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its-avalon-08 · 5 months ago

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it all fell down (ln4)

part8

multipart story! part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

As Y/N walked away from Lando, she felt the lingering warmth of his embrace on her skin. Her heart was still racing, and every step she took felt heavier than the last. She tried to focus on the business she had to attend to in the paddock, but her mind was spinning, replaying the hug, his voice, and the way he had looked at her.

I’m not over him. I thought I’d moved on, convinced myself that I could live without him, but… seeing him, talking to him, feeling his arms around me again… I can’t breathe. It’s like the last two years didn’t happen. Like we’re right back where we started.

She absentmindedly flipped through some documents, pretending to be engaged in the meeting she was supposed to be attending. The words on the pages blurred as her thoughts kept drifting back to Lando.

Why does he still have this effect on me? I was so sure I could handle seeing him, that we’d just be polite, distant even. But the moment he looked at me, it was like all the walls I built just crumbled. I can’t do this. I can’t pretend I don’t still love him. Maybe I never stopped.

Meanwhile, Lando was in the Red Bull garage, surrounded by the familiar sounds of engines roaring and mechanics chatting. But all of it seemed distant, like he was in a fog. He absentmindedly nodded as his engineers discussed strategy, his thoughts entirely consumed by Y/N.

What just happened? he wondered, still feeling the ghost of her touch on his skin. I thought I was over her. I thought I had moved on with my life, but the second she looked at me with those eyes, I was done for. All those feelings I tried to bury just came rushing back. How am I supposed to focus on anything else when she’s here?

He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself, but it was no use. His mind was fixated on her. She apologized. She meant it. I could see it in her eyes. But it’s more than that. Being near her again, it felt… right. Like something that was broken inside me is slowly starting to heal.

Lando’s heart raced, his thoughts tumbling over each other. I’m not over her. I thought I was, but seeing her again… I still love her. It’s terrifying because I don’t know if I can go through that pain again. But I also don’t know if I can stand not being with her.

Y/N, on the other side of the paddock, was having similar thoughts. She tried to push them down, to focus on the tasks at hand, but her mind refused to cooperate. Why does this have to be so complicated? she thought, her frustration bubbling up. I just want to go back to when things were simple, when it was just him and me, and nothing else mattered.

She bit her lip, feeling tears prick at her eyes again. I was so sure I could handle this, that I was strong enough to be around him and not fall apart. But now… now I’m realizing that maybe I never really moved on. Maybe I’ve just been lying to myself this whole time.

Both Lando and Y/N, in their separate worlds, were grappling with the same realization. They weren’t over each other. Not even close. And the thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Lando sighed, leaning against the wall of the garage, his thoughts swirling. She’s always been the one. Maybe we were meant to find our way back to each other. But how do we even start? After everything that’s happened… can we really make this work?

Y/N, lost in her own world of confusion, felt the weight of the realization settle over her. I’m not over him. And I don’t know if I ever will be. But maybe… maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s not about moving on, but about figuring out how to move forward�� together.

And as they both stood, lost in their thoughts, the world around them continued on, unaware of the storm raging inside them.

time skip

Lando leaned against the wall of the garage, trying to focus on the strategy meeting, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment he had just shared with Y/N. Carlos noticed Lando’s distracted state and nudged Max, signaling him to follow. The two drivers cornered Lando as soon as the meeting ended.

“Mate, you good?” Carlos asked, concern etched on his face.

Lando shook his head, trying to shake off the tension in his chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… a lot on my mind.”

Max crossed his arms, studying Lando carefully. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

Lando’s jaw tightened at the mention of her name. He tried to play it off, but Carlos knew him too well. “You still care about her, don’t you?”

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, man. Seeing her again… it just brought everything back.”

Carlos frowned. “You two were so good together. What happened?”

Lando clenched his fists, the memories of their breakup flooding his mind. What didn’t happen?

flashback to lando’s pov:

They were standing in the middle of their shared apartment, voices raised, the air thick with anger and resentment. Lando could still see the look of hurt in Y/N’s eyes, the way her hands trembled as she pointed at him.

Lando paced the living room, his hands trembling with frustration. He felt trapped, suffocated by the expectations, the demands, and most of all, the person he thought he’d always love. Y/N stood by the doorway, her eyes wide with a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“I can’t keep doing this, Y/N,” Lando finally snapped, his voice cutting through the silence. “You don’t get it. You’ve never fucking understood what it’s like to be me!”

Y/N flinched, her voice shaky but resolute. “And you don’t get what it’s like to be with someone who’s always gone! Always focused on anything but us! I’ve tried to be patient, Lando, but it feels like you don’t even want to try anymore.”

Lando stopped pacing, his gaze turning cold. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m tired of pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. You’ve become this… this weight around my neck, Y/N. I can’t breathe around you.”

The words stung as they left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself. The frustration and resentment had been building for so long.

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but her voice rose in defiance. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you chase your dreams while mine have to wait? I’ve supported you through everything, and all I ask is for a little support in return. But you can’t even give me that.”

Lando’s fists clenched at his sides, anger bubbling over. “Support? You want support? All you do is nag and complain! You’re never happy with anything I do! Maybe if you weren’t so damn needy, I wouldn’t feel like I’m fucking drowning!”

Y/N’s face crumpled, but she held her ground. “Needy? I’m fucking needy because I want to feel like I matter to you? Because I want to feel like I’m still a part of your life? You’ve been shutting me out for months, Lando! Do you even love me anymore?”

Lando’s jaw tightened as he struggled to find an answer. But the only thing that came out was the cold, bitter truth. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can love someone who makes me feel like this.”

Y/N’s breath caught, her heart breaking at his words. But she refused to let him see her crumble. “Maybe we’re both better off without each other, then. Maybe this was all just a mistake.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Lando felt his heart twist in his chest, but his pride wouldn’t let him take it back. He nodded stiffly, his voice hollow. “Maybe it was.”

end of flashback

Lando blinked, the memory so vivid it made his chest ache. He could still feel the sting of her words, the way his heart had shattered when she walked out the door and never looked back.

Carlos and Max exchanged a look, sensing the turmoil in their friend. Max placed a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But we’re here for you, man.”

Lando nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was bad. We both said things we didn’t mean. But… I can’t forget it. It still hurts.”

Meanwhile, in another part of the paddock, Y/N was deep in conversation with Oscar and Charles. They had noticed her distant demeanor and cornered her as soon as she finished her meeting.

“Y/N, you’ve been quiet since we got here,” Oscar said, his tone gentle. “What’s going on?”

Y/N sighed, hugging her arms to her chest. “I ran into Lando earlier. It just… it brought back a lot of memories.”

Charles frowned. “You two were really close. It must be hard seeing him again.”

Y/N nodded, her mind drifting back to the breakup, the painful words that had ended everything.

flashback to y/n’s pov:

She had never felt so alone as she did in that moment, standing in the apartment she had once called home, facing the man she had loved for so long. The man who was now looking at her with cold, distant eyes.

“Why can’t you just talk to me?” she had pleaded, her voice shaking with emotion. “I need to know what’s going on with you, Lando. I can’t keep guessing.”

But Lando had only grown more frustrated, his voice rising in anger. “You think I have time to sit down and talk about my feelings? I’m trying to hold everything together here, Y/N. And all you ever do is ask for more.”

Y/N had felt her heart breaking, the pain of his words cutting deep. “All I ever wanted was to be there for you. But you keep shutting me out. It’s like you don’t even want me around anymore.”

Lando had thrown his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe I don’t! Maybe I need space, and you’re just… always there, needing something from me.”

Y/N had felt the tears spill over, the hurt turning into anger. “You don’t even see me anymore. All you see is your career, your fame. What about us? What about what we had?”

“I can’t keep doing this, Y/N,” Lando’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, sharp and full of anger. “You don’t get it. You’ve never understood what it’s like to be me!”

The words hit her like a slap. She had always tried to understand, to be there for him, but it was never enough. “And you don’t get what it’s like to be with someone who’s always gone! Always focused on anything but us! I’ve tried to be patient, Lando, but it feels like you don’t even want to try anymore.”

Lando’s cold gaze met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of regret. But then he spoke, his words cutting her to the core. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m tired of pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. You’ve become this… this weight around my neck, Y/N. I can’t breathe around you.”

The pain in her chest was overwhelming, but she refused to let him see how much it hurt. “You think this is easy for me? Watching you chase your dreams while mine have to wait? I’ve supported you through everything, and all I ask is for a little support in return. But you can’t even give me that.”

Lando’s face twisted in anger, and when he spoke again, his words were like poison. “Support? You want support? All you do is nag and complain! You’re never happy with anything I do! Maybe if you weren’t so damn needy, I wouldn’t feel like I’m fucking drowning!”

Y/N felt the tears spill over, but she refused to back down. “Needy? I’m fucking needy because I want to feel like I matter to you? Because I want to feel like I’m still a part of your life? You’ve been shutting me out for months, Lando! Do you even love me anymore?”

The silence that followed was deafening, and when Lando finally spoke, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can love someone who makes me feel like this.”

Y/N’s world shattered at those words, but she forced herself to stay strong. “Maybe we’re both better off without each other, then. Maybe this was all just a mistake.”

She watched as Lando’s expression hardened, his voice distant and empty. “Maybe it was.”

She had left then, not wanting to stay another moment in a place that was filled with so much pain. But as she walked away, she had felt a part of her die, the part that had loved Lando with everything she had.

end of flashback

Y/N blinked back tears, the memory still raw even after all this time. She looked at Oscar and Charles, who were watching her with concern.

“I said some horrible things,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I pushed him away when he needed me the most. And he… he hurt me in ways I never thought he could. But I still… I still care about him. And that scares me.”

Charles sighed, pulling her into a comforting hug. “You two were both under a lot of pressure. It’s understandable that things got heated. But maybe it’s time to forgive yourself, Y/N. You can’t keep carrying this weight around.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It’s clear that you both still care about each other. Maybe this is your chance to start over. Or at least find some closure.”

Y/N leaned into the hug, feeling the warmth of their support, but the pain of the past still lingered, refusing to let go.

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nariism · 1 year ago

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*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones.

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth.

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly. You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

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jasmineandcedar · 24 days ago

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The bigger picture | the poorly picked bonds

I’ve been memeing for days, so I wanted to write about something a little more serious. One of the main reasons why I'm excited for Elain's book is it's implications for the agency of the females of Prythian.

Sometimes I think our obsessive love for individual characters in the fandom leads us to not see the forest because we are so obsessed with the trees. But this can turn things a little smaller than they are sometimes, and we narrow down the stories to such small concepts as vibes between certain characters, maybe even individual lines or scenes. I for one am quite obsessed with Elain and Azriel’s dynamics and sigh dreamily at their individual scenes and lines.

Nothing wrong with that, fandom is the space for vibes. And the trees can be very nice. But I want to zoom out and look at the bigger implications of Elain and Azriel's love story, and why this is the story it seems SJM has been wanting to tell for years, has been carefully setting up, and which needs to be told (and why I’m excited to hear it told). The story about the poorly picked bonds.

Female empowerment is an overarching theme in ACOTAR. SJM has said as much, and we can see it in the books. Focusing on the spinoffs, Nesta's book opened up the title of warrior to females, in a social context where they had been excluded from it, despite their competence and willingness. Elain, the quiet dreamer and hopeless romantic, has been set up to grapple with the issue of females' choice in love in her book.

The ugly side of the coin that is mating bonds

This has probably been pointed out before but since I'm still quite new here I hope you can forgive me if I'm beating a dead horse. The importance of telling the story of a rejected mating bond stretches far beyond just setting up a thrilling forbidden romance trope for Elriel. SJM has framed the rejection of a bond within the context of mated females being seen as the male's possession in Prythian, with the Autumn Court being seemingly the worst (as confirmed in Azriel's BC).

[Rhys, about mating bond rejections] For the females, it is usually easier to ignore, but the males … It can drive them mad. It is their burden to fight through, but some believe they are entitled to the female. Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. (ACOWAR)

[…] On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. (ACOWAR)

The last we heard of the mating bonds was SJM depicting Elain as losing her boldness around Lucien, and Azriel pointing out how the bond in Elain's case has given her to a male she does not want, asking, ‘what if the Cauldron was wrong?’ In doing so, SJM reminded us of what Rhys and Feyre said in ACOWAR in relation to Elain, Azriel, and Lucien: ‘Sometimes the bond picks poorly’, ‘Is there no free will’, ‘Why not make them mates?’

We have seen two stories told about mating bonds that worked out. But we’ve known since ACOWAR that isn't always the case. Yet we still haven't heard of a rejected mating bond. Certainly not a high stake one like Elain and Lucien’s. Rejecting a mating bond has therefore implications for every female in Prythian. Whether it is simply rejected by Elain, or if she, through her nature of being Made, finds a way to not just reject but actually break the unbreakable bond.

A (high stake) mating bond rejection has implications for females like Rhys and Tamlin’s mothers, shackled to bad men because of the cultural and religious importance of the mating bond. It has implications for females like Elain, shackled to a male they never chose and do not want (regardless of if we might find the male to be good, because females owe nothing to males simply because they're nice and good). For females like Mor and others who are queer, and more/exclusively into women, and might still be shackled to a male. It has implications for all the females threatened with carrying the responsibility of driving a male they never chose mad should they reject him and refuse to succumb to being his possession. For females mated to Autumn Court males, threatened with the responsibility of their true love's death should he/she be forced to take part in the Blood Duel and fail. This is the ugly side of the coin that is the mating bonds of Prythian. The side which story hasn’t yet been told. The side which story SJM has set up across four books. About the poorly picked bonds.

The power of Elain's choice

As it appears, we are getting Elain and Azriel’s POV for the next book, and not Lucien's (as the spinoffs are dual POV of the love interests). Given Prythian's history and customs, I think there's a narrative strength in centering the female and her choice when telling the story of their rejected mating bond. Elain's POV, and the POV of her love interest, not because he is Azriel but because he is who she has chosen. And he has chosen her too, despite her being 'given to another' according to the customs of Prythian, a fact even Rhys and Feyre (however reluctantly) are using to their advantage when navigating court politics and try to maintain peace. Azriel is not wrong to question that this is how the mating bond is viewed in Prythian.

