she blurted out a quick hello, quickly followed by a hasty excuse for her rushed leaving. Something about being late for something.

When you had entered Sam's office, he looked put together enough, except the first few buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie was on his desk. It was the first red flag that you had avoided, slipping on your rose-tinted glasses. And the worried phone calls to your mother did nothing but convince you that you were trying to make something out of nothing. "You're just nervous about the wedding, " she had said, " Sam is the best thing that's happened to you. Don't go and ruin this opportunity over some cold feet."

And then there you were last night. Him and the maid. She had screamed when she noticed you standing there, nearly kicking him with her foot and sending him off the bed. She was up faster than you could blink, snatching up her clothes and taking a linen sheet with her as makeshift cover, rambling apologies under her breath, saying that she didn't know as she slipped out of the room leaving you to numbly stand and stare at your naked fiancé.

He had tried everything to get you to stay. A pathetic amount of 'I'm sorry's" streaming out of him. Claiming that it wasn't you it was him, it was stress from work, that he didn't mean to, that he'd never do it again. You had spent the night in a separate room, and you were gone in the morning without as so much as a note.

The bell above the door chimes, too cheerful for its gritty environment, and you boredly look over your shoulder to see what other wayward soul has stumbled in. It's definitely an interesting band of characters to say the least, a family you'd assume. With a platinum haired woman ushering a young boy in by the shoulders who looks less than enthused about being guided to a booth on the left side of the diner, openly grumbling under his breath. They're closely followed by a lithe, stoic looking man who looked about as friendly as the mean dog that your old neighbors had chained out in front of their house. The one who would lunge at the fence and snarl whenever you'd walk past to get to the bus stop. The glare he had cast across the room felt like the blade of a cold knife running across your skin. And there was a young couple behind him, the young man's arm curled around the girl's shoulders while she tried to lean into him as they walked, whispering secretly to each other like they were the only people in left in the world.

Young love. They'd be at each other's throats soon enough. Or maybe you're just bitter.

And despite the clear dynamic between the group, the sense of family that comes from them you can't help but feel like you're looking at something odd. There's a faint chill that runs down your spine like some quiet subconscious part of you is trying to get you attention. You feel a bit of guilt gnaw at you. You had no right thinking about a random group of strangers like that.

And you nearly look away but then a hand is catching ahold of the door before it can swing closed and someone else is stepping inside with the sound of jingling accompanying each step. It takes you a second to notice the spurs strapped to the heels of his scuffed cowboy boots. Your eyes continue to trail upwards, past the glinting silver of his belt buckles - two belts? - and up the expanse of his torso, taking in the black leather jacket, decorated with badges and medals and other little embellishments like the tiny metal longhorn heads that decorate the edges of the coats collar. There's a beaded necklace around his throat in a pattern of yellow, red, yellow, and black. And it reminds you of that little rhyme you heard a long time ago about how to tell if a snake is venomous or not.

Red and black, safe for Jack. Red touching yellow, kill a fellow.

You can't help but wonder if it applies to him as well. Then you get up to his face where an all too wide grin sits. Like a jack o' lantern, you muse. But despite the unsettling quality to his smile, you can't deny that he's an attractive man in a rough and wild sort of way. He looked like someone you'd see mentioned in a Rolling Stone publication or in a messy pop culture magazine discussing rockstars.

" Looks like we struck gold again!" He hoots sarcastically, either completely unaware of the volume of his voice or simply not caring and you take note of the southern drawl that honeys his words. His eyes scan over the room, trailing over the older couple in the corner who have since looked up from their cards to squint at the man causing all the noise. He winks at them in a cheeky sort of way, completely shameless. "It's gonna be slim pickins' tonight!"

Before you have time to evaluate that little remark, the waitress is pushing the kitchen door open, carrying a plate holding a burger and fries in one hand. It's either the sudden sound or the weight of your stare that has the stranger looking over in your direction and the hold of his eyes on you seems to siphon the air from your lungs. Blue, the thought rings across your mind, they're a stormy sort of blue.

You turn away from him, like a scolded child who got caught doing something that they shouldn't have and focus down on your plate, the hollow pit of your stomach reminding you why you're even here. To eat, not to ogle at strange men. No matter how handsome they may be.

"Well, they sure are a colorful little group, aren't they," Rachel whispered in an amused sort of way, watching as the family piles into the booth. With the mother, her son and the father filling up one side and the couple on the other. The cowboy straggles behind, instead opting to stay outside the table, leaning over it and propping himself up on both hands while the group discusses something amongst themselves. But you see a bit of unease flit across her face, and it gives you some pause. Surely, they couldn't be that much different from the other types of people that frequent this place. It makes you wonder if she felt what you had. The feeling that came with crossing paths with something dangerous. Like walking into the grocery store and seeing a bear ransacking the shelves.

