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whatdoeseverybodywant · 2 days ago

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Pieces of Her - Chapter Three

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

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All OC Characters belong to me

Summary: Five months away from her dream wedding, Kenya’s world is turned upside down and her heart is shattered leaving her heartbroken and confused.

Keyna sighed as she shut off her car and looked at the house before her. She pulled the ultrasound out of the sun visor and stared at it. After taking the pregnancy test at her studio the other she called her doctor for an emergency visit. Her doctor confirmed that she was three months pregnant.

She spent three days sitting with the news and debating whether she should tell Jon. She still hadn’t spoken to him since the night she left. He had called her a couple of times but she had let them all go to voicemail.

Sighing, she ticked the ultrasound into her bag before getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. She didn’t know if she should knock or just use her key to get in. What if what Talisua said was true? What if Jon really had moved Trinity back into the house?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. She didn’t have to wait long to hear someone on the other side of the door. A small smile was on her face as she heard the sound of nails tapping against the floor before a loud bark.

“Zeus, chill.” She heard Jon grumble on the other side before the door opened.

Jon looked shocked to see her. “Kenya?” he called out, lifting his hand to touch her. She flinched and he immediately put his hand back down. She couldn’t stop staring at him, he looked… bad. His beard was unkempt, his hair was greasy like he hadn’t washed it in weeks and he had dark circles under his eyes.

Their staring contest broke when Zeus let out a loud bark, pushed past Jon, and jumped on Kenya. Kenya laughed as Zeus tried to lick her face, she gently pushed him back.

“Zeus, chill,” Jon said again and whistled. Zeus stopped jumping on Kenya and walked back into the house.

“Can I come in?” She asked

“Of course, this is still your house, too,” Kenya said nothing as she followed Jon into the house. She toed off her UGG slippers and walked into the living room. Jon followed behind her. He watched as she sat on the couch, her posture rigid, as if she would rather be anywhere but their shared home “How have you been?” He asked, his eyes still on her. “I missed you.”

Kenya scoffed and reached into her bag to pull out the ultrasound. “Here.”

She heard Jon suck in a deep breath as he took the ultrasound from her. With a shaky hand, he brought the picture up to his face. “This forreal?” he asked and she sucked her teeth.

“I wouldn’t lie about no shit like this Jonathan.” Kenya snapped with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jon muttered. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”He was happy. Before everything happened, he and Kenya were trying to have a baby. Jon’s eyes lingered on the ultrasound, his hands trembling as he stared down at it, “How far along are you?”

“Three months.”

“This is good right?” Jon asked and Kenya turned her head to look at him. “Kenya this is so good, I- We can get back to how we used to be.”

Kenya’s eyes flashed with pain, and she turned her head slowly to look at him. “How we used to be? Jonathan, you moaned your ex-fiancee’s name while you came inside of me! There is no getting back to what we used to be. I only told you because I didn’t want my child to grow up without a father.”

“Kenya, please. I love you. I fucked up, but I can’t live without you”

Kenya scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Your mom already told me what the deal is.” Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “Your mom came to my studio last week, she told me to come and get all my shit from my house so Trinity could get herself comfortable in my house. That’s so fucked up Jonathan. Now you tryna tell me you can’t live without me?! Fuck off.” Kenya snatched the ultrasound from Jon’s hand and stood from the couch. “I’ll text you to tell you my next appointment.”

“Kenya!” Jon called out as he jumped from the couch and followed her to the front door. She didn’t stop though. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. “Please, just listen to me.”

Kenya stopped walking and turned around to glare at Jon. “There is nothing left for you to say! I only came here to tell you about our child, nothing more. I’m not doing this for us, Jon. I’m doing this because that’s what’s best for our child.”

Jon stood there frozen. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He wanted to yell at her, make her understand how sorry he was. But he couldn’t he could only watch as she turned to walk out of the front door, down the driveway, and to her car. She didn’t even look back at him before pulling off.

Jon closed the door and slowly walked back into the living room, he dropped down on the couch and put his head in his hands. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to breathe through the ache in his chest. He had no right to stop her, no right to expect her to stay. She had every right to walk away, she had every right to not want anything to do with him.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he had just let the most important person in his life walk away. And he didn’t know how to get her back.

It had been two weeks since Kenya told Jon she was pregnant. And it was now time for her first checkup. She had texted him and told him the time of the appointment. He had responded that he would be there.

Kenya sat in the waiting room, her nerves on edge as the seconds ticked by. She didn’t know why she was so nervous.

“Kenya?”

Kenya took a deep breath as she stood up, she checked her phone again and sighed when she had no new messages from Jon. He was late. Grabbing her bag, she followed behind the nurse to the exam room. She remained quiet while the nurse got her vitals.

“The doctor should be in shortly ok?” The nurse said with a warm smile. Kenya nodded and returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Thank you.” The nurse nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She checked her phone again, but still no messages from Jon. Her nerves were now gone, she was pissed. He had said he was going to be here. He said he was gonna be there for their child.

She heard a soft knock on the door before it opened slightly. The doctor walked in, a warm smile on her face. "Hi, Kenya! How are you feeling today?"

“Excited,” Kenya replied. She was excited and she wasn’t going to let Jon’s absence and broken promise upset her. “But also a little nervous.”

The doctor nodded understandingly. "That’s totally normal. Let’s get you checked out and make sure everything’s looking good. I’ll do a quick ultrasound, and we’ll go from there."

Kenya’s mind wandered as the doctor prepared the equipment, and soon the cold gel was pressed against her abdomen. The buzzing of the ultrasound machine filled the quiet room,

The doctor hummed thoughtfully as she examined the screen, clearly looking for something specific. “Oh!” She said and Kenya started to panic. Her eyes flickered from the screen to the doctor. “Well, double congratulations. You’re having twins.”

“Oh fuck” Kenya’s breath caught in her throat. “Twins?”

Doctor Monroe nodded her head with a chuckle. "It looks like there are two little heartbeats in there. Two babies. Healthy and developing right on track."

TWO?! Kenya couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Jon stumbled through, out of breath and holding two gift bags, one blue and one pink.

“I’m so sorry,” He blurted out as he rushed to Kenya’s side. “I wasn’t sure which one to get and shit, I spent too much time in that damn store.” He stopped rambling as he noticed the look of horror on Kenya’s face as she stared at the screen. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m - we’re - twins.” That was all Kenya could get out. Jon looked towards Doctor Monore for confirmation and she nodded her head.

“Twins, here look.” She placed the transducer back on Kenya’s stomach. “One baby here,” she pointed to one of the images, “and the second one right here. You can see both heartbeats. Everything’s developing normally.”

Jon’s breath hitched as he saw the two tiny forms on the screen, side by side. His chest tightened as the reality of two babies settled in. He couldn’t deny the rush of emotions, but there was still that undercurrent of anxiety. Twins. It was so much more than he had expected. He already had two kids from a relationship way before Kenya. They were both teenagers with his oldest now in college, it was like Jon was starting all over.

“Everything looks great, Kenya. We’ll schedule another checkup in a few weeks.” Doctor Monroe smiled at the two of them. “I’ll get these printed out and have my nurse bring them in.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, her voice steady, though still distant as her thoughts swirled.

The doctor gave them one last glance before she stepped out of the room, the soft click of the door behind her somehow making the silence feel even heavier.

“You cool?”

Kenya rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache start to creep in as the reality continued to sink in. She glanced at him, then quickly looked away, her gaze landing on the ultrasound images, still clear on the screen.

“What are the fucking odds?”

“I mean…” He trailed off with a chuckle. “But everything it gonna be okay. Imma be here for you and our children. Diamond and Jordan are gonna be ecstatic.”

Kenya tried to hide the grimace on her face at Jon mentioning his other children. Now, she loved them but they could care less for her. Diamond, Jon’s 15-year-old daughter hated Kenya and no matter what Kenya tried to do, nothing ever worked.

Kenya had gotten Diamond and her friend backstage passes to a Chris Brown concert, Diamond barely said two words to Kenya the whole night and only thanked her father for the tickets.

It seemed like everyone in Jon’s family was against her and it made her second guess if she wanted to bring children into this dynamic. Because they could hate her all they wanted, but she be dammed if they hated her children.

Authors Note: OMG ABOUT TIME 😬

Sooo twins... were we expecting that?

Lemme know your thoughts on this chapter!

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clxssified-mirxcle · 3 days ago

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God, I'm so Lovesick ᯓ★ Satoru

Satoru Gojo isn’t normal. Not as a sorcerer, not as a coworker, not as a friend, and certainly not as a friend with benefits. After all, why does he keep insisting on doing all the things that a couple does when you two clearly aren’t? It's almost like he likes you or something!

Containing:

Friends with Benefits, Satoru and you being complete idiots, Obliviousness, Unrequited (not really) love, Implied suggestive content, Denial is a river in Egypt...and also in Reader's head apparently, Impulsive confession

Notes: Mimi tries to avoid use of phrase "Y/N" at all costs; Wrote this with Fem!Reader in mind but tried not to mention it very often. Any feedback is appreciated esp when it comes to writing x readers in general!

Nowadays, it feels like you're waking up in his bed more often than not. Silk sheets, sun rays streaming through the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse, and that grin of his. His hand messed up your hair when he noticed that you were awake, tangled from the activities that have become more and more frequent ever since you two made that deal.

Six months ago..

"Aren't you supposed to be on a date or something?"

You looked up from your paperwork- your students had just come back from another mission with a grade 3 curse. It was your co-worker, white hair and blindfolded in black. You sighed, wondering how he always knew. It'd been going on like this for a while now- you'd find someone to talk to, and just as you were to go out on a date, they'd cancel last minute or ghost you- it made you wonder if it was a curse sometimes.

"Does that Six Eyes of yours count towards other people's love lives or something?" You asked, rolling your eyes and signing the last page before filing it away. You hadn't even bothered to dress up this time- you felt like something happening was inevitable. You and Gojo were somewhat close, you supposed. Not enough to be on a first name basis, but enough to be friendly. He always laughed and said you were being too picky about it, to just call it being friends. So that's what you did.

You called it being friends, but with you both being sorcerers, it wasn't the most normal of friendships. He'd barge into your office proclaiming that the two of you should hang out, which often ended up with him lying on the couch and talking while you did your paperwork…and his as well.

It was nice, though, listening to him talk. You couldn't tell half the time whether his stories were real or not, and he'd usually bring sweets with him. Whether or not you had to bribe him to get them depended on how nice he felt that day about sharing.

"Shame. They're losing out," He commented as he swung your office chair to face him, a hand on one of the armrests. "We should go out for drinks then. You can drink your sorrows away, and I-"

"Gojo, you don't drink. It messes with Infinity, doesn't it?" You said, cutting him off with an unimpressed look. He probably just wanted to laugh at you while you cried and take blackmail photos. The man had a folder full of Megumi photos; he probably had one filled with ones of you at awkward angles too. It was comical how dramatic his face was as it fell, looking like you'd killed a puppy in front of him.

"You're such a party killer…but that's not a no to going out, is it?" He grinned, switching back quickly and leaning back. "Let's get milkshakes, then. I know this one American-style diner in Harajuku that specialises in them."

"…Do I even have a choice?" You asked, crossing your arms in your chair. When it came to sweets, the man was nothing short of ravenous.

"Nope!" Gojo chimed, using the sleeve of your uniform to pull you up and tug you with him as he headed out the door. "And stop with that 'Gojo' stuff, will you? Call me Satoru, like a normal friend."

The ride to the diner was…relatively uneventful, though you could feel his eyes on you the entire time if you weren't looking. You both were looking through the menu before you got fed up with his staring- he'd been staring, almost studying you over his menu.

"Spit it out, Gojo." You sighed, still holding up the pretence of looking through the menu. You'd decided on what you wanted a while ago, anyways.

"What do you mean, spit it out? I'm not doing anything of that sort." He said, a faux-innocent expression on his face as he put down the menu, calling over a waiter to order.

You finally looked up from your menu as the waiter took them and gave your order, leaving with a strange look at Gojo's white hair and blindfold. Your eyes narrowed as you both waited for your drinks. "You keep staring at me weird. Spit it out already." It was probably just a prank that he wanted to pull on Nanami or something.