Aside from the minor detail we haven't gotten to Elain's actual story yet, it is understandable why SJM hasn't made Elain simply casually reject the bond yet. It is understandable why Azriel has been staying away even though it ruins him. SJM doesn’t have Elain and Azriel just playing forbidden romance for the thrill. And there aren't just short-term political implications of them pursuing each other, potentially resulting in the longer term loss of fragile peace. A rejected mating bond grapples with philosophical questions of agency and fate, as SJM pointed out in her TODAY interview. And as we see in the books, SJM has given it major social and political implications. This is the stuff for a long book. Because it's so much bigger than Elain. Her reclaiming her agency is also reclaiming the agency of the females of Prythian. That's the power of Elain's choice.

And it makes sense it should be the notoriously defiant Azriel who, at her side, defies fate and tradition over his love for Elain regardless of who fate has given her to, which could result in females as a whole gaining freedom from the poorly picked bonds. Azriel, who SJM so clearly has depicted as not only defiant but as uniquely supporting and standing up for the females in his life, and as hating backwards traditions and customs. SJM has tied this story to Elain and Azriel, weaved it into their arcs across several books so seamlessly and with such forethought it is sometimes missed. Because you really have to read all books to see this overarching bigger picture clearly. But when you do, I think it is very clear.

I think this is the immense potential of Elain's book and Elriel's forbidden love story. It isn't just Elain going "ew, swipe left" in a paragraph. It is about the females of Prythian getting their freedom and agency back. It is about the other side of the coin that is mating bonds. About the poorly picked bonds. And I very much look forward to hearing this story told.

(and Lucien will very likely be just fine!)

#pro elriel #elriel

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solasfenheral · 9 days ago

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some bemused vg bitching below the cut

i am. very bemused by the way this game seems to pull its punches at certain moments. like its afraid to really step on your toes and get in your face thematically. which is a deeply strange experience considering i've never ever felt this way about a dragon age game before???

to be honest. I half wonder if it is a product of this game being a sequel that came out so long after it's previous title and right off the heels of two games that received cold to lukewarm reception critically and within the community. I know there would've been extreme pressure internally for this game to be a critical and commercial success and you see that in how polished it is, how there have been huge technological improvements in things like hair which bioware has always gotten some flack for. and I can't help but feel that history contributed to how. cautious of me this game feels at times.

but its just. strange. it feels so strange to get something like the push up scene at the end of taash's personal quest chain. like what are you doing, with this lukewarm defense of trans identity. have some BITE about it man, I know you care about this! it's like the game doesn't want to commit to locking you out of companion content because they wouldn't tolerate transphobia but also doesn't want to accept it, so you end up with this bizarre kind of. half ass defense of transness without really standing its ground about it.

and one hand I get it because I don't want taash's storyline to be about defending themselves from player transphobia when they're already struggling with coming to terms w their identity throughout the game, but this scene man. its so damn strange.

and like. the way this game handles religion is so damn bizarre to me! which is a critique I've again, never felt for a da game! it feels SO strange for bellara to be like. lol yeah the gods being evil actually makes it EASIER for me to let them go like ffdsjkfhjks what....? epler I am in your HOUSE, this is not how faith worksssss

in trying, it feels like, to avoid steeping on toes about what the revelation of the gods would MEAN to the elves, vg just. really fails to grapple with the importance of faith in people's lives and the pain of what losing that or it being challenged means.

i wouldn't even be as annoyed if like. at least ONE of our dalish companions had complicated feelings about their faith and it was something they could discuss between them! it would be really interesting to contrast davrin's pragmatism, his preoccupation MORE with the lived reality elves might suffer with this knowledge come to light under the current systems of oppression, his understanding of the dalish mythology as important to his culture and his sense of SELF w/o ever having really believed in them personally, with someone like bellara who DID believe and is working through an arc about grief and trying to find a new understanding of what dalish culture looks like now with such a key tenant being challenged!

how do you understand death and what comes beyond death when such a central pillar of your life has been challenged! oh my GOD the depth the funeral scene gains when u have this subtext.

there's not a single banter on how harding reconciles her understanding of the Titans to her belief in the maker!

its just. CRAZY to me that this game seems to be trying to dodge the religious and political bite of its own story fsdhfjkds aaaaaaaa

man this isn't even touching how bizarrely fast rook's regret prison does its switcheroo and goes from neve/bellara's blaming rook for losing them to rook going don't worry your death wasn't my fault to davrin/lace like my GOD lemme stew in the survivor's guilt man ur not even giving me an understanding of why rook can process this!! lace or davrin literally died like! 10 minutes ago to their understanding!!!

#tunes talks critical #long post #sorry I am INSANE but God this game #where is RELIGIONNNNNNNNNNN #because regardless of the fate of the circles (the sociopolitical landscape of which they cant talk about because unimported choice)#the CHANTRY still exists #and will have been changed from whichever divine was at its helm!

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awearywritersworld · 1 year ago

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"can we stay here a little while longer?"

gojo satoru x reader summary: grappling with death, something that seems ever pervasive in your line of work, gojo offers you comfort w/c: .8k tags/warnings: light angst to fluff, gn!reader, no use of y/n, discussions of death, smoking, your relationship is obviously close but it's exact nature is left ambiguous a/n: i just want him to hold me, i am weeping. i wrote most of this a while back and finally decided to finish it. masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

"what brings you out here?" you call out to the white haired man strolling in your direction.

"oh you know," he begins, sitting down beside you in the grass. "just thought i could use some sun."

you're situated beneath a willow tree, its leaves rustling as the branches sway in the wind.

you look up at the gray sky incredulously. "'toru, it's overcast-"

"ah! you always see right through me, sweetheart," he exclaims, amusement clear in his voice. "i'm really just here to check on you."

you look over and meet his eye, but turn away the very next moment. "oh."

he watches as you pull blades of grass from the ground one by one. in your other hand, a cigarette hangs loosely between two fingers and he doesn't say anything more until you take a long drag from it.

"haven't you heard those things will kill you?"

a humorless chuckle passes your lips as you begin to exhale, blowing the smoke away from his direction. "given our line of work, it's much more likely that something else will get to me first."

"i guess you've got me there," he acquiesces, nimble fingers pulling the cigarette from yours.

you raise your eyebrows when he brings it to his lips, his nose scrunching almost imperceptibly as the menthol cools his tongue. having grown up with you and shoko, it's not like he's never smoked before. he just prefers to eat his weight in sweets, everyone having their vices and all.

"is that why you've been hiding away the past two days?" he questions, passing it back to you.

you shrug. "'m just tired of losing people."

his hand lands just above your knee, giving it a light squeeze before pulling away. "me too."

gojo's well accustomed to your habit of isolating yourself, and while he knows you need alone time now and then, he always comes to find you before long.

"do you wanna talk about it?" he broaches, giving you a little nudge with his elbow. "everyone else is getting tired of dealing with me, especially shoko."

"i suppose i can open up if it's for her sake-"

"hey!" he interrupts, though he's relieved to see the small smirk playing at your lips.

"kidding!" you laugh, leaning into him. after a moment, you grow quiet once more, though your expression isn't nearly as gloomy. "i don't know, 'toru. sometimes i just feel as if death is the easy part."

gojo narrows his eyes at you, the sentiment behind your words igniting his worry. "meaning what, exactly?"

"that they're gone.. and meanwhile i'm left to wonder why the hell i'm still alive."

"don't say that," he scolds, sounding a bit harsher than he intends.

"why not? it's not like-"

"because i'd die before i'd let anything happen to you."

you just stare at him, your lips slightly parted and your expression entirely unreadable. he doesn't take it back though, his eyes burning into yours decisively and his tone definite, like he'd decided on the matter ages ago. it leaves no room for argument, really, but of course you argue anyway.

"don't be ridiculous," you eventually huff.

"i'm not, you said it yourself. death is the easy part and i happen to be exceptionally selfish-"

"oh, that is the furthest thing from the truth," you interrupt.

"not when it comes to you."

his words hang in the air and you wonder when your heart started hammering against your ribcage, each beat more vicious than the last. the man before you is kind and generous, a far cry from the careless boy you'd known in your youth.

you haven't failed to notice the time and energy he dedicates to his students, or the way he's risked his life to protect those who can't protect themselves. it goes without saying that he'd won your admiration and understanding a long time ago.

"well, we all deserve to be selfish sometimes," you murmur.

his lip tugs upward at your response, a show of emotion that's both soft and genuine. "does that mean i can force you to rejoin society now?"

suddenly, you're aware of all the life around you— life that carries on even in the absence of the sun. the bees that fly from blossom to blossom. the birds that sing to one another. the squirrels that chase each other through the branches of the willow tree.

you scoot closer to gojo, your head falling onto his shoulder as you softly exhale. "can we stay here a little while longer?"

"sure, princess," he hums, his lips grazing the top of your head in a gentle show of affection. "we can stay as long as you want."

#m!writes #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #gojo satoru fluff

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voraciousvore · 1 month ago

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The Tiny (Chapter 3)

Chapter 1 | Previous (2) | Next (4)

Content Warning: Mouthplay, vore themes, Chester being a creep, extreme cringe. I always disliked the chapter this was based on, but since I'm following the format/ events of the original story, I had to include this part. It's bad and too long, maybe just don't read it

Word Count: 4.9k

------ Chapter 3: Temptation ------

I wake up with a big yawn. With my eyes closed, barely aware of what I am doing, I cover my mouth out of habit. My yawn is choked by something entering my mouth. I clamp my jaws shut out of reflex.

Not something. Someone. She’s alive and moving, writhing with desperation. Puny limbs grapple with my tongue and claw at the roof of my mouth, exciting the predator within me. I brush aside the last cobwebs of sleep as my memories of the prior night snap me out of my daze. All at once, a delectable, voluptuous flavor permeates my tongue, one unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. I repress a moan as my maw is deluged with drool.

She’s naturally sweet, yet has a savory undertone that rounds out her flavor perfectly. The taste is undefinable, rich and hearty and delightful, like a slab of chocolate fudge cake. I squish my tongue against her, feeling every inch of her tiny, curvy form. Oh lord. I barely restrain myself from swallowing her right then and there, sucking down my saliva instead.

I need to stop myself. My stomach roars like a beast. I can’t allow my urges to dominate me, to make the decision for me before my rational mind can sift through the implications. Straining with every muscle in my body to resist the animal need to swallow, I force my jaws open and drag the human out, plopping her into my palm.

Her legs bend like rubber beneath her and she clumsily sits in my head with a thousand-yard stare, trembling uncontrollably. I can hardly blame her, considering she almost died. My face puckers up with shame as I gaze upon the vulnerable human, drenched in my disgusting spit. Why was she in such a dangerous spot to begin with, right next to my mouth? She must’ve crawled up my pillow to gaze at my face out of curiosity, the foolish girl. I feel as if I should offer some words of comfort, but I’m not entirely sure what to say in such a situation. I should probably check to make sure she’s not hurt. Hopefully, I didn’t crunch her with my molars while in the throes of ecstasy.

“Um… sorry about that. Are you alright, little one?” She flinches, failing to answer me. The poor dear is terrified, no wonder. She’s on the verge of tears. The silence stretches out to an unbearable degree. I’ve never been proficient in uncomfortable social situations. I can’t expect her to break the ice, either.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you did taste amazing,” I remark, with an ill-timed attempt at humor.

This statement does not have the intended effect. The human recoils in alarm, throwing up her hands in self-defense as she retreats into the curve of my fingers, as far away from my face as she can get. “P-p-please don’t eat me!”

My heart breaks as I chide myself internally over my stupidity. “I didn’t mean it like that! Really, I’m sorry.” I lower my voice to a softer tone as I bring her in closer to my eyes, the windows to my soul. I give her a tender, sincere look that I hope will reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” I pray to whatever deity that may be listening that I can keep that promise, but I can sense my self-control slipping even as the words leave my lips. My tongue won’t forget her superlative flavor anytime soon.

Luckily, she seems to accept my words at face value. The reasoning makes sense: I didn’t swallow her when she was inside my mouth, and the whole thing was an accident to begin with, so perhaps she presumes she is safe. She puts on a brave face, hugging herself tightly to quell her shaking. I’m impressed by her courage, and I encourage her with a genuine smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I stand up, perhaps too quickly, since she stumbles in my hand. I’m not accustomed to handling humans in a benevolent manner, so this is all new to me. There’s no danger of dropping her, however, as my hand is positively massive compared to her, probably as expansive as an entire room by her standards. I observe as her head swivels with amazement to drink in her unfamiliar surroundings. I can’t help but marvel at holding a sentient person so small. Despite my machinations to the contrary, my heart fills with tenderness.

I carry her into my bathroom, thanking my lucky stars that I had recently cleaned it. Even so, I doubt she would be too keen on bathing in a somewhat grimy sink. The bathtub would be impossibly large for her, an ocean. I place her on the countertop as an idea enters my brain.

“Stay here for a moment, I’ll be right back,” I say to her. As if she could go anywhere. I hasten over to the kitchen and grab a bowl from the cupboard. I return and fill it up with warm water from the sink. I add little splotches of soap and shampoo on the edge for her to use. She watches me warily, shirking slightly anytime my hands get too close. I examine my work, before realizing she’s too short to reach the edge on her own. I grab some assorted toiletries and stack them up to create makeshift stairs for her.

“Will that work?” I ask her, making a concerted effort not to fidget with my hands too much, since every stray movement unsettles the poor girl. She gives a small nod, then looks up at me with anxiety in her eyes like she’s expecting me to do something. I blink, my mind blank. Oh, she needs to undress! My face flames.

“Uh… hold on a second…” Thinking fast, I grab a washcloth. “Here. You can cover yourself with this. Give me your clothes and I’ll wash them for you.” She obeys, throwing her soggy clothes into a pile. Her tiny head peeks out from under the washcloth as I take them.

“I’ll be back in half an hour or so,” I assure her. Or perhaps warn her? I back out of the room and delicately close the door behind me. I let out a huge breath and hurry away to the kitchen, my heart pumping like a piston.