"I'm sure they aren't as bad as they look, " you encourage before biting into a fry. And she nods along like she's trying to amp herself up. " A customer's a customer. " She replies in a worn but robotic drone, like the words have been drilled into her head. Probably by management. And then she's dipping out from behind the counter leaving you to enjoy your meal by yourself. You nearly moan at the first bite of your burger. It's nothing show stopping. But it's good. Good enough to quell the empty rumbling in your gut with a couple of bites.

"What's a sweet thing like you doin' in a shithole like this?" That sugary voice breaks out across the quiet. And it takes a moment for you to realize that the question is even addressed to you. And you're twisting around on the stool with a mouthful of food bulging from your cheeks while your mothers voice scolds you from the recesses of you mind for having such bad manners. You come face to with a chest covered in a worn white wife beater that's definitely seen better days and you're swallowing the bite of food as your gaze continues upwards until it locks with a set of piercing baby blues.

The rockstar.

"I was hungry," you respond bluntly. Cut and dry. You figured that would have been enough to give him the hint that you weren't in the mood for idle chit chat or mindless flirting, but he doesn't remove himself from the way that he leans against the countertop, suspending his weight on a single elbow and cocking a hip. "Well, shit darlin' I've ate better slop from the inside of a jail cell," he chuckles at his own joke, and you honestly can't tell if the comment was a joke or not. Firstly, the food isn't even that bad. A bit greasy but not bad. Worse case you'd probably get a stomachache, which is pretty small in terms of how awful your past few days have been.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to flirt with me?" you ask, huffing incredulously. "Because, if you are, most guys like to leave out the fact that they've been arrested. "

He doesn't take offence to it like you'd expect, but instead little hiccups of laughter bubble up from his chest like it's the funniest thing he's heard in a while. " Oh, those? Just a coupla thievin' charges." He admitted airily, like he was talking about something casual. Like work or he was commenting on the weather. "Plus, that was years ago. " And he's waving a hand in the air, gesturing like it isn't important, and all you can do is watch him, smiling from disbelief - not amusement - while you rove over his features like they might be the answer to the oddness of the entire situation.

"What is your plan exactly? " You ask, sipping from the straw of your coke without looking away from him. "I mean, you're here with who I assume is your family. Probably on vacation. So, what was the goal? That you were going to sweep me off my feet and we'd grind one out in the bathroom?" You shake your head. At one time you would have had more tact. You would have chosen your words carefully and danced around the topic. But not tonight. You look away to read the clock that hangs above the serving window, silently reading the minute and hour hand. 8:13 it told you. You should probably get a move on in a bit and find lodgings for the night. Hopefully the next town over won't be too far over, but everything is so spread out on the west coast, less compact and huddled than the east." Classy." You remark without any sense to cover your scorn.

"Shit, girl what kinda John's are you used to? I was just tryin' to make a bit o' conversation," he laughs, combing a hand through his hair as he turns just a notch to look over at his family and Rachel is standing in front of their table, no doubt trying to get their order, but she looks tense and rattled. But then again. you've practically known her for five minutes and that seems to be her default state. "I ain't that bad, am I?"

The group doesn't answer verbally instead chortling at the question like a pack of coyotes yipping at the joy of a successful hunt and it gives you the feeling that he might be worse.

"You're about as welcomin' as shit on someone's doorstep, " the kid sneers, and you can't help but gawk at the language that comes out of his mouth and how openly he insults an adult and assumed relative. But what is even more surprising is the way that his mother doesn't make a move to scold him. Instead, it's the cowboy that speaks out, leaning forward like he might leap across the distance that separates them and throttle the kid, hissing out a strained " shut up, Homer before I tan yer hide," between his teeth and then he's turning his attention back to you, the irritated scowl that he wore was now gone in a flash, like a switch had been flipped he was smiling like the exchange hadn't happened. "Aw, shit darlin' - I've seemed to've left my manners at the door. The name's Severen," and he's extending his hand for you take. "Do I get a name to go with a pretty face?"

You let go of the hold you have around your plastic soda glass to accept his hand, exchanging a firm shake. You really don't know why you're even entertaining this random stranger. Severen. An odd name if you've ever heard one. It defiantly fits the leather cowboy rockstar aesthetic he has going on. Sure, he seems a little shady, but he has a sort of magnetic charm that keeps you from tossing a few bills on the counter and leaving the diner all together. It also helps that he seems to be a complete one-eighty of Sam, who was all forced politeness and feigned confidence. His words always seemed a bit too rehearsed, like he was a part of a scripted play and was forced to do improve on the spot. He was always trying to sell something, even outside of the office. Whatever dominate personality was in the room he'd mold himself to imitate it like a chameleon. An old business trick he had told you. And maybe it was. It had certainly worked on you. The empty promises, the constant stream of expensive gifts, the vacations to private islands and resorts. They were all just pretty distractions to keep you blind to his awful personality.

