#remember when they were happy n alive

[nibeul]

good days

[id: It’s a redraw of one of the jjk season 1 key visuals featuring Megumi, Nobara, and Yuuji all in their uniforms. Megumi, drawn with brown skin, numerous piercings, and a cheek scar, is looking over his shoulder with one hand on his hip and the other hanging at his side. Nobara, drawn with tan skin and an eyebrow piercing, is standing next to him and is holding her hand up by her mouth as she calls out to Yuuji. Yuuji, depicted as Blasian with brown skin and pink twists that have colorful beads at the ends, is in the foreground of the drawing with one hand raised above his head in a wave. They’re standing on a bridge framed by trees and against a blue sky full of clouds. /end id]

[id: It’s the aforementioned jjk season 1 visual with Megumi, Nobara, and Yuuji. Megumi has his back to the viewer though is looking over his shoulder, Nobara looks to be calling out with one hand up in greeting, and Yuuji is waving with a smile on his face. /end id]

[gurorori]

i say this with utmost seriousness i wish i was employed

[prettyboykatsuki]

BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

✮ tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+

this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!

✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.

i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.

also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh

✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.

Bastard.

An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.

The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.

Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.

The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.

The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.

A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.

You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.

Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.

There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.

The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.

Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.

Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.

You think the worst of your life started there.

Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.

The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.

Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.

A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.

The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.

(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)

Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone. 

At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.

Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it. 

Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.

And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.

Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.

Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.

Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.

For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.

It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.

The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.

The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.

At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity. 

He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.

When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.

Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.

The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.

How he would treat you.

("So you're the new brat,"

Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.

He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.

"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."

Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.

"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")

The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.

Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.

You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.

You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.

Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.

The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.

A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.

You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.

The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.

Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.

And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.

The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.

They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem

The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.

And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.

The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.

Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.

Your uncle is above all things manipulative.

Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.

You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.

You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.

And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.

It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.

Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.

In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.

(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.

Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)

You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.

About everything.

An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"

"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.

"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."

"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"

She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .

"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."

"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?

Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.

"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."

You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.

You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)

You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.

(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)

Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.

The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.

You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.

So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.

On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.

__

The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.

For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.

You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.

Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him. 

It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.

But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.

You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .

For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.

You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.

The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.

You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally. 

For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.

You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful. 

When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.

All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.

"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"

Your stomach churns. You feel sick.

"Come to the living room."

You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance. 

Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.

You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.

"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."

You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.

"Did you need something?"

He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."

You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks.  Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.

"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"

You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."

"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"

You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.

"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.

"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"

You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way. 

There's even less of a normal relationship between you.

But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.

You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.

It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true. 

It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read. 

You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.

"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.

You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time. 

"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."

"People smoke around me all the time."

"Do you smoke?"

You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"

You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.

"Don't like the taste."

"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."

"I just drink socially,"

"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"

This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"

"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"

The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.

"It wasn't that either—I've never-"

He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"

You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.

"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."

"That's—It wasn't for you."

For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.

"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.

There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.

"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.

Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"

"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"

"I don't look like that!"

"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."

Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.

Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice. 

There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties. 

You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm. 

You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane. 

But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.  

It's relieving in the worst way. 

"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.

"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."

Our family. You wince. .

"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."

"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."

You do know that. You cast your gaze away.

"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"

You don't say anything.

"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."

This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.

He grins at you.

"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."

"What's in it for you?"

You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.

You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."

He scoffs a little. 

"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."

"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"

"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.

You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago. 

You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you. 

You look at him. 

“You’re horrible.” 

“Tell me something new.” 

“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.” 

You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already. 

“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.” 

“The contract. Are you serious about that?” 

He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.” 

“And that’s me?” 

“Seems like it,” 

You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol. 

“...Fine.” 

Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to. 

It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy. 

What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower? 

The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all. 

Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.” 

You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid. 

When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle. 

You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears. 

A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery. 

He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria. 

All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least. 

You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression. 

You hit him lightly, looking away from his face. 

“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.” 

“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is. 

You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness. 

He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it. 

“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions. 

“How would I know?” 

He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?” 

You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.” 

Sukuna barks a laugh. 

“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?” 

“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.” 

He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can. 

Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors. 

You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.

You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh. 

“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.” 

“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?” 

“It’s mine to stare at.”

You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy. 

But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that. 

He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again. 

You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up. 

“Thought of something, brat?” 

“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine. 

“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.” 

“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”

“Into bad boys or something, kid?” 

You frown. “You look like a yakuza.” 

This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.” 

You don’t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?” 

He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want? 

“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”

“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.” 

You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.

“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter. 

With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him. 

With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat. 

It doesn’t feel unpleasant.

“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad. 

“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.” 

You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it. 

He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you. 

Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear. 

“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.” 

“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.” 

“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,” 

“There what is?” 

“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?” 

“What is it, oh.” 

His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical. 

Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire. 

Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice. 

The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation. 

“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.” 

The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers. 

“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.” 

You don’t even think about asking what he means. 

“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.” 

He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?” 

You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”  

Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static. 

You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body. 

You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins. 

“Tastes good, kid.”

You flush. “Shut up.” 

“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”

Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you. 

“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.” 

You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you  - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago. 

Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge. 

“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.” 

You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.” 

Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.

The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs. 

Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity? 

He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you. 

It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes. 

And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name. 

This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades. 

“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.” 

It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly. 

You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows. 

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.” 

“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.” 

“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.” 

[helenanell]

A Breath of Life || Challengers

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Part Two

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

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The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

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Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 “Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

[fhrlclln]

I’ve been living for the Qimir fanfics. Can you write one where reader and him were lovers in the Jedi together, he thought she died, but actually the Jedi wiped her memory. When he bumps into her again he’s FURIOUS but also just happy that she’s alive and tries to get her memory back. Lots of angst but with a happy ending?👀

and here you stand | qimir

SUMMARY -> a man in your dreams feels like a distant memory you cannot seem to touch upon but when a particular meeting with a man in the streets of olega might be the answer to everything.

qimir x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> angst & fluff

WC -> 2.85k

a/n: aNONz i hope this fic is what you requested for!!! i tried my best with the angst 😩🤌

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

the dream always started out softly...

a glimpse of a man with short black hair, dawning a padawan braid, smiling and laughing with you in the gardens of the jedi temple in coruscant. he’d always kissed you and for a moment in the dream, you could feel his hands gently caress your cheek and see the loving gaze of his eyes on you. but the dream was always somewhat blurry... you can't remember the young man's face but his laughter, his love you feel is everything to you. it was comforting, it felt like home but the moment his laughter ends, the dream did as well.

and you wake up with a longing feeling stuck in your chest.

you'd try to remember your times as a former jedi, a former padawan in your time in coruscant. hoping you could somehow remember the man in your dreams, for it felt it was a distant memory than a dream but it always ended up with no avail. it was painful enough that you missed being back in coruscant and to reoccur those memories again in hopes of remembering who the man in your dreams makes it even more painful.

that's until you had just given up at some point on remembering him.

you now reside in a humble planet called olega. the city was large enough for you to explore it in your first days of living there. you opened up a merchant stall, selling the local fruits and vegetables for consumption. leaving the order was a tough decision the council had made upon you, you were a gifted student, gifted with the force. it was strong within you but alas, you failed, you could not somehow learn to control your own self- your own emotions. you can't remember why back then and it haunts you to this day of your failure as a jedi.

but that didn't matter now.

your quiet life of being a merchant had its perks. you were not bound by an order anymore. there were no more responsibilities and expectations placed upon you. you didn't need to train every single day- but sometimes you missed your training lessons. you did miss your former master and padawans, for they were the second family to you. even if it was told that at that time, familial or romantic feelings were forbidden, you still saw them like that.

granted, it was hard to fall back into the normal routine of an everyday civilian. you had been with the order since you were a child. you still would close off your emotions from time to time with the people you grew to know with in olega, but you got the hang of it eventually in the years of living here. but sometimes you wished to go back to coruscant, hoping if you'd visit the gardens and the great tree, you might remember the man in your dreams.

but here you are, standing behind your stall as you packaged the fresh fruits for a customer. you handed to them with a smile on your face and humbly accepted their credits. you sigh, sitting on your stool as you counted your savings to see if it would cover the rent you have to pay for this month. it was enough, your stall was popular in demand because of how fresh your picks was and you were grateful for that. you stand up again, noticing that you had to close now, seeing that almost all your merchandise was sold.

"closing off early again?" the cheery voice of your fellow merchant quips. you laugh, shrugging as you started packing away.

"i am!" you chuckled, checking if everything is in place before you could leave. you adjusted your satchel as you put on your hood, bidding your fellow merchants a kind goodbye as you went off.

a hot meal would be nice, you think to yourself, before you'd head home. walking through a crowd, you squeeze yourself in as you excused yourself to get by. the heart of the plaza certainly was always full of people at this time. for a moment, a watchful feeling washed over your senses as you look up ahead.

your eyes meet with a man’s. his black hair is slightly disheveled and greasy and the way his eyes were set upon you made you confused for a moment how hard his stare was. you look away, getting out of the crowd, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest as you walk away quickly.

qimir stands still in the middle of the plaza, his heart is thumping loudly against his ribcage. it couldn't be you. he doesn't know if the glimpse of you in the crowd was a mere apparition of the force but the way you looked at him had him thinking otherwise. you disappear from the crowd and he is hot on his feet to catch up to you.

he watches you go into an alley way, he follows in-suit, thinking that you’re trying to escape him. his nostrils flare, his agenda for today to go to the local apothecary is out of his plans as he follows you.

he watched you die.

he was sure of it, that memory of you of pushing him into his own ship whilst you stand guard to help him buy him some time to get out of coruscant never left his mind. it haunted him until he lives and breaths and it enraged him that you foolishly given your life for him to flee before his own former master would have killed him.

you were supposed to be together, right?

he thinks bitterly as he squeezes in the alley way. a lot of questions pop in his mind, were you still with the jedi after all you and him have suffered through because of them? that you willingly stayed? that you faked your own death just to leave him? those thoughts made him feel betrayed. you were his light when he was in the darkness. you were the one that understood him despite your refusal to let yourself be seduced by the dark path. he understood you as well yet he hoped that you would see truth that what the jedi do is all a lie.

he quickens his steps and your figure is starting to inch closer to him. he immediately reaches out to grab your arm and push you towards the wall making you gasp as you struggled in his tight death grip as he cages you with his whole body before you could defend yourself.

“let go!” you yelled at him as he ignored your angry yelps as you tried to get out of his grip. he merely stares down at you as you looked up at him. he observes, waiting if an emotion of guilt would cross your face… but there was none? only confusion and annoyance were plastered across your face. and he somehow indulges in your close distance, the feeling of you in front him again has him weak. here you are, warm and smelling the same after years since he had fallen into a rabbit hole of revenge and hatred for the jedi that he thought they killed you.

“i said-“ you weakly tried to pry him off you. your heart was beating so loudly, fearing what this unknown man would do to you. you wished for a moment that the force could help you. he was much stronger, you could tell, even if he looked like a twig underneath his robes. “-let go!”

“you… you’re supposed to be dead.” he breaks his silence. your brows raised with confusion. dead? you wonder if this man was crazy for thinking of you like that. not once did you remember angering any person here for this kind of response.

“i’m standing right here, buddy.” you roll your eyes as he lessens his grip on your arm. and here you do stand, qimir thinks. you relax for a bit as the hard stare he gives you softens slightly. something in him tells him that you don’t even recognize him. and that makes him worried.

“do you know me?” he tests his theory, hoping it was not true. you know him, you would never forget about him.

you two were your other halves of each other’s body, soul and mind, never to be separated even if the cosmos were in between you two. you would always find each other in the end. even in death, you were his other soul, the half of his battered and broken heart. he knows you vow the same as he heard those vows underneath the great tree in the gardens of the jedi temple in coruscant.

i will never forget you. as you had said to him when his lips last touch yours before you threw him into his ship, leaving him in agony seeing you turn on your saber before his master slashes you with her saber.

i love you, qimir.

he blinks wetly. there’s a hollow feeling inside his chest when he sees that you don’t genuinely recognize him the slightest bit.

“…no? no, i don’t know you. look, sir, if you have any problem with me or you want money, i have some credits-“

“what i want is for you to tell me the truth.” he cuts you off, wondering if you were lying as he tries to peer into your mind. he feels furious, furious that you are acting like this but the desperation… the desperation of trying to see you at least recognize him is taking over. you feel the hum of the force, so familiar even if it had been years since you trained. but it wasn’t just that, his force felt familiar.

“…you wield the force.” you say as your eyes widened when you feel him try to pry in your mind. an instinct in you erupts as you somehow managed to surprise him by grabbing him by his arm and the collar of his robe then pushed him into the wall that you were pressed against, making the roles reverse. qimir lets you do that as he looks down at you, a sadness in his eyes as he realizes that you don’t remember him.

what happened to you?

“you don’t remember me…” he whispers, defeated. he grips your wrist gently as a congested look of hurt is across his face.

