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norrizzandpia · 3 days

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hey, totally ok if it’s not ur vibe, but i’d love to see an oscar fic where he’s helping his girlfriend or a childhood best friend when she’s feeling a bit down.

i keep thinking about that man helping clean a depression room and telling his girl not to be embarrassed and he’s there to help and they get it sorted and he just holds her. makes sure she’s eaten and drank something.

even if it’s just a drabble, i’d really appreciate it :) need that kinda care in my life rn, even if it’s fictional.

I made this girlfriend because it just felt softer idk

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen (OP81)

Summary: Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.

Warnings: this one is HEAVY on the family trouble, depression, anxiety, VERY ANGSTY but def cutest HAPPY ENDING

Note: i didn’t know if you wanted reader to be in a rut or have a reason for it so i just made a reason

Y/n’s first few months of university were hard. Not only was it due to the new course load, but also because of her parents lack of interest when it came to her life. It had been a gradual shift, starting from her last two years in high school and only getting stronger as time went on. They had always been there, overbearing at times, but, now, they posted pictures of their trips around the world, failing to answer her calls and texts. She felt selfish for wanting her parents’ attention as much as she did, but it was hard to fight. There were situations she had never dealt with before, she wanted her mom’s wise words and father’s funny remarks to get through it all. But, she sat alone in the darkness of her room without the guidance counselor she usually could count on. It felt as if she wasn’t enough to keep them there anymore. It was heart wrenching and it stewed within her at such volumes, it became too much.

That’s when Oscar noticed. Her boyfriend had always been attentive, noticing small things about her that no one else did, but the second her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her text messages became less frequent, it was almost as if he was staring her down in anticipation of some sort of sign. He didn’t begin to realize it was related to her parents until he caught a glimpse of her phone when they were together, the screen open to her conversations with her mother and all of the recent texts going completely unanswered. He knew she had always had a rocky relationship with them, but she spoke about them with such respect, he knew it would’ve bothered her to feel so unimportant.

Knocking on her door, his hands clutched the bag of her favorite food he had got on his walk to her apartment. He had planned this evening out for weeks, not telling her about it in worry that she would slip into a facade put together with a fake smile that made his skin crawl.

She opened it, her body tense and tired in a ratty shirt and shorts, “Oscar? What are you doing here?”

It was as if he saw her front go up, her posture straightening and that haunting smile which told him all too well how much pain she was in. He smiled softly, “I thought we could spend the night together.”

She closed the door enough to only peek her head through, “Osc, I’m so sorry, but I can’t tonight. I’m so busy.”

He stayed put, “That’s okay. I can wait on your couch.”

“No, Osc,” She said firmly, her face turning in the light and exposing the dark bags under her eyes.

He stepped closer to her, putting his hand on the door and looking down at her with a look that made her feel loved, “Y/n, let me in. I know you’re going through it. Let me be with you.”

Her resolve cracked, her smile dropping for a second and water suddenly pooling in her eyes, “You don’t want to come in here.”

He leaned against the door and cupped her cheek, “It won’t make me love you any less.”

With a sigh, Y/n pushed the door open, beckoning the boy into her home. He knew what to expect, he knew what it was like to reach the place she was in. So, when he saw the piles of clothes, half-eaten food on the counter with old dishes in the sink, and her little accessories put in the wrong places, something she would never usually do, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he was happy she had let him in, literally and figuratively.

She picked at her nails beside him, swaying on her feet as she analyzed his every move. Part of her was trying to ready herself for him to walk out the door, give up on her because of whatever stood before them, but he gently set the food on the floor and ushered her into his embrace. His cheek laid against the top of her head, nestled in her hair, as he tightened his grip around her body. She smelled his cologne and felt his sweatshirt which made him feel all the more warm. There was something about his presence, she would later learn it was how safe she felt, that made the turmoils of her mind quiet as she began to cry. Y/n had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry for people who clearly didn’t care, but as Oscar rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her, she realized it was never going to work.

Her breaking down wet the material of his sweatshirt, but Oscar just held her tighter, whispering how it was going to be okay and this would all pass.

“You’re so worth it all, Y/n,” He whispered, pecking the top of her ear as he smoothed down her hair.

She clutched his back before Oscar was moving her hands under his hoodie to feel the bare of his skin. He knew she loved that. And she did. Y/n’s tears began to dissipate as he told her why he was there.

“I’m with you in this. You aren’t alone. I’m here for you and I always will be. This,” He gestured to the space around them, holding her face in his hands and forcing her eyes to meet his, “doesn’t scare me at all, love. What does scare me, though, is the attempts at eating on the counter. Have you been eating other than that?”

She shook her head, “I tried. It’s too hard. I’m not hungry ever anymore.”

He titled his head with a small frown, “Well, maybe your favorite food will help, yeah? We’ll sit together and eat. We can go as slow as you want, or as fast. All up to you, baby.”

He kissed her forehead lightly before guiding her to the living room, one of the less dirty places, and setting her down on the cushions. He set it all behind him, not wanting to overwhelm her with everything he got, and took out what he knew she would want first. There was a dull sparkle in her eyes when he handed it to her, his heart lifted. It hadn’t been there when he first arrived.

She opened it slowly, eyeing the food she once ravished in seconds, and taking a utensil to pick at it. He looked at her, waiting patiently for her to take a bite. When she did, however small, he did too. When she did again, he did too.

She stopped, “Why aren’t you eating faster?”

He smiled, “Because I’ll take a bite when you do. I don’t mind, Y/n. I told you I’m in this with you.”

Her eyes gloss over as they dart between him and the food before taking another bite, giggling a bit when Oscar takes one of his own dish. She eats, he does too and their eyes never leave each other, offering unspoken support.

When the plastic boxes are gone and empty, Oscar has glasses of water randomly appearing in his grip, offering them to his girlfriend who has found herself tangled in that soft blanket he got her last Christmas. Her cheeks are a soft pink from the warmth of it coupled with the candle he lit in the midst of their dinner and she smiles when the cool liquid flows down her throat. Oscar stands over her, hands in his pockets and wondering how anyone could possibly ignore her texts. He wants to take a picture of her, remind her parents of the beauty they have in their reach. But, he also knows that any text he sends to them wouldn’t be one he should send to his potential (very likely) in-laws. So, he stays quiet and looks at her with the love she deserves.

“Do you need anything else?” He asks, pushing the hair out of her face.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m good. What movie do you want to watch?”

He kisses her cheek, “It’s up to you. I won’t be watching.”

Her eyebrows knot together and she cocks her head, “Why not? Is this some random pickup line where you’re going to tell me how you’ll only be watching me?”

He laughs, his head back, as he walks toward her room, “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll keep that for later. You put on whatever you want, baby. I’ll be cleaning.”

She crawls to the corner of the couch, watching him begin to pick up her room, “Clean? What? Why?”

He stops, turning around to look at her through the door, “Because I want to help you feel better and I know your apartment is stressing you out. You shouldn’t have to worry, love. Just relax. I’ll be done in a few hours.”

Her mouth is agape as he moves throughout her room, putting things away as if he knows where everything goes. He does, apparently. And when the shock of it wears off, a smile cements itself on her face as she turns on a random movie. She enjoys the soft humming of Oscar in the other room, answering his occasional question about the plot of the movie she’s watching. When he moves to the kitchen, out in the open and available to see what’s on the screen, Y/n falls asleep to the picture of her boyfriend doing her dishes and taking out her trash. Falling asleep with a warm heart mended by someone that has always loved her unconditionally.

—

She’s awoken by the feeling of soft mattress beneath her and Oscar’s arms heavy around her torso. He’s deep in sleep when she opens her eyes, has her completely enveloped in his grasp on her side. The room is dark, the window open and allowing for a cold breeze to flow through the room. She loves it. It’s cold outside, but Oscar keeps her warm. Her hands move their way up to his head, playing with his hair and staring at the man who has treated her so gently.

Tears fall down her face all so suddenly, sniffling lightly but still waking Oscar in the process.

He’s immediately worried, “What’s wrong?”

Her head drops to his chest, “I just love you so much and can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you stayed here even after seeing the state everything was in, including me.”

His soft hands leave her body and pull her face up to him. His eyes are dilated as he looks at her, “I would’ve done it yesterday and I’ll do it for the rest of our lives. I don’t want you to struggle alone. You don’t deserve that. You’ve done too much of that before you met me.”

If only her younger self could see her now. A younger girl worried she’d never find a man who loved her by seeing her now wholly adored by someone who didn’t just see her, but understood her too. She doesn’t even need to utter the problem, he already knows and she’s caught on to that since the moment he showed up at her door. His carefully chosen words about her worth and how easy it is to love her were all strategically placed in order to fix the cracks deep in her soul that have come undone at the hands of her parents.

“It’s just upsetting that they only loved me.” She whispers and for a second, Oscar doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But, the tense of her words dawns on him and the look on her face unleashes anger in his body. Loved. It’s upsetting that her parents loved her. They no longer do in her eyes. She once had parental support, love, but it’s obvious how transactional, conditional it was now. She got a taste of what it was like to be loved by them, but it was taken away when she needed it the most. She had mentioned to him before that growing up, she felt as if they used her presence to shy away from the problems of their marriage. When she was out of the house, she thought they would separate, but the opposite has happened. She served her purpose, now they throw money at trips to fill the void of what they have refused to face. Disregarded and thrown away, that’s the implications of what she’s confided.

He nods, tears in his eyes, “It’s so unfair of them to treat you this way. They’re your parents. They should be there for you, but they have never known how to love and you were just an unnecessary victim in it all.”

She wipes the moisture from her face, “I should just move on from the way they’ve treated me. I should give them grace because they’re my parents. I should just make peace with it all because this will never be fixed in the way I want it. But, I can’t.”

Oscar kisses the top of her head, “It’s okay that you can’t. That’s completely understandable. Giving grace just because they’re your family members isn’t right, Y/n. Just because there’s a blood relation doesn’t mean you can excuse their behavior. They’re your parents and they have neglected you for ages. You can’t keep giving everything to them, only to get nothing in return. Parents or not, you distance yourself from people who bring you down as much as they do.”

More tears smear against his chest, “But, they’re my parents, Osc.”

It’s as if he doesn’t know what to say because he knows how much she praises their drive and determination, giving her a life of privilege. Though, he stands firm on the idea that no one should be given a second chance if they “love” this way.

“I know, Y/n, and it’s so horrible that you’ve been put in this situation, but I think it would do you some good to let go of a part of them. You’ll go home and see them for birthdays, Christmases, but, in the time between, you don’t have to chase after them. You can find love in other things, happiness in other things. I’ll even do some of it with you. We can take up painting classes like you always wanted, walks in that park down the street that you love, studying in coffee shops, and watching the sunset. Life without them can be freeing.”

He’s right, she thinks. Life without them will be freeing. But, the story of letting go is never easy and finding yourself flipping to past chapters to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore is usual.

However, as she lays tangled in the limbs of Oscar, she finds future chapters to be more exciting, more fulfilling. Her whole life is ahead of her, one including Oscar, and that sudden revelation fills her with an overwhelming relief. His listing of all the things she loves, wants to try desperately reminds her just how in love with her he is. Every action of hers is noted by him and she’s spent years begging for that from her parents. She never got it, but maybe that was because something else softer lied in the cards for her. At times, her parents needed her, but they would always need something else more. Glamorous, shiny, new things that would satisfy them for a time. She would never be enough in the minds of them, but in the mind of Oscar, she was more than enough. It was clear she was everything to him.

A life with him would be different from the one handed to her on a broken, rusty platter. She wanted that with him and the way he looked at her told her he did too. Letting go of the dismissal of people she has killed herself for to make proud was maybe for the best, pushed her in the direction of focusing on Oscar and everything she’s ever wanted. Was this her mending old, deep wounds?

Loved and cherished, she found sleep once more, rejuvenated with hope and a sense of moving on.

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 1 day

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Brand New One Shot - Second Preview

I cooked a little :3c

Warning for masturbation!

You made your way up to his tower, replaying the scene in the lobby over and over in your head. Things were going well, weren’t they? He seemed so apologetic when you told him how you felt. And then he just…disappeared like he always does. You really didn’t mean to push the issue, but perhaps you came on a little strong. Plus your rescue of him was a little more than awkward. Not that you minded the closeness, even if it was fleeting. The picture of his head resting against your chest flashed in your mind repeatedly. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks once more as you were now mere steps from Lucifer’s door.

Focus, you mentally scolded yourself, can’t think about that. It was an accident! It won’t happen again so just…focus. No wonder he ran!

You stood in front of his door now, your knees somehow weaker than they were a moment ago. Those mental images really didn’t help at all. With a deep inhale, you went to knock, but you stopped short when you heard something from beyond the door. You heard your name.

What?, you thought, How…How did he know I was here? Lucifer didn’t sound angry fortunately, but the inflection in his voice made him sound almost sad. And…breathless? You cracked open the door slowly, a little embarrassed at being caught. You went to open your mouth to apologize for the intrusion, but not even a whisper left your lips. Because what you saw in that room left you completely and utterly frozen where you stood.

Lucifer, the great ruler of Hell, was propped up against the obscene amount of pillows on his bed with his pants pooled at his ankles, his very much erect dick in his hand. His eyes were shut, he hadn’t seen you catch him in this extremely vulnerable state.

Run, run, run, RUN! your mind screamed. Everything in your brain was telling you to shut that door and get out of there as fast as you could. But your body refused to react, you remained motionless. You were completely entranced by the scene before you. You watched as Lucifer stroked his cock, mumbling a number of curse words with your name leaving his lips like a prayer.

“Hnng, G-God damn it-ffffuuuccckk….” Lucifer mumbled, his hand gradually picking up the pace as he stoked his shaft.

You tried to wrap your head around what you were seeing, but you were coming up blank. You couldn't believe this. He’s…He’s touching himself…to me?!? How is this…? Why would he…? Your brain was a jumbled mess at this point. It was really beyond your comprehension. You felt tension pool in your stomach at the sight of him becoming undone at the mere thought of you. The sinful sounds he was making went straight between your thighs, to the point where it became uncomfortable that you weren’t giving yourself any attention. The tiniest bit of you wanted to push open that door and give him what he really desired. But before you even begin to think about acting on your carnal instincts, you watched Lucifer's hips bucked up as he came all over his hand. It took every fiber of your being to hold in a whimper that threatened to escape your throat.