"You ever heard of an arrangement called being friends with benefits?" He asked casually, one arm resting over the top of his booth chair, already talking before you could answer. The milkshakes had come by, and while they looked delicious, they sat abandoned for now. "I'm interested in one. With you. You don't need to worry about feelings, anything like that. If you're not into it, then I understand, and we can-"

Your first instinct was to say no. That it was a stupid idea. Your second was that it was a prank. Your third…considered it. After all, Gojo wasn't bad looking. Far from it, to be exact. White hair that you knew was soft because of how he once spent an afternoon talking about his hair products that perfectly matched his eyes. Oh, those eyes. You'd only seen them twice, but they were unforgettable. They had to be the prettiest ones you'd ever seen, a cross between some sort of gemstone or crystal and blue glacier ice.

Fuck it, you're sorcerers. You'd have to be dreaming if you expected to live a long life...though Gojo probably would, being the 'Honoured One' and all.

You were so caught up thinking…or admiring, sipping on your milkshake, that you didn't notice that he was still talking when you answered.

"I'll do it."

"That's totally fine! I don't want to pressure you into anything and- wait what?" You'd never seen Gojo so stunned before. You couldn't see his eyes behind that blindfold of his, and he was ever so thankful for that because he just knew that the way his eyes widened was embarrassing.

You couldn't help smiling, leaning back against the back of your booth as you relaxed. "I said that I'd do it, Gojo."

"Then call me Satoru. It's only right if we're going to be in this sort of relationship," His mouth turned up into a grin that you knew meant he was about to say something weird. "After all, I can't have you calling me by my last name while we're-"

You silenced him before he could say anything else by shooting him a glare. "Gojo, I swear to God-"

"What're you thinking about?" His voice, slightly rough from sleep. He had one arm around you as he leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck before you playfully swatted him away. "C'mon, tell me!"

"Ack- Watch it Pretty Boy! I just woke up!" You giggled, burying your body further in the sheets. "Just thinking about when we first made the deal." According to the man, you'd become a lot more cheerful lately, and you were inclined to agree. Probably because you two started spending time together a lot often.

"Oh yeah? Well… I don't know about you, but I'm thinking about spending the day together. I have a vision and everything." Satoru grinned, sitting up and tugging on your arm like he had that day, when your relationship with him changed. You couldn't help but laugh as he all but pushed you into the bathroom, closing the door.

He'd changed since then, too. Or rather, his behaviour towards you did, at the very least. Sure, there were the times when he'd barge into your office, but you'd rarely see him outside of Jujutsu High. Since the previous November, you found yourself seeing him nearly every single day…and often every night, with the nature of your arrangement. It was almost like having a boyfriend. Almost. Because he wasn't your boyfriend. The way he'd take you out, for dinners and to places that could've passed for dates? The way that he'd make breakfast for you in the morning while you were asleep even though he preferred to just reheat food? How he'd grin just a bit wider whenever you called him Pretty Boy?

It made you almost double guess yourself sometimes.

Because sometimes, you'd wake up to him asleep, his arm holding you close to him like you'd leave the moment you woke up, and you'd almost believe that this whole arrangement was something more. Because he'd sense that you just weren't up to it occasionally, and instead say "Let's just sleep tonight, I'm tired and it's late. You should just stay over,"

And so you'd wish for something more.

It was an impossible dream, really. He was Gojo Satoru, for heaven's sake. The strongest, whose birth shook the world of Sorcerers and humans alike to its core when his eyes opened to reveal a power that hadn't been seen for at least a century. It'd take nothing short of a miracle for someone like him to become remotely interested in you.

You came out of the shower to a new dress laid out on the already made sheets. He was clearly planning something fancy; from the soft fabric to the floral blue pattern that sprawled across the white cloth. It was beautiful, and not the first outfit he'd gotten you, but as you put it on…you couldn't help but wish that he'd given it to you because he liked you. Not as a friend, not as a co-worker, not as whatever you were now, but as someone to love. God, he confused you. He had to know what he was doing, acting like this.

He wouldn't tell you where you two were going no matter how much you pestered him, meaning you had to rely on your memory. He took you from train station before you two finally got onto a bullet train and watched as the city turned into countryside. Getting off onto some station in the middle of nowhere, Satoru grinned as he ignored your questions and linked your arms together, pulling you close to him.

"Sorry, Sunshine, but I couldn't have you figuring out where we were going." He murmured, winking. You hadn't even realised that he'd neglected to put on the blindfold today.

"Pretty boy, what do you mean-" Your voice was cut off by your own yelp as you felt the familiar rush of queasiness as your surroundings morphed.

Of course something felt off. He hadn't fucking teleported them.

"Satoru, I swear to-" Your voice that was about to raise faltered, as you looked around. "…Where are we?" Your lips whispered, mind, body and soul utterly entranced by the sight that lay before you.

It was beautiful. You and Satoru were standing on the bank of a lake that was filled with floating red lotuses, the overhead sun making the water that you could see shimmer with flecks of pale yellow and gold.

"Somewhere in Northern Thailand. Nice, isn't it?" He answered from where he was standing, one arm around you- you hadn't even noticed when he'd done it- with a smile on his face.

The words 'Nice is an understatement' were caught in your throat as you turned to look at him, lips slightly parted open in what was normal to him, but to you was in absolute awe.

Satoru was always a good looking guy, handsome even. But oh, he was radiant. His white hair was striking on a normally, but in the sun on a day like this, you swore that it was glowing like a halo around him. Blue eyes that looked like they were made out of stained glass and long lashes that looked almost frosted in snow that would never melt. You both were in your mid 20's, but the one word that came to mind when looking at him was boyish, and it made a smile rise to your face as he took your hands in his.

"Dance with me, C'mon!" He said, eyes sparkling in a way that made you second guess everything again, eyes widening and cheeks heating up in a way you knew you had many times before…though you were pretty sure Satoru never noticed. You nodded, slightly stunned as he started leading you in something resembling a waltz, a giddy laugh escaping your lips.

"There's not even any music to dance to!" You spoke, laughter seeping through the pauses of your words as you took one hand off his shoulder to try and get hair out of your face from how he spun you around.

"I got it all in here, don't worry!" He smiled, guiding your free hand to just over his heart, and you prayed that he couldn't feel how warm your skin was or how your own heartbeat sped up.

"You're so stupid…" You mumbled, looking away as that smile got to you again.

Really, you had to get a hold of yourself. This was getting unbearable.

"Stupid? After I got you this?" He asked, a shit eating grin on his face as he turned you around, taking out a small jewelry box. "I'd be crushed if you thought that of me after this."

You felt the smooth chill of metal against the skin of your neck, instinctively looking down. He'd gotten a necklace. Aquamarine set in silver, the metal swirling around it in fibers so thin they looked almost liquid in the sun. It was beautiful.

And so, so wrong. Because a gift like this was something you got for someone special, and you…you weren't special to Satoru. Not in the way you wished it to be. Not enough to warrant what you were pretty sure was a custom made necklace that clearly cost more than double your monthly rent

So why did it create that familiar pit in your stomach? That blockage in your throat which didn't go away no matter how hard you swallowed?

You turned around and could barely get the words out, voice quiet as you whispered, "…Satoru, I can't-"

"You can't what?" He asked, a mix between a confused look and smile on his face. "I know I've never bought you jewelry before, but-"

"I can't do this anymore!" The words came out of your mouth faster than you realised. His mouth was still open from when he was speaking, and his eyes were wide in what one could only describe as utter shock.

Silence fell over you both. He was looking at you like you were someone special.

Oh. You'd messed up.

Oh.

You felt wetness on your cheeks. Strange, it wasn't raining.

You were crying, weren't you?

Looking at Satoru, he was about to cry as well.

"Satoru, I- I-" Your lips were wobbly as you slowly stepped away, barely holding yourself together. You were trying to look at anywhere else but him, really, hands fisted in your clothing with enough force to worry about the fabric ripping.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. I just-"

You were cut off by Satoru's voice so quiet yet so loud, faltering in a way at the end that just made your heart break. "Did I do something wrong? Tell me, please. I can- I can make things better. I'll make it better. Whatever it is, just tell me and-"

"No, you really can't." You whispered, forcing out a smile as you wiped your tears, the necklace, as delicate as it was, weighing like a thick chain of solid steel on your body. "Because you make everything better, you see. And that's the problem. I've not been a very good friend with benefits to you, you see."

"I've gone and fallen for you, and the worst part is that I don't even know when it started. I just look at you and feel dizzy with how my heart starts beating so fast."

That's strange. Why was he smiling with the purest form of relief on his face when he had been fighting a look of utter despair beforehand? He had to have lost it. Congratulations, you're to be credited as the person who made Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, lose his mind faster than any curse. Fantastic.

"That's embarassing. I arrange all this, get you nice jewelry, and you still steal the first confession?" He said, half to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe I should've listened and told you sooner."

You couldn't do anything else but stare, mouth agape with confusion as he stepped forward towards you, eyes filled with nothing short of adoration on his face.

"I had all planned out, really. I honestly had half the mind that you already knew." Satoru grinned, staring at you like you were the only one in the world. You were so close to him. Sure, you'd been closer, but everything felt different. Lighter. As if the necklace had lost all its weight since he had put it on you.

"You didn't know at all?" He asked, his fingers briefly resting on your hand before traveling up to rest on your cheek, bring your face closer to him.

"Not one bit." You breathed out, as you both leaned in, eyes closing and lips meeting.

It wasn't your first kiss, not by a long shot.

But you were pretty sure it was your favourite.

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Credits ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Made everything myself on Canva! Got images from Pinterest!

© 2024 clxssified-mirxcle. All work belongs to @clxssified-mirxcle. Do NOT repost, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. clxssified-mirxcle does NOT consent to having her work used to train AI in any form and does NOT support any form of AI 'art' whatsoever.

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #L in Love ✦ . 　⁺ ♡ . ୨୧

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moonandst4rs · 2 days ago

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“She’s always a woman to me”

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Masterlist

AARON HOTCHNER X F!READER

WC: 673

Summary: Aaron sees you for you. He sees the woman behind the job

Warnings / Content: Inspired by She's always a woman - Billy Joel. no use of y/n, no dialogue

A/N: Feel free to ask questions or simply chat. Any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

Being a woman is hard. Being a woman in power, working as a Section Chief in the FBI only magnifies the weight you carry. It isn’t just the job, it’s about navigating Bureaucratic nonsense. You have to balance authority with expectations, from yourself and others. Five teams. Five different teams of personalities, skills and egos yjay you have to manage day in and day out. Some are polite and show you respect—others, not so much. Aaron Hotchner’s team, to their credit, are professional. Mostly.

You’ve grown tough over the years. You had to. The world doesn’t let women in your position be soft without paying the price. If you’d let yourself be trampled, ignored, or undermined even once, you wouldn’t be here now, standing tall as Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The toughness, it isn’t armour, it’s more like something you’ve learned to carry with grace. You got here by knowing exactly when to hold your ground and when to bend, ever so slightly, so the world doesn’t break you. From a wide-eyed field agent to Section Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you’ve learned that balance. And you’ve learned how to carry the weight of other people’s lives along the way.

You do your job well. You’re proud of that. You make decisions not just for today, but for the future, for the safety of your agents, your teams. You’re steady, calm under pressure, always managing to keep the pieces from falling apart. You have to. But not everyone sees it that way. For some, you’ll always be the one in the way, the one enforcing rules they don’t want to follow. They call you harsh, cold, rigid. They talk about how you won’t let them work however they want. They forget there’s a reason the rules are there, a reason you stand so firm.

The names they call you, the insults, the accusations, they don’t hurt like they used to. There was a time when you’d lie awake at night, wondering if they were right. Now, you barely blink when they throw words your way. If anything, you’ve become somewhat detached, wishing, in a darkly amused way, that they would at least get creative. Give you something new to roll your eyes at. You’ve heard it all before. The same tired jabs, the same predictable bitterness. They don’t know how strong you really are, and they never will. Not the way Aaron does.

Aaron. He’s always there, quietly watching. He knows you can take it, he knows you’ve taken far worse, and that you’ll keep taking it because you refuse to let them see you falter. But even so, he insisted stepping in. Not always, and not in ways that make a scene, but it was enough. Enough to remind you that you don’t have to fight every battle alone. He challenges the ones who disrespect you when you’re not looking, stands by you when the weight of the world starts to feel a little too heavy. And even though you never asked for his protection, you’ve come to realize it’s something more. Something softer, something that breaks through the noise and makes you feel…seen.