“and you know me?” you ask, somehow feeling like he knows you more intimately than you had expected. confusion is breaking your calm mind, it frightens you that somehow you feel like what he’s saying is so close to the truth but you can’t discern it clearly. you know nothing of him. you let him go and qimir almost wobbled in his knees when your touch is gone.

he nods and your chest suddenly hurts. you back away, frightened and confused, it was overwhelming that you feel for him but don’t remember him. before qimir could utter anything else, you walk away. he watches you go, sensing that something was wrong. something had been wiped away in your mind with the memories of him and he feels lost. the one person that had stayed with him throughout his grievances and frustrations, the one good person he thought dead and the one woman he loved doesn’t remember him.

he’ll have to talk to you again when he wills himself.

・゜゜・．

it had been days since you last saw that strange man and your dreams have been getting even more vivid.

it was scaring you.

remembering the look in his eyes, you saw that he did in fact know you. but you don’t know him. sometimes when you wake up now after dreaming of that young man in your dreams, it felt like something in you was lost. and that your mind was actively trying to remember, trying to hold on what was missing but it always fails. and it leaves you feeling so lost and confused.

you sit by your bed now. you haven’t started your day like the usual. you felt sick, nauseous and incredibly exhausted of trying to will yourself to remember that strange man. his touch felt familiar when you remember it, his voice was somehow a comfort and his gaze… you know you would be in trance with those dark eyes of his that spoke of tenderness.

your eyes felt heavy as the sun peaks through the blinds of your windows. you sigh, weakly trying to get up. you felt you were about to fall back onto your bed again until a knock on your door surprises you. you freeze, the knocks then grew more louder and you sighed, thinking it was your landlord as you get up, wrapping your cloak around you.

you push the red button on the control panel as the sound of your door swiftly opening doesn’t ready you for him to be standing by your doorstep. you freeze, seeing that he’s dressed in another way-too-huge robes on him. he looks at you for a moment, taking in your face of confusion.

“i just want to talk.” he pleads and you stay frozen in your spot for a moment, wondering if you want to talk with him. but deep inside, your heart is telling you yes as it beats loudly.

“okay.” you say quietly as you let him in. qimir relaxes as you close the door once he crosses the threshold and he stands inside your small apartment.

“how long have you been living here?” he asks, looking around the place. “in olega… i mean.”

“seven… eight years, i think?” you answer as best as you can. “i stayed in coruscant for a couple of months before moving here.”

“why?” he asks further, confused.

“i left the jedi… i used to be a jedi.” you shrug. “it was the council’s decision why i couldn’t continue my training.”

“because?”

“…i- because they said i didn’t control my self, my emotions.” you sighed, not liking that you were telling this stranger of your failure. a stranger that you somehow know. you remind yourself.

“and you’re sure the council had told you that was their true reasons for letting you go?” he faces you, understanding bit by bit what happened to you. "they lied."

“why do you ask me? are you a jedi or was- as well?” you ask him now.

“i was.” he nods bitterly.

you blink. “then how do you know me?”

“we were…” he starts, finding his words to try and let this information on you easily. your memories were wiped as far as he could tell. he thinks that vernestra orchestrated to do this to you when they had disarmed you at some point after he had escaped. for it was to conceal those outside the jedi order of his existence and that it may put them in a political disaster. he scoffs at that in his mind. he wills himself not to go to the local jedi temple and slaughter master torbin himself for this, out of spite he’ll kill them all in there.

“you and i, we shared a bond.” he softly says as he nears you and you let him. “a bond that the order told us that it was forbidden.”

you blink, understanding what he meant. did the jedi lied to you? you think, feeling betrayed by the order that you had respected could do this to you. his soft gaze felt familiar and you reel in to his gentle voice. qimir’s chest filled with hope seeing you slowly start to understand him even though you still don’t know him.

“i am yours.” he takes your hand to his, placing it above his chest. “and you are mine.”

“and together…” those words leave your lips without even you registering it for a moment as he presses his forehead against yours. you shudder, your eyes welling up with tears, feeling overwhelmed as this felt like the scene in your dreams. this man was the young man in your dreams. you realized, why you somehow feel like you know him.

vows in the gardens, whispering it underneath the great tree. two padawans’ hearts beating with one another and the sweet song of love fills their chests as they become one. bound to eternity forever.

“we are bound to each other forever.” he finishes as he wipes the tears streaming down your face.

“i want to remember you…” you sobbed, your own chest hurting for not remembering him. this man that you had just met days ago but felt like you’ve known him forever. qimir smiles sadly as he pulls you into his arms. you cried on his shoulder, loving the way his arms felt around you.

you don’t even know his name and it breaks your heart again.

“i’ll help you remember. we found each other again.” he vows and promises he’ll make you remember. his own eyes wetting with his tears as he nuzzles his face on your soft hair and he whispers. “i promise.”

but all that matters now is that you are with him at last.

[moosesarecute]

YOU’RE MATES???

“Two weeks?” Your brother asked.

“I know it’s a lot, but I need a break. And I want to make sure I actually feel better by the end of it. I might get back earlier, but I want two weeks in case I need it,” you answered.

“You should have told me that you felt overwhelmed, Y/N. I could have helped you. I still can help you.”

“I know, but I want to fix this on my own.”

Rhys hesitated.

“Okey, you have two weeks. But make sure you give me some signs that you are alive every few days, okay?”

You nodded and hugged him.

“My two best spies needing a break at the same time,” Rhys continued. “What will I do?”

You froze, but tried your best not to show it. There’s no way he’s realized it now.

“Azriel is also on break?” you asked, doing your best to sound surprised.

“Yeah, he also said he needed two weeks, maybe more,” you fought a blush, “he didn’t give any reason for why, but I would never say no to that.”

“Weird,” was all you replied before you made a bad excuse to leave his office.

You closed the door and immediately winnowed to the cabin furthest away from Velaris. It was the cabin that was used the least by your family, but it was your favorite. You also knew that when the two weeks were over, the smell would linger for a long time, so you didn’t want it to bother your family with it.

You felt excitement spreading through your body as you made your way to the kitchen. With your hair set up and your mother’s old apron on, you started making an apple pie.

It didn’t take very long to make the pie, so you soon sat at the kitchen table, tapping your foot on the floor as you waited.

And waited.

And then you finally heard the door open and in walked your beautiful, sweet, majestic, mysterious and wonderful mate, your Azriel, ready for you to accept the bond.

********************************

It took exactly 48 hours before your brother reached out and asked if you were alive.

“I’m fine, Rhysie, just enjoying the peace and quiet. I’ve read two books so far and started a new crochet project.”

“And you’re remembering to eat?”

“Yes, I’m well fed,” you answered.

“Then I’m happy,” Rhys finished with and left your mind.

Most of it was a lie of course. You were well fed, both you and Azriel had brought lots of leftovers so that you quickly could heat up something when you became hungry enough to take a break from eating each other.

But you had not even opened the books or picked up the yarn you always kept at the cabin.

“He’s worried?” Azriel asked.

“Yup, but he’ll be alright,” you said as you moved to kiss your mate once more. “And I’m extremely alright.”

Your mate met your kisses. You were straddling him on the couch with minimal clothing, doing your best to take a break from ravishing each other…the break didn’t last very long.

********************************

Two more days went by and your brother took contact once more.

“You know I told you to give me signs you are alive, right? I don’t like that I have to reach out to you.”

“You worry too much,” you answered pretending to sound annoyed. “I’m doing good. Just relaxing.”

“You’re not going crazy being alone?”

You had to hold back a little laugh. He obviously didn’t know that you were far from alone, being embraced in a cocoon of your mates large wings as you took a nap.

Luckily for you, you didn’t mind spending time away from people. You didn’t leave often, but it had happened multiple times before and Rhys knew that.

“I enjoy being alone sometimes, you know that.”

“Yes, but-“

“I’ll come home early if I need to,” you cut him off by saying.

“Okay, okay,” your brother said and left your mind.

“He hasn’t reached out to me yet,” Azriel told you. His voice was heavy with sleep and you spent some time admiring how cute he looks when he’s tired.

“He wants to give you space, I’m sure he’ll reach out to you soon.”

“I don’t mind, really,” he said. “I’m perfectly happy talking with you and you only.”

You grinned and nap time was over.

********************************

“I have to tell Rhys I’m alive,” you told your mate in between kisses.

“Right now?” He sighed.

“He has taken contact at 8 o’clock the other times and he’ll probably do that today too,” you explained and left his lap, but stayed beside him, playing with his hair.

You brushed your brother’s mental shields and he immediately let you in.

“I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m aliveeee,” you sang in a little song.

“Good, thank you,” Rhys replied, not joining your joking mood.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he told you. You were about to call him a liar when he continued. “I just miss you.”

You started to feel bad for lying to and leaving your brother. Azriel picked up on your emotions and started hugging you.

“I miss you too Rhysie, but I really need this,” you told him.

“I know, little one. Thanks for taking contact.”

Rhys closed his mental shields and you were forced out of his mind.

You were about to start talking to Azriel, when he let go of you and silenced you with a finger in front of your lips. He stayed like that for a few seconds and you realized your brother must have taken contact with him.

“He just asked if I’m alive and alright,” Azriel explained.

“Good,” you replied. “Then we can continue our activities.”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, then his eyes, his nose and lastly his lips. After each kiss, both of your smiles grew larger.

********************************

You were making dinner the next time you felt your brother’s claws on your shields. You carefully moved away from Azriel’s embrace and kisses and took a sip from your glass of water as you opened your mental shields.

“I know why you’re gone,” Rhys said before you could greet him.

You spit out your water and Azriel looked at you with shocked eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied trying not to sound nervous.

Your brother spent a long time before he continued.

“I needed the book on Illyrian history for a up coming meeting.” Your heart sunk. “I saw on the library card that you borrowed it last, so I thought I should look in your room. I know I should have asked, but I figured you didn’t want for me to bother you, so I just went inside.”

“I’m sorry, Rhys. We just-“

“I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable telling me. If you two are dating and you’re happy, I’m happy. You could have just told me if you wanted a couple’s vacation.”

“I’ll explain everything when we get home, I promise.”

“Just enjoy each other’s company. I won’t tell the others.”

“Are you mad?”

He again waited a little before he answered. “No, I’m not mad. But I’m definitely fighting Azriel when you get home.”

Both of you laughed.

“I’m looking forward to seeing that,” you answered. “See you soon.”

“See you.”

Azriel looked at you with wary eyes.

“He knows about the relationship, but not the bond.” When you felt and saw the anxiety spread through his body, you added “he’s not mad, but he will fight you when you get home.”

You closed the gap between you two and caressed his cheeks. “He’s happy as long as I’m happy and if I haven’t already made that clear, I’m the happiest I have ever been.”

You stood on your toes and kissed him. He kissed you back, lifted you up and sat you on the counter.

He picked up a plate and filled it with food and gave it to you.

“From this day I’ll give you food. It doesn’t matter if you made it or I or someone else, I’m giving you the food.”

You looked confused at him. “why?”

“We are mates, equals in every way. You had to feed me to accept the bond, to show that we’re equals I’ll feed you from now.” He kissed you as soon as he finished talking.

“I love that, mate,” you kissed him back. “It’ll be our thing.”

********************************

“Not going to ask if I’m alive?” You asked your brother two days later. “It’s 5 minutes past 8! I started to worry!”

“I now know that you aren’t alone, I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

You failed to mention that he had interrupted you and Azriel having sex more than once during the 12 days you had been at the cabin.

“When are you coming home?” Rhys asked. “I’m starting to go crazy with Cassian and Mor bickering around me all the time.”

“Two days time I think,” you replied. “So you’ll have to survive without us a little longer.”

“It’s so weird that you two are dating.”

“We might be a little more than just dating,” you told him and immediately left his mind.

You felt him claw on your mental shields multiple times, but you didn’t let him in.

********************************

“Wow,” you said in awe as you looked at your mate’s shadows.

“What?” Azriel asked. He was seated on the couch.

“Have they always looked like that?”

“Looked like what?”

You walked closer to your mate, straddled him as you tried to get a closer look of his shadows.

“It’s like they’re a little violet.”

Azriel commanded his shadows to stand before him. His eyes widened and were soon at the same size as yours.

His shadows did indeed have a little violet tint to them. Not a lot, but if you looked very closely, you could see it.

“I didn’t know they could do that,” you said. Still looking at the shadows. “They’re beautiful.”

“I love it,” Azriel said. His eyes met yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied.

********************************

The two of you walked hand in hand into the townhouse. After having been sneaking around for two years, showing your relationship felt a little weird.

However, being mated mates felt as though everything was as it was supposed to be. It was 40 years since the mating bond had snapped, so it was about time that you accepted it.

Your brother had previously told you that the rest of your family would be at the townhouse that evening, so you decided to just show up as mates.

Together you opened the doors to the living room.

“Finally! You’ve been gone too-“ Mor stopped talking. Her eyes looked from you to Azriel to your hands. “Holy shit.”

You just laughed and held Azriel’s hand a little tighter.

“YOU’RE MATES???????” Cassian yelled at you.

“How didn’t we know that?”

Your eyes found your brother’s. He wore an amused grin and just shook his head.

“It’s almost like both of them are spies,” Rhys said.

“Or that you three just never spent enough time with both of them together,” Amren spoke. “They were quite obvious at times.”

You didn’t know for sure that Amren knew about the two of you, but you weren’t surprised to know that she did.

“You have to tell me everything!” Mor said as she started to move over to you.