Lucifer’s breathing was labored, you watched him toss his arm over his eyes and throw his head back on the pillows. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" you heard him ask. "Why am I doing this?! It’s been months now and I’ve barely had a normal conversation with her! And of course the only time I’ve really talked to her was after my damn head was forced against her…her…s-shit.” He waved his hand, a tissue appearing between his fingers. You watched as he cleaned himself up, thankful that he still hadn’t looked towards his door. Lucifer kicked himself out of his pant and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head hanging low. “And what an absolutely fantastic exit I made! “Sorry, gotta go! My dick is hard as a rock right now because of you!” Great job, Lucifer! No wonder she thinks I don’t want her here!” He sighed heavily. “I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t right. I need to stop being a coward and just tell her how she makes me feel…”

A small gasp escaped your lips. Fuck.

Lucifer's head shot up immediately, his panicked eyes fixating on the door. You didn't even close it behind you as you took off sprinting down the hall, praying to anyone who could hear you that he didn't see you. You didn’t stop running til you made it back to your room, slamming the door behind you. Your knees gave out from under you as you dropped to the floor. In that second, it all clicked for you. Why Lucifer seemed to avoid you at every turn, why he tripped over his words when he spoke to you, and why he practically begged you not to leave the hotel.

Lucifer liked you. Lucifer really liked you. That thought alone could have made you scream if you weren’t trying desperately to hold yourself together. And it’s not like you didn’t have passing thoughts about him. He was gorgeous, after all. But not only that, you saw how he acted with the others at the hotel. He was sweet, and silly, and fun, even though you never got to experience it first hand. Now you knew where Charlie had gotten it from.

But of course those thoughts never stayed. He didn’t like you, right? So instead of wallowing in what could never be, you thought it best not to dwell. But now…now those thoughts were coming back in full force. The aching between your legs only grew as the very fresh images of Lucifer naked and moaning in his bed flooded your mind.

There was a knock at the door.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #BLUE BALL CITY BABY #I wanna post the full thing this weekend hopefully #my writing

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xonavia · 2 days

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can you do a Dan Heng x fem! reader?

to elaborate: fem! reader is a famous singer — an interastral one, to be precise. she lives in Penacony and once in a year, she hosts this enormous party where you are able to do how flashy the lights are from the Astral Express. on Dan Heng’s side, he was only able to experience it once and got interested as to what it was, doing research and the more he did the research, the more he fell in love with the idol. now, for this year, with the Trailblazer who had managed to become one of the fem! reader’s bodyguards due to what was happening in Penacony with the deaths that were so random and sudden. not only that, the Trailblazer managed to become a trusted friend and they knew how much of a fan Dan Heng was since they managed to accidentally access Dan Heng’s tabs on the databank so to make it fair for him, they managed to get a free ticket into the VIP — front row seats, too! and to be able to get an autograph after.

-> I’m not entirely sure if this is what you meant, but I did try my best so if it’s not quite what you wanted just lmk and I’ll try to rewrite it to the best of my abilities!!

It was only once every year this happened, an interastral idol, (Name), would perform in Penacony. That was all the news was talking about the moment the astral express stepped inside penacony, of course, March being hip and knowing all the famous idols was so excited that right as they arrived was time for the yearly party and begged for them to go, but with the whole issue happening in penacony it didn’t seem like now would be the best time. But Dan Heng, still on the express, was confused as hell. What was with all the lights and sounds, he thought penacony was going through a crisis, not a party? It wasn’t until a couple days later when everybody else came back that he had figured out that it was a annual party, he didn’t think much of it until he had March blab about how much cool merch and stuff she saw in the stores how she got to witness the set up of the whole party, but to her demise never actually got to see the host. March talked about them in a way that was almost magical. Nothing bad, and it seemed like this “host” was almost like the nicest person in the galaxy? That’s what first got Dan Heng into his records to see what he could find out about you. It wasn’t long before he found some really interesting details about you, a picture, when the party took place every year, where it was, and anything along the lines if you had a partner, ya know, just for future reference!

Another year later the Astral Express was back in penacony, with more deaths and more issues, and ironically enough around the exact same time they were here the year before. Though this time it was about the party. As it was an annual party most of the people who were in town at the time were there for said party and if the party was canceled due to the issues people would start getting scared and the family would have to explain what was happening, which is the worst case scenario. So instead they invited the astral express back over and had the trailblazer act as a bodyguard for (Name) as it seemed one of the other hosts wouldn’t be there and they thought it was a plot to take out the party all together. Better safe than sorry. March was so excited when she realized that the trailblazer was able to actually meet one of the best people in the galaxy. Dan Heng was excited as well, but not like you could ever tell. He’d been reading up on you anytime he had the chance, he knew a lot about you and was very happy when he realized that they were able to go back to Penacony, not so much about all the issues that were happening, or the potential plot on your life.

A couple days later, and about a day before the party the trailblazer came back to the astral express he saw both March and Dan Heng sat on one of the couches watching the party from the year they were here last. They chuckled a little as they walked over, asking about what they were watching which March happily responded with

“The party from last year! I just found out that Dan Heng is actually a pretty big fan of (name)!”

Of course the trailblazer already knew that, they had been up a couple times and accidentally stumbled on Dan Heng researching about the party, and more specifically about you.

Trailblazer sat down with the other two and talked about how since (Name) had a couple extra tickets for friends and stuff and how they were already so grateful for them watching over them and making sure to keep them safe that now the astral express had 3 VIP tickets for the Party for the next day. March already started squealing, and pretty sure that they saw Dan Heng smile at the sight of the tickets.

The next day was the day of the party, and as packed as it was there was a small section that (Name) had told the trailblazer about when they gave them the tickets that were for VIP only so they wouldn’t have to wait in that huge line! But when they got into that section it led them straight to the front row. How freaking cool!

A couple hours after, the hosts and main people in charge were all walking around when you ran over towards the trailblazer, noticing them in the crowd and coming to say Hi, and thanks, again. When you walked over, March was awestruck at the sight of you right in front of her, and quickly asked for a picture to which you happily accepted and posed with her before the trailblazer realized that no way in hell would Dan heng every actually ask for something from you, so they took charge in their own hands by asking an autograph from you, which you of course were pleased to do, handing it to them with a smile, before you were pulled away again by one of the security guards, waving bye, before turning your attention to some of the other guests.

When they got back on the astral express, they all seemed really excited, well besides Dan Heng, but it’s hard to see through his facial features, but the way he was ever so carefully holding the sighed piece of paper from you, said a lot differently.

He was just hoping next year the astral express would come back, and maybe he could talk to you himself this time

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #dan heng x reader #dan heng #xonavia's writings!

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eightstarr · 6 hours

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visions — abby anderson.

summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).

notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.

You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.

The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.

What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.

In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable.

You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.

“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.

You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”

Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.

Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”

You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”

Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”

Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”

“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”

“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.

Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.

Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.

“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it— you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”

“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.

“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”

“Princess.”

Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”

“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”

“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”

“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”

“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”

You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”

You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”

Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.

“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”

Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”

—

You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.

“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.

“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.

“The school meeting.”

“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”

Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.

You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.

“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”

It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”

Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.

“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.

“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”

“Which Sophie?”

“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”

“Oh, I like that Sophie.”

“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”

Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”

You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.

“If Rue called you mom.”

Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”

Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”

“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”

Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”

“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”

She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”

Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”

Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”

“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”

After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.

“You think she wants me to be her mom?”

Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”

Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”

“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?

You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fic #abby x reader #abby anderson x female!reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson headcanons #mom!abby #doctor!abby

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ihatealimore · 23 hours

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Lover, You Should've Come Over

(word count: 1.432) (angst, comfort)

Sitting alone in the dim room, Kurapika finds himself consumed by a painful wave of regret. His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingernails digging dents into his skin as he thinks about (Y/N). A beautiful woman with sharp eyes that saw right through him.

"I pushed her away," He mutters to himself, the extent of his actions weighing on him heavily, "I was so concerned about dragging her down with me... I didn't consider what it would do to her."

The memories of their past together begin to seep into his mind like venom spreading its poison throughout an unsuspecting body. Their laughter echoing through empty halls, the way she'd playfully tugged on a lock of his blonde hair whenever they sparred together. Each memory brings forth another flood of bitter sorrow that gnaws at the edges of Kurapika's already damaged heart.

"She deserved better," He whispers hoarsely against the icy silence that wraps around him, "And I... I couldn't give it to her."

The taste of regret is sour on his tongue, but nothing stings more than remembering how (Y/N) had looked at him when he walked away, pure understanding reflected in those knowing eyes. A silent acceptance that cut deeper than any blade.

"(Y/N)," Kurapika breathes out, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer.

His gaze focuses on the empty space before him as if he could summon her back with just his longing.

"I'm sorry. I should've stayed," He murmurs quietly into the stillness of the room, shame lacing every word, "I miss you..."

A strained sigh escapes Kurapika's lips, his eyes dull and filled with sorrow, "If only I could see her again..." His voice trails off into a broken whisper, the words hanging stubbornly in the stagnant air surrounding him.

He would give anything to see those bright eyes again, to see her smiling at him so tenderly, to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. The pain plaguing him seems unending, spiraling deeper within his chest with every passing second.

His hand instinctively moves towards where he imagines (Y/N) might be sitting if she were here, an empty gesture aimed at filling a void he himself had created. He misses everything about her, her stubbornness, her recklessness...

But most importantly, how understanding she was, even when things didn't make sense.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Kurapika declares quietly as if making a vow to himself, "I just want another chance."

The blonde-haired man's hand hovers over his phone, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He contemplates calling her, the weight of his decision making his heart pound louder in his chest. His fingers itch to dial her number, a series of digits he had memorized by heart.

The screen glows softly in the dim room, casting an eerie light onto Kurapika's face as he scrolls through his contacts until (Y/N)'s name comes into view. Her contact picture is one they'd taken together during happier times, both of them smiling so brightly that their joy seems almost tangible.

His thumb hovers over her name for what feels like an eternity, every second amplifying the heavy silence encompassing him. The fear gripping at him feels strong and suffocating. What if she doesn't answer? Worse yet... What if she does?

"(Y/N)..." He says under his breath, steeling himself before finally pressing down on her contact information.

As he brings the phone up to his ear, Kurapika bites down hard on his lip. He can taste the metallic tang of blood dripping into his mouth but he barely registers it. All he can focus on is the rhythmic beating of a dial tone, a stark contrast to his erratic heartbeat.

His grip tightens around the device as every passing second becomes a harsh reminder of how much time had been wasted, how many words were left unsaid, and how many actions were done out of fear instead of love. His breath hitches when after several agonizing moments, her voicemail greeting plays.

But even just hearing her recorded voice gives him a brief sense of reprieve, grounding him back to reality from where regret and pain drag him deep within its clutches. It isn't enough though. He needs more than just echoes of her voice trapped in a digital recording.

Hearing the beep indicating it's time to leave a message, Kurapika takes in a deep breath before speaking. His voice quivers slightly, but he presses on, "(Y/N)... It's me, Kurapika."

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now but... I miss you."

The words taste bitter on his tongue, an admission of guilt and longing wrapped together.

There's another tension-filled pause before he finally lets out what had been gnawing at him all night long, "Please come over. I need to see you..."

With that final plea hanging heavily in between them, even if she isn't there physically, he ends the call. His phone drops back onto his lap as he leans back into his chair, letting out a sigh full of uncertainty and vulnerability.

She may not come... But at least now she knows how desperate he is without her.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Kurapika had begun to lose hope. The silence is deafening and doubt claws at his insides with a vengeance. He spends the passing hours aimlessly pacing around his apartment, trying to distract himself from constantly glancing towards his phone.

When he hears a subtle knock echo through the room, the Kurta freezes in place, heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage as he makes way to the door.

Dread and anticipation swirls within him as he gently pulls open the door, revealing (Y/N) standing there under dimly lit hallway lights, her silhouette creating shadows that dance across her features.

For a moment, it seems as if time itself has stopped, everything silent except for their shallow breaths mixing together in sync before he finally releases an audible sigh of relief.

"Kurapika?" Her voice is filled with surprise, and before she can utter another word, he has already thrown his arms around her. His grip is tight, a desperate hold born out of fear that if he lets go even slightly, she'll disappear.

He buries his face into the crook of her neck, every inch of him attempting to memorize her, the way she feels against him, the faint scent of her hair mixing with the outside air lingering on her clothes.

A shaky breath escapes him as he tries to gain control over his racing heart, albeit in vain, because now that she's here within his reach again... He doesn't want to let go.

"Kurapika?" She echoes and the sound of her voice, so close and filled with concern, causes something warm to bloom in his chest. As she returns his embrace and begins to rub soothing circles on his back, he feels a few of the knots in his stomach start to unravel.

"You sounded... Unwell in your voicemail. Are you okay?" Her words resound through him, genuine worry laced into each syllable.

"I..." He swallows hard as he draws back just enough to look at her, meeting those beautiful eyes that hold nothing but sincerity, "I've been better," It isn't a lie but it doesn't feel like the whole truth either.

"I can tell," She replies quietly.

He lets out another trembling breath before tightening his hold around her again, not ready yet to fully face what's been haunting him for so long without having her close.

For now, he wants to linger in her arms. Holding onto her as if she's his lifeline, Kurapika allows himself to sink deeper into her embrace, her comforting warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothes and into his cold existence.

He presses his face further into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent deeply, "Just let me hold you for a bit longer," He murmurs against her flesh, hoping she'll understand just how much he needs this right now.

"Okay, I'm not going anywhere," She whispers against his ear, the softness of her voice flowing into him and further calming his anxious thoughts.

Kurapika's heart constricts at her promise, gratitude washing over him in waves. He tightens his hold on her further, as if conveying all the unspoken emotions through this one gesture.

He doesn't know how long they stood there in silence, time seeming to lose its grip on him as he simply allows himself to exist within this comforting bubble with her by his side... And for once, it feels okay to let down the walls around him even if it is just for a little while.

This feels like home to him, something he thought he had lost forever.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #romance #hunter x hunter x reader #writing #kurapika #kurapika x reader #kurapika oneshot #idk if this is any good lol #tried to be poetic

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 day

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Crushes Aren't Just for Kids

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!JL!reader (Justice League Unlimited!Bruce)

Summary: When all adults are banished from earth, you join Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern in a unique fight to save the world. Along the way, some hidden feelings are revealed.