But this random stranger carries himself like time operates on his whim. Like he could tell the world to stop, and it'd quit breathing entirely until he gave it the okay. He was the kind of man that your mother warned you not to go near. The type you'd see hanging outside of seedy bars on the nights that you and your friends would sneak out of your homes to go wander around town, sipping from gas station slushies and gossiping near the old train tracks. And your mother was right to warn you all those years ago. Guys like him can be dangerous. Maybe it's all your bent out emotions getting the better of you, but you kind of like it.

And truthfully, it feels a little validating to have a guy - especially one as attractive as he is to approach you and strike up a conversation. After Sam's betrayal and the menagerie of twisted and self-depreciating emotions that came with it, it feels good to know that you're still wanted. Even if the attention is coming from a random man in a lonely roadside diner that ultimately won't go anywhere. You've never been the type to entertain men. Granted it's mostly due to the fact that you and Sam had officially put a label on your relationship when you were twenty-one, so your experience with flirting and one-night stands are quite limited. But this wasn't something that was going to go anywhere. It was simply something to pass the time before you set off and head back out on the road. Two strangers sharing a conversating before going on with their lives. It was harmless. So, you tell him your name and he parrots it back like he's trying to memorize it and it shocks you how much you like the sound of it dressed under his voice, sweetened under his southern drawl. It's Texan you think.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady."

"You lay it on thick, don't you?"

"Well, I've never been one to skim it when it comes to the truth. " He flashes that charming grin again, and you glance down at the fries and shuffle them around the plate to distract yourself from it. You hate the heated flutter that fills your stomach at the sight of it. "So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" You shoot back at him, not word for word but you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes that it amuses him, nonetheless.

"About what you said, family vacation. Sightseeing and all that. " You nod along with him, thumbing at the straw of your drink while you meet the dark blue of his eyes. The conversation fizzles out. But not in an awkward or uncomfortable manner. It feels completely natural; the silence that falls over you both. And you just barely register the outside noise. The soft, idle chatter of the elderly couple, the hum of the old lights, the dull drone an energetic rock song, but then a sharp abrupt sound is breaking the spell that fell over you. The sound of someone clearing their throat. Not in the way you might do to dislodge something from your throat but in a way that demands attention and both you and Severen are looking back over to the booth where his family sits. It's the older man who fixes Severen with a stare. Firm and a little chastising. There's another quality to it that you can't make out and it has a cold shiver trickling down your spine. Severen doesn't verbally respond, but the exasperated look he gives the man seems to carry words of its own, the two of them seemingly having an entire conversation with only two heavy stares. It makes you feel awfully singled out. The shift from the flirty banter and light energy to a looming, heavy air happens so quickly that your brain is still struggling to comprehend it. It's like you've been foolishly stumbling about and have suddenly walked into a room that you shouldn't have, and then there's a cold nagging feeling that you need to get up from the stool and leave the building. But you don't.

"We gotta get a move on now, Severen." His voice is resolute and fixed, holding no room for argument and despite the fact that his attention hasn't shifted from the man standing next to you, you feel just as affected by the piercing tone. You just so happen to glance down on the table, noticing the lack of drinks or appetizers on the counter and for some reason it flares up a little red flag in your brain.

Severen sighs in an exaggerated way, like a kid who's been told they couldn't have something and then his attention returns to you, but it feels too stifling. The playful warmth that was once lighting up the blue is now gone. His eyes are sharp and burning with laser focus and you feel like a rabbit caught between a lethal maw. "Sorry to cut our time short darlin,' " he purrs out from an almost manic grin. " You've been a real treat."

It's all a blur then, cuts of color and streaks of light, and you think that you can hear someone screaming, shrill and pained, but that can't be right, right? There's a white expanse above you, stained with water marks and muted from years of being exposed to cigarette smoke. It's all sluggish, like trying to focus when you're several drinks deep and seeing double, but there's a searing, overwhelming sting slicing throughout the column of your neck, and it grounds you somewhat. Enough to blink back the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Enough for you to realize that you're staring at the ceiling and that there's a rough, white knuckled grip threaded through your hair keeping your head tilted at an excruciating degree. And then you can feel a body pressed against yours, an arm cinched across your waist to hold you close.

You can feel a damp heat pouring down your throat and underneath your shirt. Every bit helps you focus. But it's the throbbing ache that takes ahold of your mind and jostles the fog free, lifting the curtain to expose you to all the pain. The sting, the white-hot scorching burn of teeth embedded in the flesh of your neck. There's a tongue laving at the skin held between his jaw, working blood into his mouth. Blood. Your blood. He's biting you. He's fucking biting you!