You started to back out of the room. “I think I’m going to take a bath first,” you said, met Azriel’s eyes and started to leave for your bedroom.

Azriel luckily understood what you meant and followed you in a way Mor later would describe as “a love sick puppy”.

********************************

“Please don’t,” Azriel begged you.

“I told you I would do it if you continued to act too possessive,” you just told him.

“I’m not possessive.”

“You hissed at Rhys…,” you said a little annoyed. “My brother.”

He knew that he had lost the discussion and you didn’t waist anytime spraying him with your new spray bottle filled with ice cold water.

A few meters away from you, Cassian and Rhys stood laughing at the two of you. They would never let him forget it and even after 500 years, they still sometimes threatens him with “getting Y/N’s spray bottle”.

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 1

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Requested: Yes, thank you @remmysthings for his request, I loved it so much!!! Summary: Single mom Y/N takes her son to meet Lando and Oscar and might be going home with more than just memories :) Words: 2158 Click here for Part 2

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Y/N glanced at her watch, her heart racing almost as fast as the cars she was about to see. The Formula 1 paddock was alive with activity as the teams prepped for the big race. Her 4-year-old son, Noah, was practically vibrating with excitement since he’d learned about this special Meet & Greet. The thought of introducing Noah to his racing heroes had kept Y/N going through some tough days and she hoped it would be worth every effort.

Noah had been a fan of racing from a very young age. His room was decorated with posters of race cars and he could name every driver from the top of his head. When Y/N had managed to secure a Meet & Greet with Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri she felt like she’d won the lottery. She knew this would be a day Noah would remember forever and she was determined to make it as special as possible.

As they approached the designated area, Y/N spotted the two drivers standing together. Lando was chatting animatedly with Oscar, both men looking relaxed in their team gear. Noah’s eyes widened and he tugged on Y/N’s hand, pulling her forward impatiently.

“Mommy, look! It’s Lando! And Oscar!” Noah squealed, his face lit up with sheer joy.

Lando’s gaze fell on them first. His eyes softened and a bright, genuine smile spread across his face. “Hey there, little guy” he called out, waving energetically.

Noah’s shyness melted away as he saw his idol waving at him. He tugged Y/N’s hand again, urging her to hurry. Y/N, feeling a bit nervous, walked over to them with a smile and extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Y/N, and this is Noah. It’s so nice to meet you both.”

“It’s great to meet you, Y/N and you too, Noah. Are you excited to see the cars up close?” Oscar greeted them with a friendly smile and Noah’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yes! I love the loud vroom-vroom noises!”

Lando crouched down to Noah’s level, his eyes twinkling amused. “I think you’re going to love it even more when you see them up close. How about you come see the garage with us?”

“Yes, please” Noah shouted loudly while jumping up and down.

Lando took the boy's hand and led him towards the garage, Oscar and Y/N following them closely. “So, Y/N, what’s your story? How did you end up as Noah’s biggest racing supporter?” Oscar asked the young woman next to him.

“Well, it’s been just Noah and me for a while now. He’s always had a fascination with cars and I guess I just got caught up in his enthusiasm. This is a big deal for us, and it means a lot to be here today.”

Oscar nodded. “I can imagine. It’s wonderful to see such a strong bond and it’s great that Noah has something he’s so passionate about.”

As they walked through the paddock, Y/N noticed how Lando effortlessly engaged with Noah. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious. Noah was asking questions about the car’s features and Lando was answering with technical details and playful banter.

“Noah’s a natural. He might be a future racer,” Lando glanced back at Y/N with a smile. “He’s pretty great, just like his mom, I bet. You must be pretty good at handling all this excitement.”

Y/N laughed, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. “I try my best.”

Oscar, catching the look Lando was giving Y/N, raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. “And what about you, Y/N? What’s your favorite part about racing?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, not wanting to admit that she’s not an expert in Formula 1, but eventually decided to be honest. “I’m not as into the technical details as Noah is, but I love seeing him so happy and excited. It makes everything worth it.”

“I can see that, it’s clear how much you care about him,” Lando smiled, his eyes softening with understanding.

The young boy’s excitement was visible when the group approached the race engineer area. Noah got more and more hyper, still holding onto Lando’s hand as he followed his idol to a series of high-tech computers and screens. “This is where we monitor everything during the race,” the British driver explained to the boy, “it’s like the car’s brain, keeping track of all the data.”

Y/N was astonished at the amount of screens displaying real-time performance data. “It’s incredible how much technology goes into this. I’ve never seen anything like it up close.”

Lando smiled, clearly enjoying her fascination with it as well. “It can be a bit overwhelming at first, but it’s all about making sure everything runs perfectly. It’s quite a thrill, actually. Do you want to see the car up close now?” He eventually asked the little boy who was still holding onto him.

Lando and Noah quickly were engrossed in a lively discussion about the car, the boy standing next to the vehicle and the driver kneeling beside him, showing the 4-year-old the various parts of the car and answering his questions.

When Lando noticed Y/N watching from a few feet away, he waved at her with a grin. He couldn’t help but notice how the light seemed to highlight her features, giving her a beautiful glow. Her smile, warm and genuine, made Lando’s heart skip a beat and he admired how her eyes lit up with curiosity at the things she was seeing and love for her little boy.

After a few more minutes of inspecting the car Lando lifted the 4-year-old up to sit in the driver’s seat, and Noah’s eyes widened in awe. “Wow! It’s so cool!”

Lando grinned, clearly enjoying Noah’s reaction. “You look like you belong there.”

Noah beamed up at him, then glanced over at Y/N with a look of pure delight. “Mommy, look” he shouted in excitement, ”I’m in the car!”

“So? What do you think about our garage?” Lando asked Y/N while Noah was pretending to drive and making noises. Oscar sensed how Lando seemed to want a moment with Y/N, so he moved himself next to Noah and explained the different buttons on the steering wheel. 

“It’s fascinating. I never realized how much goes into managing a car during a race.”

“What’s been the most surprising part for you so far?” Lando’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, but Y/N didn’t seem to notice. She thought about his question for a moment. “I think it’s how much detail and precision is involved. I mean, I knew racing was complex, but seeing it all laid out like this is eye-opening.”

Lando nodded, clearly pleased with her insight. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Every little detail matters. That’s why we work so hard to get everything just right.”

The young woman nodded, smiling up to him. He was struck again by how pretty she looked. There was something genuinely captivating about her and he found himself drawn to her.

“Noah’s been asking some really good questions. He’s got a real passion for this, doesn’t he?” Lando commented, trying to keep the conversation going while his mind wandered to how lovely Y/N was.

Y/N’s face softened when she heard his words, happy and proud that somebody other than just his own mother noticed the passion her son had. “He definitely does. He’s been fascinated with racing since he could talk, so today his dream came true.”

Lando’s smile grew warmer as he looked back at Y/N. “It’s wonderful to see that kind of enthusiasm. And I have to say, you’re pretty amazing yourself, Y/N, not just for bringing Noah here, but for supporting his dreams and how you’re handling all of this. It must be hard taking care of him by yourself.”

As Y/N smiled, touched by his words “Thank you, Lando. That’s really sweet of you to say,” her cheeks flushing, “some days are hard but he’s a great kid.”

The driver admired her but also felt something deeper. He genuinely enjoyed her company and it was clear that her kindness and beauty, inside and out, had made a lasting impression on him. While she was watching her son still chatting with Oscar Lando once again was fascinated by the young woman next to him. He usually wasn’t the type to be nervous to flirt with girls but with Y/N it was different. 

He felt himself get nervous but decided to say what he wanted to say anyway. “I’ve really enjoyed today, Y/N. How about I give you my number? Maybe I can show you around the track properly sometime or you can text me anytime you want to know more about racing or just chat.”

Y/N smiled, easing Lando’s nervousness. “I’d like that,” she nodded, fished her phone out of her pocket and handed it to the driver who had an equally big smile on his face while he put his number into her contacts.

After a few more moments of admiring the car and asking the two drivers a dozen questions, it was time for Noah and Y/N to say goodbye.

“Hey, let’s take some pictures to remember today,” Lando suggested. Everyone eagerly agreed, and they started positioning themselves for a series of fun shots. Oscar and Y/N posed together first while Noah playfully peeped out from behind them.

After a few group photos, Lando had a special request. “Oscar, can you take a picture of me with Y/N and Noah? I want to have a shot with just us.”

Lando quickly lifted Noah up onto his hip. The boy snuggled against him, eyes wide with awe and a beaming grin on his little face. Lando then slung an arm around Y/N, drawing her close and after a few seconds of hesitation Y/N leaned into Lando’s side.

Oscar, who had been watching with a smile, realized that this scene looked like a perfect family photo. The way Lando had Noah securely on his hip and the way his arm was wrapped around Y/N gave the impression of a cute little family enjoying a special day together. 

The Australian raised his phone and captured the moment and after reviewing the photo and agreeing that it perfectly captured their time together, the group exchanged hugs and well-wishes but Lando had one more surprise for Noah. He handed him a signed McLaren bear with a personal note, and Noah clutched it tightly, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Thank you so much, this was the best day ever!” Noah exclaimed.

“You’re welcome, buddy, it was great meeting you. Maybe we’ll see you at another race again soon,” he crouched down once more to give the little boy a hug. “Noah, keep being awesome. I’ll be waving at you from the track.”

As Y/N and Noah left the paddock, Lando and Oscar remained behind. The Brit couldn’t help but smile at how this normal day had turned into something unexpectedly amazing. The two drivers walked toward the team's hospitality area and Oscar smirked at his teammate. “You seemed to have quite a connection with Y/N today. Not just the way you were with Noah, but with her too.”

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s great, isn’t she? It was really nice talking to her. She’s got this warmth about her and Noah’s excitement was just infectious.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re saying you might have a bit of a soft spot for her?”

“Maybe I do,” Lando shrugged and felt a blush creep onto his face, “she’s kind, genuine and really down-to-earth. It’s not everyday you meet someone who can handle all this racing stuff and meet someone famous and still make you feel like you’re talking to a friend.”

Oscar’s grin widened. “Sounds like you’re pretty taken with her. You know, it’s not just about the job. It’s nice to have those connections outside of racing, especially when you meet someone who makes the whole experience more memorable.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Lando nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s been a while since I felt this way with someone and seeing how happy Noah was today, it just added to everything.”

Oscar patted Lando on the back. “Well, if you’re interested in getting to know her better, you should definitely make an effort.”

“I think I will. I hope she texts me, I gave her my number and I really want to see if we can catch up one day.” Lando couldn’t help but smile, already looking forward to the possibility of hearing from Y/N. The thought of continuing their connection and seeing where it might lead was exciting and he hoped that today’s encounter would turn into something more...

___________________

Click here for Part 2

[lixzey]

mine, forever mine.

one two

Timothée couldn't help but smile as he watched his girlfriend, Y/N, sleep peacefully. She had looked so tired that he hadn't had the heart to wake her up, even though they had planned to go stargazing tonight.

He sat beside her, taking in her beauty and breathing in the smell of her. Timothée's heart thundered in his chest as he watched her sleep, her gentle breaths like a soothing melody to his ears. In the darkness of the night, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for the woman who lay beside him. She was like a delicate flower, beautiful yet strong, fragile yet resilient. As he traced his fingers over her skin, he wondered how he had been lucky enough to find her in the chaos of their world. Her laughter was contagious, and her smile could brighten up even the darkest of days. She had this way of making him feel like he was the only person in the world, and he loved her for that.

Timothée remembered how they met; fate had intervened in the most unexpected way, and he was grateful for that every single day. She was his best friend, his confidante, and his lover, all rolled into one. He couldn't imagine his life without her. When they first met five years ago, Timothée thought that she was way out of his league. Saoirse had convinced him to go out with one of her friends for lunch, and it was love at first sight. Timothée remembered that day vividly. He had been so nervous; his palms were sweating, but he was determined to make a good impression. He had put on his best outfit and made sure he was impeccably groomed. When she arrived, it was like the sun had suddenly come out and lit up the entire room. She was so beautiful and graceful, like an angel that fell from heaven, and he could hardly take his eyes off of her. Somehow, she had been able to see past his awkwardness and insecurity and accept him, no questions asked. She had quickly put him at ease with her warm personality and friendly smile.

It was like a spark of electricity that lit up his world, and he never looked back. He had never felt so alive before, and he knew that he was meant to spend his life with her. From their very first date, Timothée and Y/n had created the type of bond that most people spend their entire lives searching for. It was clear that they had a connection that would never be broken, no matter the circumstance.

Timothée admired how Y/n seemed to find happiness in the simplest things, always appreciating the beauty and little wonders that life offered. Y/n didn't deserve to get all of this hate, she was the purest soul. She taught him to slow down and accept life's imperfections, something he had struggled with in the past. Every time he looked at her, he thought the same thing: how lucky he was to have her in his life. For as long as he had known her, she was soft yet resilient. She had compassion and creativity.

Timothée was beyond grateful to Saoirse for setting them up in the most unexpected way. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. Y/n completed him in ways he never knew were possible. She knew his deepest fears and his darkest secrets, and yet she loved him unconditionally. She was his rock, his safe haven, and his home.