Warnings: spoilers/rewrite for Justice League Unlimited 1x3 "Kid's Stuff", fluff, mention of beheading, canon-level violence and action

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

A/N: I can't tell you how many times I've watched this show because Kevin Conroy's Batman in the DCAU tv shows is unmatched (and the kids who did the voice acting in this episode did phenomenally). I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

You are in a unique position for several reasons. Being one of the only human members of the Justice League, you find yourself pushing yourself to be the best you can and ensuring that you can keep up with your superpowered teammates. Plus, you are one of the only people who knew Bruce Wayne before you knew Batman, and no matter how much he denies it, you knew after one look that the man under the cowl was none other than your favorite billionaire. When you first arrived on the Watchtower with your fellow vigilante, you wondered if any of the superheroes (especially those who had unique mind powers) could tell that you wanted to be more than fellow crime fighters with Batman. If they did, no one said anything, so your secret crush has remained secret as it grows stronger.

“Bats,” you warn as you duck away from Cheetah’s claws.

Bruce flips away from Deadshot’s line of fire before rushing up beside him. He punches under his jaw, and you watch as Deadshot lifts Bruce off the ground. Bruce throws a batarang, and you slide away from them as Deadshot falls to the floor.

“Guess that’s a wrap,” Green Lantern says. At Bruce’s look, he adds, “Sorry. Been hanging out with Flash too much.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” you tease.

You look away from John and see three police officers entering the vault. A pink wave follows them inside, and your eyes widen when the officers disappear. Bruce pulls you to his side as John creates a forcefield with his ring, but it fails nearly as quickly as it appears.

When you open your eyes on a floating rock, you’re still tucked against Bruce’s side. You step back quickly and look around. Dozens of rocks surround you and each holds numerous people; adults only, you notice.

“It was judgment day,” Copper exclaims, “and- and we got sent to the bad place. The bad place!”

“Where else were you expecting to go?” you ask sarcastically.

“Snap out of it, Copper!” Cheetah demands as she slaps him.

“Yeah, calm down,” John calls. “We’re probably just in another dimension.”

“I don’t see any children,” Bruce says.

“You would be the one to notice,” you murmur. “It’s not a bad thing,” you add when he directs his bat glare at you.

“That’s because a child is responsible,” a woman wearing a mask interjects as she hovers above you.

“Morgaine Le Fay,” Bruce greets, though he’s prepared to fight rather than exchange niceties and introductions.

“Great, magic,” you mutter as you fall in line between Bruce and Diana.

“I mean you no harm,” Morgaine assures. “My son Mordred has wrought this treachery. Banishing all adults to this shadow realm.”

“Do you think Flash is here?” you whisper to John.

“50/50,” he answers.

“After I spent millennia feeding him, bathing him, preparing him to be a king,” Morgaine continues. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You’re a sorceress. Can’t you just undo his spell?” Diana asks.

“No. He’s got the amulet of first magic. He’s too powerful. But if we all work together…”

“You want us to defeat your own son?” Bruce clarifies.

“So don’t trust me. Let him rule the world and all your children. Here we will stay. Forever.”

“But what can we do? We’re stuck here, aren’t we?” Diana says.

“Please don’t say-“ you begin.

“Not exactly,” Morgaine answers.

“That,” you finish as your shoulders slump.

“The spell only banishes adults.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you and John say together.

“It’s the only way,” Morgaine says.

“We have to do it,” Clark announces.

John exhales deeply, and you step back to be at Bruce’s side again. Magic has never been your preferred battle, and as Morgaine directs her spell at you and everything turns green, you clutch Bruce’s cape in your hand.

When you arrive in Mordred’s amusement park-turned-kingdom, you’re ready to leave. Being turned into a kid again wasn’t exactly on your superhero bingo card, and as a human, you don’t bring much to the fight anyway.

“I hope this is temporary,” Bruce complains.

You look over at him and feel butterflies in your stomach. Despite de-aging, you still have a crush on Bruce, but it hits harder and faster. You tear your eyes away from him and try to calm your racing heart. Each moment you live as a kid, you’ll start acting more like one.

“You sound weird,” Clark says. “Whoa. So do I.”

Diana looks between Clark and John before straightening her shoulders. She towers over them and smiles. “I kind of like this.”

“Why are you squinting?” you ask John.

Bruce, Clark, and Diana look over after you ask, and you drop your eyes to avoid looking at Bruce again.

“I wore glasses as a kid. Guess I need ‘em again,” John answers.

A pair of oversized green glasses appear on his face, and he jumps in surprise. They’re nothing like what adult John would create, and you stifle a laugh at the sight of them.

“I didn’t even try to make these!” he exclaims.

Clark laughs as Bruce says, “I hope not.”

You pat John’s back as he focuses on making nicer glasses. Once he’s ready and Clark compliments his new look, Diana reminds you that you’re supposed to be looking for Mordred.

“Bet the little punk’s in there,” Bruce says.

He points to the castle looming in the distance and begins running. You run behind him and watch as Diana, Clark, and John fly past you.

“It’s not a race,” Bruce grumbles.

He speeds up, but you keep your pace and make it to the castle all the same. Despite the earlier teasing about John’s glasses, none of you have mentioned any differences between the kid and adult versions of one another. You’re thankful, though, because reliving your childhood is not your favorite pastime. When you enter the castle, you stay behind Bruce as he stands beside Diana.

“The Justice Babies!” Mordred calls before laughing.

“What are you laughing at, precious?” Bruce asks.

“Precious?” you repeat.

“You,” Mordred answers. “Mother sent you, didn’t she?”

“Maybe she wanted a chance to have a normal kid,” you taunt.

“She shouldn’t send a boy to do a man’s job,” Mordred tells Bruce.

He grabs the amulet, and you watch as a young boy’s toys come to life. They grow until they’re giant, and you stumble backward before running for cover. When Clark flies into one of them and is knocked to the floor, you begin questioning if it was truly a good idea to become kids to fight a boy with powerful magic.

“Bruce, batarang,” you request.

He hands you one before running toward Mordred. You wait for one of the toys to run toward you before sliding between its legs.

“I’ll make a laser cannon. No, a missile launcher,” John says above you. “Oh! Oh, I know.”

“Just pick something!” you and Bruce yell together.

You dig the batarang into the back of the toy’s leg and roll to the side as it collapses to the ground before disappearing. Bruce and John take one out, while Clark disables the other with his laser vision.

When you hear Bruce grunting and see him dangling from his cape in the grip of the last toy, you gasp and run toward him. Diana beats you there and catches him.

“You okay, tough guy?” she asks.

“Let go. I’m fine,” Bruce demands as he struggles to get out of her hold.

His shoulders drop and his cape surrounds him as he sulks. You don’t ask the same question Diana had but thank him for the batarang as he passes.

“That’s not fair,” Mordred complains.

“Get him!” Bruce calls.

You run behind Diana and aren’t surprised when you’re all encased in ice. Mordred is powerful, and you and your fellow “Justice Babies” seem to be forgetting that. When you fall into a dungeon and are freed from the ice, you scoot toward Bruce. One of the cells opens, and red eyes glow within. You clutch Bruce’s cape and watch as a small demon walks out.

“Etrigan?” Bruce asks.

He steps away from you, and his cape slips through your fingers. You stay behind John’s forcefield as Diana lifts Bruce out of the way of Etrigan’s flame. Diana has been closer to Bruce during this mission than usual, and the butterflies in your stomach start causing more pain than happiness as you wonder if they’ve been hiding feelings for one another in the Watchtower, too.

“Don’t hurt him!” Bruce yells as Clark pulls Etrigan away from you and John.

Etrigan bites Clark’s arm, and he calls, “Tell him that!”

“C’mere,” you tell Etrigan. You crouch to the floor and pull him into your arms. “Stop!”

He calms down, and Diana helps Bruce up as Etrigan cries. You look at Bruce and shrug.

“He’s just a baby,” Diana says.

“And he needs more than a hug,” John adds, waving his hand in front of his nose.

“Now, that is a job for Superman,” Bruce says.

Bruce takes Etrigan from your arms and passes him to Clark. When Bruce takes your hand to lead you out of the dungeon, you nearly trip over your own feet. You’ve never been more ready to grow up before, you think.

Mordred’s new kingdom is comprised mostly of children doing what they were never allowed to do before. When you walk through the paths surrounding what used to be the center of the park, you are surrounded by children doing dangerous stunts and breaking rules.

“You two, knock that off!” Clark demands when he sees two boys playing with wooden swords.

“What are you gonna do? You’re just a kid,” they taunt.

Clark shoots a laser between them and answers, “I’m the kid with laser beams coming out of his eyes.”

“That’s just gonna scare them,” you interject before they run away screaming. “You can’t threaten kids the same way you threaten criminals.”

“Then what do we do?” John asks.

“Tattle,” Diana answers. She flies to an elevated area and yells, “That’s enough!”

Everyone freezes, and you find yourself reaching for Bruce.

“You can’t tell us what to do! You’re not our mom!” someone replies.

“No, but I promise you we will find all of your moms and I’m gonna tell!” Diana answers.

“Well, what should we do?”

“Go outside and wait for your parents. Now!” Diana demands with a hand on her hip.

“Man, your girlfriend sure is bossy,” John tells Bruce.

“Shut up,” he replies before leaving John’s side.

Those butterflies in your stomach become dead weight. You stall behind John, but he turns to look at you.

“You like Bruce,” he accuses.

“What? No!” you answer too quickly. “We’re friends.”

“Mmhmm.”

John gestures for you to come with him, and you follow Bruce together. You know that John knows more than he ever lets on, and if anyone found out about your crush, you suppose you should be glad that it’s the one who can keep a secret. Better him than Wally.

“He’s almost asleep,” Diana whispers as you look into Mordred’s hideout. “We can take him.”

“I’ll make a lawnmower and chew him up,” John suggests.

“A lawnmower?” you repeat incredulously. “Why?”

“I say we get that amulet away from him first,” Bruce says. “We’ll split up and sneak behind him. Then Lantern can do his thing. But no mowers.”

“Why?” John questions.

“Because it’s stupid,” Clark answers.

“He’ll hear it, too,” you whisper with much more kindness than Clark.

“I guess I’ll go with Clark,” Diana says. “Unless I should go with you,” she tells Bruce.

“Whatever,” Bruce answers.

John sees your eyes drop and says, “Clark can go alone. I’ll go with Diana.”

You appreciate it but shake your head because you don’t want to be left alone with Bruce.

“Whatever,” Bruce repeats.

“Go,” John whispers.

You lead Bruce around the side of the cave, and John shakes his head as he watches you go.

“What’s with them?” Clark asks.

“Really?” Diana questions.

“Man, for somebody with fifty different kinds of vision you are so blind,” John responds.

“What?”

“Is that a claw?” you ask Bruce as John tries to get the amulet.

“Unfortunately,” he answers.

He may be young, but his sarcasm hasn’t changed a bit. You lean against him when John’s claw wavers before disappearing. The amulet falls to Mordred’s chest, and Bruce moves you carefully as he calls, “Get the amulet!”

You join Bruce, Diana, Clark, and John in a failing attempt to hold Mordred down and take the amulet. He uses his magic to grow and throws Bruce and Diana off of him before standing. A young girl is standing nearby, and you take her hand to lead her to safety as the others fight Mordred.

“Bats!” you yell, just as you had as an adult this morning.

Bruce looks back and sees the living gargoyle chasing him and John and directs John toward a small bridge.

“Close the door!” you yell as Bruce enters the castle.

Diana closes and locks the door behind him, and you listen to John come up with complicated plans to stop Mordred as Bruce thinks.

“Forget it!” Bruce calls after John mentions giant handcuffs. “We’ve got to focus on…” Bruce’s eyes lock with yours and he says, “Never mind what I just said. We’ll take care of everything else. Lantern, you go crazy.”

“What are you going to do?” you ask.

“It’s time for all of us to grow up,” Bruce answers.

He takes your hand before running toward another area of the kingdom. Your butterflies begin reviving, and you wonder if anything will be the same after this.

“Go!” he yells to Clark.

Clark pulls the amulet from Mordred’s neck while he’s distracted by John before tossing it to Bruce.

“This is the most dangerous game of keep away I’ve ever played,” you yell as you take the amulet from Bruce and run it to Diana. Diana throws it to Etrigan, and you flinch when he bites into it. The wave of purple magic that escapes it is unsettling, but you don’t take your eyes off Mordred.

“I already absorbed too much of the amulet’s power,” Mordred says as he stands.

He uses his magic to suspend all of you, and Etrigan, upside down in the air. He pulls a sword from a nearby stone, and it turns purple before reappearing as a curved blade.

“I’ll take care of my kingly duty myself,” he declares.

“Is he really going to behead us in an amusement park?” you ask with your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m scared,” the girl you helped earlier says. “I want my mommy.”

Mordred lowers his blade to say, “You don’t need a mommy. You’re better off without one. Trust me.”

“Ooh, mommy issues,” John muses. “Those ain’t easy.”

The girl begins crying and Clark taunts, “Some king.”

“I’m not impressed,” Diana agrees.

“What’d you expect? He’s a boy doing a man’s job,” Bruce finishes.

“You don’t know what it’s like being stuck as a kid,” Mordred says.

“Since you’ve had all that power, you could have been a man anytime you wanted. I think you’re too chicken to grow up.”

“Yep, big chicken. That’s what you are,” John agrees, flapping his arms like wings. “Bock, bock.”

“Face it, precious,” Bruce continues. “You like being a little mama’s boy.”

“I’ll show you!” Mordred yells. “I’ll show you all.”

“Sure, you will,” you agree with an eye roll.

“And when I am a true kind, I’ll start with the human!” Mordred adds, pointing to you.

Bruce looks at you, but you keep your eyes on Mordred as he spreads his arms and is surrounded by purple ribbons of magic. Etrigan claps as Mordred’s spell spreads, and he reappears as a man.

“I’m older than you now,” Mordred says as he turns to face you.

The magic released his spell, and you catch yourself as you fall from the air.

“You sure are,” Bruce says.

Mordred disappears, banished by his own spell. As an adult, he couldn’t stay, and now you can only wait until Morgaine does her part. Bruce steps to your side and you turn your face toward him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer just before Morgaine appears.

“A bargain is a bargain,” she says as she waves her hand before you.

The spell is lifted, and you are an adult again in only a second. You hadn’t prepared for the change in size however and are pressed against Bruce’s chest with the sudden growth. He makes no move to get space from you, though.

“Mommy,” Etrigan coos at Diana.

She drops him and steps back. You chuckle at the scene and Diana looks at you with furrowed brows before smiling and rolling her eyes.