You never wanted anyone to fight for you. You don’t need it. You’ve spent your life proving that you’re more than capable of fighting for yourself. But Aaron doesn’t fight to save you; he fights to remind you that you’re worth protecting. And in those moments, when his quiet strength meets yours, you realize just how much that means to you. More than you’d ever let on.

Despite everything, the long nights, the endless pushback, the harsh words, you keep going. Not because you’re unbreakable, but because you know what’s at stake. You fight for your teams because they deserve it. You stand firm because that’s who you are, and because you believe in the work you do, even when others don’t see it. And maybe, just maybe, because you know that there’s someone, someone like Aaron, who sees the woman behind the title.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x f!reader #Spotify

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stardancerluv · 24 hours ago

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What the Emperor Wants

Part Sixteen

Summary: Words are expressed and lives are in endangered.

Notes/Warnings: 18+, violence, threats made, anger is expressed.

ientaculum: breakfast in Ancient Rome.

❤️s, reblogs, comments, feedback, & reblogs are always appreciated. 💐Thank you for reading!💐

You swallowed.

“She, she…” Your voice trailed off as he drew closer.

“Tell me.”

“I am aware, I should not feel a knot of despair, but your mother told me that you and Caracalla had laid with Tertia.”

A smirk curled his lips, your stomach lurched.

“Did she?”

“Yes, Geta. I feel like a fool. It was before you and I, I…”.

The words stumbled as your anguish grew stronger.

“I should not feel as twisted like the ropes that keep the sails steady on a boat.”

You were so caught up in the whirl of those emotions, you were startled as his slender, fingers gripped your chin and brought your face up. All you could do was look into his eyes which were as dark as earth after a heavy rain.

As your name passed his lips, every part of you felt it.

“Yes.” Inwardly, you began to wilt. You had gone too far, you were convinced. You should have shielded your feelings.

“Before I utter anything of my past with Tertia, tell me why you feel this way.”

You pressed your lips together. “If that is what you wish.”

“It is.”

“She had been tucked away in her small room, much like the one you had retrieved me from. When she had taken ill. Many of us feared we’d catch her malady. Blessings from the gods kept it away from us. In her absence, chances were given to us. Mine was the royal box.”

Geta nodded. His hand continued to hold you in place. Oddly, it kept you focused.

“When good health had finally began to wash over her, she searched me out. She had found out I had taken her place in the royal box. She refused to believe me when I told her I had not asked to be placed there. I had not believed in my ability to serve there.”

He made a face, you couldn’t read but you continued.

“I tried to walk away from her, after seeing she wouldn’t listen or believe my words. A few short steps later and she was pulling me to the ground, by my braids. She demanded I tell her…”

His thumb grazed your lips, silencing you before he drew his fingers away and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

Blinking you were swept away from the past you had been speaking of and brought right back to Geta as he spoke again.

“Continue.”

“After that?” You licked your bottom lip. You tasted a trace of his own taste and a mere trifle of the wine he must have been sipping on.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“Geta, you can be quite the distraction.”

He smirked. “You were in the royal box.”

Your eyes grew as you heard what he said.

“Now continue. We need to this to be addressed.”

“Yes, Geta.” You swallowed. “She wanted to me to tell her everything that took place. Like if I had spoken with either you or Caracalla or even Acasius. Blandus heard the fight, broke it up and this time she was sent to her room as punishment. And I had not seen her till we returned from the country.”

You paused as you caught get looking you over.

“Did she hurt you?”

You shook your head. “The hair pulling stung but no, I was find.”

“Good.”

“Earlier, the shadow that fell over me was because your mother spoke of how you and Caracalla laid with her.”

He rose an eyebrow, earlier he told his mother the truth. He wondered what she was playing at; saying that to his future wife. He pressed his lips together.

“The truth is, she was given to me. I was supposed to explore the more carnal side of life with her. From the beginning, she expressed a preference to Caracalla and his love for blood and violence so I lost interest in her.” He made a face. “Simply I never touched her.”

Your heart skipped. “Truly, Geta?”

“Yes.”

You took his hand and pressed a few kissed to his knuckles. When you glanced at him from under your lashes you caught sight of a smile.

“So, now I wonder if I should remove her from the palace?”

“Does she still share her time with Caracalla?”

He shrugged. “I believe so, not terribly sure.”

“If she pleases him. Leave her.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. “Of course, what you decide I will follow.”

“My sweet blossom.” He sighed. “It has been a terribly long day.”

You nodded.

“Why don’t I have some baths drawn for us to relax in before the banquet tonight to honor my mother.”

“That would be very pleasing.”

******

The warm water swirled around you. The air was fragrant. You inhaled deeply and felt yourself relax further. Closing your eyes, you rolled your shoulders and let yourself sink further into the water.

Something cold sat against your throat, a gloved hand covered your mouth.

You splashed, “Move and you will do the job for me.” Rasped a voice.

You stilled, though your heart beat like a wild horse.

“Good. You still obey orders.”

You tried to scream against the hand, mere muffles escaped from the edges. The cold object was tighter against your throat. You stopped.

“His end will come. And so will yours.”

The cold object slipped away from your throat and the hand disappeared. You heard a scampering of footfalls but was too terrified to think to look.

You continued to not move till you heard a commotion. Aelia, called out. No longer did you feel rooted where you sat; so you turned towards her scream.

“Stop! You don’t belong here!” She called out.

Feeling as if something came together just then, all that had just happened was realized in you. A sharp tremble came over you, followed by tears.

*******

“Why did you leave her alone?” Geta raged, his face was taunt.

“Geta, she was only getting cloths to dry me.” You said weakly.

Despite, now being back in your garments, oiled and even with a blanket wrapped around you, a chill remained.

His eyes were wild, as he turned to look at you. You could see the unshed tears. Which softened the rage.

“They should have already been in the room!”

“I am terribly sorry, sire.” Aelia, apologized once again and remained kneeling before him.

“Get out of my sight! I don’t wish to see you till ientaculum.”

Aelia, hastily departed from the room and the door closed with a clang. You flinched.

He paced. “We’ll find them. They will wish I put them in the coliseum.”

He raged as he paced across the room. Candles flickered as he passed them. You watched him. Sharply, he turned and came over to you.

“Not many are aware of what happened. The banquet is still being held for my mother. Do you want to attend?”

Your eyes grew, blinking you looked at him. “You’re asking me?”

He nodded. “This is a rare occurrence.”

You watched as emotions washed over him. It kept the words from hurting as much as they were sharp.

He exhaled. “Choices will be shared more. I’m, I’m…”

You shrugged the blanket off your shoulders. Standing, you closed the distance between the two of you.

“Geta.” You breather and cupped one his anger flusher cheeks. His hand came over yours.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998 @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @helsa3942 @marrowfrog00 @misspendragonsworld @therealjomarch @deliciousfestsalad @aspiringcokewhore @justalittlebitshy

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ivyyisbored22 · 18 hours ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Mafia AU, Stray Kids one shot

𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒍?

Synopsis: When his enemies strike during a family visit, the truth shatters their world; Chris is a mafia Capo. Forced to leave him for your safety, you tried to avoid him, but Chris convinces you to stay. You built a happy life together, until Christmas brings a devastating loss. Leaving Chris to exact the only gift he can give in return.

Warnings: Reader's death (the idea was voted yes in this poll). Mention of blood, guns, violence, explosions, tears(LOTS of it), angst. OC!enemy. Dad Chris. Reader is a doctor and is called 'Dove'. Might have overused some words. Minors do not interact!!!

Note: This is my first writing outside soft, contemporary romance. It's probably not my best work, but I wanted to write it while the motivation was lingering. The story is HEAVILY inspired from a south Indian movie, it's basically in that universe but switched to Mafia.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 7.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Shoot! Bang!

The gunshot vibrated through the air, the echoes ricocheting off the cold, concrete walls. For a moment, time stood still, then the heavy thud of a lifeless body hitting the floor shattered the silence.

Blood spilled out in thick, crimson waves, pooling beneath the corpse, the metallic scent tainting the air. No one dares to step in his territory.

Chris stood over it, his chest rising and falling with steady control, the barrel of his gun still smoking, though his eyes burned with something dark and cruel.

Around him, the others shifted in the dimly lit room. Jisung exhaled, while I.N knelt to check the pulse—unnecessary, but instinctive. "It's done," he muttered, wiping his hand on his jeans, the stain spreading like ink.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. “They’re getting too close.” His voice was low, laced with tension.

Chris didn’t respond. His grip tightened around the gun, the weight of it familiar, grounding. He had made his decision long ago. This life came with taking blood and brutality.

There was no other way.

Then Chris’s phone tinged, a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence.

He pulled it out, and the moment his eyes landed on the screen, his heart faltered when he saw your name.

Dove: Can we meet? There's something I need to tell you. Cafe at 5?

For a second, he forgot where he was—forgot the blood, the bodies, the weight of the life he led. His thumb hovered over the screen, the tension in his chest was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable.

“Who is it?” Changbin asked, arching a brow and walking towards Chris.

He hesitated before slipping the phone back into his pocket. "No one.” He shrugged nonchalantly, straightening his leather jacket. “No trace of him should be found,” Chris pointed the gun at the corpse, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Changbin knew better than to push Chris with more questions, he nodded and walked toward the body. Chris turned around, walking into a changing room and changed to an entire different outfit that hid his true identity perfectly.

After a while Chris reached the location you had texted him, you waited outside, nervousness crawling across your skin. He was always punctual, but today he was just a teensie bit, five minutes late.

You spotted him walking towards you, removing his sunglasses, the hoop hearings glinting under the shining sun, a dimple grin that made your heart flutter.

“You’re late,” you huffed, crossing your arms, a pout forming on your face. “Five whole minutes, Chris. I was starting to think you stood me up.”

Chris sighed dramatically, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips as he leaned down, pressing his lips on yours. “Sorry, love,” he murmured against you. “Traffic was hell.”

You rolled her eyes, but the ghost of a smile betrayed your irritation. “You always say that. But anyways, I'm nervous. Come fast.” You hand wrapped around his wrist as you pushed the door open and pulled him inside.

“What happened?” Chris asked, his brows furrowing as you walked inside the huge restaurant cafe.

“You're going to meet my father.” You said nervously as you kept walking. Chris stood on his feed, as if he was chained, making you stop.

“Baby you could have told me earlier, I would have prepared something.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Is this an exam? For you to prepare?” You bit your lip, nerves building in your stomach.

“At least give me a clue about him, Dove.” His fingers lingered across your cheek.

“The word he despises the most in the English language…”

You started walking again. “Is it sorry?” He asked jokingly.

You eyed him head to toe. “Police.”

Chris’s heart skipped a beat at your words, remembering that you never knew about what he truly does, but he quickly masked his reaction with a small chuckle, slipping his hand into yours as you led him deeper into the bustling restaurant café.

“I see,” he said smoothly, offering you a reassuring smile despite the unease simmering beneath the surface. “So, no cop jokes, then?”

You shot him a nervous glare, your fingers squeezing him. “Chris, I’m serious. He’s… intimidating. Just be yourself, okay? My dad’s really protective.”

You finally reached the table where your family sat, and Chris instantly felt the scrutiny in your father’s gaze. He was a tall man with a sharp jawline, streaks of silver in his dark hair, and eyes that seemed to pierce right through him.

Your mother, on the other hand, was warm and welcoming, a kind smile tugging at her lips as she observed Chris. And then there was your younger sister, who looked at him with curiosity.

“Mom, Dad… this is Chris,” you introduced, gesturing toward him with a small, hopeful smile.

Chris stepped forward, extending his hand confidently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, maintaining steady eye contact with your father.

Your father didn’t immediately take his hand. Instead, he studied Chris with a hard gaze before finally shaking it, his grip firm and unyielding and gestured to him to take a seat.

You sat next to Chris, taking a deep breath, waiting for one of them to start a conversation. Right when Chris cleared his throat to say something, your father interrupted.

“I have no intention of seeing my daughter with you.” He cut straight to the chase, his tone sharp leaving your heart to sink like a stone thrown in an ocean.

“Dad—” you spoke but his icy gaze pinned you down and Chris held your hand tightly beneath the table.