I plant my palms on the counter and hang my head over the sink, allowing my revolting mouthful of slobber to drain in long strands into the basin. I’m disgusted with myself, with my heavy panting, my dirty thoughts. I can barely contain myself, especially as I catch her intoxicating scent on her clothes. My stomach grumbles noisily in an immediate Pavlovian response.

I bring the clothes up to my lips, inhaling deeply through my nose. The fragrance is divine, even when hidden under layers of smelly spit. My tongue crawls out of my mouth and explores. Her taste lingers, albeit muted. I push the clothes into my mouth, relishing every microscopic iota of flavor I can extract from the cloth.

It’s fabric, not human flesh, so any pleasure I can derive from it is fleeting. An ugly thought burrows into my brain like a slimy worm. She’s unclothed and helpless right now, in the bathroom. Why should I settle for sucking on her garments when I can experience the real thing? Saliva floods my maw as I fantasize. What I wouldn’t do, to have her in my belly. It would be so easy. Just walk in, pluck her out of the water all nice and clean, and devour.

With a sigh, I spit the clothes back into my palm. I’m almost resigned, on the precipice of falling into the pitfall of hedonistic indulgence. Yet, a wave of disgust hits me as I scrutinize the clothes. They’re all rumpled and damp with my bodily fluids. And they’re so terribly small. Her shoes and socks are smaller than the nail on my pinky finger. Her little shirt and shorts would burst at the seams if stretched over my fingertip. And there’s even a diminutive bra, to cover mosquito bite breasts, and a feminine pink pair of panties…

Guilt stabs into me, digging under my ribs. She’s not just some animal. She’s a woman, a person, a sentient being, with her own thoughts and dreams. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ate her. I’m not remorseless like the rest of my family. I’m stupid and soft and I hate it sometimes. I let out a frustrated exhale and run the sink to wash the clothes.

Thankfully, the collection dries quickly since it’s so tiny, so my humiliating lapse in self-control doesn’t waste too much time. I collect the garments into my hand and return to the bathroom. I listen from the other side of the door, briefly, but I don’t hear any water splashing. I tap the surface with my knuckle, gently. “Can I come in?”

She squeaks an indistinguishable response. I open the door, keeping my moments slow and gradual. When there’s no exclamation of protest, I stroll in and approach the counter, where she’s curled up under the washcloth. Her eyes are so wide that I fancy they’ll bug out of her head. I don’t speak, since I know my voice will unnerve her. I simply deposit her articles on the counter and turn around to give her privacy while she changes.

“I’m done,” she whispers with a subdued cough. My heart flutters at the sound of that timid voice, unsteady yet so sweet. I face her and test the waters by offering my palm to her. She quivers like a leaf, and I can tell she won’t be able to step into my hand on her own. I bring my other hand behind her and encourage her forward, guiding her into my palm. She crouches down in the center, still on edge, her eyes never leaving mine.

I gingerly raise my hand up to my face. I drink in all the details with delight. She’s so cute. Her figure fills out her clothes nicely, with healthy curves that awaken my primordial appetites. My mouth waters anew and my stomach feels hollow, like it urgently needs to be filled. My heart starts to pound with a flurry of emotions. I need to get my urges under control, before I do something I’ll regret. I need to eat.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to sound casual. She nods, too nervous to speak. I cradle her in my hand as I carry her to the kitchen. My heart is thumping harder, my digestive organs coming alive inside me. The hunger is so intense, I almost want to cry. I don’t want to be an unaccommodating host, but I’m getting desperate to consume anything. I abandon her on the dining room table and rush to whip up a big breakfast, heavy on the protein.

I pile up my plate with bacon, eggs, and toast. I would’ve added sausage and ham too, but I’m getting impatient. I force myself to remain calm as I set my plate on the table and sit in my chair. I must act like nothing is wrong, lest the woman sense the very real danger she is in.

“Sorry, I don’t have any dishes or cutlery in your size, so you’ll just have to eat off my plate,” I inform her. I pray I can control myself as I hold off the rising tsunami of my insatiable gluttony to separate a portion for my miniature guest. If I don’t do this now, she won’t get a chance to eat at all, because I’ll vacuum up the whole meal myself. Worse, she might attempt to snag a bite while I’m dining, and end up a bite herself.

Finally, for the love of God, I can eat. I dig into my vittles with ravenous enthusiasm, wolfing down the eggs and bacon like a starving beast. I know, rationally, that I should slow down to keep the human safe, but I’m so famished I can’t stop. I barely chew as I shovel great big bites into my gross oral cavity and gulp them down like my life depends on it. I throw caution to the wind, but by some miracle the woman doesn’t end up on my fork. I suppose she has the common sense to keep her distance as she nibbles on her portion, in stark contrast to my binging.

As I chomp my way to the bottom of my plate, a harsh reality sets in that I can’t ignore. The food is fine and good, but it pales in comparison to the gourmet living cuisine sitting at the edge of my dish. A human may be little more than a crumb in my capacious belly, but I know that she would fill me up more than a mountain of eggs and bacon. Humans are special prey to us giants, and the gustatory pleasures of this woman in particular...

I reach the last forkful of my breakfast. It disappears down my throat all too quickly. I’m not sated. I can only stare down at my empty plate with disappointment. Well... not completely empty. I fail to repress my rapacious bestial nature as my eyes flash over to the human. She turns white as a sheet, and I realize I’ve made a mistake. I soften my expression with an apologetic smile.

I need to put her mind at ease, perhaps with conversation to distract her from the culinary massacre she just witnessed. “Can I ask you a question?”

I almost ask her name, a natural icebreaker to get to know a new person, but the question dies on my lips. Is that such a great idea, to know the name of my future snack? Do I want to be haunted with her name after I mercilessly consume her? Do I wish to be corroded with that guilt, if I lose the battle against my powerful cravings?

Food doesn’t need a name.

Instead, I fumble to pick a query that I already know the answer to. “Where did you come from?”

“I-I’m not sure,” she stammers, fidgeting with her shirt. “I was driving my car, and-and it got struck by lightning... and somehow I ended up here.”

I scratch my chin in a performative display of contemplation, pretending as if such an occurrence is unheard of. “It must have been the lightning.”

“The lightning?”

“Yes. I was looking out the window last night and saw a brilliant blue bolt of lightning unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I went out to investigate and... found you.” Warmth swells in my chest at the memory. I feel strangely possessive of her, despite scarcely knowing her. A tempting fantasy anchors in my heart, of keeping her for myself to quell my aching loneliness. I want her in contradictory ways, in her entirety, flesh and body and soul.

“T-that makes sense I guess.” Every word seems to be a struggle for her to enunciate through her fearful uncertainty. I find her subtle mannerisms, as she wrings her hands and wiggles her eyebrows, quite adorable.

Should I warn her of the truth? It hardly seems fair to keep her in the dark about the hazards of the giant world she has the misfortune to inhabit as her new home. “It’s not very often that we see humans here in the Land of Giants,” I explain. “And when they do find their way here, they don’t last very long.” I frown solemnly, bitter memories staining my thoughts.

“W-why’s that?” Her uneasiness shows plainly in her fine features.

I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. Perhaps it would be best to be direct, rather than sugarcoating the situation. I feel I owe her some semblance of the truth, if I choose to protect her. “Humans are considered a rare delicacy among us giants. Any humans who find themselves in our realm ultimately wind up in a giant’s belly.”

Her face drains of any color. Her muscles stiffen with terror, yet her fragile body vibrates uncontrollably. The conflicting sentiments of my volatile heart crack me down the middle as I strain to negate my sympathy. I shouldn’t be feeling these tender emotions towards my prey. I’m too sensitive. My father would be disappointed in me.

I pivot to an unsavory half-truth. “To be honest, if you hadn’t surprised me this morning by unwittingly falling into my mouth, I may have intentionally swallowed you.” I don’t tell her that I had planned to eat her from the beginning, and I will likely eat her in the near future.

She loses her last shred of composure and backs away to the edge of the table, her chest fluttering with rapid breaths. I can tell she’s inches from bolting, but she has nowhere to go. She glances over her shoulder to the precipitous drop below and stumbles in the opposite direction, clearly disconcerted.

She looks up at me, her eyes swimming in panicked tears. “I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything you ask, just please, please don’t eat me,” she implores.

The sight breaks me. My desire to reassure her overrides my more cold-blooded, calculated intentions. “Didn’t I already tell you I wasn’t going to eat you?” I claim. I internally wince at the disingenuous words, yet I persist nevertheless. “I’ve had plenty of chances to. If I was going to, I would’ve done it already. Hell, I could’ve easily gobbled you up with my breakfast. But I didn’t.”

Lies, all lies. It’s technically true that I resisted my carnivorous urges up to now, but the spirit of the statement is patently false. Even so, she’s sobbing and overwhelmed, and I feel terrible, so the lies continue to flow. She looks so helpless and alone on the expansive surface of the table, so I lovingly scoop her up in my hands and bring her in close.

“I may be a giant, but that doesn’t mean I’m a savage monster. I won’t eat you; I promise,” I murmur. I pray that I can keep my word; I’m not too optimistic on that front. I stare at her intensely, my heart bursting.

“Ok,” she sniffles. She’s calmed down a bit, but I’m not sure if she’s entirely convinced. My normally cozy cottage suddenly feels claustrophobic, with her enticing fragrance enveloping me with cloying tendrils in the confined space. In the privacy of my home, I worry it would be all too easy for me to succumb to my shameful perversions.

“Why don’t we take a little walk outside?” I suggest tactfully. “I think we could both use some fresh air.” I bring her over to the front door and open it. The world is fresh and shining with radiance after the rain. I breathe in the clean air to clear my mind. “Do you want to sit on my shoulder?”

“S-sure,” she quavers. I raise her up to my shoulder and allow her to find a secure spot. She tucks herself into the dip formed by my collarbone and clings to my shirt. “I’m ready,” she lets me know in a faint and tremulous tone.

I walk cautiously at first, keeping my strides slow and steady so that she can familiarize herself with her new perch. She’s in no danger of falling under my vigilant watch, but I’m sure my lofty height is intimidating for her. I try to enjoy my slice of the scenic woods, sparkling with dew, but all I can focus on is her tiny body nestled up to my skin, her dainty movements, her addicting scent. She overwhelms my senses with a pleasure even more potent than the warmth of the sun, the melodious chirping of the birds and bugs, the scent of trees and flowers and grass. I’m in heaven, with my own little woman to have as my own.

I find myself gravitating to the spot where I captured her. “This is where I found you,” I tell her. “You’re lucky you had your flashlight; otherwise, I may have stepped on you without even realizing you were there in the dark.” I conceal from her that I was actively hunting for her.

“Speaking of flashlight…” I spy a glow in a nearby puddle and pull out the miniscule light, just a luminous speck between my fingertips. “Here it is!” I keep searching with enthusiastic curiosity.

“Ah! Found your car!” I announce, lifting the miniature vehicle out of a slope below a patch of weeds. It’s so absurdly small, like a toy car that easily fits within my hand. I marvel at the intricate details and craftsmanship. Unfortunately, the windshield is shattered, and the exterior is charred from the blue lightning. “Wow, this thing is totaled. I don’t think you’ll be driving it anytime soon.”

I’m mildly dispirited when she doesn’t answer, but I don’t press her further. I straighten up and begin the journey home in quiet reflection. To my dismay, my urges haven’t subsided in the least. My heart is heavy with a painful burden. I know, deep down, that my willpower will not outlast my ceaseless hunger. I harbor a burgeoning fondness for my little companion. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to kill her. But I desperately want her inside me.

“Hey, uh… do you know if there’s any way for me to get back home? Where all the humans are?” Her timid voice slashes through my distant thoughts. I stop to measure out a reasonable response that won’t reveal to her too much. I don’t want her to know of all the humans that I’ve eaten in the past.

“Not that I know of. Nobody really understands how humans managed to get here, and we only hear about your realm from the few we have found. And I think I can be safe in assuming that no giants have made it to the human realm, right?”

“Yeah.” Her tone is laced with despair. I’m saddened with the knowledge that she won’t last here much longer. I reach up and pet her with my thumb in what I hope is a comforting gesture.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “If there’s a way for me to help you, I will find it.”

Hollow, empty words. There’s no escape for her, and even if you had the power to help her, you wouldn’t. You’d swallow her down long before she’d have any chance to survive.

“Thank you,” she answers, oblivious to my inner dialogue.

I push those intrusive, unhelpful thoughts out of my head. There’s no point in pondering a scenario that’s impossible anyway. Even so, a trickle of guilt leeches into my chest.

You’re a monster. Nothing more than teeth and a mouth and a digestive system.

“I guess I should get some work done,” I remark, in an effort to alter the trajectory of my thoughts.

“Work?” The tiny lady sounds confused. Bless her heart. Did she think that giants didn’t have to work for a living? That we just stomp around the countryside, plucking humans out of their homes and feasting on them? Boy, that would be the life. Things would be so much simpler. How I wish I didn’t have a conscience.

“Yeah. I’m a freelance writer. I write stories and articles for magazines and other publications,” I elaborate. I enter my house and show her my den, furnished with my beloved computer on a sturdy wooden desk. I wrap my fingers around her, engulfing her in my fist. She struggles and cries for a moment, prompting my heart to beat faster with predatory excitement, before she relaxes again. I release her onto the desk. I fish her car and flashlight out of my pocket and place them next to her. She looks at her car with amazement, as if stunned that I could pick it up so easily.

“If you have anything in your car that you need, now would be a good time to grab it,” I point out as I settle into my chair. I try to distract myself from my incessant cravings as I boot up my computer and start typing away. Even so, I’m preoccupied, and I can’t help but shift my attention downward when I see that the little damsel is unable to open the doors to her toasted car. She looks so precious, as she strains her arms and braces her legs in a futile jerk, her puny face scrunched in concentration. I pinch the door with my thumb and forefinger and pull it open. To my dismay, the hinges on the door are weaker than I anticipated and I end up ripping the whole door off.