Morgaine opens a portal, and Bruce places a hand on your hip as he steps around you.

“Wait,” he calls. “What happened to Mordred?”

“My spell gave him eternal youth but now that he’s broken it all he has is eternal life,” she answers.

“Circumstances aside, it was kind of enjoyable to be a kid again,” Diana says.

You walk to Bruce’s side and watch the happy reunions of children with their parents.

“I’m sorry,” you offer softly.

“For what?” he asks.

“You just- you didn’t get to be a kid like the rest of us.”

“Perhaps Diana was right. It wasn’t completely unenjoyable.”

He turns toward you, and his arm is pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re telling me the big, bad bat had a little bit of fun?” you tease.

“You never talk about your childhood,” he deflects. “So, I’m sorry if this brought up bad memories.”

“Just dead butterflies,” you answer.

Bruce glares at you, but it’s the one unique to when he’s reading you.

“Is that why Lantern sent us off alone together?”

You look down as you nod.

“My butterflies are alive and well, and happy to wait for you,” Bruce murmurs.

“Butterflies or bats?” you ask.

“Should we be having this conversation in an amusement park?”

“You’re right. Let’s go to Metropolis and make the cover of the Daily Planet so Clark has to write all about it.”

Bruce sighs, but he takes your hand as he leads you outside the amusement park. He presses a button on his utility belt and the Batmobile pulls up a moment later.

“Bruce,” you say once you’re inside. “You were a really cute kid.”

“You were really bad at eye contact,” Bruce counters. “Or was that just with me?”

“I guess crushes aren’t just for kids,” you muse.

“Maybe Diana will stop pestering me to ask you out now.”

You nod as you watch the road before you. It takes a moment, but you finally understand what Bruce just said.

“What?”

#hanna writes✯#bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #dc comics x reader #fem!reader

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dinogoofymutated · 2 days

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So I'm warming up to the idea of Cable now with this new animation style. And now I can't help but imagine a mutant reader seeing him shirtless for the first time 👉🏽👈🏽. Maybe she's helping him treat a wound he cant reach on his back and he's too worn out to rely on his telekinesis for it. Sure she knows that he has a metal arm. Techno-organic viruses were nasty business. But she never imagined she'd get to see the stark contrast of metal and flesh up close. Just a tender moment where she gets to see him at his most vulnerable. Preferably sfw. Sorry if this is too long winded or specific. Really love your writing and enjoy what you share with us regardless if u choose this one or not 🫶🏽

SFW!Cable/GN!Reader OOOOGHHHH when I tell you I have been thinking about this since you sent me the ask!! I've been dying to write this but forced myself to follow a schedule :( I've never really been a Cable girly but this scenario has been in my head non-stop! I just hope this fic does the same to others!!! Speaking of which, I hope this isn't too OOC for him! This also might get a pt 2 with some smooching 😘

Read pt. 2 Here :)

-Ps- Heads up, finals week is coming up for me and I have a lot of essays and work to do. my writing is sadly going to slow down a bit. I don't think I'm going to close requests for now but it's not out of the realm of possibility! TWs: Can't really think of any. Gross depictions of techno-organic shit. As always, Reader written while picturing fem! but no pronouns mentioned. The reader is short in this one, sorry to all my Amazonian friends.

Prime sentinels were like wasps. Squashing one could be relatively easy with the right tools, but it was difficult to handle multiples at once. It had been a rough day, and your ears were still ringing from the sounds of blaster fire when you got to the safe house. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, body exhausted from overusing your mutant powers. Bruises are forming all over you, and despite the pain and soreness, you know you got off easy compared to Cable.

He’s got an arm slung around your shoulder, using you as a crutch as you help him limp over to the table- although you’re sure you’re not a very good one, too short for him to properly lean on. His gun clanks on the floor as he sits, grunting as the movement sends shooting pains through his body. You can tell his left arm is aching, the techno-organic virus fighting to beat the telekinetic powers keeping them still. You weren’t the only one who overdid it today, but you also weren’t the one who had to keep a virus from eating you alive.

Once Cable is settled, the routine starts. You cautiously make a round through the safe house, making sure blinds are drawn and entryways secured. Usually, the task was split between the two of you, being faster and safer than it would be alone- but he would take it over when you were badly hurt. It was only natural that you would do the same. You feel the sting of anxiety and worry in your heart. Cable had saved your ass today. He had done so many times, but normally the fighting wasn’t this extreme. You had been stupid, and he was suffering the consequences.

A series of pained grunts lead you back into the kitchen once you’ve finished, and you can tell Cable is pissed just by the tone of them. You’re facing his back when you walk in, noticing the large red stain that spans across the width of his shoulders. You try to hide the worry on your face as you approach him. He has the medkit sprawled out on the counter, sorting through the various items in it.

“Can’t believe this thing doesn’t have a damn mirror.” He grunts. You hum in response, looking him over before examining the items on the table.

“What do you need a mirror for?” You ask, voice coming out a little hoarse. You clear your throat, must be from the smoke earlier. Cable sends you a look, tossing his head towards his back. You mouth an “oh” before looking at him, unable to hide your worried expression. You’d seen him stitch his wounds up with his telekinesis before, when the fight was all guns and no powers. An action like that was child’s play for someone of his capabilities. For him to actively avoid it, and the way his arm seemed to be bothering him more than normal… It made you worried. It made you feel guilty.

You look down at the suture kit, open on the table from where Cable had unzipped it, and then look back at him, wordlessly asking. He gives you a cautious look for a moment, before it shifts into something much softer. He doesn’t bother nodding, choosing to simply take his shirt off instead.

You blush a little but quickly get to work, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. They’re too big for you, meant to fit Cable’s sturdy hands instead of your own smaller ones. You try not to get distracted by the sight of him shirtless as you pick up what you need and get behind him. The air has shifted between the two of you, forming into something a little more intimate. Something that builds itself on words unspoken, truths that neither of you is quite ready to communicate yet.

His back is broad and beautiful, dotted with scars and bruises. The gash on his shoulders is from a stray blast, starting at the top of his left shoulder and ending at the lower shoulder blade of his right.

You’re not sure if you had been ready to see the cut-off between flesh and metal.

The cords of metal attach to the skin of his shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. They sprout from underneath the skin, winding against each other in a way that makes no clear sense to you. The top layers of skin are rough, keloid scarring having formed at the impasse of skin and metal. It's horrific, the way the virus has both eaten and forced its way under the skin. The top of the gash is somewhat deep, the deep inner cording revealed by the wound cutting through the top of his skin has you unable to look away despite the horror that has taken you.

“I can feel you staring, you know.” Cable’s rumbling voice causes you to snap back to reality.

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trail off, not fully able to place the words. He sighs, and you mistake it for annoyance. You quickly get back on track and begin to disinfect the wound. Cable hardly flinches as you do so. You’re overly cautious as you stitch him up, focusing on each stitch being perfectly placed. You know they wouldn’t stay for long. Cable had a habit of tearing his stitches. You hope that maybe you’d be able to keep that from happening this time.

You place both hands on his shoulder blades when you are done. The nerves have worn off as the pseudo-doctor in you took over. You’re trying to examine the stitches, but find that your attention keeps being drawn back to that stark contrast of his shoulder. If Cable notices, he doesn’t say anything. You glance at the back of his head, trying to gauge what he’s feeling.

Your left hand drifts a little. Cable shudders as your thumb gently traces that line of scarring, the metal of his arm feeling extra cold compared to the heat of his skin. You’re waiting for him to say something. To tell you to back off. To grumble and shake you off and avoid speaking to you like he used to when you first started to work together- when he was so determined not to get attached.

But he doesn’t say anything. Not at first, anyway. The tenseness of his shoulders slowly gives as the gently touching morphed into more purposeful touches, working the stiff muscles- what was left of the organic ones, anyway.

It’s intimate. It’s quiet. It’s… nice. Part of you wishes it would last a little longer. Part of you wishes he would let you touch him like this more often.

Cable stiffens again as the thought crosses your mind, recoiling away from you. He stands suddenly, turning around to face you. His towering stature used to make you nervous out of fear. Now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. Part of you had forgotten about the glimpses he takes into your mind. A flicker of anxiety ignites when you realize how much he might have seen. The two of you just look at each other for a moment, his brown eyes hard compared to the softness from earlier. You hadn’t meant to think so much. You didn’t think he was horrific. It was the virus. What it was doing to him. The energy and effort it takes out of him. That was what scared you.

Cable was used to the stares. The horror. Most recoiled at the sight of his flesh. It only made sense to him when you did too.

But Nathan… Nathan wasn’t ready for the depth of your thoughts. The care in your eyes. He wasn’t ready for the depth of his own feelings. The ones that cause such a storm within him. The ones that cause him to be stupid. The ones that make him focus more on saving you than the goal of every mission.

“Is this… Are we okay?” You ask. He didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the fear that has swelled within you. Most of your emotions were always written on your face. It made things easier for him when he didn’t have to search for your thoughts. That hardness in his eyes softens yet again, and he glances away for a moment.

“... Yeah.” Is all he says. His heart feels light when you finally smile at him, even though an underlying nervousness still resides behind that smile. You let out a relieved sigh, and he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Instead, he sits back down. He faces away from you, giving you the space to finish taking care of the wound on his back.

You don’t realize how late it is until you’re finished, and the mess on the counter has been cleaned and contained back in the medkit. The two of you sit together as you eat. The food isn’t great- consisting of an MRE that’s not exactly as advanced as the futuristic weapons and technology would lead you to believe. He doesn’t say anything when you lean on his shoulder, or when your breathing evens out, having fallen asleep on his side.

The aches and pains don’t really bother Nathan as he carries you to bed, but the thoughts of you, your feelings, your thoughts… Those keep him awake longer than any wound would.

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #cable headcannons #cable x reader #cable xmen #nathan summers x reader #nathan summers #nathan summers headcannons #Cable imagines

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anon-sect · 22 hours

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picture source anonymous.

Drey and lab partner Nile were given a tough assignment in chemistry class of there sophomore year in college. Drey was a hard working student that always got straight As, while Nile was one who slacked when it came to assignments. The professor wanted to help Nile become a better student, so he partnered him up with the smartest student in the class, hoping some of those good habits would rub off on him.

When the assignment was complete and graded, both Drey and Nile were given an A for the assignment. The professor asked Drey if Nile really did pull his weight on the project, and he told him yes. What the professor didn't know was that Drey was forced to say yes by Nile.

Once they were partnered together, Drey started noticing Nile's feet. When Nile noticed that Drey was looking at his feet often, he figured that he had a foot fetish. He decided to use this fact to his advantage. He offered his feet to Drey to do whatever he wanted to do with them.

Drey would have feet worship sessions in Nile's dorm room when his roommate wasn't present. Nile would even let Drey lay under his desk as a footrest while he gamed on his computer, sometimes for hours sniffing his feet. But when it came time to work on the project, he told Drey to do all the work and they both would take credit. A day before presenting the project, Drey had threated to tell the professor he had done all the work and Nile did none. Nile then showed a ton of pictures and some videos of the foot worship sessions. He then threatened Drey that if he didn't say they both worked on it together, he would show the pictures and videos to his roommate first and then to a lot of other students. Not wanting his foot fetish to be well known, he relented to Nile's demand.

Three days after getting the A, Drey had a change of heart on his decision to remain silent. He texts Nile that he was going to tell the professor the truth, it didn't matter if he was exposed. Nile texted back that he was sorry for blackmailing him and that it was wrong for him to do that. He also told him that he will tell the professor the truth. If he wanted one more foot fetish session, to come over to his dorm room. Drey believed him and went.

Nile let Drey into his dorm room and shut the door. Drey got down on the floor and started kissing Nile's feet like he usually does in their sessions. He didn't notice what he was doing up above him. He looked up briefly to see a strange ray device pointed at him. "I got you here so that my secret would be safe. You won't be ratting on me if you are under my feet for a very long time." Nile spoke to Drey and fired at him.

Drey saw his whole view change as his body shrunk in size and started to turn white. He tried to speak, but his mouth was sealed shut. Everything happened so fast within seconds. One minute later, Drey was gone, and in his place was a pair of white flip-flops.

Nile laughed as slide his feet into his new flip-flops. "Now my secret is safe and I have a new pair of flip-flops to add to my collection. He laughed more. He placed his phone on the floor to snap a picture of him and his new flip-flops. He then posted on his social media page. He added caption beneath the picture, 'Thanks for my new flip-flops, Drey. I think I will keep them for a very long time.'

Drey was mortified mentally as Nile's feet crushed his face. He could feel Nile's feet started to mold his face to service his new owner's feet. He had no means to call for help and lack the ability to move on his own to escape. His fate was sealed. He was Nile's flip-flops forever. Had he left things alone, he would not have been where he was now. He could only partially blame himself for all the pain that Nile's feet was going to cause him for the rest of his life.

#inanimate transformation #shrinkage #foot domination #transformed flip-flop #tf story

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pepperonidk · 11 hours

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i. ride the sun away || all i could do

“All I could do was love you hard and let you go.” “Go and ride the sun away."

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x f!Reader Summary: 5 years ended with a note on the coffee table. Warnings: angst Word Count: 1227

A/N: Hello! It's been a long while, but this idea has been on my mind for a long time. This musical means a lot to me and so does this fic. I know Jihoon is an asshole in this... sorry lol

join the taglist! back to library || next chapter

The glint of light on the coffee table immediately drew your attention as you walked into the living room.

I called Chan and Seungcheol to help me get the rest of my stuff. I know you wanted to go see another counselor… but I don’t know what the point would be. I know I’m not the only one who’s hurting here, and I don’t see what the hell else we can do.

I don’t think you could see how deep the cracks run, or that I had run out of rope.We could keep fighting each other, keep hurting each other, but I think it’s time to just face it… I couldn’t be what you wanted.All I could do was love you – and god did I love you – love you hard and let you go.

-Jihoon

The weighty cream piece of paper lay on the coffee table and on top of it, Jihoon’s silver wedding band, identical to the one on your own finger. The lights are off, but the room is far from dark. The sun outside is at its zenith and its rays spill into the room and wash the air with enough light to see dust floating in the air. Aside from the note and silver band, glimmering in the light, nothing in the living room had been touched in weeks.

The walls are still covered in pictures of the two of you smiling and you wonder if all the “I love yous” ever meant anything or if the foundation was cracked from the beginning. You’re left with more questions than you’ll ever have answers to and all you can think of is how unfair it is that Jihoon felt that he had the right to decide that things were over.