A freezing cold grips your heart. A terrified fluttering thing that seizes your limbs and keeps you frozen in place while your brain short-circuits between the conflicting commands of either fighting or remaining still in fear. In the midst of your panic some tiny shred of self-preservation takes ahold of you, and you reach into your front jean pocket with a shaking hand while the man continues to gulp at the red that flows from you, moaning around your neck. Your fingers quiver unsteadily, from the fear, the overflow of adrenaline, the blood loss that starts to mist the corners of your vision. But you continue your blind search until your fingertips curl around the set of keys in your pocket. Ignoring the other horrified cries that echo around the diner, the sharp clatter of glass breaking on the tiles, the squeal of someone's shoes slipping across the floor in a wild struggle you secure your grip on the keys and pull them from your pocket as quickly as possible without having them slip from your unsteady hold.

Your sight blurs just a bit. From the tears or the blood loss you aren't sure and the rock song, despite the low volume being projected over the speakers is suddenly too load, drumming in your ears along with the erratic pulse of your heart and the gulping of the man latched to your neck. And your sluggish brain is suddenly grappling with the fact that you might die here.

It's enough to still your shaky resolve, thumbing the key to direct the point of it forward like knife. It's small, the edge quite dull. You'd have to drive it in deep for it to do any damage. It won't kill him, but hopefully it will be enough to get him to let you go.

You draw in a frail gasp, pulling a weak draw of air into your lungs to try and give yourself more focus around the panic that's currently fraying your nerves. Securing your grip around your sweaty palm you don't give yourself time to think, to second guess yourself that it may not work. You're drawing your arm back and striking forward, hoping that you manage to hit something of importance in your visionless jab. You're right in your aim, and the tiny strip of steel is burrowing deep into his side, wiggling your wrist to work it in deeper.

There's a brief feeling of elation, of righteous satisfaction that courses through you when he jerks away from the crook of your neck with a startled yelp that tells you he's more surprised than injured. He practically pushes you away from himself, spitting out insults and curses. The shove sends you falling, your body too weak in your current state to keep you upright, lethargic and drained, and you land on your knees and the heels of your palms. The deep ache you feel from the impact is quickly shoved to the side, while you clumsily scramble back upright, shoes slipping in a puddle of a deep scarlet that you distantly register as blood.

You try not to look, to take in the carnage that taints the room. You try not to notice the young couple who now sit at the bar, sitting side by side while they both drink from Rachel's body like they're sharing a milkshake with their faces smeared red. You try not to see the elderly woman slumped at her booth with her neck sliced open cleanly; blood splattered across the little postcards that she had just been excitedly prattling about sending off to family or friends. And there's a blood trail dragging across the tiles and at the end of it is her husband. And the kid - Jesus even the kid is in on it, curled over her dead husband's body, latched onto his throat.

The sound of Severen's angry cursing has all of their attention snapping over to you, and you feel like a wounded rabbit surrounded by a pack of rabid coyotes.

Everything falls to a standstill like you're all collectively holding your breath, waiting to see who will make the next move. And it's you who does, bolting towards the exit, and you can hear them all collectively move after you, but you don't look back, not even when you hear someone shout out: "God dammit! Someone grab er!"

You're barreling out past the door, and Severen's swearing has melted into a deranged string of laughter, and it follows you on your way out like a taunt, still ringing in your ears while you're crossing the stretch of the parking lot, running faster than you've ever ran in your life. Like you've got the hounds of hell at your heels. Your shoes slip in the gravel, still slick from the blood that had coated the tiled floor and it feels like you're running in a dream, no matter how much distance you cross you're still in place, every foot between you and your car expanding out into a mile, and you think that you might not make it. You feel the tips of someone's fingers brush against the nape of your neck, but you don't even know if it's real or if your brain is just playing tricks on you. You almost miss the handle of the vehicle when you skid to a halt, key already at the ready to slip into the lock, but it's slick with blood and your grip is lose, and you're praying to someone out there, some higher power, or even the universe to not let it slip.

And you can hear the sound of rushed footsteps running up on you and it has another pump of adrenalin shooting into your already overloaded body, and it feels like its frying you alive. And one of them is shouting, a light feminine voice chanting "get her! You have to get her!" with a great deal of panic. You don't let yourself look back up to the diner, no matter how much you want gage the distance between you and them. You can't stomach the thought of glancing up and seeing one of them standing directly in front of you, dripping with blood and gore and so you force yourself to focus on working the key into the slot and twisting the lock open, and you nearly sob with relief when you swing the door open and slip inside the car.

You're peeling out of the parking lot before you can even fully register it, fumbling to slam the driver side door closed, tires spinning in the dirt and gravel while you wildly careen out of the lot and onto the road in an unsteady swerve. And there's an unsettled laughter bubbling from your chest, rupturing from it like a geyser in an uncontrollable fit even though all you really want to do is scream and cry instead, and the music blaring from the radio does little to dampen your current hysteria, but you can't be bothered to reach for the dial and turn it down. Trying your best to breathe so that you can place your attention on maintaining your grip on the steering wheel and getting the hell away from here as quickly as possible. You glance back in the rear-view mirror despite every cell in your body telling not to. You don't want to see them. But you do. Standing out in front of the diner as still as ghosts, faded into dimensionless dark figures from the red neon of the building projecting from behind them in a hellish glow, growing smaller and smaller until they fade into nothing, and the lights are but a tiny pinprick in the distance.