“Oops,” I mumble, my face heating. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s alright,” she graciously forgives me. “It’s not like I could drive it anyways.” She has a point, and I don’t feel quite so bad. I return to my work as she retrieves her personal effects. Even as I become absorbed in the task at hand, I’m always cognizant of her exact location on my desk. Her scent never leaves my awareness, and my eyes follow her as she explores the wooden landscape, interacting with the oversized office supplies and climbing up a stack of books. I’m charmed by her curiosity, and relieved that’s she’s becoming more comfortable around me, but I fear her complacency is misplaced. My senses tirelessly tracking her are an inevitable symptom of more sinister intentions.

The day passes into dusk, the sky darkening to orange outside the window. Unfortunately, as my breakfast breaks down into nutrients, my hunger waxes to an unbearable degree. I need to eat dinner soon, lest I snatch her off the desk and stuff her into my mouth, sucking her down my throat and relishing the sensations of her flailing in my stomach…

I swallow a sea of saliva. “I’m almost done,” I announce. My voice sounds too loud, even to my own ears, after the prolonged lapse in conversation. “Give me just… one… second.” I finish the sentence I’m typing with a decisive click of the keys. “I think that’s enough for today.”

I stretch out my huge body from my toes to my fingers with a loud groan. I use the opportunity to avert my gaze so I don’t come off as a creep when I utter the next phrase. Otherwise, I’d be fixating on my latest obsession with a ravenous leer. “Time for dinner.”

I know I should let the diminutive woman walk into my hand of her own volition, rather than grabbing her up like I did before, but I’m finding it harder and harder to restrain myself. Without asking for permission, I grasp her between my fingers, reveling in her shape and soft squishiness, before gently cupping her in my palm. To my surprise, she doesn’t resist me. She’s too trusting. It would be so easy, to just give in now. To end her life. To savor her on my tongue, crush her between my teeth, slurp her up…

Somehow, I make it to the kitchen without eating her or slobbering all over everything. I deposit her onto the counter and scrounge up some shredded cheddar and tortillas. “I was initially planning on making spaghetti, but I imagine that would be a bit messy for you to eat without a fork,” I chuckle. “I believe a quesadilla would be a little easier.”

Another lie. I just picked something quick because the need to fill my belly is rapidly eclipsing my empathy. I hasten to slap together an edible repast before my rational mind devolves into bloodthirsty savagery. I can’t let myself lose control.

I can’t keep thinking of her as just some prey animal, some generic, faceless human without a unique personality. Although I worry that I’ll regret my decision, I make a fateful choice. “What’s your name, little one? I wanted to ask you earlier, but I didn’t want to probe you with personal questions when you seemed so frightened.”

I wanted to dehumanize you and make you less of a person, so that when I finally slaughter you and savor your flesh, I won’t feel as guilty about my sin.

“M-my name’s Jaclyn, but my friends call me Jackie.” Despite her growing confidence, I still detect a tremor in her vocalization. She is compelling herself to be brave—foolish, so foolish.

“Can I call you Jackie?”

“S-sure.” I feel sick inside. In her naïveté, she regards me as a friend. “A-and what’s your name?”

“Chester.” I’m the man that will kill you and use your bones as toothpicks.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Throughout the whole dinner, I act like the perfect gentleman. I grace her with tidbits of my meal. I help her drink from my cup when she’s thirsty, resisting the temptation to plop her into my beverage and chug her down. I keep the conversation flowing in a light and pleasant fashion. When she grows weary, I bring her bags with her into my bedroom and tuck her into my bed. I turn off the lights and close the door so she can sleep without intrusion.

I tiptoe over to the living room, sit down on the couch, and tear my hair out with frustration.

Chapter 4

#I kinda don't want to post on here anymore #It makes me feel like garbage whenever I do #but at this point it's a sunk cost fallacy #oh well guess I'll keep going

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todorokis-girl · 1 month ago

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Between Shadows and Light - Kakashi x Reader (Pt 2)

I'm trying something new, and I am feeling nostalgic. Do tell me how I'm doing?

This is a slow walk, I want to savor it.

part 1 part 3

In the aftermath of the Uchiha massacre, Y/N finds herself grappling with loss, duty, and an unexpected connection with Kakashi Hatake. As she cares for Sasuke and navigates her feelings for the enigmatic Copy Ninja, their bond deepens amidst missions, village gossip, and unresolved emotions. But with Sasuke’s protectiveness and Itachi’s shadow looming over them, can Y/N truly find love and normalcy, or is her heart forever tied to the past?

masterlist

The night settled over the village like a thick, velvety blanket, muffling the sounds of daily life until only the occasional whisper of the wind remained. Y/N sat cross-legged on the porch of her home, her gaze fixed on the sky. Stars blinked down at her, their cold light a stark contrast to the warmth of the lantern that flickered beside her.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, sighing softly. The day had been long, the missions draining, but the quiet of the evening offered little reprieve. Her thoughts were restless, pulled in too many directions. Sasuke’s growing independence filled her with pride, but the gap left by his determination to forge his own path felt wider each day. And then there was Kakashi—a presence in her life that seemed to defy explanation.

The crunch of gravel underfoot drew her attention, breaking through her thoughts. She tensed instinctively, hand brushing the kunai at her side, until a familiar voice called out.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s just me.”

Kakashi stepped into the lantern’s glow, his silhouette tall and slightly hunched as if carrying the weight of the day’s battles. His mask and slouched posture were as familiar as her own reflection, and yet something about seeing him here, at her home, sent a ripple through her chest.

“Don’t you ever make noise?” she teased, her voice steadier than she felt.

“I would have, but I didn’t want to interrupt you staring dramatically at the stars.”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward in a reluctant smile. “What are you doing here?”

Kakashi leaned against the railing, his gaze shifting to the lantern. “I could ask you the same. Long day?”

She nodded, resting her chin on her knees. “Long life.”

He hummed in agreement, the sound low and thoughtful. “Mind some company?”

For a moment, she hesitated. Her home was her sanctuary, her retreat from the world, but Kakashi had a way of slipping past her defenses without even trying. She gestured toward the empty space beside her.

“Suit yourself.”

He settled beside her with a quiet sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him. The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

“You don’t have to keep checking on me, you know,” she said after a while, her voice softer now.

“I’m not checking on you,” he replied, turning his head to look at her. His visible eye was warm, the usual lazy indifference replaced by something quieter, deeper. “I just… like being here.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and she dropped her gaze to the lantern’s flame, its flicker mirrored in her dark eyes.

“You always say things like that so casually,” she muttered, her tone caught somewhere between exasperation and fondness.

“It’s not casual,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at him then, really looked. There was something in his expression—something raw and unguarded—that sent her heart racing. Kakashi was a master of masks, both literal and figurative, but in that moment, she could see him. The man beneath the aloof demeanor. The man who had suffered as much loss as she had, who carried his own ghosts but never let them weigh him down when it came to others.

“Kakashi…” Her voice faltered, the name hanging in the air between them.

“I know,” he said, cutting her off gently. “You don’t have to say it. But I needed to.”

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in years, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. But instead of retreating into herself, she held his gaze, searching for something—anything—that could guide her through the storm of emotions churning inside her.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she admitted, the words trembling on her lips.

“I’m not asking you to be,” he said simply. “I’m just… here. For you.”

The sincerity in his tone broke something inside her, and she closed her eyes against the sting of tears. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to lean on someone else, to believe that she didn’t have to carry everything alone.

When she opened her eyes, Kakashi was still watching her, his gaze steady and unwavering. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his gloved hand. He didn’t pull away.

The contact was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone, that even in the darkest moments, there were people willing to stand beside her.

The lantern flickered again, casting their shadows against the wall, two figures sitting side by side, finding solace in each other; with Kakashi by her side, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could learn to live again.

The sunlight filtered softly through the thin curtains of Y/N’s home, illuminating the small kitchen where she set down a plate of rice and eggs. Across from her, Sasuke sat stiffly, his arms crossed as he stared at the steaming food. He was thirteen now, and though his frame was still wiry with youth, the lines of his jaw and the fire in his eyes hinted at the man he was determined to become.

“You’re up early,” she said, sliding a cup of tea toward him.

“You’re not,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

She rolled her eyes, sipping her tea. It was an old exchange, one that had started years ago when Sasuke was just a child trying to mask his worry whenever she returned late from missions.

Sasuke’s gaze drifted to her face, his expression hard with a faint softness in a way he rarely allowed anyone else to see. “You should rest more,” he said, his tone quieter now.

“I’ll rest when you do,” she shot back, arching a brow.

For a moment, the heaviness that often hung between them lifted. But it wasn’t long before it crept back, subtle but present.

“I saw Kakashi leaving last night,” Sasuke said, his voice carefully even.

Y/N glanced at him over the rim of her cup, unsurprised by the observation. “He stopped by. It wasn’t anything serious.”

Sasuke studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “He’s around a lot these days.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, setting her cup down.

Sasuke shrugged, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “He’s around a lot.”

“I thought you liked him,” she said, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms.

“I tolerate him,” Sasuke corrected. “He’s not as annoying as Naruto.”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Well, that’s high praise.”

After a moment of silence, y/n noticed the only thing he'd had so far was a couple sips of tea "You’re not eating again," her tone light but carrying an edge of exasperation. She crossed her arms and tilted her head at him.

"I’m not hungry," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

She didn’t buy it. "You’re going to need your strength, you know. Training on an empty stomach isn’t exactly smart."

Sasuke’s gaze flicked up to hers, sharp and stubborn. "I’m fine. I don’t need you fussing over me."

Y/N sighed, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. "Fussing? Is that what this is?" She gestured to the plate. "Sasuke, I’m trying to make sure you don’t collapse in the middle of whatever grueling regimen you’ve set for yourself today."

"I won’t collapse," he shot back. "I’m not weak."

She flinched at his words but masked it quickly. This wasn’t the first time he’d equated concern with weakness, and she doubted it would be the last. His resolve to avenge their clan had grown sharper over the years, and though she admired his determination, it left little room for softness.

"I never said you were," she replied evenly.

His shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, the kitchen was silent save for the faint rustle of the wind outside. Then, without a word, Sasuke reached for the chopsticks and began eating, though his movements were slow and reluctant.

Y/N’s gaze softened as she watched him. He still carried the pain of that night like a wound that refused to heal, and no matter how much she tried to be there for him, there were some things she couldn’t take away.

And he didn’t know the truth.

Her mind drifted to Itachi, the memory of his tear-streaked face as he knelt before her on that blood-soaked night. His whispered confession, his plea for her to protect Sasuke, had become the foundation of her every decision since then.

But Sasuke hated him. Blinded by rage and grief, he saw only the brother who had slaughtered their family—not the one who had sacrificed everything to save them and the village.

"I’ll be heading out soon," Sasuke said suddenly, breaking her reverie.

"Another training session with Kakashi?" she asked, keeping her tone casual.

He nodded, pushing his empty plate aside.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. "You know, he’s been impressed with your progress. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell."

Sasuke shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in his eyes.

As he stood and moved toward the door, Y/N’s voice stopped him.

"Sasuke," she said softly.

He paused, glancing back at her.

"You’re not alone, you know," she said, her eyes meeting his. "You never have to be."

He didn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint nod, he stepped outside, letting the door close behind him.

The day passed in a blur of errands and brief conversations with fellow shinobi. Y/N was no stranger to the stares and whispers that followed her through the village. The Uchiha name carried a weight that hadn’t diminished over the years, and her association with Kakashi only fueled the rumors.

"Did you see Y/N and Kakashi yesterday? Together again."

"They’re always together lately. Think there’s something going on?"

"I heard she’s the reason he’s so good with the Sharingan. Makes sense, doesn’t it?"

Y/N kept her head high as she walked through the market, ignoring the murmurs. She’d grown used to the speculation, but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother her.

"Y/N!"

The cheerful voice of Kurenai Yuhi broke through her thoughts. The kunoichi waved as she approached, her crimson eyes warm and friendly. "Running errands?"

"Something like that," Y/N replied with a small smile.

Kurenai fell into step beside her, her gaze studying Y/N thoughtfully. "You’ve been the talk of the village lately, you know."

Y/N raised a brow. "What else is new?"

Kurenai chuckled. "Fair enough. But the Kakashi thing… it’s not helping, you know."

"There’s no ‘thing,’" Y/N said firmly, though her cheeks warmed slightly.

"Right," Kurenai teased. "And I suppose the way he looks at you is just... friendly concern?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her heart skipped a beat at the comment. "He’s a colleague. A friend, at most."

"Uh-huh," Kurenai said, clearly unconvinced.

Before Y/N could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind them.

"Y/N."

They turned to see Kakashi approaching, his usual lazy demeanor in place. He gave Kurenai a polite nod before focusing on Y/N.

"Walk with me?" he asked.

Kurenai shot Y/N a knowing look before excusing herself, leaving the two of them alone.

Y/N sighed, falling into step beside Kakashi. "You know you’re not helping the rumors, right?"

He glanced at her, his visible eye crinkling with amusement. "Rumors don’t bother me."

"Well, they bother me," she muttered.

Kakashi’s tone softened. "If it’s really a problem, I can keep my distance."

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. "That’s not what I meant."

He looked at her, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged.

"Good," he said simply.

Y/N shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you put up with me," he replied, his voice laced with warmth.

She didn’t respond, but as they continued walking, she couldn’t ignore the steady presence of Kakashi at her side—or the way her heart seemed to ache with a mix of confusion and longing.

It was only a matter of time before the lines between them blurred further, but for now, she chose to focus on the path ahead, one step at a time.

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avacoleman · 21 days ago

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all i wanted (was you) || a firstprince fic

summary: It’s been nearly a decade since exes Henry and Alex have last seen or heard from each other. After one unexpected night of reuniting thanks to the meddling of their mutual friend, the pair find that neither time nor circumstance can stop their flame from rekindling. With the complications of Henry’s marriage to another man and his scheduled return to London looming, the two must navigate life’s difficulties as they grapple with what a possible future could mean for them.

chapter 2/9 || rated e || read on ao3 || listen to the playlist *updates every tues. and fri.*

Henry Are you home?

Alex yeah…did you want to come over?

Henry If you wouldn’t mind. I’d like to talk.

Alex we aren't even dating and those words are freaking me out 😅

Henry No need to be alarmed. I would just prefer to see you in person for this chat, if that’s okay.