There were so many times that Timothée was certain she was going to walk out of his life. His career always got in the way of their time for each other. He always asked himself why she was still with him after all of the shit he'd put her through, like that one time when Y/n told him she was going to make dinner for him and completely forgot. But despite his shortcomings, Y/n stayed. She loved him because of who he was, and she assured him she was not going anywhere. Timothée was sure that his woman must have the patience of a saint, because sometimes it terrified him.

Timothée wanted to show her off and brag to the world about her. He wanted to tie the knot with her and spend the rest of his life with her. But his management stood in the way of that. He imagined them sitting on the porch of a cozy house, holding hands as they watched the sun set over the horizon while their children ran around, chasing each other through the yard. He couldn't imagine anyone else he'd spend the rest of his life with.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

I'm going to show her off, whether they like it or not.

Sighing, he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Thank you for loving me, mon amour. I'm going to make it up to you. I love you.”

“Where are you taking me, baby?“ You asked as you fidgeted with the cloth that covered your eyes. “Is the blindfold really necessary?” 

Timothée chuckled. “Be patient, mon amour. We're almost there; just hang in here tight."

“Can you give me a clue where you're taking me? Come on, babyyy!” You whined, your nose scrunching in annoyance, making your boyfriend laugh.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Fine, laugh.”

It's been a week since the article blew up. You didn't give it any more attention; instead, you focused on your boyfriend, giving him all the love he deserves. You spent the week cooking for him, which he highly appreciated after a long day of working on the go.

Now, your boyfriend is taking you somewhere blindfolded. You had no idea where he was taking you, but knowing your boyfriend, it was another one of his surprises.

Suddenly, the car stopped abruptly. You heard your boyfriend get out of the driver's seat before opening the door on the passenger side.

"You ready, mon amour?"

“I can't see a thing; I'm absolutely ready.” You rolled your eyes at him—not that he could see it, though.

“There's my sarcastic girl.” Timothée chuckled, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the car.

Timothée slowly led you from behind, telling you when to turn and when to walk straight. After what felt like hours, Timothée finally instructed you to stop. You felt the soft grass beneath your feet and heard the faint background hum of a crowd of people. Finally, someone removed the blindfold, and you blink several times, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. When your eyes finally adjusted, your breath caught in your throat.

The entire gazebo was lit up with twinkling lights, like thousands of stars had been scattered across the ground. Rose petals decorated the entire path leading to the middle. Timothée's family stood beside yours with huge grins plastered on their faces. Both yours and Timothée's friends were also there, smiling brightly. Bystanders stood around with cameras everywhere, trying to capture the moment. Suddenly, your eyes widened when your eyes landed on a familiar brunette; Kylie Jenner was smiling at you from the sidelines, giving you a thumbs up and silently urging you to go to your boyfriend.

You slowly walked towards your boyfriend, tears shining in your eyes as you realized what was happening. Timothée grabbed your hands, and life began to blur out around you as he began to speak.

“The very first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one. You looked like an angel that fell from heaven, and I could hardly take his eyes off of you. You have this way of making me feel like I'm the only guy in the world. How have I been so lucky to find you amidst the chaos of the world? Your smile could brighten up even the darkest of days. You were like a spark of electricity that lit up my world. You taught me to slow down and accept life's imperfections. I can't imagine a life without you, mon amour. You are my rock, my safe haven, and my home.” His voice was shaky, but his words were clear and true.

Timothée fell on a bent knee, a beautiful diamond ring in his hand. His eyes were full of love and admiration. “So what do you say, my beautiful angel? Will you marry me? ” 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed into Timothée's green eyes. “Yes,“ you whispered, your voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd around you.

“Yes, I will marry you!” You threw your arms around him, feeling his warmth and the beat of his heart against your chest. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and you felt as if you were floating on cloud nine. You leaned in close to Timothée and whispered, “I love you, Timothée Chalamet,” and you meant it with all your heart and more.

Timothée slipped the ring onto your finger, and the two of you shared a kiss that felt like forever.

You couldn't believe that you were engaged to the man of your dreams, the man who had swept you off your feet and made her believe in true love. You looked around at the smiling faces surrounding the two of you, feeling overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude.

“I hope you get used to my fans looking at you, mon amour.” Timothée chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I want to take you around the world. They don't have to understand. I'm going to rub it in their face that I put a ring on your hand.”

You giggled, kissing his nose. “That'll take a bit of getting used to.”

“I'm going to show you off, whether they like it or not.”

“You're the one.” You whispered, before capturing his lips in yours. “Mine, forever mine.”

You couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with him, the man you love, your soon-to-be husband.

Your fiancé, your future, your Timothée, yours. 

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @this-is-me-lolol

[earthtooz]

x : CALL ME BACK : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio has been waiting for your call since you left.

warnings: FLUFF i promise, 1.6k wc, gn!reader, ratio being horribly in love and pining so badly, reader works as a space researcher, reader is a sunshine so this is basically sunshine x grump/asshole, written during his first release/ v1.6.

a/n: the way i wrote the synopsis made it sound like it was sad. maybe i'll write an angst version of the same prompt. anyways i listened to 'she calls me back' by noah kahan on loop when writing this, enjoy!

Dr. Ratio is not happy with you.

It has been three weeks and three days since he last received any sort of notification from you, any sort of indication that you were healthy and alive whilst traversing the universe. Typically, you would send daily updates of how your exploration was progressing, or new intergalactic discoveries of yours, regardless of whether or not he cared. 

(He cares. He cares more than his indifferent texts lead on. There’s a reason he always responds, after all, and it’s not just because you’ve been friends for almost two decades now.

To him, your constant messages and calls told him that you were thinking of him, and the more space he occupies in your mind, the happier he is; that is a theory he discovered years ago.

He happily listens to all of your rambles. He'll listen whilst in the middle of grading various papers or writing one of his own, he'll listen whilst eating, he'll listen to you as long as you reach out.

So where are the messages he was waiting for?)

Today is the arranged day for you to return from your new mission. Ratio has been counting down the days since he first marked it on his large desk calender, your return being the first event on his list. 

He is undeniably excited to see you, yet he feels petty enough to not make the trip down and welcome you by the docks, even if your ship’s landing zone is just outside the University.

It’s irrational of him to hold your inactivity against you. Perhaps you just encountered an inconvenience and lost your phone, or wherever you are does not have good reception to send a text halfway across the galaxy. He understands that your safety comes first on these missions, but he can’t help but feel neglected, and he curses the fragility of his ego for making him this way. 

The clock strikes another hour. From his office, Ratio cannot see the ships and come and go, but his ‘scholarly instincts’ are telling him that you are on your way. 

Not even ten minutes later, a figure comes barrelling into his office.

“There he is!” You exclaim exuberantly. It seems that the length of the mission did not erode your enthusiasm, and he’s grateful that it is as contagious as he remembers. “And here I was wondering where you were, did you dig your nose too deep in those encyclopaedias you love to memorise?”

You’re still in your research gear, hips and legs buckled to the brim with various equipment that are necessary to your work, and his heart beats guiltily at the sight. 

You came to see him as soon as you landed. He was your first destination after a tiring three and a half weeks away from home, not the comfort of your home or bed or shower; him. 

“Ha. Ha.” The purple-haired laughs dryly, getting up from his chair and rounding his desk. “Good to see you still alive.”

“What’s with the lack of energy? Didn’t you miss me, Veritas?” 

He did. More than you could ever imagine. “Of course I did.” 

Opening his arms for a hug, you all but run into his embrace, throwing your arms and anchoring yourself to the sturdiness of his torso. After not seeing you for so long, your familiar frame and warmth provides nothing but comfort. 

“Welcome home,” Ratio murmurs into your hairline. 

Your arms squeeze him tighter. “Good to be back.” 

After a few beats of silence, you step away from him and he reluctantly detaches himself from you. 

“I got you something,” you say whilst setting down your bag. Pulling out a suitcase, the purple-haired looks at you inquisitively. “It’s a chess board! I got you a new one to add to your collection!”

Ratio doesn’t bother correcting you that his ‘collection’ only has seven boards at most, but that does not negate his gratitude. 

Even whilst away, you thought of him, and that is a great victory.

“Thank you. We can play together, sometime,” he proposes.

“Oh, please. I could never beat you.”

“Giving up before you even start? That does not sound like the Y/n I know.”

“It’s not ‘giving up’, it’s picking my battles wisely. I could never best you in a game of chess, or any competition of intellect,” you laugh as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

“You shouldn’t discredit yourself based on your own assumptions. I think you make a very capable opponent.”

“I know your tricks, Veritas. Buttering me up just so you can chip at my armour and knock me down when I’m weak, have you no shame?” Your voice is light, with an air of joviality to it, and the purple-haired is enchanted. 

It seems that you don’t know him as well as you think. He finds no shame in hogging as much of your time as possible, even if it is through a game of chess that he will beat you at. He also hopes that you don’t know him well enough to hear the subtle desperation in his voice when he enquires if you’ll be leaving for another mission soon.

“I don’t believe so,” you tell him nonchalantly. “I’ll be stationed here for about two months. They’re expecting a detailed, twenty-page length report from me, so I guess I’ll be locked in my study until that’s complete.”

Ratio clicks his tongue. “Pity.”

(It’s not a pity. He gets to spend two months with you in compensation for the month that he was robbed of.)

“Not to sound self-absorbed, but why weren’t you there are the dock to pick me up?” You ask. 

“Were you disappointed?”

“A little. You’re always the first face I see whenever I come home. It was jarring to not see you amongst the crowd.”

Jealousy slashes at his chest, and he turns away from you to hide his sour expression. “I apologise, I must have lost track of the days.”

“You’re Doctor Veritas Ratio. According to your crazy schedules, there are 72 hours instead of 24 in a standard day, you never lose track.” 

Truth is a fascinating thing. By nature, it is black and white, but it’s perception is what traps fools. Humans have strived to discover an uncontested truth for as long as they have existed, but as long as opinions exist, it will constantly be revised and put together again, ambiguity heavy in the air that surrounds it. 

You, however, are even more fascinating with the way you can deconstruct him so easily.

“If you must know, I was… upset with you because you were not messaging me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Your laughter is even more so.

Hubris can really kill a man. Ratio does not need to consult the texts of ancient philosophers to confirm that. 

“Really?” You choke out in between cackles. “I didn’t think such menial things mattered to you!”

“Normally, they don’t.”

“So, I’m a special case then?”

“I shouldn’t need to spell it out for you.”

“Veritas!” You coo, placing your hands on either sides of his face. “I am so flattered!” 

Dr. Ratio is a renowned scholar with eight doctorate degrees. The mere mention of his name will inspire hundreds, if not, thousands, of people who have the faintest lust for academia, spreading marvel and fear amongst students and professors alike. His achievements will be engraved and celebrated by the university for centuries to come, and his classes are so notoriously hard that the passing rate is 3%. 

And yet, here he is, reduced to putty in your hands.

Perhaps that is who he is at his core. Rid from him the alabaster head, the codex, and pride, you’ll be left with a man who is ardently in love with his best friend.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous!” He mutters, hoping to salvage his image at least a little.

You listen to his demands, separating from him with a hearty laugh. “So you really do like me, that’s nice to know.”

(It is far beyond ‘like’ now. Can you come back and hold his face again?)

“I like you when you’re quiet.”

“Clearly not if you loathed my virtual silence! Which, by the way, was caused because the planet I was on had horrible reception. I really need to switch cell providers, mine doesn’t even reach to half way across the galaxy, apparently.”

“Well. I am glad you survived the three weeks without reception, it must have been a formidable challenge for you.”

“Were you worried for me?”

Of course he was. Whilst you freely roam the expansiveness of the universe, the only thing that anchors him to you across the span of light years is a message. “You should stop asking questions you know the answer to.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” You lean down to grab the bags that lay at your feet, swinging them over one shoulder. Do you have to leave so soon? “Well, I better get going. I’m aching for a shower and a nap. Now that I have proper data and Wifi, rest assured that I will be texting you soon.”

“Cannot wait.” 

“Goodbye, Veritas! I shall see you soon!” 

‘Soon’ is a relative time frame. He can only hope that you won’t keep him waiting again.

The door clicks shut behind you, and not even five seconds later, his phone buzzes with a call.

“Sorry!” Your voice greets from the other end of the line. “Was just testing if my reception actually worked.”

“There is a reason your day job is a Space Researcher and not a comedian.”

“Can’t you at least laugh? Let’s grab dinner tomorrow at half past six, make yourself free, Veritas!” 

You hang up before he can even get a word in, and he’s left to stare at the blank screen of his phone with an idiotic smile.

Everything’s alright when you call him back.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

An idea I have that’s itching my brain. Ex-husband!price, second chance trope? Strangely into this recently

Ex-husband!price who can’t help but call you every time he gets back from a mission and you who can’t help but pick up.

You’ve been divorced for a little over a year now. It wasn’t necessarily on bad terms but the relationship just couldn’t work anymore; with him constantly gone it felt as though he was more of a roommate, a stranger, than the man you loved.

You couldn’t take the loneliness and Price only ever wanted to make you happy, so he agreed to the divorce with the same amount of courage he had going into a mission.

“John?” You asked, answering the call after the third to make it seem like you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey,” Price smiled immediately when he heard your voice. “I made it home.”

“Good. You’re not hurt are you?”