He was the one keeping secrets. He was the one who moved on before things had even ended. He was convinced that you were the problem. He was the one running away. And you were covered in scars you didn’t earn.

I should be crying, you think to yourself. But you don’t. You haven’t cried in a while, really, because honestly, to say you didn’t see this coming would be a lie.

From the minute you met him five years ago, sitting at a table on the fourth floor of the library and madly scribbling into a worn leather notebook, you knew he was on a one way road to something bigger. You suppose it was only a matter of time that he would outgrow you too.

While nearly every other seat was occupied by students with strewn out textbooks, notebooks, and half-dead laptops cramming for midterms, he was writing a song. School was on the backburner for him (as were most other things), a backup plan in case his dreams were just a little bit too far. Interestingly enough, that was what drew you to him.

“Whatcha writing?” you had asked him, the nervous crack in your voice betraying your casual attempt at conversation. You had noticed him as soon as you sat down to study an hour ago, as he was one of the only people around without a laptop in front of him, but waited until your break to finally let your curiosity get to you.

It took a few seconds before he realized you were speaking to him and he finally lifted his head to look at you. You couldn’t help but smile as you realized the redness on his cheek from resting it on his fist and the messy state of his dark hair.

“Me?” he questioned as you nodded.

“There’s no one else at the table,” you teased.

“Oh,” he looked around as if he hadn’t given any attention to his surroundings in a while. “I’m working on a song,” he admitted softly.

“Cool,” you replied. “Is it for a class? My friend is in a songwriting class with profe–”

“No,” he interrupted, scribbling something else down before returning his attention to you. “It’s just for fun.”

“Fun, huh?” you began. “You have time for fun in the middle of midterms?”

He let out a chuckle as he shook his head. “I like to think I have my priorities sorted,” he answered. “I’m Jihoon.” He extended his hand out for you to shake.

You looked down at his hand, noting the calluses on his fingertips before taking it in yours and introducing yourself.

“So what about you?” he returned. “What class are you studying for?”

You turned your laptop around to show him the powerpoint you had pulled up from your music and neuroscience class. “I’m actually in a class about how music affects the brain,” you explained.

Jihoon’s face lit up in interest. “Really?” he asked. “How does it affect the brain then?” It had been a while since you were able to gush about your interest in neuroscience.

“Well,” you began, pointing your finger over the brain scans on the slide. “There’s some recent studies showing that music could help treat people with Alzheimer’s and some other neurological issues in elderly people.”

You looked over to Jihoon’s brows furrowed in interest as he nodded along. “That’s pretty cool,” he mused.

“Yeah,” you continued. “I saw a couple of videos that show patients with forms of dementia suddenly remembering complex ballet dances and specific memories just from certain musical cues with synaptic activity in many voxels that–” you cut yourself off, realizing you were going to start rambling.

“That what?” Jihoon looked back up at you, clearly still interested in what you had to say.

“That uh,” you blinked at him. “This isn’t boring you?”

“Huh?” he questioned. “This is really cool,” he laughed. “As a musician, it’s nice to know music is more than just something pretty to listen to. I could be making synapses move and what not. I’ll be making an impact.”

You laughed and nodded your head. “Well, synapses don’t move,” you corrected as Jihoon rolled his eyes before giving you a smile. “But thanks.”

“For what?”

“For listening.”

It’s easy, even now, five years later, to remember the way he looked bathed in spring sunlight and the feeling of his callused hands in yours even if you couldn’t remember the last time he actually touched you. He used to trace circles against your skin, humming melodies into your ear, a soft reminder every time of the day you met.

You look down now at your hand and pull off the band, setting it down next to Jihoon’s rather than picking them both up. They’re small, but something tells you they’d be heavy like lead in your palms. So instead, you opt to leave them there, to join the rest of the abandoned and untouched reminders of a life once shared.

On another day you’d take down the pictures of Jihoon kissing your cheek at the fair, the plaque you jokingly made for him out of macaroni after his first single first charted, and the blanket he bought you from Germany on his first tour. Maybe one day you’ll find a lesson to learn in all of this. But all of that would wait till another day when you can begin to move forward the way Jihoon has. But today, you choose to return to your room, to hold onto some semblance of familiarity, still hurting.

taglist: @sana-is-ms-rmty @yksthings @iamxelia @coveyland @xuimhao

#lee jihoon #woozi #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #lee jihoon x reader #woozi angst #lee jihoon angst #seventeen angst

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veronicaphoenix · 1 day

Text

THE UNMAKING OF A WARRIOR — PART VII

Pairing: samurai/ronin!noah x fem. reader | Words: 11.5k

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: tiny bit of sexual content at the beginning, fluff, subtle talks of dom/sub dynamic, mentions of bondage, torture, nightmares, anxiety, mentions of underage sexual experiences, blade to throat, death threats, blood, mentions of supernatural forces, mentions of Noah having killed people before (sorry, he's a samurai, after all), mentions of pregnancy, angst, cliffhanger at the end whoops. so many things, i'm taking this fic very seriously no joke

Author's note: okay everybody, i've done a bunch of research for this fic and I love learning about different cultures and expanding my knowledge about the world, but the entire thing is obviously historically inaccurate (not that this is exactly a historical fic but anyway), also I don't think people wore sweatpants in feudal Japan, but I can't picture Noah not wearing them, so here you go, a samurai wearing sweatpants. 🤭 I haven't done a second review to check for any last typos or mistakes, so I apologize for that.

Additional useful info: - Kami: japanese word for a deity, divinity, or spirit. - Yakuza: individual involved in criminal organizations, thought to have descended from gangs of ronin (masterless samurai) - Rei and Ren are two different people in the story. Rei we like, Ren we definitely do not like.

THE UNMAKING OF A WARRIOR

PART VII

Waking up to Noah’s serene form beside me felt like a blessing.

His peaceful slumber was a sight I’d seen many times in the dark, when he slept by my side and I sacrificed my own hours of rest just to watch him, knowing that with the dawn, he would be gone.

But this time, watching him held a special tranquility. His young features, usually marked by a furrowed brow, were now softened in repose, free from the burdens of worry that plagued him even in sleep.

During the night, his rest had been disturbed, his subconscious grappling with the lingering echoes of the past few days. Despite the idyllic surroundings we found ourselves in, a part of him remained tethered to the fears and uncertainties of our choices. His dreams were plagued with scenarios of what could have happened days ago, before escaping from my father’s estate. At one point, he tossed and turned so fervently in bed that he flung the sheets off his body. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead, neck, and chest.

Now that morning had unfolded, and sunlight streamed into our modest dwelling, I found myself drawn to Noah’s profile, his beautiful lines illuminated by the gentle glow. Even while sleeping, his features exuded a captivating allure, making him look even more handsome than he already was. His shirt had shifted during the night, when he found himself trapped in a nightmare, and a glimpse of his abdomen was now revealed to me alongside the scars that marred his warrior skin. A pang of sadness washed over me at the reminder of the trials he had endured, being born into a family of Samurai where the path of battle was but an unavoidable destiny.

My eyes shifted from one ugly scar under his left pectoral to the tattoos adorning his skin.

Noah’s fascination with tattoos had always intrigued me, especially considering the strict code of the Samurai that forbade such adornments. Samurai detested tattoos. Yet, Noah had received his first one at the age of eighteen, during a chance encounter with a group of ronin on the outskirts of the estate. I remember him recounting the tale to me with a mix of trepidation and wonder, describing how he had nearly fled at the sight of the masterless samurai. Yet, he found himself drawn to their stories and the reasons why they had decided to break the Bushido code and now lived in the shadows. A ronin had been the one to ink a small dragon onto Noah’s skin, unaware that Noah would become one of them years later. As he showed the tattoo to me and I traced the red and blue lines with my fingertips, I became aware that he would have to keep it hidden. It terrified me to know what my father would do to him if he found out Noah had stained his skin.

This morning, my fingers traced the same path, sliding down gently from the head of the dragon to its ferocious tail. Noah stirred slightly beneath my touch, though he remained slightly lost in his sleep. I shot a wary glance at his face, and as soon as I saw his eyes remained closed, I moved my fingers to his navel and down, towards the line of hair that descended and disappeared under the waistband of his pants.

He whispered my name, a gentle protest.

“Stop that. It tickles,” he mumbled, his voice coarse.

His words only triggered me to continue my tracing, which made him open his eyes and, in an instant, he had flipped me onto my back, his grin infectious as he pinned me beneath him.

The unmistakable hardness of his morning erection didn’t go unnoticed to me as it pressed against my hip.

“Good morning,” I said quietly, but even with my sweet voice I couldn’t hide my intentions. Noah narrowed his gaze on me, his fingers moving a few strands of hair from my face.

“Good morning,” he replied. “Someone had a good night’s sleep, I see.”

As soon as he said that, I subtly arched my hips, seeking out some friction. Noah’s eyes darkened. With one hand on my hip, he kept me pinned to the mattress, but I was feeling feisty enough and I slid a hand down and inside his sweatpants, making my way beneath his underwear and wrapping my fingers around his hard, thick length.

Locked in a silent exchange of desire, Noah’s eyes bore into mine, a vein beginning to pulse on his neck. Just as I was poised to take things further, to pump him once, laughter from outside shattered the moment, snapping us both back to reality.

Noah immediately flipped back to his side of the bed, both slightly breathless and eager for the privacy we had momentarily lost. We turned our attention towards the balcony door, our sanctuary now breached by the intrusion of the outside world.

We had no idea what time it was, but suddenly we were very aware of the noise outside, the chatter of voices, the chirping of birds, the occasional deer call, and the distant clucking of chickens. I was momentarily disoriented.

As the chaos settled around us, a sense of clarity began to emerge.

We were far from home, —or what home had been—. We were nestled in a humble abode offered by a community we had only just discovered. Surrounded by life in all its vibrant forms, if we got lucky enough, Noah and I could dare to hope for a future together in this place. The laughter of children drifting away outside made me wish with all my might that the opportunity came to us and all the dreams I had with Noah became a reality.

Despite the realization that we still didn’t have the privacy we would like, I wanted to embrace this new reality. To wake up to the symphony of birdsong, the joyous laughter of children, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze—these simple pleasures whispered promises of a life yet to be lived.

After composing ourselves and tending to the necessities of the morning, I ventured out onto the porch, greeted by the sweet fragrance of nearby flowers and the soft caress of the morning breeze. In the distance, I spotted Rika and Milla’s children, their playful antics adding a sweet touch to the warmth of our new community.

Near the door, a package caught my eye, it’s presence a tangible reminder of the kindness that surrounded us. Attached to it was a tag bearing Rika’s name. With a grateful smile, I carried the package inside, closing the wooden doors behind me.

As Noah caught sight of me, a softness settled over his features. I could tell he was still living in the short moment we had shared in bed as we woke up.

I carefully read the note attached to the package in my hands,

“I thought these clothes might be useful for now. I hope they fit you. I used to wear them before I got pregnant with my first child. There are some from my husband that might fit Noah.

Rika.”

Surveying the contents of the package, Noah selected a pair of black trousers and a matching tunic, securing his katana at his waist with a belt of the same color as he finished getting dressed. Meanwhile, I found myself staring in awe at the array of dresses Rika had offered, each one an affirmation of her generosity and kindness.

After much deliberation, I chose a delicate white summer dress adorned with tiny blue flowers, its charm a contrast to the uncertainty of our circumstances. But as I held it in my hands and examined it, a sense of determination flooded me. I wanted this to work, and as silly as it sounded, I considered that, by wearing a cute dress, I could give it a start.

However, as I struggled with the intricate straps at the back of it, a sense of frustration took over me, and I found myself longing for the assistance of the maids back at my father’s estate.

Noah appeared behind me. In a heartbeat, his hands covered mine, his touch gentle yet confident.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet of the room as I dropped my hands.

With practiced ease, he skillfully tightened the straps and tied a knot. I held my breath, acutely aware of the precision in his touch.

His proficiency with ropes, honed through years as a samurai, carried with it a weight of history and pain that lingered beneath the surface.

I had witnessed the anguish that haunted Noah’s eyes on those nights we spent entwined beneath the covers, grappling with demons of his past. The torment of inflicting pain upon innocent prisoners that had been tied up with ropes in impossible ways weighed heavily upon him, a burden he bore with a heavy heart. And in those moments of darkness, I knew that I had to find a way to replace the agony with something else. I might not be able to make it disappear, but I could help him deal with it in a different way, build a new memory related to that bondage he was meant to perform on those people considered traitors.

The first time, many years ago when I asked him to tie me up, his horror at my proposal was obvious, and his refusal resolute and unwavering. He got very upset, and I didn’t insist any further that night. But I refused to be deterred, though, and patiently waited for the opportunity to convey the depth of my intentions and why I believed it could help him.

“I’m not asking you to hurt me,” I whispered. “I’m asking you to show me how much you’re capable of loving; to show me that by being completely at your mercy, I’m safe; that beneath the warrior lies a man of compassion and tenderness; that despite everything, you’re a man of good heart.”

It was a gradual journey, fraught with a lot of uncertainty and hesitation. But as Noah discovered the profound emotional bond that the bindings on my body provided, there was no turning back, and soon I found myself bound and completely subjected to him in bed, feeling every one of his touches more intensely than ever, every kiss he placed on every inch of my body more devoted than the last.

The restraints provided by the bindings seemed to ignite the rest of my senses, making my skin tingle and increasing my ability to feel and understand that Noah was mine and I was his. Never, not once, did I fear him. That confidence toppled the last ounce of insecurity that remained in Noah, and since then, we knew that we wouldn’t be able to live without each other.

With Noah, I found a sanctuary where submission was a choice made freely. It had nothing to do with the control that defined my life and that I hated. With Noah I could be honest, and I could submit without fear. And Noah, despite not being able to escape the expectations of his samurai heritage, despite not being able to rid himself of that part of him that yearned for control and dominance, he embraced it when I was in his arms.

When we were with each other, the dynamic was wonderful, and there was no moment when we felt more united than when I let go, surrendered to his mercy.

As I turned around and thanked him for tying the straps of the dress, I noticed that his eyes had darkened, and I understood that the same thoughts had been crossing his mind as he tied the ribbons.

“Beautiful”, he murmured, but more than a sigh, the way he pronounced the word resembled a growl.

With a sheepish smile, I tiptoed to kiss him, my hands pressed against his hard stomach, and for a moment I damned that a few more moments alone together, in that comfortable bed that had been offered to us, had been stolen.