He felt you tremble slightly in his grasp but he gave it a reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. He could sense the tension in the air thickening, pressing down on both of you like an invisible weight.

His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression calm, composed—even though your father’s words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“I understand your concern, sir,” Chris said, his voice steady but gentle, careful to show respect without backing down. “I know how much she means to you.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, a storm brewing in their depths. “You think you do.” His words were cold, slicing through the air like a blade. “She’s my daughter. My responsibility. And I won’t hand her over to just anyone, especially someone who arrives five minutes late.”

You stiffened beside Chris, your cheeks burning with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. “Dad, please…” you pleaded softly, but Chris gently squeezed your hand again, signaling that he had this under control.

“I apologize for being late,” he said sincerely, looking your father in the eye. “It wasn’t intentional. But with all due respect, sir, my commitment to her goes beyond being on time for dinner. Now it’s my responsibility to protect her, to cherish her.”

His voice was firm, yet there was an underlying warmth to it that made your heart ache in the best way.

Your father leaned back in his chair, studying Chris with an expression that held skepticism, like a man weighing the worth of the person before him.

“You say you’re in law enforcement,” he said finally. “That’s a dangerous job. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way every day. What happens when that danger follows you home?”

Chris met his gaze head-on, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. If only your father knew just how deep that danger already ran. That he was beyond just a loyal cop. That his job was with violence, guns and blood.

But instead, he answered with practiced ease. “Sir, danger exists everywhere. My job is to keep it as far away from her as possible. I would never put her in harm’s way.”

Your mother, sensing the rising tension, placed a gentle hand on your father’s arm. “Let the boy speak, dear,” she said softly, offering Chris a kind smile. “He’s here because he cares about our daughter.”

Your father sighed, rubbing his temples. “Care isn’t enough,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “What happens when things get hard? When work comes before family?” He leaned forward, his sharp gaze piercing. “Because I’ve seen men who thought they could handle it, and they ended up failing their families.”

Chris nodded, his grip on your hand firm but comforting. “I won’t fail her, sir,” he said without hesitation. “Your daughter means the world to me. I know my job isn’t easy, but I assure you, her happiness, her safety, our life together will always come first. I’m not here to make empty promises. I’m here to prove to you that I’m worthy of her.”

You glanced at Chris, your heart swelling with emotion. The conviction in his words, the way he spoke with such quiet confidence, made you fall for him all over again.

Your father’s gaze softened. Just a fraction. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “Big words,” he muttered. “We’ll see if you can back them up.”

Your little sister leaned forward with curious eyes. “So, you’re really a cop? Like… badge and everything?”

Chris chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. “Top secret, but yeah. Badge and everything.”

You laughed, nudging your sister. “Leave him alone, will you?”

As the evening went on, Chris found himself slipping into the conversation effortlessly. He complimented your mother’s cooking, shared amusing stories that he carefully crafted to fit his “police officer” persona, and even managed to get a small chuckle out of your father. Slowly but surely, he was winning them over.

But just as those smiles were about to last a bit longer, Chris caught a reflection of a masked man walking behind him from the mirror hanging from the wall in front of him.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his other hand flying to the gun resting on the waistband of his pants and before you could register what was happening, he screamed.

“ON THE FLOOR!”

The restaurant, once filled with warm chatter and clinking silverware, was now a battleground of panic and confusion. The masked men charged forward, their heavy boots pounding against the tiled floor.

“Get the Capo!” one of them roared, his voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.

Capo? The word echoed in your head. Isn't that the term used in the Mafia?

Your father stood frozen, eyes wide in shock as Chris drew his gun with precision and fired. The sharp crack of the shot echoed through the room, sending one of the masked assailants crumpling to the ground.

A second later, Chris was moving. Swift, calculated. He overturned a table, using it as temporary cover while bullets whizzed past, shattering glass and porcelain.

Screams filled the air, people scrambling for the exits, but Chris stayed rooted to the spot, shielding you with his own body. “Behind that door!” he shouted, motioning toward the back exit.

You hesitated, your eyes locked onto him, filled with fear and confusion. “Chris—”

“GO!” His voice was sharp, but his eyes softened for a fleeting second.

Your father finally snapped out of his daze, grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. Your mother and sister stumbled behind, clinging to each other. Chris fired another shot, buying time as he watched you disappear behind the door. Relief surged through him, but it was short-lived.

More men stormed in, their weapons raised. Chris’s muscles tensed as he ducked behind a column, swiftly reloading. “So it’s you lot?” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “You picked the wrong fucking night.”

He lunged forward, taking down another man with a precise shot to the leg before slamming his elbow into another’s jaw. The fight was brutal, relentless. Fury and sweat soaked the air. Chris was outnumbered, but years of experience and instinct guided him.

Fists flew, gunfire rang out, and blood stained his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

You watched Chris through the glass window, not missing a single move and breaking the arms of anyone who came in his way. The banging sounds of the guns made you shake, cover your ears and close your eyes.

Finally, the last man fell, groaning in pain on the floor. Chris wiped the back of his hand across his brow, chest heaving. His ears still rang from the gunshots, but the only thing he could focus on now was you. He turned sharply, heading towards the door you had escaped through.

But his heart sank when he saw it.

Through the shattered window, he spotted your father pulling you away, your eyes wide, pleading, your lips forming silent protests. “Dad, please! Christopher—”

But your father’s grip was firm, his face set in grim determination. “You’re done with him!” he shouted, dragging you away.

Chris’s chest tightened. He took a step forward, but the weight of the moment crushed him. Your father’s eyes met his. Full of fear, anger, and something he couldn’t quite place.

And then, just like that, you were gone.

The weight of what just happened settled over him like a suffocating fog. His cover was blown, and worse. He had dragged you into his world of blood and violence.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, sliding his gun back into the waistband of his pants.

But one thing was clear. He wasn’t letting you go that easily.

It’s been 3 weeks. Chris’s calls and texts were unanswered. He went to the hospital you were working at, but they refused to give your details. He wasn’t one to beg, but for you, he had swallowed his pride more times than he cared to count.

Tonight, he was done waiting.

Chris leaned against his black car parked discreetly across the street, watching the entrance of the hospital with sharp, dark eyes. The hood of his jacket was drawn low, shielding his face from prying eyes, but there was no mistaking the tension in his stance. His fingers twitched at his side, itching for something.

For you.

And then, finally, you appeared.

Chris straightened the moment he saw you step out of the hospital doors, the soft glow of the entrance lights framing you in a way that made his chest ache. You looked exhausted, the white coat hanging on your arms, your hair hastily pulled back. The familiar warmth he once found in your eyes was absent, replaced by something colder and distant.

He pulled his phone out and dialed your number, your phone rang in your hands but when you saw the name on the screen, you pressed the volume button, silencing his call.

Anger and rejection fueled his chest, you hadn’t noticed him yet, too busy rummaging through your bag as you made your way towards the street. Then unintentionally your eyes landed on a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Chris took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed off the car and stepped into your path. “Dove.”

You looked at him and then turned away, as if you didn't hear him. Frustration took over him, you halted frozen when he called you by your name.

You turned back around, your gaze on the ground, heart in your throat. You couldn't look at him the same anymore. How could you? He wasn't who he told you he was.

His identity was revealed that evening, surrounded by chaos and danger. Your father was right.

But you weren't mad at him for hiding that he's a Capo. If anything you were scared. Scared of what dangers and threats that would follow him.

Chris walked towards you until his figure enveloped you, the strong scent of mint and leather engulfing your senses.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was tired, but sharp.

His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours desperately. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

You hugged your bag closer to your chest, stepping back instinctively. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

Chris exhaled sharply, taking a cautious step forward. “You can’t just shut me out, Dove. Not like this.” His voice softened.

“It doesn't matter Chris, I don't think this isn't going to work out.”

“What honey?”

“OUR LIFE!” Your voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. Chris's breath was clogged in his throat, unable to see the fear and pain etched across your face.

Your chest rose and fell with the weight of emotions you had tried so hard to suppress.

Chris stared at you, his jaw tightening, his eyes dark with unspoken emotions. "Dove..." he reached out, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

"I love you," you choked, your fingers clutching the strap of your bag so tightly that your knuckles turned white. "But love isn't enough when I'm scared every second of what might happen to you! When— when those men came at you, almost shot you, I—"

His hands gripped your shoulders, making you calm down, his index on his lips asking you not to shout.

Your gaze locked with his, pleading. "I can't afford to lose you, Chris. And if you love me too... you'll find a way out of this.”

Chris swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he took a hesitant step toward you. "Alright, then tell me what you want me to do." His voice was soft but laced with desperation, his fingers brushing away the cold tears streaming down your face.

"You give me a solution for this.”

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes despite the pain. "Leave it all, Chris."

He blinked at you.

"Whatever you're doing, whatever mess you're tangled in, just leave it behind. We can go somewhere far away, where no one can find us. We’ll get married, start over... just you and me."

Your voice broke, tears slipping down your cheeks. "Please... if you can’t do that, then…”

Your voice wavered as you took a deep breath. "If you can't, then hail me a taxi. And we'll end this right here, right now.”

He watched you, his heart pounding violently against his ribcage. He wanted to say no. He wanted to promise you a life far from the blood, the danger, the lies. But deep down, he knew, there was no walking away from this world.

Silence fell between you like a heavy storm cloud, suffocating, pressing in from all sides. Chris's lips parted, his hands twitching at his sides. The war in his eyes was painfully clear, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might choose you.

But then, without a word, Chris lifted his hand and flagged down a passing taxi.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the yellow cab slowed to a stop in front of you. The cold night air felt heavier, suffocating. You blinked up at him, disbelief washing over your features.

His jaw clenched, his eyes filled with unspoken regret, sorrow, love. He reached for the door handle and opened it for you, your heart shattered into shards.

Right as you were about to get in, he said, “Won't you give me one last goodbye hug?”

His sense of humour at this situation made you rage, your bloodshot eyes stung as you got inside the taxi without sparing another glance at him and closing the door shut.

“Okay, I'm sorry.” He raised his hands up in surrender and turned to his back, not wishing to watch the cab pull away.

He pinched the bridge of his nose closing his eyes, swallowing the hard lump in his throat when he heard the breaks behind him, that made him chuckle.

You got out of the car, running to him, slapping your coat against his body.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?! Huh?” Another hit and Chris laughed in response. “Are you trying to chase me away?!”

Chris let out a chuckle, catching your wrist mid-air before you could land another hit.

“Silly girl, I knew you would come back,” his fake laugh was uncontrollable, “But I didn't think you'd come back this fast.”

You slapped your hand against his arm, your chin wobbling.

His fingers curled gently around your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin. "Dove," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. "You know how much I love you.”

"And I love what I'm doing now as Capo as well," he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering. "But I will never give up or lose you for it. Okay?"

You stared at him, your chest rising and falling in time with his, then you wrapped your hands around his body, burying your face against his heart.

His arms wrapped you tightly, his heartbeat thundered beneath your ear, steady and strong, but the warmth of his embrace did little to soothe the fear still clinging to your heart.

You looked up at him, your breath warm against his skin. “You will never leave me right?” You asked, your voice shaking.

Chris’s fingers sank in your hair, pressing your face flush against him.

“I promise… I will always be with you sweetheart.”

The warmth of his body, the way his arms caged you in so securely, made you want to believe in his words, made you want to trust that he could protect you from the cruel world that kept trying to tear you apart.

You sighed, the tension in your body slowly melting under his touch. "Okay," you whispered, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. "But if you ever get a bullet wound, I swear I’ll kill you myself."

Chris laughed softly, the sound vibrating against your cheek. "Noted," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead and taking your lips in his, erasing away your fears and doubts as the world blurred around you.

1 year later. On the night of Christmas Eve.

One whole year passed by in peace. You and Chris built a beautiful life together, you got married a few weeks later, Chris managed to convince your father who in the end only wished for his daughter's happiness.

You moved into his mansion, a strangely comforting place that slowly began to feel like home. It was far from the chaos you once feared, tucked away in a quiet part of the city where you could pretend, for just a little while, that Chris wasn’t who he really was.

Each morning, you woke up wrapped in his arms, sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting golden hues over his face. He looked so peaceful when he slept, his guard down, his breathing slow and steady.