Price could feel the ache and throb on his body from the mission, especially on his side where he had hit the ground hard because of an explosion. A large bruise had already formed but he ignored it like every problem he had concerning himself.

Just like he had ignored you.

“I’m alright.” He sucked in his lips and cleared his throat. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

You really shouldn’t. It’s not like you ended on bad terms necessarily, but you had never known someone to stay friends with their ex-husband before. You knew that these kind of talks might send the wrong message.

It might make one of you believe that there was hope for reconciliation.

“Oh…nothing much.” You kept it vague to deter further conversation and you hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way.

Price didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself even though he felt a pang in his chest while his throat tightened.

He shouldn’t call you anymore even if he missed your voice. Every call was like he was torturing himself, making himself remember what he lost because he couldn’t get his own head out of his ass.

He would’ve stopped after the first call if you hadn’t picked up.

“I just wanted to let you I was home.” He mumbled and you felt incredibly grateful that he wanted to do that.

You may be divorced but you still feared the day one of his men would come to tell you he was no longer alive.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, love.”

It slipped out but neither of you said anything. You both sat in silence, drinking up the presence of each other from the other side of the phone, across cities.

There were so many mixed feelings, all of which neither of you had the words to describe them.

“Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye.”

When you were gone Price sat in the edge of his bed in the dark. The bed he once shared with you often went untouched, even by him as he couldn’t stand to lay in it alone, even if the mattress was better for his body.

His fingers played with the golden band chained around his neck subconsciously since he was unable to get rid of it.

A/n: take whatever this is lol won’t be a series but might have like a couple other little pieces

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Whiskey on the Tongue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.

It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.

I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.

Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.

*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg.  It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.

The door to his room in the bunker was closed.  Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it.  You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book.  The very book that was in your hands right now.

“I need that book back, Dean.”  Sam grumbled.

“Not now, Sammy!”  Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.

“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean.  It’s important.”  Sam became more insistent.

“I said NOT NOW, SAM!”  Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.

Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away.  Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed.  Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee.  You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.

He was going to hell.  Straight there.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars.  And he probably deserved it.

He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans.  If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room.  Bobby was always protective of you, his niece.  You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.

“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped.  Do you hear me, boy?”

Bobby Singer.  That man did not mince his words.  And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel.  Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.

You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg.  The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.

Dean decided he could die like this.  If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.

He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.

It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk.  You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells.  You said he quieted the noise in your head.  Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home.  You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way.  Not that slutty was bad.  Dean liked slutty.  But that wasn’t you, you were different.

A drink.  That’s what was missing.  Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.

He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions.  A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.

The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move.  Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.

“Where’s yours?”

The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.

“Don’t pout.”  You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.

Dean’s jaw went slack.  The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry.  He had never seen you like this.

You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside.  He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.

Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid.  You leaned in.

Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt.  You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way.  The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were.  His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.

He refused to lick where you had been.  He couldn’t.  As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…

“Don’t.”  He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.

You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt.  He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.

“Bobby…”  Was all he could say through his constricting throat.

You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”

Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain.  The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan.  He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.

His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled.  He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.

Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths.  He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them.  Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening.  Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this.  You had intended this from the beginning.

He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down.  Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.

Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy.  You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.

While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped.  You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time.  You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat.  You weren’t disappointed.

Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal.  Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other.  Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet.  Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare.  Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot.  Fuck, he was good with his tongue.  Everything about him was good except his image.  Bad boy Dean Winchester.  He was every woman’s wet dream.  He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen.  But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.

Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid.  Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.

Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot.  You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life.  He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm.  When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down.  He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while.  You were a beautiful mess.

“That’s my girl.”  He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself.  “Are you ready for me?”

You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.

From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it.  He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.

When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms.  It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you.  You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have.  Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this.  God, he hoped not.

Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips.  His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.

“Tell me what you need.”  He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.

“Just you, like this.”  You sighed.  Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.

His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it.  It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on.  He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.

You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you.  When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.

Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.

“Shot.”  You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.

He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said:  What can I say?  I don’t miss.

When you moved to sit, he stopped you.

“Here, lemme get that.”

“Thanks.”

He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs.  Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved.  Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest.  You were both content.  Both had goofy grins on your faces.  Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.

A loud knock at the door started you.

“Are you done?”  Sam said.  “I need that book.”

“NO!”  You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.

“Bobby’s gonna kill you.”  Sam called back through the door.

“I KNOW!”  Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.

There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again.  In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.

Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name.  Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.

[br0kenangel]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐁𝐒: 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯.

Aegon and Aemond, along with little Daeron, played with the great beast. The boys were fearless in their affection, cuddling close to the lion, burying their faces in his soft fur, and giggling as his tail swished lazily from side to side. Silver Fang tolerated their antics with the patience of a creature who knew he was the king of the jungle—though he was well aware that his true queen was you, the lady who sat nearby, watching with a soft smile.

"Mother, tell us how you got Silver Fang," Aegon asked, his eyes wide with curiosity as he stroked the lion's thick mane.

Aemond, who was more reserved but no less intrigued, looked up from where he was resting his head on Silver Fang’s massive flank. "Yes, please, Mother. Tell us."

You smiled, your heart warming at the sight of your boys so carefree and happy. "It was a gift from my father," you began, your voice soft, your eyes distant as you recalled the memory. "He gave Silver Fang to me when I was just a little older than Aegon is now."

"Why did he give him to you?" Aemond asked, his voice tinged with awe as he glanced at the lion, who lay still and majestic beneath their hands.

A knowing smile tugged at your lips. "Because I was afraid something might happen to me. I was a child, and the world seemed so big and dangerous. My father, Lord Gerold Lannister, knew this. He knew the fears that lurked in my heart, so he gave me Silver Fang to protect me, to keep me safe when he could not."

Aegon’s eyes sparkled with excitement. "And did he? Did Silver Fang protect you?"

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair as you regarded your sons. "Oh, yes. He did. Once, a man tried to harm me. I don’t remember his name—he was someone who thought he could get what he wanted by force." You paused, watching as Aegon and Aemond leaned closer, their young minds enthralled by your tale. "But Silver Fang… he didn’t let that man take a single step toward me. He tore him apart, devoured him alive."

You said the words calmly, almost casually, with a smile that was both serene and chilling. There was no fear in your recollection, only satisfaction in the lion’s loyalty, in the protection he had offered you when you needed it most.

Aemond’s eyes widened, a mixture of amazement and admiration in his gaze. "He ate the man alive?"

"Yes, Aemond," you replied, your smile widening slightly. "He did. And that’s why I know you’re safe with him, just as I was."

Aegon reached up, placing a small hand on the lion's massive paw, marveling at its size and strength. "He’s so beautiful… and strong."

"That he is," you agreed, your voice filled with pride as you looked at Silver Fang, who blinked lazily at you, his golden eyes reflecting the light of the setting sun. "And he will always protect you, as long as you treat him with love and respect."

Your conversation was interrupted by the soft sound of a servant approaching. The young woman curtsied deeply, her voice deferential as she spoke. "My queen, your brother has arrived. He is waiting in the hall."

You rose gracefully from your seat, your golden gown shimmering in the light. "Good," you said with a smile. "I have been expecting him." You looked down at your sons, your expression softening. "Stay here with Silver Fang, my loves. I will return shortly."

Leaving the boys in the lion's care, you made your way to the hall, where your brother awaited you. As you entered, Jason turned, his face breaking into a broad smile at the sight of his sister.

"Y/N," he greeted warmly, enveloping you in a tight embrace. "It’s good to see you."

"And you, Jason," you replied, returning the embrace with affection. Though he could be brash and arrogant, Jason had always been a loving brother to you. He wanted nothing but your happiness, and you appreciated that more than words could express.

Jason stepped back, his smile turning mischievous. "I brought what you asked for."

Your eyes lit up with anticipation. "You did?"

Jason nodded, gesturing to the guards who stood behind him. They stepped forward, each one holding a small, squirming bundle of fur in their arms. Four lcubs, barely old enough to be away from their mother, their eyes wide and curious as they took in their new surroundings.

Your heart swelled with joy at the sight of them. "They’re perfect," you breathed, reaching out to take the smallest of the cubs into your arms. It was a beautiful and rare creature, white as snow, with striking red eyes that seemed to see into your very soul, very much like your daughter. This one, you knew immediately, would be for Helaena.

Jason watched you with a fond smile. "I’m glad you like them. I thought they might make good companions for the children… and perhaps ease some of your worries."

You looked up at him, your expression softening. "Thank you, Jason. You’ve done more than I could have asked for." You kissed his cheek, and he smiled, pleased by your approval.

"I just want you to be happy, sister," he said, his voice sincere. "You deserve it."

You gave him a grateful smile before turning to the guards. "Bring them to my chamber," you instructed. "I want the children to meet their new friends."

The guards nodded, carefully carrying the cubs as they followed you back to your chamber. As you entered, Aegon and Aemond looked up, their eyes widening with wonder as they saw the cubs.

"Are these for us?" Aegon asked, his voice filled with awe.

You smiled, kneeling down to their level as you cradled the white cub in your arms. "Yes, my loves. They are for you." You gently passed the cub you held to a guard, then gestured to the other cubs. "You may each choose one. They will be your companions, your protectors, just as Silver Fang is mine."

Aemond’s eyes were drawn to a playful cub with a mischievous glint in its eyes. The cub was rolling around on the ground, batting at the guard's boots with its tiny paws. Aemond smiled, reaching out to pick up the spirited creature. "I want this one," he declared, laughing as the cub nuzzled into his arms.

Aegon, meanwhile, was drawn to a slightly larger cub with a wild, untamed look in its eyes. It growled playfully, baring its tiny teeth, and Aegon grinned, clearly captivated. "This one is mine," he said proudly, holding the cub close.

You watched them with a soft smile, pleased by their choices. "Take good care of them, my darlings," you said. "They will grow with you, and one day, they will be as strong and fierce as Silver Fang."

Little Daeron, sat nearby, giggling as he watched his brothers with their new pets. You approached him, your heart swelling with love as you picked up the calmest of the cubs. She was a gentle creature, her eyes soft and trusting as she looked up at you.

You knelt before Daeron, placing the cub in his small arms. "This one is for you, sweetling," you whispered, smiling as Daeron immediately began laughing and hugging the cub, his tiny hands stroking her soft fur.

The sight warmed your heart, and you watched for a moment longer, reveling in the joy on their faces. But there was still one more child to tend to, and you knew exactly what you had to do.

Holding the white cub with red eyes close to your chest, you left your chamber, making your way to Helaena’s chamber. The guards followed, but you dismissed them at the door, wishing to be alone with your daughter.

You found Helaena sitting on the floor, surrounded by her collection of bugs. The girl was lost in her own world, humming softly to herself as she watched a beetle crawl across her hand. You paused for a moment, your heart aching with love for the gentle, strange girl who was so different from her brothers.

Steeling yourself, you approached Helaena and knelt beside her, holding the cub up for her to see. "Helaena, my love," you said softly, holding the white lion cub up for her daughter to see, "this is for you."

Helaena looked up from her bugs, her pale lavender eyes focusing on the cub in your arms. For a moment, she simply stared, her expression unreadable. Then, a small, almost shy smile curled at the corners of her lips.

The cub squirmed slightly, letting out a soft, high-pitched sound as it gazed at Helaena with its striking red eyes. It was a strange creature, just like Helaena—different, unique in a way that set it apart from the others.

"She's different," Helaena murmured, her voice soft and melodic, as if she were speaking to herself rather than to you. Her fingers brushed lightly against the cub's fur, and the little lioness responded with a gentle purr.

"Yes, she is," you agreed, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and sorrow. "Just like you, my sweet girl. I thought you might like her."

Helaena’s smile widened, her eyes lighting up with a rare spark of joy. "She’s beautiful, Mother. Thank you."

A pang of bittersweet emotion welled up in your chest, but you pushed it aside. You gently placed the cub in Helaena’s lap, watching as your daughter cradled the tiny creature with a tenderness that belied her years.

As Helaena stroked the cub’s fur, she looked up at you with an expression of quiet understanding. "You’re doing this because you’re scared, aren’t you?" she asked, her voice soft but unwavering.

The question hit you like a blow to the chest. For a moment, you could only stare at your daughter, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. You had always known that Helaena was different, that she saw things others did not, but hearing those words spoken aloud shook you more than you cared to admit.

Your smile faltered for a brief moment, and you felt your carefully constructed composure begin to crack. But you forced yourself to remain calm, to keep the fear at bay. "I just want to make sure you’re all safe, my love," you said, your voice steady, though it took more effort than you would have liked. "That’s all I want."

Helaena tilted her head, her gaze softening as she watched you. "You’re afraid of what’s to come," she said quietly, as if she could see straight into your soul.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, not ever. Your children needed you to be strong, to protect them from the dangers that lurked in every shadow.

So you forced a smile, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Helaena’s forehead.

Helaena smiled back at you, her eyes filled with a quiet wisdom that made her seem far older than her years. "I love you, Mother," she said softly, her fingers still gently stroking the cub’s fur.

"And I love you, Helaena," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You lingered for a moment longer, watching as your daughter continued to bond with the cub, before slowly rising to your feet.

You left Helaena’s chamber with a heavy heart, closing the door quietly behind you. As soon as you were alone in the corridor, you pressed your back against the cold stone wall, breathing deeply as you tried to steady yourself.