Alex of course it is. i’ll see you soon

Alex doesn’t know what to expect from this impending conversation with Henry, but he shares his address and quickly tidies up before Henry arrives.

Last night’s outing had gone extremely well. Towards the end, however, Alex was left mystified. He has oscillated between two trains of thought for the better part of the day, torn between thinking Henry didn’t realize he was flirting and being of the mind that Henry was fully aware of what he was doing.

The implications of the latter feel dangerous given the dynamics at play here. Henry is married, even if he seems miserable about it. He’s off limits. But Alex would be lying if he said it wasn’t at least curious to take a peek inside Pandora’s box on this.

He’s gone over last night’s ending with a fine tooth comb. Tipsy or not, Henry did make a few passes at him. That much he’s certain of.

The notion shouldn’t call to Alex the way that it does but he finds it appealing all the same. He’s never been risk-averse, especially with matters of the heart.

The doorbell rings and Alex takes a deep breath before greeting Henry. The man’s expression is a little difficult to read at first but Henry seems to relax a bit as Alex smiles at him. That’s promising, at least.

He welcomes Henry into his brownstone and Henry marvels at the foyer, the stained glass window making a kaleidoscope of colors come alive against the wall.

“This is a gorgeous space,” Henry says.

Alex smiles.

“Thank you. How about we step further inside so you can see more of it?”

Henry blushes a little at that and Alex tugs gently on the sleeve of his shirt to bring him over to the living room.

“So…you wanted to talk?” he says, taking a seat as Henry looks around himself and remains standing.

Alex’s voice seems to jumpstart Henry’s train of thought.

“Yes. First, I wanted to say thank you for coming out last night. I truly had a great evening. I can’t remember the last time I stayed out that late and actually enjoyed it.”

He hesitates and Alex sits up straighter at the change in Henry’s demeanor.

“What I mostly wanted though was to clear the air a bit. I don’t think I ended up giving you a good impression of me…as I am now.”

“What do you mean? I had a lot of fun talking to you.”

“Maybe, but I think I might’ve monopolized the conversation, airing my martial grievances. I don’t want you to think I’m some poor, downtrodden husband, locked away in an ivory tower.”

“You weren't monopolizing anything. I was asking questions and you answered. Besides, should it even matter what I think? It’s not my business; my opinion or views should be non-factors.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean…,” Henry trails off, putting a hand to his forehead. “I’m saying too much. Yet again.”

Alex waves him off.

“It’s alright. H, relax. It’s me. You can always talk to me, you know that. You clearly need to get some things off your chest and that’s chill. You kinda had loose lips last night. I just hope you don’t regret anything you said.”

Alex thinks pointedly of how flirtatious Henry had been at the bar. He suspects alcohol might’ve been the root cause and not actual residual feelings from eight years ago. Henry has so clearly moved on with his life. Alex knows he ought to do the same.

Henry seems to mull over his words.

“I don’t think that I do. It’s been frustrating keeping all of this in, constantly keeping up appearances. I’ve spoken to Pez about all this stuff with Daniel. That should have been enough. I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you. I’m sure that’s not the topic of conversation you were expecting to have.”

“Can’t say it wasn’t interesting at least, that’s for sure.”

Henry smiles a little at that.

Alex sighs.

“I know we only had a year in college together and that was probably a blip on your radar, all things considered, but, for what it’s worth, I think about you a lot.”

Henry’s brows lift.

Alex opens and closes his mouth.

“I mean, I’d hoped you were doing well. When I saw the news and all the pictures and stuff surrounding the wedding…I thought that was settled and you got your storybook ending. So hearing that you’ve been going through all this shit made me a bit…sad? I don’t know.”

Henry looks as if someone’s let the air out of him.

“Right…yeah. I suppose this whole thing is rather pathetic.”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean that in a pitying sort of way or anything.”

Alex groans and scrubs at his face.

“There’s only so much I can say without totally crossing a line. I’m trying to be respectful here.”

Henry looks confused. Alex can’t blame him.

“Simply put, I want what’s best for you. I know I have no real stake in this, but your happiness matters. From what you described, it seems like you’ve lost some of that joy with him.”

Alex feels himself getting upset all over again with Daniel’s flagrant disregard and—frankly— his disrespect.

“I know I just said what I think shouldn’t matter, but screw it. I’m gonna say this anyway because you need to hear it. What he’s done to you…it isn’t right. I can only imagine how hard it’s been. How lonely you must feel most days by yourself. It breaks my heart to think about you being alone in all of this.”

Henry wraps an arm around himself.

“It is lonely. He doesn’t touch me like you did when we were together. He doesn’t so much as look at me the way you still do and we haven’t even seen each other in years.”

Henry swallows hard, but Alex sees the tears forming in his eyes. Can see as clear as day just how much the sting of Henry’s partner’s indifference hurts him.

“Perhaps I’m being presumptuous with that last part. I only mean, I can tell you actually like having me around, you know? I don’t have to guess.” He pauses and sighs. “Things are difficult, but even still, there’s a large part of me that wants to give this an honest go with him. I want to know I gave this relationship everything I had.”

Alex feels like he’s in the Twilight Zone.

“Does that mean you have to make yourself into some kind of martyr to prove a point? This is obviously killing you, Hen. How is any of this fair to you?”

Henry’s gaze snaps away.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Alex counters.

Henry wipes at his right eye and stays quiet. The silence needles at Alex, wedges itself uncomfortably under his skin like a splinter.

“It has to work. Our friends, our families…there’s a lot riding on this. It’s the first relationship my gran has ever approved of. That within itself is nothing short of a miracle. On paper, we’re a perfect match.”

Henry stops short and squares his shoulders.

“But in reality?” Alex chimes in.

Henry doesn’t answer right away. He stares off for a moment, his eyes cresting once more with tears.

“I messed up with us,” Henry says softly after a time, looking back at Alex then. “You were wrong before. You were never a blip to me, Alex. You were everything. Our relationship changed me in a lot of ways. It helped shape me into the person I am today. It really did. I just…I need to get this right with him now. I can’t screw up another serious relationship. I can’t fail a second time. I won’t.”

Alex's heart sinks at the notion that whatever failed, inadequate relationship Henry has forged with Daniel is somehow worth fighting for whereas his relationship with Henry hadn’t been at the time. It’s not a fair comparison, a one-year college romance and a marriage, but still. At least Henry actually felt loved and cared for in one of those relationships and it’s certainly not the latter of the two.

“Do you even love him?” Alex asks. More than me, he doesn’t say. He thinks Henry hears it anyway.

An unnameable emotion flickers across Henry’s face for a moment but it’s gone too quickly for Alex to ID it. Henry schools his features, his face and tone almost clinical as he speaks again.

“I care deeply about Daniel.”

That’s not the same thing, Alex fights the urge to blurt out. He clenches his jaw and takes a beat as Henry continues.

“He has a busy life. I always knew that about him, well before we even got together. I knew what I was getting myself into. Hell, both of us are extremely busy. I just need to figure out my place in all of this. His work…it’s important to him.”

“You should be too,” Alex mutters, hating the free pass Henry seems keen on giving his partner.

“I am important to him. It’s…”

“Complicated?” he offers, borrowing Henry’s word from last night.

Henry frowns.

“I know he cares about me.”

Everything Alex has heard about this guy seems to contradict that, but he lets it go. Alex holds his hands up in surrender.

“Okay. Fair enough.”

Henry’s frown deepens, his brows furrowing.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t’ve come here.”

“But something made you though. Did you only need to talk? Or do you need something more?”

Henry searches Alex’s face, his lips parting as if to speak but no words come out. His eyes briefly drift to Alex’s mouth before holding his gaze again.

“Like what?”

Alex settles back in his seat and shrugs a shoulder.

“You tell me.”

Henry blinks twice and takes measured breaths.

“I needed to apologize for my…behavior and for oversharing. I got too comfortable. I don’t know. I…it’s easy with you…to talk and be myself. It’s one of the few times my mind ever feels quiet. It’s been some time since I’ve had that,” Henry admits.

Alex considers this a moment.

“In that case, I’m glad you knew to come here. I’ll always be around for you. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”

Alex doesn’t miss the way Henry’s breathing has changed or the way his eyes once again fall to Alex’s mouth.

Alex licks his lips, maybe unfairly, but it’s certainly worth it to watch the heat rise in Henry’s cheeks. The man looks away pointedly and instead focuses his attention to the wall behind Alex’s head.

“I really should go.”

Alex cocks a brow as Henry doesn’t move an inch despite his own words.

“Are you telling me that or yourself?” he asks, not unkindly.

Henry looks back at him then, the picture of conflicted. His mouth opens and closes on words he can’t seem to bring himself to say.

Alex keeps his eyes locked on Henry, willing to give him an out he so clearly needs.

“I’m here for you, Henry. All you have to do is say what you need.”

Henry sighs.

“I don’t quite know what I want exactly.”

Alex rises from his seat, studying the bob in Henry’s throat as he swallows hard.

Alex steps closer to Henry slowly, moving around the coffee table so there’s no longer a barrier between them. He feels almost like a shark going after its prey.

There’s blood in the water. His first instinct is to strike.

“Could there be a chance you might actually want something with me?” he asks.

He’s close enough to hear Henry’s breath catch at the outright question.

“That’s the problem,” Henry says quietly. “It’s always more than a chance. It’s essentially a constant state of being.”

Alex’s heart flutters at the admission. He cups Henry’s face gently, his thumb tracing the curve of Henry’s bottom lip, delighting in the shiver that appears to run through Henry.

“I don’t think that’s a problem at all, actually.” Alex’s thumb follows the same path again, slower this time as he watches Henry’s mouth fall open. He can feel Henry’s soft breath against his finger.

“No, on the contrary, I think that’s the solution,” Alex continues.

Henry’s eyes slowly close, his defenses lowering.

“So I’ll say it again,” Alex presses, gently slipping his finger past Henry’s parted lips. “I’m here, ready and willing, to give you anything you want but I need you to ask for it, Hen.”

Henry’s eyes flash open again, his tongue teasing the pad of Alex’s thumb.

It’s a pretty picture, watching his mouth wrapped around him like that. It makes Alex crave to replace his finger with something else.

“Please?” Henry croaks, his voice a faint whisper.

The tone of his voice, the look in his expectant blue eyes. It’s more than enough to break Alex’s resolve. There isn’t a thing in this world he’d deprive Henry of, least of all himself.

He’d sacrifice whole populations if it meant satisfying Henry’s wants and needs, even if for only one night.

He feels confident in saying that Daniel wouldn’t do so much as a fraction of that for Henry, if the current state of things is any indication. The man can’t so much as find time in his schedule to meet Henry’s most basic needs. Alex will show Henry what he’s missing. He’ll fill the void in Henry’s life as much as he can in this one night.

What it boils down to is simple in Alex’s eyes. Daniel doesn’t know Henry like Alex does. There’s no possible way he’s synced his soul Henry’s like Alex did the very first day they met. Maybe it’s naivety. Perhaps it’s arrogance. For Alex, it’s simply an irrefutable fact.

He and Henry belong to each other. They found their way to one another once before. He knows in his heart they can do it again.

“As you wish,” he replies, slipping his thumb from Henry’s mouth.

He closes the scant distance between them, the tip of his nose skimming against Henry’s. He hears the change in Henry’s breathing, feels him trembling too.

Alex slowly runs a hand through Henry’s hair, his fingers gripping the strands at the back of his head.

“I’ve got you, okay?” Alex whispers. “Let me take it from here.”

Henry nods twice as Alex takes a step closer, enough for their chests to meet for a moment before their lips do the same.

It takes every bit of strength and willpower for Alex to remain standing. His knees feel weak, his hand shaking as he tightens his hold on Henry’s hair.

They’ve always had a spark, but this kiss feels beyond electric.

It’s a return to something known. To something safe, tried, and true.

This is what he’s been missing all the years. This is the sort of magic he’s never been able to find in other partners. This is what he prays he’ll never lose again.

Henry whimpers quietly and the sound snaps Alex’s focus to the here and now. He kisses Henry deeply, thoroughly, not rushing a single second as they reacclimate themselves to one another. It’s instant, truly, but it’s apparent they each want to savor it.

Henry’s right hand slots into place at Alex’s hip, his grip firm as if staking a claim to Alex’s body.

Alex’s hand slides from Henry’s hair to his face, tucking underneath his chin as they explore each other's mouths. Alex pins his hips to Henry’s, moaning at the feel of their cocks pressed together. Tentatively Alex rolls his hips forward and he’s met with a sharp thrust from Henry.

Alex has no clue how far Henry is willing to go tonight, but he’d take all of him in a heartbeat if he wanted to go all the way.

Henry’s hands seem to grow curious as he runs his palms slowly up Alex’s back and to his shoulders until they take up residence in his curls. His nails scratch against Alex’s scalp in a way that sends a delightful chill down Alex’s spine.

Alex walks Henry back a few steps and presses him up against the wall, grinding down on him. Henry gasps and rocks back, tugging on Alex’s hair. That’s always been one of his weaknesses. Henry clearly hasn’t forgotten.

“God, I want you,” Alex pants, unable to quell his thoughts.

“Then have me.”

This response sobers Alex up at once, his mind clearing the fog away instantly.

He pulls back to look at Henry, to read his expression in order to make certain he’s indeed of sound mind and not simply lost in a lustful haze.

Henry chases after his lips a little. His cheeks are flushed but his gaze is steady and sure when he opens his eyes. He wants this just as much as Alex does. That much is obvious.

“I want to forget everything,” Henry says. “Just for tonight, I want to be someone else. I want…Alex, I want to be yours.”

Alex closes his eyes briefly, taking in both a deep breath and those words, letting them replace the very air in his lungs so it’s all he’s breathing.

I want to be yours.

Doesn’t Henry know that he’s never stopped being just that in Alex’s eyes?

He looks back at Henry then, studying his reddened lips and soft, wanting stare.

He kisses Henry hard, but his hands remain gentle, his touch almost reverent as he traces Henry’s body. He knows the terrain all too well; he could live a thousand lives and never forget. All the same, it feels too good to have access to Henry like this again, after being convinced they’d never have an opportunity in years since their split.