I’d had Noah inside me a couple of days ago, but still, the ache of missing and wanting him was too potent.

Noah parted his lips to kiss me deeper, but a growl from his stomach interrupted us. A hint of embarrassment colored his cheeks as I laughed.

“I’m hungry,” he said. He traced a strand of hair that fell across my face, his fingers falling to my neck and caressing it in a tantalizing caress. “I could eat you.”

He leaned in to feign a bite at my neck, prompting me to laugh louder. I squirmed under his touch, laughing and letting out little squeals.

It wasn’t as late as we initially thought. When we left the house, traces of dew still lingered on the plants, and some moisture collected on the stone paths.

We walked to the main dining hall, warmly greeting the people who recognized us from the previous day, exchanging good mornings with a wave of the hand or a polite nod. In the dining hall, much like the night before, there weren’t many people, but the same woman who served me dinner the previous night was there, delighted to see me in good spirits and well accompanied. Noah and I had breakfast in silence, occasionally glancing around, absorbing the details of the place and familiarizing ourselves with the community’s routine. The woman serving the food assured us we could eat as much as we wanted, gesturing with her arms to indicate the abundance of fresh fruit baskets, cereals, and other hot delicacies piled up on a long table at the opposite end of the hall.

I was finishing a cup of hot tea when an elderly couple, around eighty, perhaps,, approached us very slowly, delicate smiles on their wrinkled faces. I exchanged a cautious glance with Noah, unsure how to greet them, whether we should stand up, or if we should stop eating. As soon as Noah made a move to rise from the bench, the woman gestured with her hand and shook her head, then gave him a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder. The encounter didn’t go beyond that.

Not long after, when Rika appeared on the porch leading to the dining hall, she informed us that they were the oldest couple in the community, residing at the top of the hill at the back end of the village, just behind the temple we had seen upon our arrival the day before. They were very quiet and reserved people, and being older, their community tasks had already ceased, and now they spent their time strolling around the village, helping just in whatever way they could and warding off evil spirits.

“They are very wise people,” Rika told us. “If you ever need advice or help, you’ll likely find them at the temple. They take care of keeping it clean and orderly, and often perform rituals for the well-being of the community.”

We were leaning on the veranda of the porch when Rei, the man who’d led us into the village the day before, approached. He greeted Noah warmly and apologized to me for not including me in his tour yesterday, to which I replied that it hadn’t mattered and that I appreciated their concern for me and letting me rest.

I hadn’t finished talking when a gentle brush against my thigh through the porch bars drew my attention, and as I turned around, I was met with the sight of a curious deer lingering near the porch. Its innocent gaze and delicate features captivated me instantly, and unable to resist it, I walked off the porch and onto the stone path, approaching the creature with a mixture of fascination and wonder.

As if sensing my presence, the deer remained still, showing a genuine trust toward me that warmed my heart. Noah, Rei, and Rika observed from the porch.

“They’re quite friendly,” Rika said, her voice carrying a sense of tranquility that matched the peaceful surroundings. “The children love playing with them.”

Indeed, as soon as a group of children noticed me petting the deer, they joined in, their laughter filling the air as they frolicked alongside the gentle creature. It was a scene of pure joy and innocence, a stark contrast to the hardships Noah and I had faced in recent days. It was hard to believe two days ago we had been sleeping in an abandoned and ruined cottage in the middle of nowhere, with barely any food nor water.

As the children gathered around, their eyes wide with wonder, I knelt down beside them, the soft breeze carrying the scent of pine and earth.

“Did you know that deer shed their antlers every year?” I began to explain, my voice soft yet animated. “They use them for protection and to attract mates.”

The children listened intently, their fascination evident as they hung onto my every word. I had always been fascinated by animals, my knowledge about them being nurtured by years of education and exploration. Close to my father’s estate there was a deer sanctuary, a haven where Noah and I met each other on numerous occasions, allowing the creatures to bear witness to the blossoming of our love. “Really?” one of the children exclaimed, their curiosity piqued. He must have been four or five. His cheeks were full and his eyes a sweet light brown. “So, does that mean they have new antlers every year?”

I nodded, delighted by their enthusiasm to learn. “That’s right! In the spring, new antlers start to grow, covered in a soft, fuzzy layer called velvet. And as they grow, they become stronger and more durable.”

The children exchanged excited whispers among themselves, their eyes shining.

Rika watched from the porch, her eyes twinkling with pride at the scene unfolding before her.

“You’re wonderful with children,” she noticed.

I glanced up at her, and just uttered a simple “thank you”, not knowing what else to say to that. When my eyes diverted to Noah, I caught his gaze fixed on me with a newfound intensity. It was as if a sudden realization had dawned on him, a silent acknowledgment of the future we might share together.

Before he said anything, Rei interjected, “It’s very hard to keep them still these days. The children, I mean. All they want to do is run around,” he said. “You seem to have a knack for handling them,” he remarked, his tone gentle yet inquisitive, and then, “Noah told me you’re very skilled at archery.”

“A little,” I replied, somewhat confused at the change of topics.

“She’s very good,” Noah corrected, emphasizing his words with a nod of his head, his words flooding my mind with images from the time I showed Noah my skills and he had been shockingly impressed. I had been sixteen at the time, and I had been able to shoot a 25lb light bow straight into my aiming point at a distance of ten yards.

“My father wanted me to train in the art of archery from a young age,” I explained, with a hint of bitterness in my voice. Talking about my father would always put me on edge after the events that had just transpired.

“You could continue your training here, or if you prefer, you could teach the children,” Rei suggested as the deer at my side fed on some grass growing between the stones. “It would be nice to have someone else to instruct them. The current instructor is getting too old for it.”

“Oh. Um—I don’t know,” I was not expecting such proposal less than twenty-four hours since we’d set foot on this place. “I’d have to think about it. I don’t think I’m good enough for that.”

But Noah’s raised eyebrow told me I didn’t have to be so modest.

Rei continued, “I think they would benefit greatly from your experience and guidance.”

“It would be great,” Rika added. “My husband has always wanted our son to learn how to use the bow.”

Rei insisted, his voice soft but filled with conviction, “the children of our community are always eager to learn new skills. I can’t help but think that, if you’re as good as Noah says, your expertise in archery would be a valuable asset to them, honestly.”

His words sparked a flicker of excitement within me, “You really think so?” I asked, apprehensive.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed, his voice steady and sure. “If you have a gift, the children would be lucky to learn from you.”

But alongside the thrill of possibility, a wave of self-doubt came my way, threatening to extinguish the flame of enthusiasm. What if I wasn’t good enough? What if I failed to inspire the children, or worse, disappointed them? I had never really spent that much time around children, much less teaching them something. Archery was a challenge, far from a simple task. It demanded perseverance through frustration, disappointments, and physical exhaustion.

But as I looked up at Noah again, I saw his unwavering faith in me reflected in the depths of his brown eyes. I found the courage to push aside my doubts and embrace the opportunity before me. With a determined nod, I made up my mind to seize the moment and trust in the strength of my own abilities.

The idea was certainly appealing, and teaching archery to the children would not only allow me to share my skills but also contribute to the community in a meaningful way, something totally different from the future that had waited for me at Ren’s estate if I had married him…

“Well, I... think I would like that,” I concluded.

As we continued our conversation, Rei proceeded to explain in detail how the community worked to sustain itself. Each member contributed in their own way, whether it was teaching skills like archery, gardening, tending to the harvest, fishing, construction, preparing food, or other subjects more related to history, mathematics, and literature. It was a system built on mutual support and cooperation, where everyone played a vital role in ensuring the community thrived.

Rika, sensing her duties calling, excused herself with a warm smile, suggesting that Noah and I explore the town market later. “It’s a lovely place and not far from here,” she added before walking away towards the northwest side of the village. “You can buy anything you need there.”

Following Rei’s lead, we made our way to the Samurai training grounds, where he proudly showed us the disciplined regimen of the warriors just as he had showed to Noah the day before. The purpose of teaching combat wasn’t the same as the one imposed to those born into a Samurai lineage like Noah. While Noah and his kin were bound by duty to bow to authority and dedicate their lives to the service of war, the kids and youngsters that engaged in combat training here at this place did it with the aim of cultivating their physical strength, honing mental discipline, and equipping themselves with skills needed for self-defense, should the need arise. It was a practice rooted in self-reliance and empowerment, rather than obligation and allegiance.

Next to the training grounds, the archery training fields awaited.

Arriving there, I was met with a breathtaking panorama of lush greenery stretching out before me, the distant mountains standing sentinel against the azure sky.

A its center, there was a row of sturdy wooden targets, each with rings painted in red. Along the periphery, racks of polished bows stood in neat rows, the curves catching the sunlight, and nearby, quivers waited with arrows arranged next to them.

It was truly a wonderful place, even though my momentary admiration was broken by Rei’s next words.

“Why don’t you show us what you can do?”

I frowned.

“What?” Immediately, I shook my head. “No. No, I don’t—I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately,” I confessed, feeling a pang of self-consciousness as I looked down at my dress.

“I’ve seen you shoot while dressed in much less appropriate attire,” Noah teased gently, his eyes twinkling.

It took him less than a sentence to convince me to do anything.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, my eyes fixed on the bows. I examined them until I choose one that seemed the most appropriate for my height and the length of my arms. My fingers trembled slightly as they closed around the familiar weight of the bow. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the world around me fading into insignificance as I prepared myself and focused all my attention on one of the targets ahead.

With a silent prayer on my lips, I drew back the bowstring, feeling the tension build in my muscles with eachsecond. And then, with a swift release, I let the arrow fly, watching with bated breath as it soared through the air with deadly accuracy.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, the world holding its breath as the arrow found its mark with a satisfying thud. A rush of exhilaration surged through me, filling every fiber of my being with a sense of triumph and accomplishment.

Turning to face Rei and Noah, I was met with looks of awe and admiration, Noah’s eyes shining with pride as Rei’s watched me with respect. Not even my mother had ever shown so much pride and gratefulness in her daughter.

“Noah was right. You do possess a remarkable talent,” Rei acknowledged. “The children will undoubtedly benefit greatly from the opportunity to learn from you.”

“I would be honored to teach them,” I replied, my voice filled with determination and a new sense of purpose.

As the soft hues of a sunny morning painted shadows around us, Noah and I set out on our journey towards the nearby town, hand in hand, our footsteps light upon the forest path. The air was alive with the symphony of nature, the gentle rustle of leaves and the sweet delicacy of a birdsong.

It was the first time we walked with my hand clutched in his as two people who were free, although a part of me still felt reluctant. I was so used to the ingrained fear that holding Noah’s hand was a crime that even after deciding to go against all the rules of our society, I couldn’t entirely erase the lingering apprehension. I couldn’t shake the feeling that at some point someone would show up, point us out, and make us pay for the “crime” of falling in love.

I was aware that Noah was also grappling with similar anxieties, although he had always been more adept at concealing his fears and worries, of course.

My thoughts were confirmed when, instead of reveling in the liberation of the moment, he diverted our attention to something he had forgotten to mention the night before.

In the backpack my grandmother had given us, at the bottom of it, Noah had found another packet containing a handful of coins and bills. Enough money to get us out of harm’s way for a while longer.

With everything that had happened to us in the last three days, I hadn’t even stopped to think about money. For me, it had never been a problem, but by deciding to run away with Noah, I had also decided to forsake a life of luxury in the castles of the royal families, the fortune that would fall into my hands just for being the daughter of a Shogun, or the inheritance that would be left in my name once my parents were no longer here. Noah and I had nothing. No coins to our name, no possessions but the clothes on our backs. It was a cold reminder of the consequences of our impulsive actions —a samurai and a princess reduced to fugitives, stripped of all the wealth and status that had once defined us.

That just showed how little I cared about money. Still, Noah managed to alleviate some of my unease with the news that at least we had something on our hands, which led me to realize that, in the excitement of setting out to explore the town, I hadn’t thought to take my grandfather’s katana. When I mentioned it to Noah, telling him that I suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed considering we were still being searched for by my father’s army, he made us stop and forced me to look deep into his eyes as he held my face in his calloused hands.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry a weapon with you at all times,” he said. “Maybe you should have taken it today, in case you were going out alone, but you’re not. You’re with me. Nothing is going to happen, and I’ll make sure that from now on, you won’t feel the need to be armed whenever you decide to go somewhere.”

That was sweet, the way he implied that he would give me a life of freedom and absent of fear, but they didn’t entirely dispel my anxiety.

“I’ve got mine,” he said as he noted my angst not subsiding, his thumbs caressing the curve of my cheeks. “I’ll keep us safe, don’t worry.”

Attempting to reassure him more than myself, I nodded, forcing a small smile.

As I started to resume our walk, Noah’s hand clasped my wrist, halting me in place. When I looked up at him, I noticed a special glint in his eyes.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m aware I told you how beautiful you are mere hours ago,” he began, his voice a quiet whisper in the forest. The way he was looking at me was tender and adoring, the touch of his touch around my wrist a soothing, honeyed sensation. “But there’s something…” he cleared his throat. “I’ve always wanted to tell you how pretty you look in these dresses,” he continued, more confidence in his voice this time. “Whenever I saw you around your father’s gardens, I was… mesmerized. But I couldn’t say anything.” For obvious reasons. “You look pretty. I just wanted you to know.”

I blushed, but despite the embarrassment I was able to stand on my tiptoes and give him a soft kiss, cupping his cheek in one of my hands.

In about twenty minutes, we caught sight of the first houses that comprised the town. Nestled in the center of the picturesque valley, the town was flanked by towering mountains and crisscrossed by a river, likely the same one Noah and I had followed on our journey.

At the entrance to the town, a stone structure welcomed us, shaped by two vertical pillar and two horizontal crossbeams.

Venturing further, excitement flowing through me as I held tightly onto Noah’s hand, we found ourselves amidst a bustling scene. The narrow main street bustled with activity as locals and visitors alike moved briskly, carrying bags of provisions and exchanging lively greetings.

The air was alive with the aromas of freshly baked bread and simmering rice, wafting from tiny eateries just beginning to open their doors. Though being daytime, lanterns overhead cast a warm glow and added illumination to the cobblestone path below our feet.

As we strolled along, I was captivated by the sights and sounds that surrounded us. Quaint tea houses adorned with cherry blossoms stood alongside market stalls offering an array of treasures.

I pulled Noah to a stop when we came across a group of street performers.