He came home every night, exhausted but safe, his arms always reaching for you, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his life. And you were. Every night he made love to you, sometimes fast, rough and hard, other times long, sweet and slow.

But there were moments when the illusion cracked. When you caught glimpses of the weight he carried in his quiet stares out the window, or when he’d disappear into his office for hours, his voice low and serious on phone calls you pretended not to hear.

You never pushed. Because deep down, you knew the truth. The world he came from, the one he tried so hard to keep you away from, could never truly disappear.

When you surprised him with a small box that contained a pregnancy test, he was overjoyed. You brought light into his dark world, and from that moment on, Chris changed in subtle ways.

He became softer, more attentive, and even more careful. He pulled away from some of his more dangerous work, delegating tasks to his most trusted men, ensuring that his time at home with you was sacred.

Tonight, on Christmas Eve as you were stacking away the presents for your family to open tomorrow morning, Chris came downstairs, exhausted but a smile spread across his face after putting your baby to sleep.

He spotted you in the living room, fixing the lights on the huge Christmas tree, he walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Sweetheart…you seem very happy,” he murmured between the kisses he kept brushing on your neck.

You turned to him, his gaze piercing with yours, you could count each lash that was brimming his whiskey eyes.

“I feel complete.” you said lowly.

“Hmm?” He tilted his head to the side. “Give me details Dove.”

“I have a loving husband. A beautiful home. An angel as a daughter. What else would I need?” You smiled.

“So I feel complete.” You pecked his nose sweetly and he playfully scratched it.

Chris’s hands tightened on your waist when he kissed you, murmuring against your lips, “I'm over here about to tell you that our angel might want a baby brother to play with…”

Pink crept your cheeks but you turned away nudging him with your elbow. “Honey, not interested. Our angel is more than enough for me.”

“Okay,” he chuckled. “Our angel is more than enough.”

“But I wanna know something sweetheart,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know that you still dislike what I do…” you chuckled and he continued.

“That you accepted this life for me and you made a lot of sacrifices for me…” The lights on the Christmas tree sparkled in his eyes as he spoke and you watched him carefully.

“What is your dream, Dove?”

Your breath hitched in your throat, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering to the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree before returning to his gaze.

“My dream?” you echoed softly, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “You can't fulfil it.” You joked, innocently tapping his face.

His brows furrowed slightly, the faintest hint of sadness crossing his face but not noticeable enough. “At least tell me,” he said, encouraging you to speak about the life you always dreamt of.

You leaned into him, your fingers tracing over his black t-shirt.

“Mm, in a long far away land, in a small village, we're living in a cozy cottage. I wanna hear the chirping of the birds every morning, with a beautiful climate that's sunny but also rainy.”

Chris watched you, patiently listening.

“Hubby should have a boring job that requires you to go late and arrive early.” He couldn't help but chuckle softly.

“And a small cat!” You jumped, “and his name should be… Simba,” you couldn't stop smiling as you kept speaking.

Chris’s lips curled into a soft smile, his eyes never leaving your face as you painted your dream with such innocent delight. He could see the longing in your eyes, the sparkle of hope despite the life you were already living with him.

“And what about our little angel?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back.

You grinned, your eyes lighting up. “She’ll grow up surrounded by fields of flowers, climbing trees, and chasing butterflies.” Your voice grew softer, more wistful. “She won’t have to know about fear, or danger, or the shadows that lurk in the corners of this world.”

You sighed, the smile never leaving your face. “I want a simple life, just the three of us in a world with no threats, no danger… no worries.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You had it all planned out, didn't you?”

You shrugged playfully. “A girl can dream.”

Chris held you closer, his chin resting atop your head. His voice was thick with emotion when he whispered, “I wish I could give you that, Dove.”

You pulled back to look into his eyes, your heart twisting at the conflict in them. “I know, Chris,” you said gently.

“But tell me this,” you pecked his chin.

“How do you feel about me as your wife?”

His dimple deepened when your arms rested on his shoulder, his hands cradling your sweet face.

“I feel…that you are…”

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the house, followed by a deafening silence that sent chills down his spine.

You gasped, a sharp intake of breath, your body slipping from his hands onto the floor before he could react. His heart seized, eyes widening in horror as a pool of blood gathered from beneath you.

"Baby?" His voice was a strangled whisper, barely audible over the ringing in his ears. He pressed his trembling hands over the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding, but the warm, sticky crimson seeped between his fingers.

Before he could process the nightmare unfolding in his arms, another gunshot cracked through the air. Instinct took over. Chris whipped around, shielding your limp form with his body as his eyes locked onto the figure stepping through the broken glass.

A figure dressed in black, his face partially obscured by the shadows, strode inside with chilling composure. Chris recognized him immediately—Damian Voss, the younger brother of the man Chris had killed a year ago.

“You thought you could just walk away, Capo?” Damian sneered, lowering his gun slightly, his eyes dark with vengeance. "Did you think I’d let you live a fairy tale while my brother rots in the ground?"

Chris's chest heaved with rage, his arms trembling as he carefully laid you down on the floor. Your face was pale, too pale, and your shallow breaths tore at his heart. He had to end this, fast.

He surged to his feet, a deadly glare replacing his fear. “You son of a—”

But before he could do anything, a sharp brutal force of an iron rod slammed the side of Chris’s head. A blinding pain exploded in his skull as he staggered back, his vision blurring.

He hit the floor hard, the taste of blood filling his mouth. The room spun, distorted voices echoing in his ears.

Damian crouched beside him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, yanking him up so their faces were inches apart. "You took my brother from me, so I'm taking everything from you," he hissed.

Blood trickled down from the corner of Chris's mouth as Damian dragged his body and layed him on his back against the couch.

His foot landed on Chris’s chest, the force of it made him gasp your name, you could hear the tortures he was going through as a tear leaked from the corner of your eye but you were unable to move at all.

“You know killing you right away won't make me satisfied Chris…you should die slow. So…fucking…slow…” Damian sneered as he fired the gun upwards, calling out his soldiers.

“Plant that bomb. The explosion should erase every last evidence of this fucker’s existence.” Damian ordered his men and walked out of the door.

As the soldiers fixed the countdown of your lives and filed out of the house, their heavy footsteps fading into the night, the silence that followed was deafening.

Until a ragged gasp tore through the air.

Pain shot through your body like a thousand knives piercing your skin. You took deep breaths and with trembling arms, you made yourself get up, holding your wound and dragging your weak body across the cold floor, pain flaring with every inch you gained.

Metallic red liquid smeared all over your dress as you crawled, inch by inch, toward Chris who was drenched in blood, his back pressed against the couch.

“Chris,” you shook his shoulder, your voice was barely audible, tears streaking your face as you reached him.

Chris's head lolled to the side, his face pale, his half-lidded eyes blinked sluggishly, trying to focus on you. "D-Dove..." he coughed, his voice rasping with pain and despair.

The blinking red light of the bomb timer flashed in the corner of your vision, a cruel reminder of how little time you had left.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you pushed yourself up, biting down a scream as pain shot through you. Gritting your teeth, you crawled upstairs, gripping the railing to keep yourself steady.

Reaching the nursery, you flung the door open with trembling hands, your eyes locking onto your daughter’s sleeping form in her crib. Relief flooded through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by fear.

You gathered her into your arms, biting back the renewed scream that threatened to escape your throat as fresh pain shot through your side. Her tiny weight pressed against you, grounding you, forcing you to keep moving.

Descending the stairs with careful, painful steps, you fell and knelt beside Chris, tears streaking your face as you cradled your daughter close and shook him, trying to get him up.

“Christopher!” You hand cupped his chin, jolting him awake.

“Chris, please get out of here—,” you choked fisting his shirt. “please get out…take the baby and go…and leave me back…” your hand fell from his shoulder, breaths began growing slow and shallow, "...I won't survive..." he gripped your arm, his head falling back.

“...there's no point.”

The taste of pennies coated his tongue as he swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he reached to hold your daughter, before you hugged her close to your chest.

“Even…after this,” your voice broke, “you wish to be Capo…” You said through gritted teeth. “leave her with me.”

Your voice wavered, but your resolve was firm, fisting his shirt tighter. “But if you love me… if you ever loved me, vow to me��right here, right now, you will be a good father to her. That you will protect her, raise her away from this hell.”

Chris felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He shook hard as his head fell back, his cries bouncing against you. His world was crumbling right in front of him, slipping through his fingers, and he was powerless to stop it.

His jaw clenched, tears pooling in his eyes as he swallowed hard. “I swear,” he whispered, his voice thick and rough. “I swear, I’ll keep her safe. I promise…”

A faint, tearful smile touched your lips as you gazed at him, your eyes clouding with exhaustion. “Thank you…” you breathed, your head resting against his chest, handing the swaddled baby over to him.

His eyes, heavy with pain and exhaustion, searched yours desperately, his breath ragged as he clutched at your weakening form. Chris pulled you closer, his body trembling with sobs he could no longer hold back.

“Dove, please stay with me,” he begged, pressing desperate kisses to your temple, your forehead, anywhere he could reach. “Just… just hold on a little longer, baby. Please.”

Your breath hitched, your lips parting slightly. “Hubby…”

“How do you feel about me as your wife…?” you asked him one last time.

“You are the reason for breathing my love.” He cried, burying your face in his neck, his voice so painfully loud, it could shred diamonds.

“You're my peace, my home, my whole life. I didn’t deserve you, but you loved me anyway. You saw the man I tried to be, not the monster I was.”

Tears streamed down your face as his words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing the ache in your heart. You struggled to keep your eyes open, to stay just a little longer in the warmth of his embrace.

Your eyelids fluttered, and with the last shreds of your fading consciousness, you whispered, "I love you, Chris…” and your eyes closed, your last breath fanning over his blood stained skin.

The moment your breath stilled, a ragged scream tore from his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He held you tighter, rocking your lifeless body in his arms, his sobs raw and unrestrained.

And then, a tiny cry pierced through.

His daughter.

Chris blinked through his tears, his chest heaving. He looked down at the fragile, innocent life cradled in his arms, her tiny hands clutching weakly at your dress.

He pressed his lips to your temple, his body trembling violently. “I love you,” he whispered, voice broken beyond repair. “Forever.”

He gently laid you down on the marble floor and staggered towards the door, his legs barely holding him up.

The blinking red light of the bomb ticked down, a cruel reminder of the life he was leaving behind.

You had given him a new life and took his death along with you.

2 years later.

Capo Christopher Bang’s death was the biggest talk of the underworld. The news spread like wildfire, whispered in hushed voices across darkened alleyways and smoke-filled clubs. Some called it a tragedy, others a long-overdue fall from power. But no one knew the truth.

In a quiet, picturesque village far from the city's chaos, Chris was living the dream you once painted for him. He resigned as Capo, living in a quaint cottage surrounded by endless greenery, birds chirping in the mornings, and a peaceful routine that revolved around his daughter, the last piece of you he had left.

She believed her father had a simple job, working as a librarian and returning home just in time to tuck her into bed, reading fairy tales under the soft glow of the lamp. She knew nothing of the weight he carried in his heart, the life he left behind, or the silent war brewing in his eyes.

Chris’s men were still in the underworld but were loyal to him, played along, treating this quiet life as their own, shielding your daughter from the darkness that still lurked beyond their haven.

But tonight, on Christmas Eve two years later, the past came knocking once again.

Chris was laying next to his daughter who was drifting into a deep sleep, he bent down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of baby lotion and warmth.

“Daddy?” her sleepy voice murmured.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Go back to sleep or else Santa won't come home.”

She blinked up at him drowsily, a soft smile playing on her lips, her small hands touching his face. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

His chest tightened. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Once your daughter was in her slumber, Chris straightened, his eyes hardening as he turned to the two tall figures guarding the doorway.

“She’s your responsibility tonight.”

Felix gave a firm nod. “You don't need to worry.”

Seungmin placed a reassuring hand on Chris’s shoulder. “She’s safe with us. Go finish this.”

Chris exhaled deeply and walked to the front door, where Minho and Hyunjin were waiting. Both were dressed in black, three bikes parked in front, their eyes sharp and filled with the same rage that had festered in him for two long years.

“Are we doing this tonight?” Hyunjin asked, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he slipped on the gloves.