It takes you a moment to register that you're heading back in the direction of Scottsdale, which is now an uncomfortable distance away and now you're cursing the broad expanse of the desert. How everything out here stretches out for lonely, horrid distances. Mile's gapping between towns and houses. But you should have more than enough fuel to get to the gas station that you had stopped at about an hour or so into your journey. You should be okay. You just have to make it there and hopefully they'll have a landline phone that works, and you can call the cops. But what if they don't? A despairing voice laments somewhere in your mind, what if they aren't even open? You have to force the thought away to keep yourself from spiraling. You glance back into the rear-view mirror expecting to see headlights of a car speeding towards you, but it's nothing but a vast empty darkness. They aren't coming after you.

But their lack of chase does little to quell the fear and cold dread nestling inside your body, if anything it fuels the panic. It's suspicious, the way they just gave up once you got to your car. Surely, they had done this before, if the way that they had all walked in the diner with ease and promptly dispatched of all the patrons and employees with a horrifying air of calm was any indication. They did it like it was routine. Like it was normal. And perhaps it was. Maybe this was a normal thing for them, slaughtering the poor souls who cross their paths in obscene acts of violence. But this wasn't even the typical serial killer stuff you often hear about. Kidnappings and stabbings. They were drinking their blood. He was drinking your blood. It reminds you of all the times that your mother used to go off on worried tangents about all the supposed satanic cults that are apparently spreading throughout the country, poisoning the children through rock music and D & D of all things. "I heard it on the news," she had said with a vehemence that you didn't have the energy to challenge anymore. You had never put much stock into it all. The obvious fear mongering that daily new papers and overzealous preachers on the FM radio pumped out in a constant drivel. It had always sounded like bullshit to you, but now that you're speeding down the highway with a massive gash in the side of your neck, shaped by a set of teeth, you're starting to think that maybe there is a shred of possibility to it. You can't help but brokenly giggle at the prospect of it, the insanity of it all. Attacked by a psychotic blood cult. You sound crazy. This entire situation is crazy.

You reach up to touch the wound on the side of your neck, initially flinching at the tender sting. You should probably try to find something to clean it up with, one of your old bottles of water is probably lying around on the floor, tucked underneath some seat, but you can't stomach the thought of pulling over and parking the car long enough to find it. You don't have anything to dress the wound with but luckily it seems as though the bleeding has stopped despite the skin around it still being damp with recent blood. You pinpoint the inflamed edges of the bite with your fingertips, lightly brushing down the expanse of it so not to irritate it any further. It starts just a few inches beneath your ear and stops just short of meeting your shoulder. That's odd. It feels a whole lot thinner than you would expect and less gnarled. Especially considering that it was a grown man that took a bite out of you. It has you flipping the sun visor down and angling it down to properly investigate the damage in between careful glances at the road.

It's difficult to make out from underneath the grimy red coating your neck, but you can see the torn strips of flesh glinting underneath the dim glow casted by the rectangular lights bordering each side of the visor mirror. Two narrow gashes that are nowhere near the size you had expected. The wound is strangely small, the angry indents left by his teeth are thin like they're a few days into the healing process and not just a few minutes old. It must have been the adrenaline making it seem worse than it was. But then again, this entire night feels like it isn't real. Like it's a dream -a nightmare that you'd wake up from at any moment.

Images of the diner flash across your mind, the gore and violence. Rachel's lifeless eyes staring at you, jarringly blank and empty like a broken doll while the young couple fed from her wrist and neck. The red smearing the pale floor, the screaming and banging of pots and pans from the kitchen that had told you that one of them had gotten ahold of the cook somewhere in the back. And it sounded like he was trying to fight them off. And you had left him. You had left him behind without a second thought. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had been so desperate to get out and save your own skin that you didn't even think about anyone else or the chance that they might be alive before you ran out. But what were you supposed to? If you had stayed behind even a second longer, he would have killed you. You would have been dead-

A short metallic scrape sounds from the roof of your car. Sudden and jarring and abrupt enough for you to jump in your seat and nearly jerk the steering wheel from your shaky grip. A rattled breath leaves you while you glance up at the cloth ceiling like it'll help identify the cause of the sound, and you all you can do is hope that it's something like the wind even though the idea of it sounds completely stupid. But you can't let yourself think of the other possibilities right now. Not when you're still two seconds away from a panic attack while behind the wheel and doing 85 mph down the road. You should probably slow down some now that you've placed some distance between you and them, but you can't seem to move your foot from the gas pedal no matter how much common sense is telling you to.