Dressed in elegant kimonos and covered in vibrant colors, a pair of dancers performed a kabuki-inspired dance, bringing to life ancient tales of heroism and love while a skilled percussionist put on display a performance of taiko drumming on massive drums. The music filled the street with thunderous rhythms that reverberated through the crowd. We watched, enthralled. By the time they reached the heart of their act, Noah’s arms had slid around my waist from behind, and I swayed a little with my back pressed against his chest, my hands resting on top of his over my stomach.And as the final notes of music faded into the air, we were left with a profound desire to belong to this place.

Even when the crowd started to dissipate, I remained tucked in Noah’s arms, feeling a bittersweet feeling inside of me. I could like it here. I could love it. I was already mesmerized by it all, but the reminder that this what at the cost of my parents put a heaviness in my chest that every once in a while made it difficult to breath.

As always, so perceptive, Noah pressed a kiss to my hair, prompting me to close my eyes and relish the feeling of being there with him, surrounded by people that accepted our love, that allowed us to be.

Thankfully, the crowd surrounding me serves as a reminder to keep me anchored in the present moment. My life didn’t belong to my parents, and life was not meant to be perfect, either. I could have paradise at a certain cost, and I would take it. I would take this which was standing in front of me, around me, right now.

With Noah encouraging us to keep exploring, we stumbled upon a small gathering of locals at a fork in the street, huddled together in animated conversation. They were whispering legends that seemed to dance upon the breeze and that kept children and adults spellbounded by the narratives.

An old man, his face weathered by years of wisdom, was regaling locals and visitors with tales of ancient warriors and mythical beasts, his voice rising and falling like the ebb and flow of a tide. As he spoke, Noah and I listened and exchanged knowing glances. These tales had been our companions in the quiet of bedtime as children and had accompanied us through our teenage years, intertwined with the poetry and literature of our respective educations.

As the day wore on and the rumble of hunger coming from my stomach elicited a playful comment from Noah this time, we sought out the nearest food stall, its colorful banners and fragrant spices alluring us closer. We approached the stall with hunger, our mouths watering at the tantalizing aroma that wafted through the air.

Noah’s eyes danced with excitement as he perused the selection of dishes on display, his adventurous spirit evident as he selected a variety of savory skewers and steaming dumplings.

“What would you like to have?” he asked.

“There’s so much to choose from,” I replied, my eyes darting from one plate to another. “Everything looks delicious.”

Noah engaged the vendor, asking about a few specific delicacies before making our selections.

“Would you like to try these? They’ve just been made and are still warm,” the vendor offered, gesturing to a plate of unfamiliar bites.

“Sure,” I agreed, accepting the bite from Noah’s fingers. His act of feeding me felt intimate and sweet, and elicited a smile I couldn’t shake as I chewed, my gaze locked on his until his laughter broke the spell.

“What?” I asked, my mouth still full.

“You look like a hamster,” he teased, his eyes alight with amusement. When he attempted to pinch my cheeks, I punched him playfully on the shoulder before covering my mouth with my hand.

But as I swallowed and tried to avoid his excited expression, I was overwhelmed by a sense of completeness. I had never seen Noah like this, so carefree, so happy. I wanted him like this forever. I would take the good and the bad, but I didn’t want anyone to take this happiness from him.

I vowed to protect this happiness at all costs.

As the taste settled in, an unexpected sharp sting spread across my tongue.

“Gods, this is so spicy!” I exclaimed, feeling the heat intensify.

The vendor let out a little laugh at my reaction. Noah observed my cheeks tinging red, and without letting his amusement fade, he asked the vendor for a glass of water, which the man quickly offered to me.

After my tongue found some relief and I insisted on avoiding further adventurous bites, Noah and I retreated to a quiet corner to enjoy our meal. Our conversation was light-hearted, focused on the scene unfolding around us and the animate characters populating the market street. We didn’t discuss the situation we were still in for we didn’t want to break the spell of this merry morning.

A while later, hand in hand and with contented stomachs, we continued to wander through the streets, our hearts buoyant and our spirits lifted by the vibrant energy around. We marveled at the myriad of wonders on display. I couldn’t resist stealing a glance at the elegant dresses adorning one of the stalls, which caught the sunlight and seemed to be calling out to me.

Ever so attentive to my desires, Noah noticed my gaze and suggested we take a closer look. I was initially hesitant, for the notion of indulging in something as frivolous as a dress seemed quite selfish from my part. But Noah gently took my hand in his and told me that it was perfectly acceptable to indulge in a little luxury now and then, that I deserved it, and that seeing me happy was all he desired.

Already feeling content simply walking beside him, hand in hand and basking in his love, I relented, allowing myself to be swept away by the beauty of the exquisite garments on display. I explored the racks of dresses with Noah following my steps. Each dress was more enchanting than the last, and Noah offered his candid opinion and commented on which colors seemed to complement me best, which I found quite adorable. Who would have thought that a Samurai could be so dept at navigating the world of fashion?

Lost in the array of fabrics and colors, my moment of indulgence was suddenly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Kenzo, Rika’s husband. Spotting us from a distance, he called out our names, drawing our attention away from the dresses and back to the street.

With a friendly salute, Kenzo greeted us, mentioning that he had just finished selling some rice to the vendors from the nearby stalls while his brother remained in the fields. Curious about our impressions of the town, he inquired about our experience so far, prompting me to gush with cheerful comments about the warmth of the people and the beauty of the place.

Everything felt so delightful. Such mundane tasks as shopping for food and clothes were luxuries that I had seldom enjoyed during my time at my father’s estate, which made this experience all the more special for me.

“I can’t help but notice that my clothes fit you well,” he pointed out, looking at Noah’s outfit.

“Yeah, thank you. I’ll make sure to get something else today so that we don’t have to keep borrowing clothes,” Noah replied humbly. No hint of embarrassment. I guess he didn’t care, truly.

“Do not worry too much about it. The dress looks good on you, too,” he said to me. “I hadn’t seen Rika wearing that dress since she got pregnant.” At the mention, his eyes showed a glimpse of a fond memory, maybe his wife, round with their child in her tummy. “It’s nice to see that we can still give use to things we don’t need anymore.”

“All the dresses were so pretty,” I said, running my fingers over the delicate fabric of the skirt, admiring its design.

“She’s got another lot from when she was pregnant. We’re not considering having another baby for a while now, but if you do, do not hesitate to ask her. I’m sure she’ll be elated to borrow you some clothes if you like them. Otherwise, there is a shop down the street, on the left, that only sells clothes for pregnant women.”

While his offer was undoubtedly kind, his remarks about pregnancy and babies only served to exacerbate my internal turmoil. The prospect of starting a family with Noah had crossed my mind on occasion, the image of Noah holding our tiny baby in his long arms, tucking him or her against his chest… I had entertained the thought a few times, but it was a topic I wasn’t ready to confront fully yet. It felt daunting considering the tumultuous world we were living in at the moment. Motherhood could wait for a more opportune moment, when our hearts and minds were truly ready.

Just as Kenzo was pointing towards the location of said maternity shop, the three of us realized the air was crackling with tension nearby. A commotion was growing, the voices of angry merchants rising in protest over some disputed deal. Noah exchanged a concerned glance with me, then touched Kenzo’s shoulder.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Noah said.

“Not at all,” Kenzo agreed.

“Mind if we go and see if we can help defuse the situation?” Noah suggested before starting to leave the clothing stall.

“No, sure. Let’s go, see if we can be of any help,” was Kenzo’s answer.

“You stay here,” Noah said to me, extending his arm to grab my hand and give it a gentle squeeze while he smiled a little. “Get a dress you like. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Okay, just be safe,” I told him.

“I will,” he nodded.

With my heart a little heavy, I released his hand reluctantly and let Noah fade into the crowd, followed by Kenzo. They hurried off towards the source of disturbance, to which I didn’t really pay much attention. I had enough to worry about, and I knew that whatever was going on, would get settled soon, with Noah and Kenzo’s help.

I let myself be dragged on by the energy of the other people around me, also checking clothes and buying food in the nearby stalls.

As I stood amidst the colorful dresses, I tried to push aside the worry gnawing at my insides and immerse myself in the moment. I touched the fabrics, marveled at the craftsmanship and attention poured to the details in the designs. Each garment was a work of art in its own right.

The vendor, a kindly old woman with a warm smile and twinkling eyes, noticed my interest and approached with a gentle curiosity. With a nod of greeting, she began to share stories of the dresses – their origins, the traditions behind their designs, and the meaning woven into every stitch. Her words were like music to my ears, soothing my troubled mind and drawing me deeper into the enchanting world of the shop.

But just as I began to relax into the moment, a strange presence abruptly stopped just behind me, and a chill swept over me, sending shivers down my spine.

Instinctively, I tensed, my senses on high alert.

A body pressed against mine threateningly.

The heat pressing against my back lacked the comforting warmth I felt when Noah was near. My heart raced, and I found myself frozen for a few seconds, staring straight ahead, eyes wide open, my hand still gripping the side of the dress I had contemplated buying.

Around me, people bustled about, occupied with their tasks, chatting with their neighbors and friends as they held shopping bags and carried boxes of produce. As my eyes scanned the crowd panickily, I couldn’t spot Noah. The commotion at the end of the street seemed to have magnified and I couldn’t get a glimpse of his tall frame.

Even amidst the busy street, fear enveloped me.

I had no weapons with me, and Noah didn’t know I was in danger. There was no possible way I could tell him that he was, too.

I was on the verge of screaming when the voice behind me said, “Dare to utter a sound, and I assure you the blade of the knife I’m holding against your side will pierce your skin, deep enough to stain the pretty dress you’re wearing. No one will be able to do anything to stop it, not even Noah. So listen to me: turn around and walk to the alley on the right, and keep going until the end. Don’t stop, and don’t even think about running or screaming for your hapless Ronin to come to your rescue. Understood?”

I didn’t reply, my blood turning cold as my thoughts raced. If I could just be quick enough to grab something sharp from the stall and turn around to attack him first…

The tip of his blade pressed against my side, and a twinge of pain shot through me. I knew the dress was torn, just as I knew there was nothing I could do.

The lovely vendor that had entertained me minutes ago was now engrossed in serving with another customer, her back turned to me. A lump formed in my throat as I swallowed, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Behind me, the voice sliced through the air as it uttered my name, a dangerous warning dripping from his tone. His wasn’t a familiar voice, but I knew it well enough to know who it belonged to.

“Understood?” He demanded.

“Understood,” I replied in a low voice, barely audible over the clamor of the shopping street.

“Good. Move.”

I turned around, the figure behind me following the same steps, not letting me see his face just yet.

I turned the corner of the first alley and walked with the tip of the blade pressed to my side, still threatening to slice through my skin. The sounds of the crowd faded away. It wasn’t until we reached a secluded corner, the damp stones beneath our feet and the sun struggling to penetrate the narrow passageway, that the tension seemed to ease if only just a little.

I cautiously took two steps away from the figure behind me, and then, I turned to face him.

“Ren,” I said, my voice steady despite the unease that gnawed at me.

Ren looked just as he had three days ago, when my father had expected Noah to take his own life. Ren wore the same attire, only now it was marred by mud and grime. Fatigue etched lines on his face, and beneath the weariness, simmered an unmistakable anger.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “All dolled up and parading through the streets as if you hadn’t tarnished your family’s name and fled with a man who’s lost his honor.”

I ignored his comment. I focused on maintaining my composure, swallowing down my fear. If I could keep Ren talking, perhaps Noah would find me before any harm befell me.

“How did you find us?” I inquired, my gaze steady.

“Did you truly think I would grant you the same courtesy as your father and allow you a twenty-four-hour head start to run away with that wretch of a man?” His words cut through the air like a blade, each one laced with venomous resentment.

“Don’t talk like that about Noah,” I shot back, my voice trembling now with defiance.

“I do because that’s what he is—if anything. He took you away from your parents, from your duty as the daughter of the Shogun. From me,” he retorted bitterly.

“He didn’t take me away,” much less from you, I wanted to say. “It was my choice,” I countered with a rough edge in my voice that betrayed my growing anxiety. “I left because I was not happy with the future that had been decided for me.”

Ren scoffed. “No one is happy with their future, but we take it nonetheless and fulfill our duties.”

“And you don’t think that maybe things should change? That people should be allowed to choose their fate?”

“This is not a fantasy tale,” he retorted, mentioning my name at the end, and piercing me with his cold gaze. “You had responsibilities in your hands, and you dropped them the moment that pathetic excuse of a man got between your legs. Am I wrong?”

I contained the urge to slap him as my cheeks burned.

“You are wrong,” I said sharply, my chest raising. I wouldn’t let him see my vulnerability. “But entertain me” I continued. “According to me, my responsibilities were that I made sure to choose wisely so that I could secure a future built on happiness, love, and power. Isn’t that what all those tales they tell us as kids say? If you are so sure I did wrong, tell me what my responsibilities were. Tell me how I should have done things.”

I knew. He didn’t have to say. He didn’t have to enumerate them.

I knew them fucking well.

But I needed time. I wasn’t certain what Ren was capable of, but the recent threat he imposed on me had sounded all too genuine, and I had a feeling that he would dare to hurt me if as a result he could take me back to my father, even if it was by force.

“Your family is one of the most powerful ones of the province. You are the only daughter of the Shogun, the only heiress to his position and inheritance. You had to respect the order of things, follow your parents’ steps, and marry me.”

I never really like Ren. It wasn’t merely his current presence that fueled my distaste, but rather his embodiment of the quintessential royal archetype—obedient to tradition, entitled, and expecting the world to kneel at his feed and fulfill him with whatever need he had. Ren’s life had been scripted from birth, with every detail set up prior to his arrival. He’d had nothing to worry about. I supposed he had already assumed that I would be his wife one day, merging our families’ legacies to consolidate power across the peninsula. Yet, all those presumptions shattered when I confronted my father and threatened him with his own sword in front of his army while also forcing Ren to return Noah his katana. I had put him to shame in front of the entire province, veneering him of any privilege and igniting a flame of resentment inside of him that he wouldn’t let go.

I had never found him interesting, either. The times we were forced to meet in my father’s estate or in his, there had never been any connection, not even one that would give way to friendship. It’s also to be considered that by the time I met him for the first time, I was already head over heels in love with Noah. In fact, the first time Ren and I were introduced to each other had been the day after Noah and I had had one of our first sexual experiences. We were still teenagers. We hadn’t slept together, but we had touched each other, our hands exploring those unfamiliar nooks and crannies of the opposite anatomy, attentive to the little noises the other made and the expressions of pleasure that crossed our faces each time we caressed a special place. I had almost died of embarrassment when Ren greeted me, looking at me with that expression that said, “I’ll be the first”, having no idea that he no longer had anything to do. I was still a virgin, but Noah had already touched me, and I wouldn’t let any man other than Noah get his hands on me. Noah would be the first, and the last.