Chris’s jaw tightened, his voice cold and unwavering. “That bastard took my wife from me and I'm not stopping until I feel his blood in my hands.”

Minho smirked, the glint of a blade visible beneath his coat. “Let’s make it count.”

As they stepped out into the bitter night, three beast engines roaring to life, Chris took one last glance at the small, warm house behind him. It was a life he swore to protect, a life you had dreamed for him.

But tonight, he was stepping back into the shadows—one. last. time.

For revenge.

Silence fogged the air when the club's lights went off, leaving the room in dread darkness. Damian reached for his gun on his waistband but found his pocket empty.

He turned around fast, cracking his neck as he felt something crawl up skin and before he could breath, a ragged cloth closed around his head, blocking his airway.

Outside the bar Hyunjin shot and fought Damian's guards until he was standing on a pile of men with broken limbs and cracked necks.

Damian kept fighting until he was pushed against a chair, Minho standing behind him as he removed the cloth off his head, revealing a deadly, wrath fueled Chris standing before him.

“You fucker…you're still alive.” He hissed and shot forward, aiming his fist at Chris who whipped a thick, iron bar resting on his shoulder, slamming the side of Damian's head in a brutal force.

Blood splattered out of his mouth, a harsh, loud, strangled scream ripped from Damian’s throat echoing off the walls, as he fell on the ground, feeling his brain vibrate.

Chris landed a kick with the same force Damian kicked him in the chest two years ago, his hand gripped the bar tightly before swinging it back again at his head, shoving another slam on the other side his face, cracking his skull, blood gushing out Damian's nose.

The metallic smell soaked the air, each breath he took sharp and bitter. Relentless torture was aimed at the man who took Chris's life away from him, until there was nothing left for him to break.

Chris stood still, the bar in his hand trembling slightly from the force of his previous blows, dripping with blood, his knuckles were raw, bruised from the reckless pounding, but it was the anger that still coursed through him that made him feel alive.

“Christopher…” he croaked, his eyes bloodshot and wide with fear.

Hyunjin and Minho tied Damian on the chair, injecting injecting pure adrenaline into his failing body. He trembled violently, the sudden rush of chemicals forcing him to consciousness despite the overwhelming pain consuming him.

He was unrecognisable because of the destruction Chris had made on his face.

"You don’t deserve a quick death." Chris whispered, his voice eerily calm. And that was all he said.

Hyunjin tied a time bomb around Damian’s torso, the almost unconscious man looked up at Chris, his eyes begging for mercy.

His gaze searched Chris’s face, as if trying to find a sliver of mercy in his hard, unforgiving eyes. But there was nothing there.

Hyunjin stepped backward after fixing the time bomb, twisting it to its final setting. “Time’s up,” he said, his tone emotionless.

Damian's desperate, pleading eyes met Chris's one last time. “Please… don’t do this,” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

But before he could finish, the bomb clicked into place, its red LED countdown flashing ominously.

Chris straightened up, taking one last long look at the man who had ruined his life. He could feel the weight of his actions settle on his shoulders, the finality of what he was about to do.

This was it. The end of the road.

With one last deep breath, Chris turned away, his hands stained red, his heart pounding in his chest.

Hyunjin, Minho, and he walked out of the room without a single word, the sound of Damian’s desperate, agonizing cries of pain fading into the silence behind them.

The building was swallowed by the night, a hollow shell of destruction as the countdown echoed through the walls.

Once the time reached zero, the loud explosion made the birds resting in the nearby trees fly away flapping their wings in terror.

Chris pulled his phone out, the wallpaper of you and him on your first date appearing on his screen.

"finché non ti rivedrò, amore mio." He whispered to himself.

until I see you again, my love

***

The next morning, your daughter came out her bedroom, rubbing her eyes and spotted her father on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate sitting next to him.

“Daddy!” She squealed, running towards him, wrapping her small arms around his neck. Chris hugged her back tightly, pressing his lips on her hair and she nestled close to his chest.

“Where did you go last night daddy?” She asked, her eyes wide and curious, her voice innocent, unaware of the darkness her father went through.

“I didn't go anywhere baby,” Chris said, kissing her cheek that made her giggle. “I will be with you always.”

She grinned up at him, her eyes filled with wonder, and without warning, she slipped her little hands into his, pulling him onto the floor and began opening her presents.

Lavish toys, clothes and books her Mafia uncles spoiled her with.

After a while, her tiny hand wrapped around Chris’s huge arm. “Daddy, can we go outside?”

His smile deepened as he nodded. “Of course, darling.”

Lifting her with ease, he carried her in his arms as they stepped out into the crisp morning air, the golden light spilling across their quiet little yard, a fluffy orange cat following behind them.

Your daughter's head rested against Chris's shoulder, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying their steps.

The weight of the night’s events still hung in his chest, but he focused on the feeling of her small body in his arms, the steady rhythm of her breath, the calmness that had returned to his world since she had been born.

As they reached the center of the garden, Chris followed her eyes which was glued to a bird gliding gracefully down from the sky, landing softly on the lush green grass.

Its wings beat gently as it settled, its pure white feathers standing out against the vibrant colors of the morning.

“What bird is that, Daddy?” she pointed at it, her gaze full of wonder.

Chris smiled, his heart swelling with love and a deep, unspoken sadness. “That’s a dove, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and tender as he spoke.

“It’s so pwetty,” she murmured, her hand reaching out toward the bird as if she could touch its serenity.

“Do you think it’s here for us?”

Chris’s smile faltered just a fraction, his heart heavy with memories of the past and the promise he had made to you.

He looked at his daughter, the only living hope of his life you gifted to him. He nodded, though his voice was thick with emotion.

“I think it is,” he whispered. "I think it's here to remind us that even after all the darkness... there’s still light.”

She rested her head back on his shoulder, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she watched the dove slowly strut across the grass, the little cat's bushy tail brushing Chris's leg.

The dove took flight again, its wings stretching wide as it soared into the morning sky, leaving Chris, his daughter and Simba standing beneath it, in a world that had both healed and broken him in ways his daughter will never fully understand.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

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tanghuyuj · 1 day ago

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we get, the same! a woonhak smau

#7 - dis funny as hell

synopsis: it’s the start of the new school year and you’re not excited whatsoever. though, your classmate and desk partner, kim woonhak, is beyond excited. you two evidently don’t get along well, bickering left and right. but when you begin to notice small details that woonhak does for you and it seems as if your whole school is just waiting for you to get together, you start to spiral.

warnings: food (a candy), yn is violent !

prev. || masterlist || next

maia’s note: last few photos r filler but i swear itll get more exciting after this 🤫 likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated!! 🩵

taglist: @kekaekeke @mimimimiaa @s0shroe @mungbeancoups @molensworld @en-dream @kaiyunsim @httpenhoon @ranjupotato @cinnamonshuaa @pinklemonade34 @kazemiya @siekksjs @sirenla @kittkyu @mensisim @livibbu @junhanism @enzstr @thea-herondale @i03jae @sionshiii @helpsplease @yurisblooming @defnotsanni @haechology @janjoonty @petralovesbonedo send an ask or comment to be added!

#we get the same! ☁️#boynextdoor #boynextdoor smau #boynextdoor x you #boynextdoor x reader #bnd x reader #bnd x you #bnd woonhak #woonhak #kim woonhak #woonhak smau #kim woonhak fluff #boynextdoor fanfic #boynextdoor woonhak #boynextdoor scenarios #woonhak x reader

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lightdancingwords · 3 days ago

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Second Chances - Part Sixteen of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 3,909 Tags/Warnings: None, just SO. MUCH. FLUFF! (Check for cavities at this point!) A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: I've several of you comment this, so here's official statement: I am likely to never end this story at this rate! I'm loving Beau and his relationship with Y/N! So until I'm burnt out on Beau or run out of ideas... consider this story ongoing! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Sixteen: The Big Sissy

Planning a wedding was no small feat, but Y/N was thriving in it.

She had meticulously thought through every detail—the venue, the flowers, the food, the vibe. She wanted something simple yet breathtaking, a celebration that felt intimate but still lively, filled with love and laughter.

The ceremony would take place outdoors, in a sprawling field of wildflowers with a perfect view of the Montana sky. Wooden picnic tables would be set for the reception, fairy lights strung through the surrounding trees, creating a warm, dreamy glow by the time the sun set. It would be perfect.

Beau had, of course, kept his input minimal—his only firm requests were that he could wear his Texan tuxedo, Eliza got to be the flower girl, Caleb to be the ring bearer and they served damn good food. Beyond that? He just wanted to marry her.

Which, honestly, was enough to make her melt on the spot every time he said it.

She had just settled at the kitchen table, poring over seating arrangements, when Beau’s phone rang. She glanced up from her notes as he pulled it from his pocket, checking the screen.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Well, look who finally remembered she has a father,” he teased as he answered.

Y/N arched a brow as he put the call on speaker.

“Ha-ha, very funny, Dad,” Emily shot back. Her voice was warm, teasing, but it made something tighten in Y/N’s chest—she had heard so much about Emily but hadn’t actually met her yet.

Beau chuckled, leaning against the counter. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

Emily hesitated for a second before exhaling. “I was calling because… I was wondering if I could come visit before the wedding. Like, a little trip. Meet Y/N, the kids, spend some time with you before the whole big event.”

Y/N’s heart soared.

Beau grinned. “You better be visitin’ before the wedding, Em. Damn near thought you weren’t gonna make time for your old man.”

Emily snorted. “Dad, please. I’m making plenty of time for you.”

Beau smirked. “Oh yeah? I don’t know, sweetheart. You’ve been all about that college life lately.”

Y/N laughed softly, and before she could stop herself, she said, “Emily, I love this idea.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, then—

“Is that Y/N?” Emily asked, her voice lighter.

Beau smirked. “Sure is.”

“Emily,” Y/N said warmly, leaning toward the phone, “I would love for you to stay with us while you’re here. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

There was another beat of silence before Emily answered, “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Y/N scoffed. “Not at all! I mean, if you’re coming to meet me and your siblings, you might as well stay with us.”

Beau watched Y/N with pure adoration, warmth flooding his chest. He had always known she wanted Emily to be part of their family, but hearing it? Seeing the way she immediately embraced the idea?

It made him fall even harder for her.

Emily, on the other end, exhaled in relief. “That actually sounds really nice.”

Y/N grinned. “Perfect. I’ll make up the guest room for you.”

Beau smirked, nudging Y/N playfully. “Careful, Em. She’s gonna spoil you.”

Emily laughed. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Beau chuckled before softening his tone. “It’ll be good to see you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Emily murmured. “I miss you, Dad.”

Y/N felt her heart clench at the emotion in her voice.

Beau’s throat bobbed slightly as he exhaled. “Miss you too, Em.”

Y/N reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze.

Emily cleared her throat, shifting the energy slightly. “Okay, so I’ll book my flight for next week. That work for you guys?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N said.

“Sounds perfect, sweetheart,” Beau added.

“Great,” Emily said, and Y/N could hear the smile in her voice. “Alright, I’ll text you my flight info when I book it. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Em,” Beau said softly before the call ended.

The second he set the phone down, Y/N turned to him with a beaming smile.

“Beau,” she breathed. “I’m so excited to meet her.”

Beau chuckled, tugging her into his arms. “Darlin’, I know. She’s gonna love you.”

Y/N pressed her face into his chest, letting the warmth of the moment settle between them.

Their family was growing, blending in a way that felt so natural. And as much as Y/N had looked forward to their wedding day, she was just as excited for the days before it—where Emily would finally step into their home, get to know them, and truly see that she had a place with them.

Beau kissed the top of Y/N’s head, murmuring, “Damn good idea puttin’ her on speaker, huh?”

Y/N laughed. “Best decision you’ve made all day, Sheriff.”

And as they swayed gently in the kitchen, excitement buzzing between them, Beau knew—this was exactly how it was meant to be.

The airport was buzzing with activity, travelers moving in every direction, rolling suitcases, greeting family members, and making their way toward the exit.

Beau stood near baggage claim, hands tucked into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. Y/N stood beside him, her excitement barely contained as she scanned the crowd.

And then—

“There she is,” Beau murmured, spotting Emily making her way toward them.

Y/N turned just as Emily spotted Beau, her face lighting up. “Dad!”

Beau grinned, arms already outstretched as Emily reached him, wrapping her in a tight hug. “Hey there, Em,” he murmured. “Missed you, kid.”