Helaena was right. You were scared—scared of what the future held, of the dangers that could threaten your children, of the possibility that you might not always be there to protect them. It was a fear that gnawed at you constantly, one that you tried to hide behind a mask of strength and calm.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. You had to be strong, for your children. They were your life, your everything, and you would do whatever it took to keep them safe.

After a few moments, you pushed yourself away from the wall, your composure once again firmly in place. You had a role to play, and you would play it well. There was no room for doubt or fear, not when your children’s lives depended on you.

With one final deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and made your way back to your chamber. Your sons were still there, laughing and playing with their new friends, their faces alight with joy.

You watched them from a distance for a moment, a soft smile playing on your lips. They were so full of life, so innocent and unaware of the dangers that surrounded them. You envied them that innocence, but you would do everything in your power to preserve it for as long as you could.

As you approached, Aegon looked up, his face splitting into a wide grin when he saw you. "Mother, look! He’s already getting used to me!" he called out, holding up his cub proudly.

You chuckled softly, nodding in approval. "I see that, Aegon. You’re doing a wonderful job."

Aemond, who was still cradling his cub, looked up at you with a serious expression. "Thank you for this, Mother," he said quietly. "We’ll take good care of them, I promise."

"I know you will," you replied, your voice filled with pride as you looked at your sons. "And they will take care of you, just as Silver Fang has taken care of me."

You spent the rest of the afternoon with them, watching as they bonded with their new companions, your heart swelling with love and pride. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was fraught with danger, but in this moment, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would be okay.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 3 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[reidmania]

loml | spencer reid

summary; after you and spencer reunite at JJ’s wedding after being broken up for two years, you are quick to realise it will never be the same as it was, you’re the love of his life, and he is the loss of yours.

warnings; exes to not lovers but something!! no happy ending, angst, fem reader, season 7 spence, mentions of arguments, falling back into feelings because its familiar, they are so in love, jj’s childhood friend!reader, reader wears a dress, no use of y/n cus ew, reader has long enough hair to have up, they are so meant to be its not even funny, everyone can see it. they are perfect for each other TIME IS MEAN!!!

an; hey this was ur fault ! also i made so much shit up abt the wedding because i cbf rewatching that ep tbh 🥰🥰

‘what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye’ is this fic

also this was written in an hour and im sick and im pretty sure its horrible and doesn’t make sense but thats so okay!! lmk if u want a part two!! they deserve better pls want a part two!!

‘Who's gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames? If we know the steps anyway. we embroidered the memories, of the time I was away, stitching, "We were just kids, babe", I said, "I don't mind, it takes time" I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed. I felt aglow like this, never before and never since. if you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary. you and I go from one kiss to gettin married. still alive, killing time at the cemetery, never quite buried. in your suit and tie, in the nick of time. you lowdown boy, you stand up guy, holy ghost, you told me I'm, the love of your life’

You remembered it all too well.

The lights gleamed around the garden, there was some background music playing, quietly in the distance, probably louder for the people surrounding it. Whereas you had found yourself settled in a quieter corner of the beautifully set garden. The ceremony was beautiful, you sat through and tried to avoid shedding tears seeing someone so important so happy.

You were alone, watching the guests of the wedding dance when you felt the presence behind you. The familiar cologne filled your senses in a way that made your head spin and chest ache with familiarity and overwhelming comfort. Two years since you and smelt the cologne and it still had the same effect on you.

You remembered the conversation as if it was a broken record playing on repeat in your mind. How your head turned towards him and the smile lit up his face. Its not like you had ended on bad terms — not at all. It was a mutual agreement to break up all those years ago. You were just at two different points in your lives and it was beginning to clash.

His voice was gentle when he said your name. You had seen him around earlier, your heart had skipped a beat and your stomach filled with familiar butterflies, but you didn’t approach him. Now here he was, standing in front of you, saying your name as if no time had passed at all.

You repeated his name back, a smile on your face as you stood up from the white garden chair that had been delicately placed around the table. His arms enveloped you almost as soon as you were standing. You could recall the way they felt, safe, secure and the exact same as they had two years beforehand.

“You look great” He had mumbled into your hair, his hands pressing against the small of your back, furthering your presence against him, trailing of the silk of the floor length dress you had worn, face buried into your hair as if he had been waiting his entire life for this moment.

Your hands rested on the back of either of his shoulders, head resting against the front of his shoulder. You were sure he could feel the small breath of air you let out against his neck before you pulled yourself away from the hug. “So do you. It’s been so long.” You had said, eyes trailing over his face, taking in every noticeable change since the last time you had seen him.

“Too long.” He agreed, eyes mirroring yours as they danced along your features, as if he was committing it to memory.

The words had made your chest tighten and warm all at once. It wasn’t long before you were sitting at an empty table, catching up. You told him about everything that had changed in your time apart as did you. And then the topic swiftly changed as the two of you danced along fond memories of your years spent together.

“We were so young” He mumbled after you had recalled a specific memory of the two of you having pillow fights on late Saturday nights, a small thing that became a common ritual every night Spencer had been home on a Saturday. Your smiled had widened at his words — although only two years ago the maturity between you both and grown massively.

He added quickly as he reached out to take your hand, a familiar movement you had been neglected of the last two years. “I was too young, immature.. You always deserved more than what I could’ve given you then.” His words were sweet and sincere yet you begged to differ.

“I think that was the happiest i’ve ever been.” You recalled. Everyday spent with Spencer was a memory you kept safe in a secure part of your mind. You looked back at photos from that time, there was a certain gleam in your eye, one that wasn’t found in any photo recently, despite being content with your place in life currently.

Being with Spencer was a sort of fever dream, a sort of perfect you’d only find in a film or a romance novel, things like falling asleep while he read to you, or slow dancing in the dim moon light that gleamed through the kitchen window at late hours, small love notes left around the house, that was something that you failed to find anywhere else — not for a lack of looking.

His eyes stayed on yours, his skin glowing under the warmed yellow lighting of the fairy lights that dazzled the garden with their gleam, his eyes holding a certain sparkle you could only describe as nostalgia. “Me too.” He had said, eyes dropping from yours to your hand in his.

You didn’t know what to say. Your heart soared with the warmth from his touch, your mind fogging from any sense of realism, until your thumb traced his knuckles and it lacked the familiarity everything else did. His hands had grown rougher, more callous although the same soft in your touch.

“Dance with me?” He offered, eyes lifting to meet yours again. Voice gentle and barely above a whisper as if he was scared you would reject him, maybe even more scared you would accept and it wouldn’t be the same as it was.

You nodded, accepting anyways.

His hands dragged yours to the crowd of other people dancing. His hands moved to wrap gently around your waist, your arms slinging over his shoulders to wrap around his neck as his arms pulled you in close. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

The music fell into background noise as your focus was pulled instead to the sound of his gentle breathing, and slow heartbeat as his head rested atop of yours that was press into his shoulder. You fell into step as if no time had passed at all, you swayed gently in his arms.

“I’ve missed you.” His words came out as a whisper and your heart pulled. This was wrong, you could feel it in your stomach yet the thought was quickly replaced by the feeling of home that buried itself in your ribcage as his hands trailed gently up and down your sides in a soothing familiar motion.

You wanted to reply and tell him you had missed him too, that every night you laid in bed and recalled every last moment between you too. How people from your past still asked about him, how their faces fell when you laughed and admitted you were no longer together.

You wanted to tell him that in the time that had passed you had still the framed photos in a box under your bed, how you hadn’t changed a single detail in your apartment just in case one day he came over. You wanted it to be familiar.

It was, This was. Everything about Spencer was familiar and it was safe.

“I think we needed the time.” You exhaled out, honestly. Maybe if you were to try again now it would end up differently. Maybe he was right in what he said earlier — you were both too immature to handle the intensity of the love the streamed between you. The pull that seemed magnetic the minute your eyes laid on his.

He hummed gently as his arms stopped their movements on your side and instead rewrapped themselves around your waist, dancing down your back, holding you close as he inhaled your scent. This was all he ever wanted.

“Everyone still tells me I was a fool for letting you go, that I was meant to be with you. I think they were right.” He mumbled out into your hair. You remembered being told the same thing. You remembered your friends telling you how sorry they were and how they could have never imagined you and Spencer ever breaking up, ‘you guys were the great love story’ they had rambled.

You shook your head against his shoulder. It was meant to happen like that. Maybe this was all you would ever be. Meant to happen, but never actually happening.

“Maybe” You exhaled, unable to bring yourself to say more as you relished in the moment. The distance of the last two years between you both seemed to disappear as your focus remained on everything that was the same.

The difference, he was different, you were different. Your likes and dislikes had changed, as you assumed his. How if you were to try again you would have to relearn one another. Everything he once knew about you was a distant memory, a familiar reminder of what had once been. Of what was once lost.

His lips pressed against the side of your head and your heart pressed against your chest uncomfortably as your heart beat increased. His hands left a burning trail on your skin even over the fabric of your dress. It was too similar, and too different all at once.

The love between you and Spencer was loud. You loved each other loudly. It was never meant to be a secret, everyone saw it in the shared glances, even now, in the way his touch was significantly gentler with you than anyone else, how your body relaxed in his grasp.

The love between you was loudest in the silence.

Everyone could see it.

Your mind burnt with the memory of the night you broke up, he brought the idea of a breakup up. He suggested it and you whole heartedly agreed. Not for a lack of love. You both mutually expressed the amount of love you had for each other throughout the entire conversation. It just wasn’t the right time. The conversation happened, he mumbled out ‘don’t be a stranger’ as he kissed your forehead in the doorway of your home.

You had let out a wet chuckle as his fingers brushed away the tears that stained your cheeks, similar ones on his own. You agreed, he mumbled an I love you, and then a ‘ill see you soon’

And you hadn’t seen him since.

Until now.

You hadn’t been bitter about it. You were partially glad you hadn’t seen him. You knew if given the chance in those two years you would’ve ran back to him in an instant. Told him how you were sure your heart hadn’t been beating regularly without him by your side, then listened to him ramble about the science of broken heart syndrome as you pressed soft kisses against every inch of his face.

“Whats going on in your pretty head?” He asked. You let out a laugh at his sweet words. The sentence something he had used numerous times throughout the years of your relationship whenever you found yourself lost in thought.

Everything had changed, yet stayed the exact same.

“I don’t think I’ll ever move on from us.” You mumbled out honestly. The words a weight on your chest, a truth that had been buried down your throat you failed to admit to anyone else.

His touch provided a specific burn against your skin, his voice playing an irreplaceable melody in your mind, his sweet words and whispered nothings written on every butterfly that filled your stomach, his eyes unparalleled to another. the feeling in your chest that only he could arise. the smile on your face only he could provide, the gleam in your eyes only present when he was too.

He had left a mark on you, your relationship had left you in a daze for the last two years without you even realising it. nothing would provide the same fulfilment as being by his side did.

Every feeling with him had been new and original, a sort of happiness you didn’t know was humanly possible. You were pretty sure he provided you with a dangerous amount of dopamine, an addictive amount.

If Spencer was a drug, then you had been going through withdrawals for years.

“I know I will never move on from us” His admission carried a different weight than yours did. Despite being the same the meaning was different.

it left your heart heavy and regret flowering in your chest.

“I should go, I told my roommate i’d be home early.” You whispered out, against the soft fabric of his suit jacket. His arms tightened around you momentarily before releasing his hold on you.

His eyes were lidded when he looked down at your face, your arms fell from his shoulders and your stomach twisted at the familiarity of the loss of his touch.

“Don’t be a stranger.” He said, voice quiet, meaningful and honest and you felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. Everything left unsaid over the last two years coming up in the back of your throat but remaining unsaid.

“I won’t.” You promised.

His lips pressed against your forehead as he squeezed your waist gently, before letting you go.

The movement was natural, like you would spend every day of the rest of your life doing it. as if you would wake up in the morning tangled a-mess in his arms, the you would find yourself a giggling mess during a pillow fight on an upcoming Saturday night. As if you were finally going to happen.

You didn’t see him again after you left that night.

You burnt with the memory of his arms and his lips against your skin that night for the next years of your life.

For a love so loud everything seemed so quiet. You recalled the goodbye between you two that seemed so peaceful and tame, an understatement of the love that blossomed when in one another’s presence.

An invalidation of everything he had made you feel.

For a great love story, someone had to experience a great loss.

And he was yours.

[base0h]

HOW HAIKYUU CHARACTERS WOULD REACT TO YOU COMPLIMENTING ANOTHER PLAYER

a/n - I’m alive I swear 💀 I just rewatched some of haikyuu so I’m more familiar with that rn 😂😂

warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, fluff/crack, pre-timeskip characters btw, I don’t feel like making picture banners for all of them like I do with one piece forgive me for just putting text 🥲

HINATA

- yeah you just broke your bro’s heart into a billion pieces

- remember that time when he got nailed in the crotch by a ball in S4? Yeah that’s what it felt like

- “Isn’t he so cool Shoyo?!” -you

- but he’s also torn because he also thinks they’re awesome af 😭 so he can’t decide if he’s more saddened by the fact that you’re not saying that about him or if he’s excited that you also like one of his idols

- “…Yes he’s— very cool.” -him

- “…You do know my fav player’s always gonna be you though right?”