Alex takes hold of Henry’s hand and without a word, he guides Henry up into his bedroom.

He gives Henry a few beats to look around and get his bearings together before he’s crowding Henry’s space again, the two resuming their heated kiss as they start to undress each other.

Each item of clothing falls carelessly to the ground until they’re both laid bare before the other.

Henry drinks him in, his cock already leaking and twitching. Alex wets his lips in turn, hungry for all of him.

He pushes Henry back against the bed, taking a moment to admire Henry’s figure before climbing in on top of him. Henry’s hands immediately fall to his hips, gripping so tightly Alex is certain he’ll leave marks. At least he hopes so. They’ll only have this one night. He’d like the physical proof to last a bit longer to get him through the days to come.

He wants to bite and claw, to feed into every carnal urge he feels. But this night is temporary. Henry will return to his husband and while a petty, childish part of him wants to leave marks that Daniel could find, Alex won’t put Henry in that position.

Instead, he hopes his words in bed, whispered and moaned into Henry’s ear, will last even longer as a reminder. Will the memories of tonight come back to Henry when he’s in bed laying beside a man he’s so clearly not in love with? Will the memories serve as inspiration on a lonely night when it’s just Henry and his right hand?

Alex moans at the mere thought.

Henry touches his face lightly and it centers Alex. He searches Henry’s face as Henry does the same in kind to him. He’ll never grow tired of looking into these eyes, of seeing straight into the core of Henry. His Henry.

Henry’s thumb brushes along Alex’s jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” Henry says. Alex can’t help it. He feels himself blush instantly at the compliment.

He leans in and kisses Henry softly though it doesn’t take long for the kiss to grow more heated. Henry’s ability to drive him insane is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Certainly he’s been attracted to others in the past, admittedly lusted after a few. But this connection with Henry by and large has always been in a league of its own.

It’s frenzied and unpredictable yet somehow always effortless. Alex can’t get enough.

“Touch me,” Henry whispers, adding even more fuel to the fire already burning between them.

Alex shudders but doesn’t hesitate, wrapping a hand around Henry’s cock and stroking him lightly at once.

Henry cries out, back arching and Alex can’t help but to wonder when Henry was last intimate with Daniel.

Alex kisses along the column of Henry’s throat, his tongue teasing his skin every now and then as he keeps a steady pace on Henry’s length.

Each exhale and stutter from Henry pushes Alex further.

He kisses down the length of Henry’s body until he reaches the man’s hips. Alex’s eyes flicker up to Henry’s face and the naked want, need, he finds in Henry’s piercing gaze leaves Alex breathless.

Alex licks slowly at Henry’s tip, tongue curling around the beads of precum there before sucking on the head of his cock.

Henry’s eyes roll back, an arm slinking over his eyes almost as if to shield him further from an unfathomable sight. His back arches even more as Alex takes him in further, his jaw dropping open. Alex rolls his tongue against the underside of Henry’s cock, just the way he knows he likes. He’s rewarded instantly with an involuntary thrust of Henry’s hips that brings Henry’s tip to nudge the back of his throat.

Henry chokes out an apology, but Alex takes it all in stride. Through watery eyes he keeps his focus on Henry, all too pleased with seeing how much he’s enjoying himself. It’s all he could possibly want.

Alex spends a bit more time sucking him off, feeling Henry twitch against his tongue. He could get Henry off easily like this, but he knows they both ache for more.

He slips Henry out of his mouth and rifles through the nightstand for supplies, quickly returning his attention to Henry’s body.

He flicks open the cap of the lube and coats his fingers, watching Henry squirm in anticipation. Alex lowers his hand and teases the pad of his thumb over Henry’s entrance.

Henry grabs a fistful of Alex’s curls, his thighs trembling. Alex places his free hand on one of Henry’s legs to try and steady him.

Henry turns his face away into the pillow, whimpering softly as Alex pushes and prods.

Alex takes his time opening Henry up, basking in the broken sounds the man makes as he surrenders to the sensations coursing through him. Alex can’t help but to react to it too; he feels himself growing harder as he fingers Henry, feeling him cinch and gradually loosen around his fingers.

Alex drops kisses on Henry’s inner thighs, his fingers scissoring inside him all the while until he’s wide enough.

“I need it,” Henry soon rasps, brushing Alex’s curls out of his eyes. “Please.”

A wounded noise breaks in Alex’s throat at the plea. He kisses Henry’s thigh one last time before opening the condom wrapper and working it over himself.

Before he can make his next move, Henry reaches between Alex’s legs and takes a hold of his cock. Alex shivers at the feel of Henry’s hand on him. His heart practically beats right out of his chest as Henry gives him a few smooth strokes. Alex shifts his hips and aligns himself to Henry, moaning as he’s guided into him.

They both let out curses as Alex fills him slowly. Henry’s beautiful mouth makes a perfect ‘O’ shape as he exhales. Alex keeps his eyes locked on Henry as he bottoms out, the two of them left speechless. Alex holds the position until Henry nods once, granting him the greenlight to continue.

Alex rolls his hips forward, burying himself just a bit deeper and at once, Henry’s hands anchor onto his shoulders as they move together.

Alex could never put into words just how badly he’s missed this, not just the act itself but the underlying sense of connection and closeness to Henry. It’s been years but it’s as if no time has passed at all. They’re a well-oiled machine finding their track once again.

Henry kisses the side of his face, his breath warm and tantalizing against Alex’s ear as he moans Alex’s name and begs for more.

Alex is all too happy to oblige. His strokes go slower yet deeper as he hooks one of Henry’s legs around his hip and grips tighter. He fucks him steadily, the two of them finding their rhythm as if in a dance. Henry’s dull nails claw at his back, leaving behind a pleasant sting.

“You’re always so good to me,” Henry rasps against the shell of Alex’s ear.

Alex fucks Henry harder into the mattress at that, their breaths heavy and erratic but neither of them stops or slows. If anything, Alex knows they’re merely going faster, chasing the thrill of being together after all this time.

He has to keep himself from confessing just how much he’s missed Henry, how there hasn’t been a single day over the last few years where he hasn’t thought about him, how no partner has ever truly measured up.

It’s all too personal and vulnerable to say aloud, but it’s the honest to God truth.

Instead, Alex just tells Henry how amazing he feels, how well he’s taking him. Alex knows how much Henry gets off on such praise. He can feel Henry’s body responding to it all, his resolve weakening.

Henry lets out a choked breath, a soft laugh falling from his lips a few moments later as he’s pushed over the edge. Alex sees him through, keeping his pace as Henry spills out between them.

I want to be yours.

Henry’s words from earlier replay in his mind once more. Alex pulls out slowly and slips the condom off, tying and doing away with it quickly. He gets a hand around his cock, giving himself a few quick strokes as he straddles Henry’s hips.

Henry bites back on his lower lip, pupils blown as he watches Alex work to get himself off.

“Oh, God, yes,” Henry pants.

The word mine flashes in Alex’s head, white hot and possessive. He marks his territory accordingly.

His release streaks across Henry’s chest, his neck, and lower half of his face. Henry seems to relish in it as he writhes against the bed, his large hands cupping Alex’s ass and kneading.

Alex loses it again, coming a second time as Henry licks his lips clean of Alex’s release, moaning at the taste.

“Fucking hell,” Alex murmurs.

Henry simply smiles and pulls Alex in, kissing him hungrily, all teeth and quickened breaths.

Alex matches his fervor, his tongue sliding into Henry’s mouth and toying with Henry’s, tasting himself as they slowly come down from their highs.

He breathes in each of Henry’s exhales, his limbs feeling entirely boneless, his body hot to the touch.

“We should get cleaned up,” Henry says quietly against Alex’s lips after a time before giving him one last quick kiss.

Alex groans, but he knows Henry is right. They’re both a mess, especially Henry. But the man’s face is relaxed, far more than Alex has seen all evening. He looks genuinely happy and it makes Alex’s heart swell knowing that he’s the reason why.

He brushes a few wayward strands of hair from Henry’s forehead and drops a kiss there, lingering for a moment before accepting his fate and getting off of Henry.

He instantly misses his warmth, but Henry doesn’t let a second go to waste. He takes a hold of Alex’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing each knuckle before tugging him up and out of bed.

Alex leads them from his room and to the bathroom. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Alex is a little taken aback by how unkempt he is. His curls are in absolute disarray from Henry’s hands, his eyes wild and scratches against his skin.

“Sorry about that,” Henry murmurs from over by the shower where he’s turned on the water.

Alex half turns to see his back. It’s already blooming with welts. He smiles to himself and glances back at Henry.

“Don’t ever apologize for something like this.”

Henry blushes a little before taking a step into the shower.

“Can I at least make amends in another way?”

Alex cocks a brow and follows in after him. He’s instantly pushed against one of the shower walls, Henry’s mouth on his neck, sucking so hard Alex knows he’ll leave a hickey.

Alex grips Henry’s hips as the man presses more firmly against, their bodies slotting together with ease as Henry grinds against Alex’s thigh.

Henry returns his lips to Alex’s, kissing him hungrily as he ruts harder against Alex like an animal in heat. Alex’s hands run down to Henry’s ass, shamelessly pawing at him.

Henry whimpers and Alex holds him closer, letting Henry take what he needs. It’s so clear he’s been pent up for ages, yet another strike against Daniel as far as Alex can tell. To think the man has this kind of access to Henry regularly and wastes the opportunity for intimacy is so far beyond Alex’s comprehension.

Alex is taken from his thoughts as Henry pivots and starts kissing down the length of Alex’s body, taking a few extra moments to tease his nipples with his teeth and tongue before he makes his way further down.

Henry gets down on his knees, gripping the backs of Alex’s thighs as he settles between Alex’s parted legs.

Henry peers up at him expectantly, water from the shower beating down on him. He looks like a wet dream.

“You’re desperate for it,” Alex says, brushing Henry’s hair back.

“You have no idea,” Henry murmurs.

Alex smirks, taking a hold of himself and lazily stroking.

“I think I have a slight clue,” Alex counters.

Henry’s eyes dilate and stay locked on Alex’s cock, his breathing growing heavier. Alex can't deny how good it feels to have Henry’s rapt attention like this.

“I bet I could make you beg for it.”

“I’m already on my knees. I can put it into words if you’d like.”

Alex shudders, squeezing himself on a downstroke to keep from losing it right then and there.

He brings the tip of his cock to Henry’s face, lightly ghosting over the man’s lower lip. Henry visibly trembles.

“May I? Please, Alex.”

“So polite.”

Alex taps his cock twice on the seal of Henry’s lips.

“Open up for me, baby,” Alex says.

Henry, obedient as ever, opens his mouth at once.

Alex licks his lips, so thoroughly aroused, and feeds Henry his cock, his head tipping back against the tiles as Henry’s tongue brushes against the underside.

Alex curses, his left hand laying flat against the wall as his right hand grips Henry’s hair.

Henry takes a deep breath through his nose, moaning as his eyes roll shut. Alex marvels at the sight before him, Henry losing himself in this moment. He’d always been particularly skilled in this area, but this feels next level somehow.

Alex rocks his hips forward, gently fucking Henry’s mouth. Henry moans almost appreciatively, taking in more of him.

“Such a good boy,” Alex says, continuing to card his fingers through Henry’s hair.

Henry peers up at him then, his blue eyes so dark and hungry it sends a chill through Alex. He grabs a fistful of Henry’s hair and thrusts forward a bit rougher, fucking Henry’s mouth in earnest.

It seems to be exactly what the other man needs. Henry shifts slightly on his knees and works his hand over himself, his grunts muffled by Alex’s cock.

Alex knows the shower floor can’t be easy on Henry but he knows if anything, the pain might actually be adding to Henry’s pleasure.

Alex watches him, sees the sheer, unfiltered ecstasy Henry’s taking in getting them both off. It turns Alex on to an embarrassing degree.

Henry’s hand is relentless against his own cock, his moans echoing off the shower walls, his cheeks hollowed as he dutifully sucks Alex off. It’s almost like Henry is somewhere else entirely, reaching nirvana as his eyes roll shut.

Alex swallows hard and closes his eyes too, his knees growing weaker as he continues fucking into the wet heat of Henry’s mouth. It’s too much for Alex to take.

He comes for a third time this evening down Henry’s throat with tears of pleasure streaming down his face and a silent prayer on his tongue that tonight never ends.

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #firstprince #userthai #tuserpaige #tusersonia #usernicholas #usersteen #iuserzoe #userange #usermimsi #uservalentina #tusersilence #userjamiec #userlauraj #kimmy writes

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emma23 · 1 month ago

Text

The philosophy of laughter:

Jonathan levy x reader

————————————————————————

It was a cold evening when Jonathan first noticed it—the rare, almost mythical sight of you smiling. For months, your expression had been as unreadable as one of his philosophy texts. Always distant, always composed, rarely showing any emotion that hinted at what was going on behind those thoughtful eyes. But tonight was different.

The two of you sat across from each other in his living room, surrounded by books and an unfinished bottle of wine. The conversation had started out, as it always did, in comfortable silence—Jonathan nervously sipping his glass, trying to come up with the perfect intellectual comment to impress you.

“So, what do you think about Kierkegaard’s idea that life can only be understood backward but must be lived forward?” Jonathan asked, almost reflexively, his mind always wandering back to existentialism.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s deep,” you said flatly, taking another sip of wine. “But I think you’ve already lived enough backward.”

He blinked, caught off-guard. “What do you mean by that?”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “You live in your head too much, Jonathan. You analyze everything like it’s some philosophical puzzle. Maybe it’s time you tried living forward for once.”

The corners of your lips twitched upward, and for the first time, Jonathan saw something he had never expected—an actual smile.

He stared, dumbfounded. “You’re smiling?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal. “Maybe you’re finally saying something interesting.”

Jonathan let out a short, awkward laugh, still trying to process the moment. “I’ve said a lot of interesting things! I talk about Kant, Hegel, Nietzsche…”

“Yeah, and half the time, you sound like you’re rehearsing for a TED Talk.” You chuckled, and Jonathan’s eyes widened. You were laughing.

“Wait, wait,” he stammered, leaning forward in his seat. “What’s happening here? Did I say something funny? Are you…are you actually enjoying this?”