And then you hear it again. That harsh cutting noise is slashing through the air over the droning of the engine and Joan Jett's blaring vocals. Definitely not the wind. And there's a dull shuffling that follows after it, heavy and scuffed, almost like -

A large bang erupts from above like a gun shot and a panicked fleeting looks up reveals that there's a dent in the roof, dipping inwards like someone had punched it, and it douses you like cold water and floods your system with another hefty load of adrenaline. The realization that someone is on top of the car. But before you can do anything, the roof above you is bursting open with a shrill grotesque shriek, splitting as easily as tinfoil and a hand is blindly reaching down, frantically snatching at the open air with bloodied fingers. You can't help the scream that escapes your lungs, tearing your already raw throat from its volume. And your already sluggish brain stalls between the directions of either slamming on the breaks or swerving across the road in the hopes of shaking them off that you don't do anything other than try to remain in control of the vehicle and evade the hand trying to claw its way into your hair, its rings snagging on the strands. Rings. You remember the jewelry that Severen had worn on his right hand, how he had tapped his knuckles on the counter when you were talking. He's the one on your car. That's why they didn't all bother chasing after you, because they already had you. He must have leapt on when you were speeding out of the parking lot, too rattled and busy panicking to notice him climbing up the roof.

While you're busy grappling with the situation his hand successfully snatches at your roots, pulling painfully tight at your scalp. You cry out in pain, trying to keep your eyes on the long stretch of road and keep control of the wheel while you reach up to claw at his wrist with your own nails, but it does nothing to deter him. If anything, he grips your hair harder, and you know that you're going to have to stop. Maybe if you break hard enough, you'll be able to shake him free and you can run him over on while you're on your way out of this shithole. So, you remove your foot from the gas pedal in the hopes of slamming on the brakes, but then he's securing his hold on your scalp and harshly jerking your head back against the head rest. Even though it's a dull pain, it's enough to disorient you and then the tires are squealing with the acrid scent of burnt rubber tainting the air.

From the angle he has your head held at you can't see out of the windshield, but you can catch glimpses of the world rushing past you out of your peripherals. Blurs of the desert floor and dried shrubbery rushing past, and the car is harshly jolting over what must be rocks and dips in the ground.

Admits the chaos you're able to free yourself from his grip just in time to see the barbed wire fence that you're approaching at full speed. But it's far too late to anything, not even the brakes would help to lessen the blow and all you can do is watch as the front of the car hits a heavy wooden fence post, crumpling inwards from the impact. Then it all flashes black under a blaze of searing white hot heat, a steady throb traveling across your skull in steady pulses. You can't help but groan from the pain. You have to force your eyes open and blink away the blurriness that obscures the edges of your vision. You don't know if it's been seconds or hours after the crash, but a quick scan of the pitch-black night around you and the thick stream of smoke that pours from the grill and twists up into the air lets you know that it couldn't have been too long.

Then you hear the shifting of feet above you, shuffling against the roof and every step is like a gunshot going off. Another nail in your coffin. It fills you with pure dread, but you're too weak- your brain too muddled to move. You watch as a pair of cowboy boots drop onto what's left of the hood, jostling the body of the car from the weight of it, the spurs jingling in a way that sounds light and cheery, like a set of mocking giggles.

He's dipping over at the waist so that he can look at you, eyes twinkling with crazed mirth and wearing a bloody grin that's too wide. And then he fucking waves at you. You're still too dazed to get out and run, or cuss him out, or do anything, so you settle for pinning him down with a steady glare, hoping that it conveys all of your boiling hatred while you try and shove down the fear running rampant inside your chest.

Then he's excitedly leaping from the hood and landing on the ground hollering into the air like he just got off a rollercoaster. It's horrifying, the blatant joy that he's exhibiting like the killing and the chase were the ultimate pleasure of life. And while he's celebrating, you're doing your best not vomit. From the head trauma or the sudden empty gnawing in the pit of your stomach you aren't sure. But nausea is swimming in your head and gut and you're blindly fumbling for the door latch. You need to get out, you need to vomit, you need to run. And all the while he's dancing in place, clearly riding some sort of adrenaline rush. "God damn, yer a wild cat!" He's hollering, practically skipping over to the driver side door. You whimper under your breath from the pain and the fear and pathetically try to crawl over the center console to get to the opposing seat, but you can hear the door being jerked open while he chuckles and snatches your ankle.

"Get off of me!" You shout, kicking out in the hopes that it would deter him some. Of course, it doesn't. If anything, it seems to amuse him further, even when one of them lands and you strike him dead center in the chest. It doesn't get so much as a gasp of air from him, like there isn't any in his lungs. He still has that unsettling feral grin on his face. "No can do, sugar. Shoulda thought about that before you went an' stabbed me."