- oh you don’t even KNOW. How happy you just made him. You just turned his life around with just a single sentence

- bro could burst through the ceiling now

- he basically smothered you with a hug after that and did one of those koala hugs where he was basically just clinging onto you with pure adoration and affection

- it’s one thing if some random other student or little kid came up to him saying he was cool— like don’t get me wrong he’d probably freak out in a good way about that too

- but when it comes from you? He could have all haters but if he still had you? He’s totally fine. All bro needs is your support

- but do be careful because he might actually suffocate you one day if you compliment him too much

- each time you say something good about him his hugs get stronger?? If that’s even possible idk 😭

- you’ll have a great free chiropractor tho so woo hoo😁👍

GOSHIKI

- bro has a thing for getting compliments or getting praise. I saw it VERY clearly when Hinata gave him that compliment about his spikes during the shiratorizawa training camp

- and then when Tendo said his bangs were cool bro was so happy 😭 (he’s so sweet oml)

- but of course when you watch his matches— I mean— you’re gonna be impressed by ushijima

- who wouldn’t be? Bros a literal nuclear bomb ahh spiker 💀

- after one of his matches you went up to him and started talking about ushijima and how cool his spikes and serves were

- “I feel like he’s gonna literally pop the ball everytime he hits it! It’s awesome!” -you

- he agrees wholeheartedly with you! But— man. He wanted you to say that about him 😭

- “Yeah— he’s amazing right..?” -him

- “He’s a third year right?”

- Goshiki nodded and scratched the back of his head sheepishly, looking a bit down

- “Oh so he’s just clearing the way for you then! There can only be one ace so he’s gotta move out of the way for you.”

(I couldn’t find the proper meme to put here so here’s the actual screenshot of him)

- bro could ascend

- he could die right then and there

- but then he remembered he has to show off for you still so he stayed on earth

- ushijima heard you say that btw

- it looked like he wanted to murder you but in reality he thought it was very nice of you to say that to lift goshiki’s spirits

- he just— looks like he wants to crush you and send you to mars 💀

- also Tendo makes fun of him for being so happy about being praised

- “HAHAHAHAH— you LOVE it when y/n ever tells you something positive about you huh~??” -tendo

- yeah no he’s not gonna leave your poor bowl cut boy alone about it now

BOKUTO

- like the other two, he’s big on praise

- I mean before every match the manager tells him someone in the audience said he looks cool so he plays better 😭😭

- having you supporting him at his matches is like having an entire stadium full of people cheering his name

- you make Akaashi’s life less stressful. Good job y/n, Akaashi loves you for that and will legit pay you money to keep coming even though he knows he doesn’t have to. He’s that grateful for you

- I ain’t kidding one time Akaashi just started tearing up thanking you for being his fail safe plan if his 2000000 other plans to get Bokuto out of his emo mode don’t work

- he knows just like one compliment from you will cure Bokuto

- yeah so guess what you had to go and say right before a match started?

- “I just saw itachiyama play and wow that Sakusa guy who’s one of the top 3 spikers was just as good as they said he was!” -you

- akaashi might just do a backflip off of the stadium roof at this point 🙂 hardcore parkour

- the way you could literally see Bokuto’s hair droop down is insane

- konoha and sarukui were like: holy shit we’re absolutely cooked 😀

- this wasn’t an emo mode this was an avant garde mode

- but right as Akaashi was about to seriously jump off the roof, you saved everyone from the disaster you created

- “I don’t know why you’re not in the top three though, imo you’re a lot better than that guy, and a lot cooler looking too.” -you

- Akaashi looked like he was gonna live again

- Bokuto’s hair flipped back upwards and he excitedly smiled at you, giving you a big hug before going onto the court with an ecstatic air about him

- Akaashi is genuinely terrified of how you can simultaneously destroy their team and bring it back together with singular sentences

- you’re Bokuto’s weakness number 38 which akaashi does not have a solution for 💀

AKAASHI

- Akaashi is honestly happy you’re just with him

- he doesn’t really mind it if you can’t come to see him play, of course he’d love for you to be there but he totally understands if you can’t, and won’t be destroyed about it

- he loves your support and will always appreciate you for cheering him on (and being his mental support because taking care of Bokuto is life draining and he probably gets about a month taken off of his life everytime Bokuto goes into his emo mode)

- during the match with nekoma, you noticed how the setter on their team was also quite an intelligent and skilled player despite seeming so bored and uninterested in the sport entirely

- he had a hold on Bokuto for a good while and it was impressive how he managed to put Bokuto in a slump so smoothly and discreetly

- after the match, you congratulated fukurodani on their victory, and akaashi thanked you for coming like the gentleman bro is

- “That setter on nekoma was really good— he was so calculating and calm about his strategy to make Bokuto go into a slump!” -you

- Akaashi was still a bit traumatized by Bokuto literally forgetting how to do cross shots entirely so uh— 😀

- yeah it didn’t really sound great to him

- bro had to pull out a whole ass speech plus hinata to get Bokuto back on his feet and then you say that 🥲

- he isn’t mad or anything but he isn’t very overjoyed either

- “Yes, he was a really tough opponent. Kuroo-san was too.” -him

- Akaashi was good at hiding his displeasure, so it just sounded like he was saying something normal like he usually would, in a straight steady tone

- “No match for you and the team though, you guys definitely deserved the win. And you actually look interested and not like you want to die on the court unlike that setter on nekoma— he looked like he wanted to collapse and sleep forever after the first set.”

- he wasn’t expecting you to say that, and he looked pleasantly surprised

- Bokuto grinned and put his arm around the setter

- “Y/n’s right as always, Kenma’s no match for akaashi!” -Bokuto

- the rest of the team wholeheartedly agreed, and akaashi felt glad, happy to know that his team, and especially you thought so highly of him

- no one else could handle Bokuto like he could, and no one could be as cool in your eyes as he was

- you could probably tell him his glasses looked nice and he would never take them off again—

- he’s the type of guy to listen to whatever you say a bit too much sometimes 😭

- he legit remembers the outfit you wore the day he first met you

- kinda creepy but sweet ig? 🤷

OIKAWA

- bro has a billion fans and only really cares abt you cheering him on

- like ofc he needs other people to be cheering him on too because he’s extra like that but it’s 80% you

- don’t ask abt the 20%

- yk how all those girls were asking for his picture and stuff? Ever since he got together with you, he’s been avoiding them a lot more

- he knows it’s probably especially annoying for you to see a bunch of random people asking your boyfriend for pictures and giving him handmade things

- just know that he thinks you’re better than any girl combined and if you ever like start walking away before he’s finished trying to get the girls away form him he will legit sprint after you while screaming

- “Y/N-CHAN WAAAAAAAAAIT!!!”

- my dude is running, and I mean running like a mf track star. You piss off his fangirls so much bro it’s so funny how they look at you like they want to poison you in your sleep💀💀💀

- he reassures you on the daily that you’re beautiful and amazing, but still it’s annoying to see all the girls fawn over him

- so you decided to give him a similar taste of his own medicine

- at the next matches, you were watching with him a match with karasuno and shiratorizawa. You know VERY well that he does not like karasuno or shiratorizawa

- ushijima is probably the one who’s the worst…

- perfect.

- “Whoa Ushijima’s serves are so cool!! And he uses his left hand too damn that’s unique! I’ve never seen a left handed player like him before, and those spikes look like they’re about to tear karasuno’s blocker’s arms off!” -you

- I don’t think he’s ever been more simultaneously heart broken, and pissed at ushijima at the same time before

- he’s such a baby about it too

- he’ll cross his arms and act like he doesn’t care when obviously he does, and with the way he’s pouting about it like a little kid was proof that your little plan worked very well

- “Hmph, I guess so.” -him

- “What, you salty since you lost?” -you

- “Would you mind not rubbing salt in it? It’s only been like two days!”

- you couldn’t help but burst out into laughing because of how upset he was by this— it was ridiculous

- if you had your phone out you would’ve taken a picture of his face and sent it to iwaizumi for shits and giggles

- “I’m joking Oikawa, I think you’re much cooler than ushijima. You have a lot more personality than him.” -you

- “That’s damn right I do!” -him

- “…I didn’t say a good personality or anything.”

- “Pardon me?! I’m very demure and cute thank you very much.”

- “You saying that just proves you’re anything but that.”

- “Y/N BE NICE TO ME :(“

- “No. :)”

- “I knew I shouldn’t have let you hang out with Iwa-chan, he’s turned you against me!”

KUROO

- you’re the carbon to his dioxide

- the hydrogen to his peroxide

- the deoxyribose to his phosphate group (I paid attention in science kuroo, yw)

- even if he doesn’t get to be interviewed by some reporter, and even if he doesn’t get to go to nationals

- if you’re there and supporting him he feels better

- talking to you and hearing you say how cool he plays is more than an interview could ever mean to him

- seriously you make him chemically insane

- like he does not understand how just being around you releases endorphins somehow (you’re magical)

- you had heard of their opponents nohebi from eavesdropping on a couple of random people’s conversations in the lobby

- they were a strong team, and you were intrigued by how a lot of people seemed to dislike them a lot for the way they played.. which was very underhanded

- but even with their underhanded tactics, they were a solid team with good technique and teamwork

- “Whoa the captain of nohebi is actually pretty good!” -you

- “Ugh I know right? Come on nekoma!” -Akans

- I feel like kuroo has horrible eyesight but then absolutely amazing hearing? Idk 💀 but whatever the case was, he heard that

- loud and clear

- mhm he’s ready to kill nohebi now

- bro is legit a one man Great Wall of china now

- he’s “powered up” as Kenma would say

- Kenma took note that you were kuroo’s power up skill, and would remember to use you in the future as well

- I’m serious bro is flexing so hard on you rn 😭

- yaku hasn’t needed to save the ball because kuroo’s trying so hard to impress you 💀

- honestly it’s kind of amazing— seeing him sprinting left and right and slamming balls down like it was no one’s business but his

- he checks like every five seconds to see if you’re watching his amazing skills

- and after the match— Kenma went up to you first and thanked you bc Kuroo did like 70% of the work for him 😭

- Kenma legit gave you a Nintendo gift card he’s had in his back pocket since 2019 as a thank you gift and as a “please continue making kuroo do all the work” gift

- god knows how it’s stayed in his pants that have probably been through countless wash cycles 💀

- “Oh kuroo! Fukunaga’s last spike was so cool! He totally hit that line shot perfectly!”

- way to stab kuroo in the back 🥲 he’s legit about to collapse from emotionally throwing out his back

- old man down over here

- he was so destroyed— you left no piece of him intact he’s in literal shambles

- “But kuroo you were so cool! You kept blocking and repelling the balls like you were oppositely charged from the ball!”

- and he’s alive again, you’re a magician

- complimenting him using a science reference?

- oh just marry him already 😭

- he knew you must just be dopamine bc he smiles like an idiot whenever you’re around

- somehow his smile gets even dorkier when you compliment him

- if it’s a science compliment he could quite literally ascend to the moon

- “Hehe thanks y/n.” -him

- “Were you tryna show off in the last set?” -you

- “…Why? Did it work?”

- “…Hm. Perhaps hypothetically, yes.”

- “How does one go about making that hypothesis a true statement? 😏”

- kuroo is so smooth but he’s so nerdy and his pickup lines are so bad that it just takes his smooth factor away 😭😭😭

- like pls when he first met you when yall were paired up to do a science project about magnetism— bro said

- “Even Neodymium would lose if it were to compete against your magnetic personality 😏🌹” -him

- “…What? 💀” -you

- you weren’t really sure if you should love bro for his effort or be scared of how bad his pickup lines were

- the answer is both

- it all ended up ok anyways— you’re bonded to him together since yall are oppositely charged ✌️

a/n - no I don’t know how to make pickup lines 💀

[skauni]

They Had The Wrong Traitor….

!!WARNINGS!!: Torture, Explicit Descriptions, Gained Trauma, No Happy Ending.

They didn’t know.

How were they SUPPOSED to know..?

Two months ago, Task Force 1-4-1 realized they had a traitor amongst themselves. Someone giving information about them to Shadow Company. They didn’t know who, until all signs started to point to you. Since then has been hell.

They tied you to a cold metal chair with ropes so tight they rubbed your ankles and wrists raw. You still remembered the day it started. Waking up with a splitting headache in the cold, dim lighted, concrete room. A table in front of you. On it you saw a hammer, pliers, a metal bat, sets of knives—even a damn corkscrew.

That first day was hell. You shrieked at the top of your lungs that you were innocent as your main tormentor, Ghost, broke your fingers slowly. Knuckle. By. Knuckle. When you still didn't confess he took the pliers and slowly ripped your nails from your broken and mangled fingers. Making you scream louder in agony.

The rest of the days blurred. Hardly any food or water; just barely enough to keep you alive. Every time a wound scarred they re-opened it. Soap held your jaw open today as Ghost slowly ripped out your teeth. Your voice long gone from hours of shrieking before this. No fight left in you when their radio's crackled to life. "Soap, Ghost, hall. Now." Price spoke. His voice sounded uneasy.