Emily squeezed him back. “Missed you too.”

After a moment, she pulled back, turning toward Y/N, a slightly nervous but excited smile on her face. “And you must be Y/N.”

Y/N stepped forward, grinning. “Guilty.”

Emily let out a small laugh before they both stepped into a warm hug, and Beau watched with pure joy as the two most important women in his life finally met.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Y/N said sincerely.

Emily smiled, stepping back. “Me too.” She glanced between them, her expression playful. “Hope you guys are ready for me.”

Beau chuckled, throwing an arm around both of them. “Darlin’, we’ve been ready.”

And as they left the airport, heading back home, Beau felt a sense of wholeness settle in his chest.

This was his family.

And it was perfect.

The truck rumbled steadily down the open Montana road, golden sunlight casting long shadows across the rolling fields. The scent of pine and summer air drifted through the slightly cracked windows, the radio playing softly in the background.

Beau sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on Y/N’s knee. She sat beside him, scrolling through wedding notes on her phone, while Emily sat in the back, stretching out after her flight, looking out at the sprawling Montana landscape.

“So,” Emily said, breaking the comfortable silence, “where are my adorable new siblings?”

Y/N turned in her seat, smiling. “With my mom, Margaret.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Your mom’s in town?”

“Oh yeah,” Y/N said, nodding. “With the wedding just two weeks away, I definitely needed the extra help, and grandma was more than happy to come spoil her grandbabies rotten.”

Beau chuckled. “That’s puttin’ it lightly.”

Emily smirked. “So, she’s one of those grandmas?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Y/N said with a laugh. “She got here three days ago, and the second she stepped through the door, she had Eliza in one arm and Caleb in the other, declaring she was never leaving.”

Emily grinned. “So, full grandma mode?”

Beau shook his head in amusement. “Full grandma takeover.”

Emily chuckled, shifting forward slightly to lean her arms on the back of their seats. “Sounds like the perfect gig.”

“I tried warnin’ her,” Beau added, shaking his head. “Told her she’d never get Caleb back once Margaret had him. Kid’s livin’ the high life—constant cuddles, being rocked to sleep, and I swear I caught my future mother-in-law whispering, ‘You can do no wrong’ to him.”

Emily let out a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“And Eliza?” Y/N added, turning to glance at her. “She’s thriving under all the extra attention. She’s been showing my mom everything. Her favorite toys, her hiding spots, and—oh—she’s convinced she’s the bride.”

Emily snorted. “That tracks.”

“Oh, it definitely tracks,” Beau muttered, shaking his head. “I’m just hopin’ she doesn’t try to take over the ceremony.”

Emily smiled, glancing between them before exhaling slowly. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

Y/N beamed. “They can’t wait to meet you either.”

Emily hesitated for a second before murmuring, “I hope they like me.”

Beau caught the flicker of uncertainty in her voice and immediately reached over to squeeze her hand, keeping his eyes on the road. “Sweetheart, they’re gonna love you.”

Y/N nodded, warmth in her voice. “Eliza’s been calling you ‘Big Sissy’ since we told her you were coming.”

Emily blinked, visibly touched. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Y/N assured her. “She’s claimed you already.”

Emily swallowed, nodding slowly. “That’s… really sweet.”

Beau smirked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “Told ya you didn’t have to worry.”

Emily rolled her eyes but smiled. “Alright, alright.”

Y/N reached back, squeezing Emily’s hand gently. “You’re family, Em. And they already love you.”

Emily let out a small laugh, but Beau could feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

For the rest of the drive, they talked about the wedding—the plans, the chaos, the excitement. Emily wanted to know every detail, and Y/N happily filled her in.

By the time they pulled up to the house, the porch lights were glowing softly, the windows warmly lit inside.

Beau grinned as he parked the truck. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Emily exhaled slowly, a smile tugging at her lips as she took in the sight.

Yeah.

This did feel like home.

The second Beau opened the front door, warm light spilled out into the night, welcoming them home. The house smelled like something sweet—Margaret must have been baking—and the distant sound of tiny giggles echoed through the living room.

Emily stepped inside, taking it all in. The cozy warmth, the scattered evidence of children—tiny shoes near the door, a stuffed animal abandoned on the stairs, and the soft lull of a baby’s coo.

And then—

A blur of curls and energy came bounding toward them.

“Bo-Bo!” Eliza shrieked, her tiny feet pattering against the floor as she launched herself toward Beau.

Beau laughed, bending down to scoop her up effortlessly. “Hey there, wolf-child,” he murmured, kissing her curls. “Miss me?”

Eliza nodded enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck before spotting the new person standing beside him. Her wide, bright eyes blinked curiously at Emily, taking her in with the serious expression only a toddler could manage.

Emily smiled, crouching to Eliza’s level. “Hey there,” she said gently. “You must be Eliza.”

Eliza squinted, as if assessing, then turned to Beau. “Who dis?” she asked, pointing a tiny finger at Emily.

Beau chuckled. “This is Emily, baby girl. Remember? Your big sissy?”

At that, Eliza’s whole face lit up.

“Big sissy?” she echoed, turning back to Emily, her previous caution gone in an instant. Without hesitation, she threw herself at Emily, wrapping her little arms around her neck.

Emily barely had time to react before she was enveloped in an enthusiastic toddler hug. A breathless laugh escaped her as she caught Eliza, hugging her back. “Wow, okay—hi!”

Eliza giggled, patting Emily’s shoulder like she was approving of her. “Mine,” she declared proudly.

Beau snorted. “Told ya. She’s already claimed you.”

Emily pulled back slightly, grinning at Eliza. “Well, I guess that makes you my little sister, huh?”

Eliza nodded rapidly. “Uh-huh!” Then, without missing a beat, she turned toward the living room, cupping her hands over her mouth and shouting, “BABY! BIG SISSY HERE!”

Margaret appeared from the hallway, laughing softly as she cradled Caleb against her chest. “Alright, alright, Eliza. No need to yell in the baby’s ear.”

Emily’s eyes widened slightly as she stood, watching as Margaret walked toward them with Caleb in her arms. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “He’s so tiny.”

Margaret smiled. “He’s got a little more weight on him now, but he’s still Mama’s little boy, aren’t you, sweetheart?” she cooed, kissing Caleb’s soft head.

Y/N stepped in then, smiling as she gently took Caleb from Margaret’s arms. “Emily, would you like to hold him?”

Emily’s breath caught slightly. “Really?”

Y/N chuckled. “Of course. He’s your little brother.”

Emily hesitated, nodding slowly before holding out her arms. Y/N carefully transferred Caleb to her, and the second his tiny body settled against her, Emily felt her heart squeeze.

He was so small.

His tiny fingers curled slightly against her arm, his breaths soft and steady. “Wow,” Emily murmured, her voice full of awe. “He’s… perfect.”

Beau wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, watching the scene unfold, warmth spreading through his chest.

“Told ya,” he murmured.

Emily smiled, brushing her finger lightly against Caleb’s soft cheek. “Hey there, little guy,” she whispered. “I’m your big sister.”

Caleb stirred slightly, his tiny face scrunching up before settling again.

Y/N exhaled softly. “I think he likes you.”

Emily grinned. “I think I like him.”

Eliza tugged at Emily’s shirt then, looking up at her with eager eyes. “You stay?”

Emily glanced at Beau, then at Y/N, then back down at Eliza.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m staying.”

Eliza let out an excited squeal, hugging Emily’s leg before scampering off to find one of her stuffed animals.

Margaret chuckled. “Well, I think that went well.”

Beau grinned, pulling Y/N closer. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, it really did.”

And as Emily continued to cradle her little brother, Beau felt something settle deep in his bones.

His family was finally whole.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The night had settled over the ranch in a blanket of quiet, the sky a vast stretch of deep blue, stars scattered across it like flecks of silver. The house behind them was still alive with warmth—Y/N and Margaret tidying up in the kitchen, Eliza and Caleb fast asleep, their soft little breaths filling their rooms.

But outside, Emily sat alone on the porch swing, gently rocking back and forth, arms folded against the slight chill of the evening.

Beau stepped out onto the porch, his boots scuffing against the wooden boards as he took in the sight of his daughter—his grown daughter—lost in thought, her face unreadable.

He knew that look.

Without a word, he moved toward the swing, settling beside her. The old chains creaked slightly under their combined weight, the rhythm of the swing steady, slow. For a few moments, neither of them spoke, just sitting side by side, staring out at the moonlit landscape.

Finally, Beau broke the silence.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Emily exhaled, shaking her head slightly, not in disagreement, but as if she didn’t quite know how to put it into words. “Yeah. I mean… yes. It’s just…” She sighed, looking down at her hands. “It’s a lot.”

Beau frowned slightly, turning toward her. “A lot?”

She nodded. “The love. The warmth. The way everyone just is together.” She gestured vaguely toward the house. “It’s so natural. So… effortless.”

Beau studied her, his chest tightening. “And that feels overwhelming?”

Emily let out a small, breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. But not in a bad way. Just in a way I wasn’t expecting.” She paused, then said quietly, “I didn’t realize what was missing when I was growing up.”

Beau sucked in a slow breath, guilt creeping in, curling around his ribs.

“Em…”

She heard the weight in his voice and turned to face him, shaking her head before he could go any further. “No,” she said firmly, reading him like a book. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

Beau clenched his jaw, glancing away. “I should. Because I feel like I failed you.”

Emily frowned. “You didn’t fail me, Dad.”

Beau exhaled, running a hand over his face. “I tried to be a good father, Em. I loved you with everything I had, but your mama and I… we just couldn’t make it work. And now, sittin’ here, hearin’ you say this, I—” He shook his head. “I hate the idea that I didn’t give you enough.”

Emily swallowed, her eyes softening. “You did love me,” she said. “I never doubted that. Not for a second.” She hesitated before continuing, “But seeing you now… seeing this—you, Y/N, the kids, the way everything just flows—it made me understand something.”

Beau turned, waiting.

Emily inhaled deeply, her voice quiet but steady. “I get why things didn’t work between you and Mom.”

Beau’s breath caught slightly.

Emily gave him a small, knowing smile. “You and Y/N… you fit together. You love each other in a way that’s easy. Not that it doesn’t take work, but it’s… real. It’s not forced. It’s not you carrying everything alone, shutting the other person out.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I never realized how much that was missing between you and Mom until now.”

Beau stared at her, his throat tight. “You don’t resent me for that?”

Emily shook her head. “No. I used to wonder why you two couldn’t figure it out. Why love wasn’t enough. But now? I get it. Because this?” She gestured back toward the house. “This is love. What you have now… it’s what you were meant to have all along.”

Beau felt something inside him crack wide open, something that had been sitting there for years, weighing him down.

And now, looking at Emily—his smart, strong, incredibly wise daughter—he realized she wasn’t just saying it to comfort him. She meant it.

He let out a shaky breath, then reached over, gripping her hand. “You know I love you, right?” His voice was rough, full of emotion. “No matter what, no matter where you go or what you do—you’ll always be my girl.”

Emily’s lips trembled slightly before she nodded. “I know, Dad.” She squeezed his hand. “And I love you too.”

Beau exhaled, his grip tightening. “I’m real damn proud of you, Em. For who you are, for who you’re becoming.”

Emily blinked rapidly, then huffed out a breathy laugh, nudging him lightly. “Okay, stop before you make me cry.”

Beau chuckled, releasing her hand and leaning back, draping his arm across the back of the swing. “Can’t help it.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the night air cool against their skin, the quiet hum of crickets filling the space between them.

Finally, Emily sighed contentedly. “You think Y/N will let me steal Eliza for the whole day tomorrow?”

Beau snorted. “You might have to pry her outta grandma’s arms first.”

Emily grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

Beau smirked, then reached over, ruffling her hair like he used to when she was little.

“Dad,” she groaned, swatting his hand away, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

“Sorry, sorry,” he teased, putting his hands up in surrender.

Emily shook her head but leaned into his side, resting her head against his shoulder just like she had when she was a kid.

And Beau sat there, holding his daughter close, knowing deep in his soul—

Everything was exactly as it should be.

The house was finally quiet.

Eliza and Caleb were sound asleep, Margaret had turned in for the night, and Emily had gone to her room after what Beau could only describe as a perfect day.