Your grin grew wider as you took another sip of wine. “Maybe.”

Jonathan blinked rapidly, clearly not used to this. “I don’t understand. You’re always so… guarded. So distant.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for you to stop overthinking everything and just be… you.”

He frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. “I am being me.”

“Are you?” you countered, leaning closer, your eyes narrowing playfully. “Because the ‘you’ I’ve seen so far seems more concerned with quoting dead philosophers than living in the moment.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was completely flustered, unsure of what to say next. This was new territory for him. Uncharted, emotional waters. His brain, so used to dissecting abstract ideas, was now grappling with something much more immediate—and much more terrifying.

“So, what do I do now?” he asked, his voice small, as if afraid of the answer.

You smiled again, this time a little softer. “You could start by asking me how I’m doing, rather than what I think about Descartes.”

Jonathan blinked again, then nodded, as if he’d just received the most profound piece of wisdom. “Right. Right, of course. How… are you?”

You laughed again, louder this time, and it was like music to his ears. Jonathan couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound awkward and nervous, but genuine nonetheless.

“I’m fine, Jonathan,” you said, still chuckling. “I’m fine.”

The moment hung in the air between you both, and for once, Jonathan wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t overanalyzing or quoting philosophers. He was just… there. With you. And it felt strangely liberating.

“So,” he said after a long pause, a small smile of his own forming. “Do you want to, uh, stay a little longer?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to philosophize some more?”

Jonathan blushed, shaking his head. “No. No more philosophy. Just… us.”

Your smile softened, and you leaned in closer, your face inches from his. “Good. Because I think we’ve had enough intellectual debate for one night.”

And before Jonathan could overthink it—before he could dive into some internal monologue about the ethics of desire or the nature of human connection—you kissed him. It was slow, tentative at first, like testing the waters of a deep, unknown ocean. But then, as Jonathan responded, the kiss deepened, and all the tension, all the unspoken feelings that had been simmering between you two for months, finally broke free.

Jonathan’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall into him, the heat between you growing as your lips moved in sync. It was a kiss filled with longing and release, with years of unsaid words and pent-up emotions.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, staring at each other in stunned silence.

“Well,” you said, smirking, “that wasn’t so complicated, was it?”

Jonathan laughed—really laughed, a deep, genuine sound that you had never heard from him before. “No,” he agreed, shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

You grinned, resting your forehead against his. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Professor Levy.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Maybe there’s hope for us.”

Later that night, after you’d moved to the couch and things had gotten… a little more intense, Jonathan was lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his mind still spinning from the turn the evening had taken.

He looked down at you, his eyes soft, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“At what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Making me question everything I thought I knew.”

You snorted. “Isn’t that your job?”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, but it’s nice to be on the other side for once.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer to him. “Well, if you ever need a break from overanalyzing everything, I’m here.”

Jonathan smiled, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been for a long time. For once, he wasn’t thinking about what came next. He wasn’t worrying about whether he was doing the right thing or making the right choice. He was just… happy. Content. With you.

And in that moment, he realized that maybe, just maybe, life didn’t have to be as complicated as he always made it out to be.

#jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy #scene from a mariage #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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scythesms · 11 months ago

Text

Despite his best efforts to hide it, Edmund's discomfort grew with every step Imogene took beyond the gates.

He couldn't stop apologizing for the neglected state of his property. It’d been his first time ever feeling ashamed of the overgrown grass and cracked pavement. He’d even caught himself in a lie when assuring her the inside of his home was better off.

“Please, Edmund, there's no need. Grass always grows in grief. It seems nature understands the burden of sorrow.” Imogene interjected, ending his apologies. He only nodded, grateful for her understanding, but unable to find words to match her sentiment. Proceeding cautiously, she said, “I only recently learned of the tragedies that befell your family. I am so sorry for your losses.”

He forced a look of little gratitude, reluctant to delve into the past. The mention of his late wife, sister, mother, and father made him tense. While he acknowledged Imogene's sincere apology, it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to spit it out.

She sensed his disdain all too quickly, expected it even. “I, too, lost someone to the lung. My youngest brother. It’s been… difficult.”

Edmund remained silent, unable to express his sympathy without betraying his desire to keep the past buried.

She pressed on, “Grief has a way of consuming us, doesn't it?” His eyes reflected the weight of her words, although his silence and avoidance of her gaze revealed much. “We don't have to speak of it if you'd rather not. Sometimes, just knowing someone understands can be enough.”

The air grew dense with the burden of unspoken words as they wandered deeper into the garden and the grounds of his estate.

Edmund led her along the path to the weathered fountain, where she broke the silence. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, after all this time,” she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty as her lips formed a nervous smile. “I thought you had left, disappeared into the world beyond our little town. I never saw you on the streets again… I must also admit that there was a time your absence brought me relief - knowing I wouldn’t have to face you after-”

Edmund frowned when she stopped herself. He wondered if her motive for coming was to find closure with him and release years of harbored resentment.

“I suppose... I suppose I came here hoping to find solace. But now that I'm here, I'm not sure what I want you to say.”

Since her arrival, he had grappled with finding the right words, torn between the desire to make amends and the fear of rejection. Her face fell as she observed his inner conflict. Without a word, she moved to settle beside the fountain, leaving the onus of conversation to him.

At length, he found his voice. “I... I don't know what you want to hear from me, but I want you to know that I am sorry - deeply sorry for what happened between us and what I did to you… I realize this apology comes late in life, and for that, I apologize as well."

“Thank you…”

Edmund awaited her further response, hoping for more, yet was met with silence. Although his admission released some of the obvious tension between the two, it was evident that there remained unresolved matters. Drawing closer, he sat beside her.

“You didn’t come solely for an apology,” he deduced.

She looked at him, hesitant before asking, “Can I ask about her? Rosalyn?”

His reluctance was apparent as his gaze drifted, wrestling with memories long buried beneath layers of grief and the mere mention of her name. “It’s… it’s not an easy subject for me.”

“I understand,” she responded, her voice gentle. “But I must know… Did you truly love her?”

Without hesitation, Edmund confidently nodded. “Yes. I loved Rosalyn... with all of my heart. And I always will.” He didn’t feel ashamed saying so. If there was one thing he knew, that was it. “I don’t regret it – my decision. But I do regret how I went about it… We’ve carried this burden for far too long.”

Her smile took him by surprise. “I'm glad your decision brought you happiness in the end. There’s no intent to change the past,” she affirmed, her voice soft yet resolute, “but perhaps we could move forward as friends?”

He was unreadable as he considered the offer. Eventually, a subtle smile graced his lips. “Friends... yes,” he murmured with quiet resolve.

She extended her hand first, a testament to her sincerity - a handshake. He found the gesture slightly amusing, and despite his initial impulse to resist, he allowed his hand to meet hers in a tentative grasp. With a single shake, they sealed their unspoken pact - an almost senseless act but necessary.

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#1916 #Ambroise Legacy #1910s #decades challenge #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 challenge #black simblr #sims stories #AL #Edmund Ambroise #...

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utilitycaster · 2 months ago

Note

Conveniently, I had already taken this photo yesterday and also posted it on my one of my personals to encourage people to go vote as well. Again, go vote if you can!

My current D&D character isn't all that interesting, but they are likely to be vaguely and subconsciously inspired by both of the twins (Vex and Vax) thinking back on it now, so feel free to talk about them!

Thank you! Oh man, the twins. So here's the thing: I IMMEDIATELY latched onto Vex and never let go - while I started watching Critical Role with the first episode of Campaign 2, i started watching Campaign 1 very early on (like...I don't recall exactly but I was up to the Briarwoods arc of C1 by episode 2x12's live air date; probably getting through 8-10 episodes a week) to the point that the first CR character who was a clear runaway favorite was Vex.

Some of it is that I love the ranger archetype, which was sadly underworked at the time but I don't care, archers and having a pet bear and knowing how to survive in the wilderness are cool. I love that Vex is clever and a strong leader and passionate. I also love how she and Vex wear their trauma in, essentially, complimentary ways. Vex will openly haggle and cheat a little and worry about the material aspects, but she keeps a lot of the emotional baggage of her childhood (a strong desire for a home and for approval and for stability and power and to be loved) very locked down. This is, predictably, like catnip for me.

Because of that, Vax, who has the opposite issues (is, in contrast to Vex, very open about wanting love and family and doesn't seem to care much about approval of strangers but is less open about his traits like a tendency for clinginess or for impulsiveness) was a slightly harder sell, but I still liked him, and the Raven Queen deal is a huge part of that. Because on top of the whole "If I am perfect, I will be loved and discover my identity and it will all be okay" trait, the other thing I go for is, of course, Paladin Behavior. I love someone who is deeply dedicated. I love someone who grapples with that dedication and what that means, and maybe even fails or gets angry but ultimately finds a path forward.

And of course I love their relationship; they do capture a sibling dynamic and I think they really puncture the (incorrect) idea that to love someone is to understand them. They frequently don't understand each other! but they always want each other to be happy, and that's what's important, and that's why their relationship hits the way it does.

#answered #wolfarick

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avesque · 2 years ago

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hi sweet darling my my myyy i adore your writing so very much and wanted to know if you are still taking requests from that one post you linked? if so i would love to see something with tsu’tey for the “i am in love with a moment we never had” + angst? something about him with some angst just scratches an itch in my brain idkkk lots of love btw mwah !<3

across the stars — tsu’tey

INCLUDES fem!reader, human!reader. angst. 1.1k words.

NOTE anon you are so sweet omg thank you so much! <3

jakesully hands tsu’tey a note one afternoon after the battle, a crumpled piece of folded paper with specks of dirt on the edges. it looks tiny and, tsu’tey admits, unimportant.

he refuses to take it.

the olo’eyktan sighs, pushing the scrap back in his direction. “come on, brother. it’s important.”

tsu’tey begs to differ, taking a step back and scowling at the chief. a small, immature part of him is still stingy about the turn of events; how he had no choice but to pass his title to jakesully when he was on the brink of death.

“it’s from y/n.”

tsu’tey stills. his ears fall back in his hair at the mention of your name, tail swishing in curiosity.

you were one of the researchers — a biologist, he remembers you saying — alongside grace who studied pandoran flora and fauna. before the war, you had wormed your way well into the clan with your bright smiles and tinkling laughter. despite being one of the sky people, no one was able to resist you.

you were magnetic.

tsu’tey prides himself in his great resolve, his firm judgment. he is as untrusting as one can be; calculative when needed and always skeptical.

though he cannot deny how even he was left defenseless to your charm. it pains him to admit it but he grew fond of your excited chatter, especially the way your little demon face would light up at the mere mention of new plants, among other things.

he snatches the paper in jakesully’s hands and leaves without a word.

the note has been tucked under the woven mat in his hut for days now. tsu’tey has convinced himself there are far more important things to focus on than your flimsy little gift, and as dawn breaks over the moon, he finds himself grappling for excuses he can tell himself to prolong the inevitable.

a frustrated scowl mars his face, jumping off his hammock and kneeling on the floor, lifting the carpet to reveal the folded scrap. it seems almost threatening as it sits there, staring back.

he chooses to get it done and over with.

he turns it over a few times, looking for something; anything, but all there is is smeared dirt. finally, with bated breath, he slips a finger in the crease and unfolds it.

the paper is filled with your neat handwriting, dark ink nearly glowing on the white background. his heart sinks a bit as he sees how little you wrote but he ignores the feeling.

my dearest, tsu’tey, it reads.

his hands shake and the paper crumples beneath his fingers.

you may be reading this while i am already off this moon, or you may be reading this with a scowl perfectly painted on your face with me in front of you. either way, i just hope you’re reading this.

i would first like to thank you for your warm welcome.

tsu’tey grunts at that, shifting on his haunches, something ugly bubbling in his chest, one he cannot name.

i know how difficult it must be to accept someone like me yet you did not push me away. (you did, but you are unsuccessful! i am just stubborn, and i’m glad i am.)

the countless moments i have spent with you are everything to me. i will hold them close to my heart forever.

from the deepest crevices of my heart, thank you. i appreciate all the things you’ve done for me. for showing me the flowers and telling me about them, letting me come with you on hunts, and for merely walking with me in the forest. i hope you enjoyed those moments as much as i did.

the sky people are going back on earth soon and i have decided to come with them. before i go, i will tell you a secret.

my heart has grown too fond of you. sometimes, i fear you can hear the way my heart beats a little faster when you’re near. you have enraptured me. you are the most beautiful creature i have ever laid my eyes upon.

but i —

the letter is cut off, scrawled over by strings of ink. it starts again below, and the words sends an arrow straight through his heart.

i am in love with a moment we never had. not entirely, i suppose, since i do not go over our moments the way you do. i do not experience them in a… friendly way, shall i say? the way you do. it does not translate the same way between us.

i have spent nights with you clouding my mind, the sound of your voice a hazy lullaby in my head. i have dreamt of holding you, of kissing you, of telling you i love you.

i see you, tsu’tey. even when i am no longer in this moon, remember that somewhere in this vast universe, someone out there sees you.

thank you for sharing a part of yourself with me.

yours, y/n.

the letter is nearly balled up in tsu’tey’s firm grip. it is miniscule compared to his hand, and it is a reminder of how small yours had looked in his when he guided you over rocks that one time he showed you around.

something sits heavy in his heart. guilt, he’s come to know. the sky people left just two days ago and jakesully had given him your letter a week before.

he falls back on the floor of his hut, the mat digging under his left thigh.

had he known of your feelings… had he conquered his fear and read your letter earlier…

because tsu’tey may be known for his great resolve but all it took was your blinding smile to spear through his walls. he was untrusting as one can be but the trust you have shown you had in him had him wavering.

he suppose it is just right that he was stripped of his title. one so mighty will not cower before a piece of paper, but he had, and he missed the one chance eywa has given him to let you know of his feelings that had grown and bloomed over the course of your moments spent together.

he has nothing of you to remember by except this letter and the guilt that has taken root over his chest. he knows it will stay right there as long as he lives.