When they left you tilted your head forward. Letting the blood from your removed teeth drip slowly from your lips. It was painful to breathe. Bruised, cracked, and maybe even broken ribs and a broken nose they kept targeting so it never healed. A broken hand and forearm from three harsh strikes of the hammer. Several deep gashes from some of the knives Ghost used on you. A dislocated kneecap from being bashed in by the metal bat.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about out in the hall. But you knew it was something shocking based on the dead silence that came after Price’s muffled voice. In all honesty, over these two months, you started thinking it was your fault this happened to you. Thinking it was your fault you were framed; you just made yourself too easy a target to frame as the traitor.

You heard rushing feet and the sound of vomiting in the trash can down the hall. You guessed Gaz since you heard Soap ask Price something, you heard Price’s gruff grunt and Ghost’s Manchester accent as he swore under his breath. Your eyes fluttered in exhaustion but snapped open on instinct as you heard the door open again. They’d caught the real traitor, a newer recruit who had everyone wrapped around her finger.

Price had entered the room.

“I didn’t do it…” You whispered hoarsely. Your captain nodded. “I know, Y/N… I know…” he whispered softly. You flinched as he unsheathed his knife from its holster, he moved slowly as he cut your hands and legs free. He tried to pick you up but you cried out. He carefully set you back down and radioed for a few medics. They arrived a short while later as Price kept you awake to be sure you couldn’t slip away before everyone could apologize at the very least.

The medics came soon enough and moved you carefully onto a gurney so as to avoid shattering any bones further. They moved you to the med bay as fast as possible to get your wounds tended to and disinfected. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sat outside of the med bay as they listened to your agonized shrieks and whales of pain from the medics setting your already healing knuckles back in place.

It took a few hours after your corrective knee surgery for the boys to be allowed to finally see you. The medics said you’d be out for a few days so your body could regain a small bit of strength. None of the team wanted to leave your side. They all had set themselves up so they could sleep by the cot the medics placed you on. In and out, they would individually go on missions or go in pairs so two of them could still keep their eyes on you incase you woke up.

A few days turned into a few weeks. And you finally woke up. But not as easily as the team would have wished. A cold sweat soaking your forehead as you groaned in agony in your sleep until you woke up shrieking and tried to curl into yourself for comfort, only causing yourself more pain. The boys had to pin you down so the medic could inject the pain killer.

Through the times you were awake, you refused to let any of them remotely try to touch you. They could see it. The distance you put between yourself and them. The distrust in your eyes. The anger and hurt in your furrowed brow. You had trusted them with your life. And now you were beginning to think you should have never let your guard down. Not for one damn second. But a small part of you thought it was somehow your own fault…

Gaz spent the most time with you. No touching, just trying to get you to talk. Even if in anger. He was slowly piecing your trust in him back together bit by bit. When physical therapy came around you asked him to help you because your knee hurt too much to do it alone and the medic seemed busy with another soldier. The rest of the team saw this, beginning to hope they had a chance at forgiveness as well. They weren’t aware that you never forgave Gaz. You just trusted him enough to count him as a person you will let help you. Not a friend. And not a teammate. Not anymore.

Soap was the second to earn the right to help you, then Price not too long after that. Ghost… was a different story. All he did was glare at you, as if he still thought you were the traitor. To which you returned the hostility. He hadn’t let it show, but he was devastated. He wished he’d have never believed that false evidence. He couldn’t even look at you because all he saw was his work etched into your body. That was why he glared. It wasn’t meant for you, it was directed at his work that scarred your body.

When you could walk on your own without crutches, you went to Price in the break room where everyone was. Expression cold and dead serious as you handed him resignation papers. He froze. “You can’t… we need you on this team Y/N—“ he started but you cut him off. “Need? Or want me here because you loathe yourselves so much you need me to reassure you that you’re forgiven with my presence?” He staggered back. “I never forgave any of you.” You added.

“There isn’t a day we’ve woken up without regretting—“ he tried again. “You don’t get to play that card! Do you know how many times I woke up crying in agony from wounds that are already healed because of you four!? Oh, or how about the fact I can’t stand to be touched by ANYONE anymore!” You snapped back. “Y/N…” Price started to beg. “No. I hate you. All of you. For what you did to me. Don’t even contact me. If you have something to tell me, keep it to yourselves.”

The team was silent. You walked to your barracks and packed. Booked a flight back to your hometown. And walked out the doors of the base. Giving none of them the time of day to apologize or try to fix things between you and them. You hadn’t even told them you neglected to sleep most nights out of fear someone would come out of the shadows and beat you half to death again…

[lazycats-stuff]

Would you do Damian having a half-brother and when Damian finally trust Bruce and the family he asks for help to save his half- brother, because the brother was treated badly because he had some hidden disability which prevents him from fighting. This half brother is the only person he really cares about, and he actually cried once they are reunited

I would do it anon. That's a nice idea.

Summary: Damian's half brother is in trouble and Damian needs to save him.

Warnings: mistreatment, implications of it at least, emotional Damian... Minor cursing.

Being raised in the League of Assassins, you are raised to fight. If you can't fight, you are worthless to the League. It was kill or be killed. That was something that Damian was taught for as long as he can remember. Damian and his half brother (Y/N), that is. (Y/N) and Damian share Talia as a mother, but (Y/N) didn't have Bruce as a father.

The duo was very close, despite the circumstances. (Y/N) can't fight due to a disability and that has made him useless, according to the League. Damian hated to see his brother like that. Being shunned by his mother and grandfather just because he can't fight.

Damian and (Y/N) were thick as thieves and Damian told some of his secrets to (Y/N), who in turn would keep it to himself. They were each others rocks, anchors... It would hurt Damian to see get (Y/N) treated like pure and utter shit and Damian tried to keep him somewhat safe.

Damian knew that he couldn't protect him all the time. He knew that their grandfather eyes and ears everywhere and the two needed to be careful and discreet.

However, everything went to shit once Damian was sent off to his father Bruce. As his mother would say, to protect him, since he is the heir to the League and if something were to happen to him... Well, the League wouldn't have a leader and it would put the League in a shit position to say the least.

Damian wanted to bring (Y/N), to say something to his mother and grandfather, to allow them to bring (Y/N) with him, to a place where they would both be safe. Where they could be happy even. But... He knew he couldn't do it. It would make it worse for (Y/N) than it already it is.

During Damian's time with Bruce and his adopted brothers, he thought about (Y/N). Is he okay? Is he even alive? Is his disability worse or better? Is it being treated for it? Is he not? Is he still neglected?

During the months he was in Gotham, that's something he was wondering all the time. Sometimes sleep eluded him due to those thoughts, making him restless. He wanted to tell Bruce and the others, but he didn't trust them.

Trust is something that he was taught was vulnerable. And vulnerability gets you killed. That was ingrained into him and into (Y/N)... And yet...

(Y/N) and Damian trusted each other with their lives. They swore to each other to protect each other. And although (Y/N) couldn't do it physically, meaning he couldn't fight, but he could be there emotionally and Damian could fight in (Y/N)'s name. Almost like a ying yang. While one provides emotional support, the other provides physical support.

Everything was in balance, just as it should be. But, Damian knew that he would be happier with (Y/N) here, with him.

Damian entered the living room, where everyone was waiting. Damian told them he had something important to discuss with them and everyone was curious about it. What could be that important, that Damian himself or Demon spawn as Jason called him, want? After all the shit he pulled with them, pure distrust and whatnot.

" I assume you are wondering why I called this meeting... But there is a pressing matter. " Damian started, adjusting his sleeves. Everyone noticed how nervous he was and Jason and Tim even shared a look of confusion and concern.

" Damian? What do you mean? " Dick asked, interested and worried about his brother. Bruce and Alfred also exchanged glances, worried about Damian. He was always cold and collected.

Not this hesitant. Or nervous.

" I trust you all now to share this with you. " Damian declared and Jason nearly fell off the sofa, but deep down he was happy. Sure, the two weren't really nice to each other, but still. They are ride or die no matter what. They are brothers and would help each other out.

" Holy shit. " Jason said, making Alfred smack the back of his head. " Hey Alfred! " Jason yelled, making Alfred huff.

" Focus on master Damian and no cursing. " Alfred instructed and Jasno crossed his arms and Alfred nodded at Damian, urging him to continue.

" Thank you... I have a half brother, who is still stuck at the League. " Damian said, easing the them into it. Well, everyone was shocked, Bruce more than anyone... Talia was with someone else? What?

No one said a word due to being speechless.

" A... Half brother? Same mother? " Tim asked and Damian nodded. " Okay. Okay... Well, this is shocking... " Tim muttered, making Dick nod and Bruce leaned back into the arm chair.

" He has a disability and he is unable to fight. Grandfather and mother mistreat him due to it. I promised him that I would help him. And I need to go help him. But I can't do it alone. " Damian explained and everyone tried to process it.

" There's two of them... " Jason muttered, making everyone chuckle, Damian included. " What's his name? "

" (Y/N). "

" Well, one can hope he is calmer than you. " Jason said.

" Also, lets hope he's not so aggressive as you. " Tim joked and everyone laughed again.

" He is calmer don't worry. " Damian said, before his face turned serious. " But we need to save him now. " Damian said seriously and everyone agreed.

" We will. We just need to devise a plan. " Bruce said, easing Damian's worries, rubbing his arm. Dick nodded. " We can't go without a plan anyway... Ra's is too smart for that. "

Tim and Jason nodded and Alfred gave Damian a hug, which lasted 5 seconds, but still, a hug is a hug. " Thank you. " Damian said and Alfred nodded. Bruce also gave Damian a hug and Damian just relaxed and seemed at ease, despite the tense situation at hand.

" We'll get (Y/N) back for you. And you and him will be safe here. I'll make sure his needs are met and no one will be mean to him. " Bruce said, giving a pointed look to Jason.

" Oi, if he is nicer than Damian, I have no problem. " Jason explained and Bruce nodded.

" Good. "

" And besides, none of us would be mean to (Y/N), especially due to his disability. " Dick added and Bruce nodded.

" Good. I don't want to hear anything about any of you being mean to (Y/N). More so, when he has a disability. " Bruce added.

" We are not assholes Bruce. " Tim said, making Bruce huff.

" I never said that. I'm just making it clear. " Bruce added to his initial claim, allowing Damian to move out of his embrace as well.

After a week of making a plan, on how to get in and make sure that they got (Y/N) out safely and unharmed. Damian had to mentally prepare himself for it, knowing that they would be going to the place where he was molded into what he is. Not to mention, they moved (Y/N) somewhere else, but still near the League's headquarters.

It was one hell of a risk to take, but Damian was willing to take it. Anything to save his brother. Not half brother, but brother. Damian was ready.

Damian was ready for a fight. He would make sure his brother is safe.

And true to his feeling, there were assassins guarding the halls. The family fought them off and Damian searched every single cell. At this point, he was getting desperate, hoping they didn't move (Y/N) somewhere else...

" (Y/N)! " Damian called out, making everyone stop. Everyone listen intently, trying not to lose their mind.

" Damian! "

Damian froze when he heard him. He ran towards the source, trying to pinpoint where his own brother was. He didn't care about anyone at this moment, but his brother.

" (Y/N)! " He called out again, stopping to listen. Once he heard the voice again, he ran, pinpointing the door.

Of course. Big, heavy, metal doors. How did he miss that? Bruce and Jason started fussing around the door, trying to unlock it.

" Are you okay (Y/N)? " Damian asked, since there is a small space on the door where anyone can peer in to look at him.

" I miss my bed. " (Y/N) said, making Damian chuckle. " I heard you were shipped off to Batman... Is that the truth? " (Y/N) asked quietly, making Damian sweat a bit.

" Yes. He is the one trying to open up the door. " Damian explained and he wished he could see his face.

" Do you trust them? "(Y/N) asked and everyone glanced at Damian, Jason and Bruce while trying to open or at least remove the big metal door.

" I do. Otherwise I wouldn't have told them about you and came back here with backup... " Damian explained, making (Y/N) smile. Damian couldn't see it, but he knew that (Y/N) must have smiled. Tears welled up in Damian's eyes and he waited for the door to come down so he could finally see his brother.

" You ready Hood? " Bruce asked and Jason nodded, making Damian snap out of his haze. Bruce and Jason pushed the door away, grunting in the process. Damian rushed in, hugging his brother tightly and (Y/N) reciprocated, hugging him tightly.

Damian couldn't hold his tears in anymore. He cried as he held (Y/N) in his arms. (Y/N) couldn't hold back either and two brothers wept together.

The rest? Everyone was shocked. Damian never cried and Jason saw a new side... Maybe with some sort of support, Damian will open up even more. Jason glanced at everyone else and it seems that everyone thought of that.

" I hate to break the moment, but we need to go. " Bruce said, watching as Damian helped (Y/N) up.

" Lets go home (Y/N). You'll love the manor. " Damian said, trying to be positive as they made their way out. " And besides, you'll be more comfortable there. It's not in the city, it's out of the city and you'll get loads of fresh air. " Damian said, giving (Y/N) some hope and hoping to ease him into a new environment once they are back in Gotham.

" Can my room be near yours? " (Y/N) asked, making Damian chuckle and Bruce smiled.

" Of course. Father will make sure of it. " Damian said, making Bruce smile even more.

Of course he will make sure that (Y/N) is more than comfortable in their home. And (Y/N)'s home is now the manor as well.