The wild fear is overshadowed for a moment, as short as it is. "You fucking bit me!" You snap back, like a child bickering but you're still to dazed and caught up in the moment to even register how fruitless and bizarre the exchange is.

"But you smelt so good, " he croons in a sing-songy lilt, still pulling your wiggling body towards his, now gripping ahold of your hips. "You can't blame a man for wantin' a taste." And he's pulling you up by the shoulders completely unbothered by the way you try to claw and rip at his chest and the exposed skin of his throat. His eyes are lit up under the dull cast of the interior light, barring you completely to the wild nature that lurks inside them.

His teeth are fully exposed behind that horrible grin, and it feels like he's going to try and eat you alive. And you think he is. Of course, he is. Here to finish the job and drain you dry. They were always going to get you. Your car- your only chance of escape is totaled. And even if you somehow managed to overpower him and kill him the group he had traveled with is still out there. No doubt counting the seconds for his return. And the second they realize he's not coming back they'll be coming for you. In this dead empty desert with no houses or towns for miles. You'd collapse from exhaustion before you manage to find help, or some random person finds you alongside the road.

A sense of helplessness rushes over you. A reluctant defeat. And you look up at him like hundreds of others have probably done before you and ask the question that that you've always made fun of the heroines and victims of countless movies for asking: "Why are you doing this?"

But you need some sense of closure at least. A reason for all of the violence and horror that you've endured tonight. You try and focus through your blurred vision to search both of his eyes like you might find something of substance in them. Two deep pools of a smothering blue. There isn't a shred of sympathy in them. He's shushing you in a dramatic mocking sense of kindness, cradling your jaw in his hands like he cares. You try to remove your face from his hold, but he doesn't let you, following your retreating face and caging it between his calloused grip. "There ain't nothin' you coulda done. You were jus' at the wrong place at the wrong time." It's said so matter-of-factly it shreds the final bits of hope that you clung to.

And then he's leaning closer, dropping an arm to nuzzle at the wound on your neck, ignoring how you hiss and jerk away from him, desperate to evade the sting of his teeth, but it never comes. You feel him go still underneath you, muscles seizing like he's been struck, and it also gives you pause letting you focus through your aching muddled head and pick up on the little puffs of breath bursting across your throat. Is he . . . sniffing you?

Your head is suddenly back in his hands and he's peering down at you, squinting in the dim light like he's searching for something and all you can do is force your drooping eyelids open to warily watch him, trying to ignore the persistent vacant throb in your gut. A series of emotions cross his face, bewilderment, anger, and lastly a frustrated sort of acceptance. "You gotta be shittin' me." Then he's tearing away from you, leaving your body to weakly sag back up against the driver's seat while he stomps at the ground and swears. You think about trying to make a run for it while he's distracted and busy throwing a fit over . . . something, but when your place your feet on the ground and try to stand you're startled by how horribly they shake. A tremor runs up your body and has you falling right back down on your seat. The blood loss and your crashing adrenaline rush seems to be catching up to you, leaving your body nothing more than a useless painful quivering mess and you could cry but you'll be damned if you give this bastard the twisted satisfaction of seeing your tears.

The sound of you trying to stand seems to remind him of your presence and he's twisting around to look at you. And the two of you pause in a strange sort of standoff. He briefly gazes back off into the night like he might find an answer somewhere out among the darkness and rolling hills before looking back to you with a dejected sigh. Then he's walking back towards you, lifting his wrist up to his mouth and biting into it without flinching.

The sight of that alone has you trying to scramble back again, but he's on you before you can blink. "Oh, quit yer fussin'. " He chides while holding you close against his chest.

"Wha-" you can't even get the question out before he's sliding a bloody wrist against your open mouth. You flinch away from it, smearing it across your cheek and he tuts disapprovingly like he isn't trying to force feed you his blood. "C'mon now, don' be difficult."

You had fully intended to scold him, whip out some barbed quip to get some sense of having the upper hand, no matter how miniscule it was in the long run, but then a bit of his blood drops along your tongue, and your brain is wiped clean of any coherent thought. You don't know what compelled you to do it, honest to God. But suddenly you're latching onto his arm like it's a lifeline and gulping down the thick red that pours from the open wound. A thick metallic gush coats your tongue and it's almost too much but he's cradling the back of your head to keep you fixed to his arm. Then notes of something salted and faintly sweet rises up from the coppery flavor and you're pulling it into your mouth like its melted sugar. And you think you can hear him murmur something to you, something like, "see it ain't so bad, is it?" but his voice is distant and far away like he's talking to you from under water.