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andreafmn · 1 year ago

Text

Bound | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: graphic depictions of death, implied/referenced SA

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: tried my best to write the pain and turmoil Rosalie might have felt during such a horrendous moment. I feel like her backstory is so overlooked in the story and, for me, it's one of the most tragic. I hope I do her justice with this and the coming chapters. Also, I want to say to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

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Rosalie Hale should have been protected. That much she knew to be true. She should have been able to revel in a perfect life. A perfect house, perfect children, a perfect husband, all complements to her being a perfect wife.

Everything should have been perfect because she already was.

But there was something about a perfect thing that she did not know until it was too late. Whenever it was scrutinized, the cracks started to appear. The paint that was used to make everything seamless was bulky and uneven. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could even come close.

Still, it had been far too late to see all the flaws of what was supposed to be her perfect life.

Everything had happened to her so quickly. Her courtship to Royce King the Second, to their engagement, to the date of the wedding. It was the thing of fairytales. Or at least, that was what she had thought –what she had been raised to believe. The perfect prince to the beautiful princess.

His façade was impeccable. He did the right things, said the right things; he played the part well. Too well. It made it easy for Royce to hide his faults. Because they didn’t exist to the naked eye. His lingering eye was only witnessed by the women he would make uncomfortable, but they would never speak of it. His drunkenness was reserved for the late hours of the night, in the company of his closest friends. His blatant disregard for Rosalie was only spoken of in whispers, spilling into the ears of his most trusted confidantes. He did not have to worry about anyone else knowing just how execrable he actually was.

The fact that he was marrying the Rosalie Hale was enough to allow his behavior. She was a testament to the fact that he could have anything he wanted without having to work too hard at it. All it took to reel her in were a few words and flowers, some public outings and he had her trapped in his spell.

At that point, she didn’t know it. That the love he seemed to have for her was only his part to play. How could she? Royce King was her ticket to everything she had ever worked toward. He was the trophy for the part she had to play. It didn’t matter that she was not in love with him, she loved everything he could give her. She didn’t mind feeling like an empty shell of a human if it looked like she had everything. She knew it was vain and shallow, but it was what she had been molded to be.

What she never thought was that the same person she believed would grant her every dream would be the very reason it was taken away. Ripped and taken from her without another thought.

The day had started well enough for her. With her wedding only a week away, her head could only be preoccupied with the final details of the event and everything that would come after. Even as she spent the night with Vera, her best friend, watching as her husband loved her and her son grew beautifully, Rosalie could only think of when it would be her own child reaching their arms up to be carried. She would have the life she wanted because that was what she was promised.

But the night was harsh and unforgiving. In hindsight, she would have taken that as a warning. The cold truth was slapping her in the face long before real hands had. When she was yelled at by Royce on the empty street, she should have turned around. She should have listened to the trembling in her limbs as he treated her as nothing more than a prize he had won. She should have ran and kept running.

But his grasp around her was tight, bruising. He grabbed her like she was his possession, as though her body had never belonged to her. And he wanted to show her off because she did, she belonged to him.

She remembered trying to fight. Whatever happened next, she could hold on to the fact that she had tried to fight. Even if it had been to no avail. No amount of strength could have been enough to protect her, at least not of any she knew.

Then, she remembered how frozen she had felt. Not because of the cold in the weather, but because her limbs had gone stiff. Royce and his friend were drinking in her pain, rejoicing in her screams. She couldn’t give them that. So, she froze. Rosalie allowed them to take everything from her but the fact that she was in so much pain.

They took her clothes, they took her will, they took her beauty, they took her body. They took and took until there was nothing left to give. They even believed they had taken her life. But something inside her was holding on. Something she cried would just let it all end. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, Rosalie just wanted the nightmare to end since her dream definitely had.

Rosalie could have sworn that she had spent hours on that dimly lit street begging for death to take her in its arms and whisk her away. She didn’t want to be cold, she didn’t want to be in pain. She no longer wanted to be. All she could do was wait until it all stopped.

Instead of the impending doom of death, she had been carried away by someone she couldn’t identify at first. At first, she believed it was the Angel of Death crossing her to the afterlife. The speed at which they were traveling felt as much. But soon she was being laid on a bed, where she was bitten on every inch of her body and it made her wish she was back to the pain from before. At least that was bearable until death came. This kind of ache ran across her entire body, freezing her veins and adjusting every fiber of her being. It was overwhelming enough that she could smell… sage? Maybe even moringa and rosemary. Possibly even a hint of ginger.

Rosalie wanted to laugh at that realization, not that her body allowed her to. She wanted to chuckle at the mere fact that her brain had decided to trick her with the smells of herbs as she went through the worst agony of her life. But she had to admit, it had eased her slightly. And she wished she had perceived those very smells until the change happened.

She also wished for the longest time that Carlisle had never saved her. What he did felt more like pity rather than a moment of salvation –she did not want to be saved. When he took her in his arms she wasn’t thankful, she was tired. If she’d had the ability to speak, she would have begged him to end it. Rosalie would have used every last breath she had to beacon death quicker than it was coming.

Instead, he saved her in the worst way possible. He submitted her to a life where she would never have anything she desired. She would have her beauty, and she would have a sort of family, but she would never have something that was truly hers. But nothing that was hers. Nothing that was just hers.

At least there was one thing that the imposed immortality had brought her. She was strong. Stronger than all those men the night before. She could feel it. The solidness of her skin, the strain in her muscles, the itching in her limbs for speed. It was supernatural strength. An unlimited source of unimaginable power.

A vampire. That was what they had told her she was now and she knew it was the truth. The burning in her throat yearned for only one thing and none of the people in the room she had woken in had it running through their veins. She craved the crimson liquid as though it was the sweetest nectar in the world and it was the only thing to satiate the deep void in her stomach.

But that hunger was nothing compared to the appetite she had for revenge. For the craving she had developed to have the same men that had made her tremble in her sacred body to quiver in theirs. She wanted them to beg her for their lives, to know what it feels for their lives to be in the hands of someone that could not give two shits about them. She wanted them to plead until their voices were hoarse. Until they were so scared that she could hear their skeletons rattle inside their bodies. She wanted them to pray to their god for their lives and then she would take them with her own hands. Her eyes would watch as their souls left their bodies, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

She could have answered Carlisle Cullen at that moment. When he had asked her if she wanted to join their family, she knew the answer was yes. Not because they were the perfect choice, but because it was the only one she had. Rosalie didn’t want to be alone and the Cullens were offering her companionship. She would say yes, eventually. First, she had something to do. So, she asked them for a couple of days to set her head in order.

Rosalie waited until the sun had set and dressed up for the occasion. She styled herself in perfect curls and demure makeup. She was dressed in tailored clothes and high heels. At the end of the day, she was still Rosalie Hale and those men would know exactly who it was that would take their lives.

The first two were easy to find. Buck and Andre Hubert, brothers that still lived under the same roof. With her newfound strength and speed, she slipped into their house without making a single sound. One thing she knew was every party and social appearance the rich people of Rochester, New York had to attend. She knew who would be where and when. And it just so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Hubert would be out all night.

She wanted to go play with their minds first. Start building that nest of fear deep in their chest as they had done to her. To laugh as they questioned if they were losing their minds.

The brothers were in the drawing room. Maybe reading, maybe drinking. Definitely drinking. It made her smile. Her legs took her to the table in their foyer, slamming a vase she had admired for years against the wall.

“Who goes there?” Buck called out from the room to be met with the crackling of the fireplace in response. “I’ll let you know that I have a gun.”

Rosalie remained quiet, instead making noise by slamming a framed picture of the brothers to the floor. She stared as the frame splintered around her and the glass bounced off her impenetrable skin. Bring your gun, she wanted to say, there’s nothing you can do to hurt me now.

But she kept her silence. She wanted to draw both of them out, not just their guns. Their bodies would be the first warming call to the other three men. So, she broke more things, until the room was filled with splintered wood, glass, and roses. How she detested roses now.

“What the fuck is going on, Buck?” Andre said, his voice shaking slightly. “Who’s there?”

“I don’t know, man,” he sighed in frustration. “I’ll go check.”

No. It had to be both of them. She called out, “Why don’t you both come to check?”

“No way,” she heard one of them whisper, not really caring which one.

They walked out slowly, each sporting a rifle in their arms. They stood tall, their eyes trained on hers, trying to appear courageous. But she knew they weren’t. She could hear their hearts racing, she could see the beads of sweat forming on their forehead, she could smell their desperation.

“Rosalie Hale,” Buck said. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprised to see me, boys?” She smiled sweetly and she could see the way it made them shiver. “I just thought I would pay you a visit after last night. You left without so much as a goodbye.”

“No, but you… you were…” Andre stammered. He was so young and it showed. His brother towered over him and he was shaking in inexperience.

“What’s wrong, Andre?” she feigned worry. She had also been so young and they had not cared. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You died last night,” Buck interjected in big brother fashion. “We left you on the street and you were dead.”

“Correct!” Rosalie clapped in fake excitement. “You did leave me on the street, but I wasn’t dead. No. I suffered for hours waiting to die. But alas, death arrived in a different way.”

She took steps toward them, closing the distance of the large entryway. Her movement made Buck fire his gun, the bullet flying right by her ear. It was so close she could hear the whistle of the shot as it passed her.

“Careful, Buck,” she reprimanded. “You can’t kill something that’s already dead.”

“W-what?”

“I know, it’s practically unbelievable,” she chuckled. “Death becomes me, doesn’t it?”

Rosalie was so close now that it would only take four steps for her to be nose-to-nose with them. Her appearance was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open front door, every feature now unmistakable to the men in front of her.

As they looked into her eyes, they couldn’t help the scream that bubbled from their throats. It was at that moment that they knew their guns would be useless against the intruder. She was definitely not human anymore.

Buck shot at her stomach, watching in astonishment as the bullets ricocheted against her rather than fly through her. On the other hand, Andre decided to take off in a run. Rosalie could only laugh. Her beautiful voice made their veins run cold, fear grasping them by the throats.

The blonde took Buck’s gun in her hand, bending the barrel until no more bullets could move through, and grabbed him by his throat, walking toward Andre. She dragged the man's body with one hand, smiling as he tried to claw free, twisting and turning in her grasp. In a couple of seconds, she was behind the younger Hubert. With the damaged gun, she shattered his right leg, smiling as he yelled in pain.

“Please, please,” Andre cried. Tears and snot mixed on his face, the mask of pure desperation sliding onto him. “Just let us go. We’re sorry, Rosalie. We were just having some fun. It should have never gotten to that point.”

“Oh, then, please. Tell me when I was having fun?” Rosalie said. She had dropped both brothers on the floor, one right next to the other, kneeling. “Was it when I begged you all to stop? Was it when my body had been assaulted to the point where I could not even move a finger? Or maybe it was when you were telling Royce he had to start looking for a new wife since I was dead? I would love to know what was fun about any of that.”

“It wasn’t,” Buck blubbered. “We were wrong, Rosalie. What we did was despicable.”

“It was, wasn’t it? It was the most vile thing you could ever do to a woman –to anyone,” she smiled. “But you still did it. And it cost me my life. Now, it’s gonna cost you yours.”

The brothers let out strings of ‘no, please’s and ‘have mercy, Rosalie’s, and it made the fire inside her burn hotter. The vampire stared at Andre first, the youngest of the two. The one she had gone to school with. The one that was only a couple of months her junior. The boy that had acted like a man and taken everything from her. His cheeks were stained with tears, his eyes red and swollen from crying.

“You could’ve made a woman very happy, Andre,” she smiled. “At least, the boy I knew in school would have. You, as you are now, don’t deserve the dirt on my shoes.”

“I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” he sobbed. The attractive boy she had known had been battered to a sorry excuse for a human, and she reveled in it. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

“You’re right. You won’t do it again,” she said, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Save your sorry for your god, Andre.”

And she snapped his neck, watching as his body slumped to the floor.

Beside him, Buck let out a guttural scream. A completely broken and full of agony wail. Music to her ears. “Does it hurt, Buck?” she said. “To see the body of the little brother you had sworn to protect, lifeless and beaten? Does it hurt that there was absolutely nothing you could have done to save his life?”

When he kept quiet, only responding in whimpers and whines, she took his left arm and broke it under her grip. “Answer me,” she seethed. “How bad does it hurt.”

“It’s the worst pain imaginable,” he yelled out. “I should have saved him. Saved him from you!”

“No, Buck,” she tsked. “You should have saved him from you. From the wickedness of your mind and your actions. Your brother? Your baby brother is dead because of you. And you can let him know when you join him.”

Her pale hands wrapped around his throat once more, her eyes observing as the fight left his body. With his only hand, he tried to claw at her skin, to sink his nails into her in an attempt to free himself, but it was futile. He couldn’t even squeeze her.

She stared into his eyes, the way they pleaded, and she committed them to memory. And she wondered. She wondered if they had looked into her eyes, would they have shown her mercy? Would they have at least let her live to see another day? The fact was that they hadn’t and she would not dwell on them. On these men that were barely human.

Rosalie squeezed until Buck’s hand fell to his side and his heart stopped beating. She squeezed until there was nothing left in his eyes but the colored irises. She squeezed until she was satisfied. Once she was done, she let his body fall to the floor, slumping against his brother. They were a masterpiece before her. Dead without shedding a single drop of blood.

She called the police after, claiming to be a neighbor that heard a ruckus in the Hubert house and she watched from the shadows as the scene unveiled before her. The Huber parents arrived before the police, though they weren’t far behind. Mrs. Hubert let out a heart wrenching wail, calling for her boys as she collapsed in her husband’s arms. And, instead of feeling guilty, she wondered how her own parents would have reacted to finding her body.

Would her mother shriek? Would her father turn heaven and hell until he found the culprit? Would he yell at the policemen to do their job and find the bastard that did such a violent act as Mr. Hubert? Those were answers she would never get. There was no body for her parents to find, no crime to be reported. Not anymore.

The girl remained at the scene for only a moment more, waiting until the front of the estate was flooded with neighbors and people from deep in the town surely woken from the commotion. She waited until everyone’s attention was on the Hubert brothers and none would be on the people farther away. Especially people staying at hotels in the town center.

There were two men down on her list. Three more to go. And she would not give them even a second to escape. Their karma was coming for them in the shape of a beautiful vampire.

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