Now, as Beau stepped into the bedroom, tugging off his shirt, he let out a slow, tired sigh.

Y/N was already in bed, sitting up against the pillows, wearing one of his old T-shirts. She watched him as he crossed the room, something knowing in her gaze.

“Long day?” she asked softly.

Beau chuckled, tossing his shirt into the hamper. “Hell of a day.”

He crawled into bed beside her, immediately wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her into his side. Y/N let out a small, contented sigh, her fingers lightly tracing over his bare chest.

They lay there in silence for a moment before Y/N murmured, “You talked to Emily tonight, didn’t you?”

Beau glanced down at her, his brows raising slightly. “That obvious?”

Y/N tilted her head up, smiling. “You’ve got that look.”

Beau exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Yeah. I found her outside on the porch. She was… overwhelmed, I think.”

Y/N frowned slightly, shifting closer. “Overwhelmed how?”

“Not in a bad way,” Beau assured her, wrapping his arm tighter around her. “Just… the love, the warmth. The way everything flows here.” He let out a slow breath. “She told me she didn’t realize what was missing when she was growing up.”

Y/N’s lips pressed together, her fingers stilling on his chest. “That must’ve been hard for her to admit.”

Beau nodded. “Yeah. And it hit me hard. Made me feel like I failed her somehow.”

Y/N sat up slightly, resting a hand on his cheek. “Beau,” she said gently, her voice full of reassurance, “you did not fail Emily.”

Beau sighed, leaning into her touch. “She stopped me before I could even apologize. Said she understood now.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “Understood what?”

Beau met her gaze. “Why Carla and I didn’t work.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly.

“She told me that seeing us—seeing how we are, how easy it is—made her realize how much was missing between me and Carla.” His voice was soft, almost raw. “She gets it now. Not just in her head, but in her heart.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, her fingers gently stroking his jaw. “That’s… huge, Beau.”

He nodded, a small, almost disbelieving smile playing on his lips. “It really is.” He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “She also said she was stealing Eliza for the whole day tomorrow.”

Y/N chuckled, rolling onto her side so she could face him properly. “Oh, she thinks she’s stealing her? Eliza is going to be attached to her hip.”

Beau smirked. “I told her she’d have to pry Eliza outta grandma’s arms first.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Mom does have a firm grip on those grandbabies.”

“Oh, Emily loved the challenge,” Beau muttered, smirking. “Said she was ready.”

Y/N giggled, nuzzling into his chest. “I love that they’re bonding already.”

Beau wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

For a while, they just lay there, wrapped up in warmth, in home.

Then Y/N smirked. “So… should I be worried?”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“Emily and Eliza against us,” Y/N teased. “That’s dangerous territory.”

Beau let out a deep laugh, rolling onto his back, dragging her half on top of him. “Oh, we’re doomed.”

Y/N giggled, resting her chin on his chest. “At least we have Caleb on our side—for now.”

Beau smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “For now.”

Y/N sighed happily, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I love you, Mr. Arlen.”

Beau exhaled, contentment filling every part of him. “I love you more, Mrs. Arlen.”

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and love, Beau knew—this was the life he had always wanted.

And it was damn good.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here to be added! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

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nipotazzi · 2 days ago

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Tales from the memverse: My favorite mini_log.

“Soo… what do you think?”

The flabbergasted kid said nothing, until small, tar-like tears slowly descended from her body, heavily hitting the ground as they were melting from her.

“I… sniff… I… wh-what is this…? I am... leaking ink? Why?!"

“Because you are happy, my child. Happy that a part of your wish has been fulfilled.”

Forty-two slowly started moving towards the teacher, but tripped on her own feet and tail in the process: those were her very first steps, after all.

Fortunately, Miss π was ready to catch her, holding the kid in a motherly embrace, one that Forty-two quickly exchanged with the happiest and tightest hug she could give.

Whispering, she simply kept repeating two words, sobbing between her tar-like tears:

"Thank you."

Right on cue, the daughter of the Memverse teared up once again, and then smiled even more, seeing with her other pairs of eyes all of those parents and kids leaving their classrooms, meeting halfway through, and greeting each other with a warm hug, tenderly keeping up with their embrace after starting with some amount of hesitation.

Despite everything, Miss π had hope. For her future, for her role, and for the people of this recently born world, that was trying to rise up from their legs and start walking. Much like how she had helped Forty-two… she was ready to do the same with everyone else.

“Yes, hugs are nice…”

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Splatoon (Video Games)

Relationships:

Marina/Pearl (Splatoon)

Agent 3/Agent 8 (Splatoon)

Characters:

Marina (Splatoon)

Pearl (Splatoon)

Agent 8 (Splatoon)

Dedf1sh | Acht (Splatoon)

Order | Smollusk (Splatoon)

Parallel Canon (Splatoon) - Character

Original Splatoon Character(s)

Forty-two (Splatoon)

The Heavenly Melody (Splatoon)

Additional Tags:

Splatoon 3: Side Order

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Language: English

Summary: A small insight into how the true protagonists of the fic, the citizens of the Memverse, learn how to understand their behaviors and needs, thanks to the help of a very unique teacher.

Didn't upload this at the time.

As always, comments, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated. Have a good day!

#writing #original character #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 link #splatoon #side order #pearl houzuki #marina ida #pearlina #off the hook #agent 8 #acht dedf1sh #smollusk #Forty-two #symphony in fortissimo agitando

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babbushka · 2 years ago

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Before The Otherness Came (Prologue)

Ben Solo (Kylo Ren) x OC

Prologue: 1k

Preview:

Smoke, black and pendulous, hangs in the air. It is thick, hard to swallow, hard to speak -- to breathe. He cannot see, cannot gasp around his own choking, eyes stinging. Something is wet on the floor, slippery. In the darkness there a haze of light, humming, splitting the ash and soot and screams in the night, a streak of blue like a long exposure hologram, arcing in a violent ballet against a clash of green, until the sparks blind white, a hoarse chant demanding to do it, end it, and a scream of his name in an all too familiar voice is cut short by his own hand --

Ben gasps awake, drenched in sweat. The same nightmare again, always the same one. One would think he’d be used to it by now or rather, he should know how to quiet his mind better by now. Thirty years and his thoughts are still too loud, so loud that he worries he may have woken everyone else up at the temple.

Click Here to Read on AO3!

#ben solo #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x oc #ben solo x oc #ben solo x reader #longfic #my writing #your comments/feedback is always appreciated!#Adcu #adam driver #adcu fanfic

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uhhlifeig · 2 months ago

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Cuddle - Dec. 10th - word count: 392 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus Lupin was lying on his bed in the dormitory.

He had been laying there for who-knows-how-long, staring vacantly at the hanging curtains.

His day really hadn’t been all that great, and he was so tired- but it seemed like he could never sleep well.

There was always some issue with his position, or his clothes, or the sensations around him. If he actually fell asleep, he was always plagued by nightmares.

It had gotten to the point where Remus had no idea what to do anymore, because nothing he tried ever worked, and Madam Pomfrey refused to give him Dreamless Sleep potions, citing how “the effect reduces if you use it too much.”

Remus sighed, turning over in his bed, right as Sirius walked into the dorm.

“Hey, Moony. Are you okay?” Sirius asked, taking in Remus’s appearance. Remus was sure he looked terrible, and that his eye bags were probably deep enough to store a textbook in.

Sirius stepped closer to Remus’s bed, leaving his bag on the floor near the door. “Moony, are you okay?” he repeated, when Remus gave no answer. “You kinda look like shit, mate. Do you need anything?”

Now. Now was his chance to make a move.

“I mean, some cuddles would be nice, if you’re up for it?” Remus asked hesitantly, afraid of scaring Sirius off. When Sirius didn’t immediately answer, Remus’s brain kicked into overdrive.

What if he thinks it’s weird? Does he think I’m weird? Does he think I’m a no-good, poor, werewolf freak? What if-

“Of course, Moons. Whatever you need,” Sirius said, successfully diverting the self-deprecating thoughts. “Do you want me to just, er, get in bed with you?”

Remus smiled tiredly. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Sirius took off his shoes and socks, leaving them on the floor, and got onto the bed.

Remus immediately latched his arms around Sirius’s wrists once he was fully on the bed, pulling him so that he was laying down next to Remus, who then grabbed him in a sort-of hug, which pulled them closer together.

Sirius smiled down at Remus, who had buried his face in the crook of his neck. “Do you want me to stay here, Moons?”

Remus nodded, tightening his grip around Sirius’s torso.

Needless to say, Remus had one of the best sleeps of his life that day.

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canisalbus · 1 year ago

Note

I'm sure you get loads of these but heck I said I'd give it a shot anyway!

Your artwork is so inspiring and beautiful. I recently graduated from art school with a degree in Animation Production but I've decided I'd love to be an illustrator some day. Your work really motivates me and gets my brain juice buzzin. Keep it up!!!

#oh thank you! I'm glad you did!#first off as a general rule I think it's always okay to message any individual independent artist/creator #and tell them that you like their work #you may think they probably get lots of positive feedback and such and another one doesn't matter #but I would bet money that the actual amount is almost always smaller than you'd think #so every kind comment has the potential to cheer them up and inspire them #and motivate them to continue creating and posting their work online for people to see #messages like that can linger at the back of your mind for ages #I regularly think back to the nice things people have said about my art over the years #especially when I'm struggling with art block and feel like what I make isn't worth anything and that I'm bad and my stuff is bad #this got a little long winded and I'm probably preaching to the choir #but what I wanted to say is don't be afraid to let creatives know if you like their work it's always appreciated #I'm flattered to hear my dog doodles motivate and inspire you!#animation and illustration are both good choices imo #I wish you all the best on whatever you end up doing #answered #starfruitwyne

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duhragonball · 1 year ago

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Nanwum VII Update: 34,518

So I am well past the two-thirds mark and I'm only six days in. Yesterday I made another successful attempt to break my one-day word-count record, and I pulled it off. The new top score for me is 9383.

I think I already went over my planning for this, but I feel like I really need to capture this for future reference, so to summarize...

I took a bunch of time off work

I got as much IRL stuff done as I could in October

I'm planning writing hour-by-hour instead of day-by-day, which makes my schedules more realistic and practical.

I'm switching to some side-projects and personal writings whenever I get stuck on the main thing I'm working on, which helps maintain momentum.

Part of my plan was to schedule three attempts to break my one-day record, so that way if I fell short, I'd have another chance. But things went so well the first time, I decided to just go for the hat trick, and... yeah, so far so good. Try #3 is on Thursday, and if all goes as planned, I should hit 50k before the end of the week.

Beyond that, I have a Plan B if I crash and burn, or it makes for a nice overrun if I stay on schedule. But it's nice to put the first 34,000 words behind me no matter what happens next. In the past, I used to struggle a lot between 20 and 35k, and this year I've blown past it so quickly that it's not even a factor.

It's a little spooky, really. I'm kind of waiting for some downside to reveal itself, or I'll just collapse into a burnt-out husk at the end of this. But let's be real, I've been doing this for several years now. And when I'm not working on one of these, I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to improve my performance. Is it any mystery that this got easier for me? Maybe it won't last, but it's not a weird twist of fate that I got to this level.

I will admit that the isolation is starting to take a toll, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. Right, Nappa?

#nanwum vii #i really need to respond to the ao3 comments in my inbox #i kind of fell out of that.... three years ago?#your feedback is always appreciated even if i don't get around to replying #just want to throw that out there

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forhyune · 1 year ago

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‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways.

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it.

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him.

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige.

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter.

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds.

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

��Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—”

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.”

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year.

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen.

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia.

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt.

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds.

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds.

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds.

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through?

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills.

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means.

“Thank you for refracting me.”

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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#god i love your feedback so much. i feel like u secretly have access to my planning doc or my brain bc u always talk ab my favorite parts #the nature of the nightmare + jisung's relationship to the nightmare in particular #maybe a bit of a tmi but i've experienced sleep paralysis a few times by now and i'm already starting to be like #ok. can we get this over with SDKFJDJK #and thank you for enjoying the development of their dynamic! and jeongin's precarious chemistry grade #nobody does comedic relief like my boy 🤝#but seriously thank u so much for this i appreciate you immensely #much love 🫶#comments <3 #*w: empty my mind

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