That strange hollow pinch inside of your gut is back. It's like hunger almost, but it's also leagues away from any hunger you've ever felt. It feels like a sharp rabid thing is lose in your stomach, all teeth and claws, scratching at you from the inside, begging for you to give it more. And the flow of blood the pours freely from his wrist suddenly isn't enough. And you're pulling away from him with as much strength as you can muster, successfully standing on your feet and snatching at the clothes on his chest for a completely different reason now. You catch the surprise in his eyes, the little puff of disbelieving laughter that leaves him when he lets you roughly nudge his head to the side and place you mouth on his throat, running the sensitive tip of your tongue along the rough texture of his five-o clock shadow. Just keeping the edges of your teeth there. But you can smell the blood underneath his skin and the wild, gnawing hunger inside of you demands to be fed and then you're sinking them in deep. His skin breaks underneath the pressure and the thick red fills your mouth like nectar. The flow of it is much stronger here, gushing across your tongue beautifully. You almost moan from the elation you feel, the stabbing pain muting out in pale distant throbs and the shaking in your arms and legs dies down.

He groans and grips your hips tightly and whether it's from discomfort or not you don't know. And you don't care. You can hardly think at all, left adrift under the pull the blood that steadily pours down your throat, and if it weren't for the sudden burst of sound to tether you, you might would have floated away under it. Somewhere in the distance a pack coyotes howls and yips rise up like a delighted strip of laughter, the wind rustles over the desert floor like a wane breath, and far past the horizon something warm and primordial rumbles, but it's still hard to focus on over the sound of your own feverish gulping. Even though the foreign, wild hunger has since died down, you don't want to stop. You want to stay here forever and drink and drink and drink.

You're being pulled back from his neck before you can register it, pitifully whining at the loss of his blood. It takes you a few moments to come to, the annoying steady tapping of his hand on your cheek helping to rouse you from your drunken stupor. And the grin on his face is too cocky and smug for your taste and something about the look in his eyes tells you that you've just done something irreversible. That you've sealed your fate and won't be able look back. It takes a minute for your slow-moving syrupy thoughts to catch up. The realization of what you've done hits you with the subtly of a charging bull and your entire body runs cold. He must see the change in you because he's lurching forward and snatching you before you can run off with your newfound strength. "Hold on now, " he's laughing. The bastard is laughing. " I mean, shit the way you were sucking on me, I thought I'd be seein' the big man upstairs soon!"

"Get your hands off of me!" You snarl. Because it had worked so well for you last time, but you don't care. You're angry, you're betrayed. But you can't blame anyone else but yourself and that's what terrifies you the most.

"I can't do that now. It's gonna be you and me sweetpea! " He practically sings." For a good long while."

You can't even form a sentence to ask him why. Why he suddenly has an interest in you, why he fed you his blood, why you wanted his blood. It all fades from the tip of your tongue before you can form the words, and then he's lifting you up like a bag of dog food and tossing you over his shoulder despite your protest. "Oh, hush now. " He scolds you lightly with a few pats on your rear and you try to knee him in the stomach but he's quick to catch the wayward limb. He walks past the totaled Ford, still smoking and crumpled against the fence post and heads off towards the road, whistling jovially as he goes with an arm secured around your waist to keep you held down in place. All while you limply hang from his shoulder, distantly watching the asphalt pass underneath his boots, and the way that the rowels of his spurs slightly rotate between their shanks with each step. You can't help but wonder what your family will think when you never come back home. When a cop or some person on their way into the nearest town spots your crumpled up car on the side of the road or whatever is left of the diner and reports you as a missing person. Or dead.

Will they look for you? You think about your father sitting at the dining room table, awake too early and drinking a mug full of coffee so black that it'll make your lips twists up like you ate something sour and your mother sitting in front of the TV every night to watch her reruns while she picks out a new novel for her book club- which is really just an excuse to gossip and complain about the neighbors.

You may never be a part of that again. You may never see them again. And a heavy lump is inside your throat threatening to push tears up. Even Sam and his cheating and his sweet, dimpled smile and his constant prattle about business sales - you'd take it all back in a heartbeat. You'd take the pain and the lying and the hurt but instead you're here. Tossed over some psychopath's shoulder.

"Calvary's here!" He suddenly cheers, breaking you from your spiral. You have to prop a hand on his lower back suspend yourself up enough to look back over your shoulder, but it gives enough leverage to make out a pair of headlights piercing the through the darkness ahead. The sight of it has a lump of dread forming in the pit of your stomach, heavy and unforgiving. And Severen seems to sense your unease, because he's working a hand up the back of your thigh in what he seems to think are soothing stokes. " Yer gonna be alright, the family is gonna love ya!"

And some helpless part of you still stupid enough to cling onto hope wants to cry out, to beg him to let you go. To pretend that this entire night never happened. But you know its fruitless. You're in too deep now. You were as soon as they stepped into that diner. Whatever happened now you'd just have to hope that you make it out alive. But maybe you wouldn't want to.

"Shit sugar, me and you might have some fun after all!"

#severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #near dark x reader #near dark #severen near dark #severen #near dark 1987

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