And I was going to keep it that way.

I felt sorry for Ren, truly, but this was a battle he couldn’t hope to win. I’d sooner face death than live without Noah. It was a truth I’d held steadfast in my mind and heart for as long as I could remember. I would be with Noah, or I just wouldn’t be. I would marry him, or no one else. I would give birth to children that bore the same eye-shape as his and his smile, or I wouldn’t have any.

“We would have never been happy together,” I said, keeping it simple and practical. I didn’t hold much hope for Ren to understand. Perhaps he believed that happiness was a collective responsibility, one that could be achieved with work and effort, one that could be built the same way you build a house. Or maybe he simply believed that women were not worthy of finding happiness the way I did, by crossing paths with a soldier in her father’s gardens when we were just kids. Of course Ren would have been happy with me, or at least pleased in a way. But I would definitely not have been. Would he have cared? I would never know.

“Happiness can be attained if you work for it,” was his reply, affirming my suspicions. His ideas aligned with the conventional wisdom: first, you get married, then you toil tirelessly in pursuit of happiness, with no guarantee of success.

“I don’t believe that’s how happiness is supposed to work,” I replied firmly. “I found happiness without searching for it, I seized it and held on tight,” I told him, referring to Noah. I didn’t have to specify because he already knew.

“You cannot be referring to that miserable ronin. Do you truly think someone like him is capable of providing happiness?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” I maintained my composure, refusing to be rattled by Ren’s palpable disdain for Noah. “Just because he was born and raised as a Samurai, meant to serve a master, does not mean he lacks the capacity to feel or to please others as he served my father for years, earning his trust as his finest swordsman. You have a misguided perception, Ren, and you’re making a mistake by being here. Noah will notice my absence. He will find us, and I don’t want to witness what he will do to you when he does.”

His eyes widened as the weight of my warning sank in.

“No,” he retorted, brandishing the dagger and closing the distance between us. His katana was secured at his waist, and I could see his other hand hovering close in case he needed it. “You have made a terrible mistake. You’ve forsaken your life as the Shogun’s daughter for someone who is way below your status. Your future was already written, and you decided to burn down the vellum. What does he have to offer you? He had nothing, and now he isnothing. He’s abandoned the Bushido Code. He’s a ronin now, and he might end up joining the Yakuza. If he betrayed the kingdom, he could betray you.”

“He won’t,” I said as a matter of fact. “Noah did not choose me for what I had or for my status. He chose me for the things I decided to give him myself—my heart. That’s the only thing I have to offer to him now. I am no longer a princess. I have no wealth in my hands. I only have uncertainty about my future. And yet, Noah still wants me. I know this is difficult for you to accept, Ren, and it was never truly my intention to hurt you, but I’ve been in love with Noah since I was a little girl. He was my first love, and he will be my last.”

Rage was pouring from him now. It was evident on his eyes, in his expression, in the taut muscles of his body and the veins pulsating in his neck and forehead. His black hair was in disarray from the days he must have endured away from his family’s estate, too.

In one single step, he bridged the gap that separated us. His hand tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back sharply, eliciting a gasp from me as the blade’s edge pressed against my neck, stinging.

“Do not speak another word. Whatever he’s done to you, whatever lies he’s spun to persuade you, you are wrong, and someone needs to bring you back down to earth, princess.”

“Ren…” I began to plead, but he cut me off forcefully.

“No! He’s doomed but you still have a chance. Return with me to the Shogun’s castle. Marry me, bear my children, and give an heir to secure the future of your father’s dynasty.”

The realization of his intentions suddenly terrified me. I had always known, deep down, that this was the expectation placed upon royal women. It was the destiny that had been laid out for me. The same one it would be laid out for my daughter. But hearing it articulated so callously, reducing me to a mere vessel for producing heirs, filled me with dread, chilling me to the bone.

“Ren, you’re hurting me,” I managed to say. Both physically and emotionally. Fear coursed through me. If Noah didn’t find me soon, I would start screaming, consequences be damned.

“And you think you didn’t hurt me? Or your parents? You think you’re the only one entitled to your pain?” His grip tightened. “You might have run away with that disgraceful man, but you still have a princess complex inside of you. You’re greedy and selfish, and if that bastard hasn’t realized it yet, he will soon.”

“I hope so, because she fucking deserves to be selfish.”

Noah’s voice cut through the tension like a lifeline, an antidote to cure the poison in my body.

And then, everything happened in a blur.

Ren was forcefully yanked away from me, the blade grazing my skin as Noah’s strength pulled him back with such intensity that he stumbled, gasping for air. Noah’s grip on Ren’s tunic tightened around his neck, momentarily choking him.

Ren had clearly underestimated Noah. He had foolishly believed that Noah wouldn’t notice I was gone, that he wouldn’t panic the moment he couldn’t find me among the stalls, wouldn’t suspect that something had gone wrong.

But Noah wasn’t a fucking prince with a misguided sense of superiority. He was a Samurai—resourceful, cunning, and relentless. He would stop at nothing to find me, no matter where I was.

Ren was just wrong about Noah in every possible way.

And now he was going to pay for it.

In a second, Noah had unsheathed his katana, the gleaming blade immediately touching Ren’s throat. Reflexively, Ren extended his own sword towards Noah, the dagger now discarded on the ground.

“Drop it,” Noah commanded, not an ounce concerned about having another sword pointed at him, “before I slit your throat and drag you to the forest so that the wolves can feast on you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, ronin,” Ren retorted, but the fear in his eyes betrayed his bravado. I could see it just the same as Noah.

This was not even a battle, and yet, Ren had already lost.

“You will be when I start cutting every finger that has touched her. I won’t repeat myself. Drop your fucking weapon.”

It took only seconds. My hands had stopped trembling the moment Noah appeared. Now, it was Ren’s hands that shook as he released his katana, his shoulders sagging in resignation as the sound of the blade meeting the ground reverberated in the air. I watched as he struggled to maintain his composure, suppressing the indignation of once again having to bow to a Samurai’s—or rather, a ronin’s— will.

“If she’s harmed in any physical way, you will pay with your own flesh. If she’s not, you will pay either way.”

After his threat, there was a heavy pause. None of us said anything until Noah, never once averting his gaze from Ren, called my name.

“Are you hurt?”

Perhaps Ren didn’t catch it, or perhaps he lacked the ability to decipher the nuances in Noah’s voice as I did. But I heard it—the subtle tremor, the fear.

Noah was scared.

Bringing my fingers to my neck, I located the spot where Ren’s blade had pressed, and my breath caught when I felt the dampness coating my fingertips. Looking down, I found them stained with blood. Not much, but enough to awaken the beast within Noah.

“I’m bleeding.”

In an instant, Noah’s movements blurred with precision and controlled fury. The punishing blow to Ren’s liver landed with the force of a sledgehammer, delivered by the heel of Noah’s boot. With resolve, Noah maintained his grip on his katana, his muscles coiled with a lethal combination of strength and determination.

The impact reverberated through Ren’s body like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves of agony coursing through every fiber of his being. Gasping for breath, he crumpled to the ground as pain engulfed him in its merciless embrace.

Through the haze of agony, Ren could barely make out Noah’s figure looming over him, his eyes ablaze with a fierce intensity. In that moment, Ren realized the extent of Noah’s determination to protect me.

I had warned him, but he didn’t listen.

With trembling hands, Ren reached out in a feeble attempt to plead for mercy, but his words dissolved into a choked gasp as Noah’s steely gaze bore down on him. There would be no forgiveness.

In the aftermath of the brutal blow, a heavy silence descended upon the scene, broken only by the ragged sound of Ren’s labored breathing and the distant echo of Noah’s heartbeat and mine. And as Ren lay sprawled on the ground, his body wracked with pain, he knew that he had awoken the wrath of a man whose love knew no bounds, and whose fury was as unyielding as the steel of his blade.

“I won’t give you the chance to touch her again, but if you even conceive the idea of doing so, I will make sure you don’t recover from this pain,” Noah declared. He knelt down briefly, bringing himself to eye level with Ren, whose face was red and contorted with agony, hands clutching his own body. “I was once a Samurai. I killed men in battle. But I am a ronin now. I will not hesitate to kill anything, or anyone, that is a threat to her. May this serve you as a reminder that I follow no code anymore.”

Though Noah’s words should have chilled me, they didn’t.

As Ren lay writhing on the ground, noah slowly turned to me, his features softening instantly.

I extended a hand to him, the one free of bloodstains.

The fear I saw in his eyes disarmed me.

His fingers gently lifted my chin to examine the cut on my neck. It wasn’t deep, but it would leave a scar.

Before I could reassure Noah, he slid one arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his embrace, enveloping me in a cocoon of safety. I wrapped my arms around his torso, pressing my face against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath his skin.

We turned to face Ren.

“This isn’t over,” Ren managed to say, one hand on the floor now, the other one still on his stomach.

“It is for you,” Noah replied firmly.

Ren’s gaze shifted to me, ignoring him.

“Your father is not far. When he finds you, he will show no mercy to him. Or to you.”

I swallowed, but I kept my chin held high.

“Leave, Ren,” I asserted. “There is nothing for you here. I chose Noah. I will marry him. I will bear his children. I’m here today because I have chosen my future. Me. No one did it for me. There’s nothing here for you to fight for.”

Ren spat on the ground; the action tinted with blood. Noah stood his ground. Eventually, Ren managed to retrieve his katana and rise. I doubted he would be able to bend down again to retrieve the dagger, but I didn’t care.

“You don’t deserve her,” Ren sneered at Noah.

“I’m aware,” Noah admitted, “but I’ll spend the rest of my days trying my damnest hard to make myself worthy of her.”

Those were our final words to Ren.

That would be the last time we ever saw Ren. I didn’t know at that time, and didn’t even conceive the thought because a part of me was actually terrified of what could happen in the upcoming days, in the upcoming hours —but we would never cross paths again.

Back in the bustling street, tucked against Noah’s side and still reeling from the shock, we searched for Kenzo, Noah calling out to him without drawing undue attention from the locals.

When Kenzo arrived and saw the blood staining my neck, he was poised to rally the community’s trained warriors, but I stopped him. Noah told him what happened and urged him to get someone who could tend to my wound.

Kenzo led us to a nearby house, just a stone’s throw away. Noah never once released his grip on me.

Ascending wooden stairs to the first floor of the modest house, after a couple of polite knocks, the door creaked open, revealing a diminutive, kindly-faced old woman. Upon Kenzo’s introduction and a plea for assistance, she ushered us inside.

She asked no questions, directing me to recline on a bed in what appeared to be a makeshift nurse’s room. Instructing me to tilt my neck for examination, she diligently tended to my wound, cleansing and dressing it with practiced care.

Noah stood never too far, a silent sentinel with arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression taut with worry. Kenzo attempted to engage him in conversation, but Noah remained reticent, his attention fixated on the street below as he stood by the window, peering out through parted curtains.

In that moment, it was as though the samurai had taken the place of my lover, and I didn’t know when I was going to get him back.

“Should we consider returning to the community as soon as possible?” Kenzo asked, casting a concerned glance in my direction, a consideration he had after noting Noah’s suddenly silent demeanor.

“Yes,” I said softly, aching to reach out to Noah but held back by the old woman’s ministrations as she applied a strange liquid-soaked cotton pad to my neck. “If my father is nearby, they should be informed. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your com—.”

“I’ll take care of him”, Noah interjected suddenly, his tone conveying a sense of determination that unsettled me.

However, it was Kenzo who responded to Noah’s declaration.

“No,” he said. “Firstly, this community is not just ours, it’s yours now, too. Our sanctuary transcends royalty and government jurisdiction. There’s a higher power at play here, one that protects us. Besides, we’re well-equipped to handle such situations. Many of us come from similar backgrounds. We’re accustomed to defending our own, and you two are now part of our community.”

Noah was not expecting that, and neither was I.

“You will be all right,” the old lady assured me, redirecting my focus away from the conversation. Her gentle pat on my shoulder offered solace. I was about to reach for my neck, but she shook her head, advising against it. “It will heal just fine but avoid touching it. Keep it clean throughout the day, and it will soon fade away”.

A soft “thank you” escaped my lips, overwhelmed by the kindness and care we were receiving. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I sat up on the bed, seeking out Noah’s attention with a silent plea.

Finally, he noticed my distress and approached me. His arm enveloped my shoulders once more, while his other hand gently cradled the back of my head. As I wrapped my arms around him, he pressed me to his chest, planting a tender kiss on my hair as I struggled to contain my tears.

We journeyed back to the sanctuary on horseback, a magnificent creature provided by a local resident keen on making our trip back quicker. Kenzo rode at the front on his own horse. I rode together with Noah, seated in front of him, feeling the tension emanating from his body envelop me. I could sense his restraint in his muscles, on his chest pressed against my back. I could see it at the way his grip tightened on the horse leash, his knuckles whitening.

Upon crossing the southwest gate, Noah dismounted first, reaching out to lift me down from the horse. As my feet touched the ground, a fleeting sense of relief washed over me, grateful to be within the safety of the community once more.

However, my respite was short-lived.

After we secured the horses and made our way toward the main square, an eerie silence hung in the air, contrasting the usual bustle of activity we had found the day before. There were no deer grazing nearby, no children’s laughter echoing through the streets.

I noticed Rei, Maura, and two others approaching us, their expressions somber, katanas sheathed at their waists.

“The Shogun is here,” Maura announced.

The moment the news reached me, I spotted my father approaching us, coming down from the main stone path, his battle armor on, weapons ready, surrounded by an army of at least eight Samurai, flanking him from each side. His stride was determined, and the look on his eyes fierce.

My heart clenched.

No. I won’t let him get near Noah again.

I seized hold of Noah’s katana, drawing it from its sheath, ready to fight my father one more time.

The last time.

Author's note: I just want to say thank you to each of you that has shown love in any way for this fic. I started it as a oneshot from a random idea i got after seeing a picture of Noah with a katana, and here we are now. I have spent hours writing these chapters and doing research and trying to make my writing as good as it can get, considering the historical aspect of this fic. It means a lot to me to know that you're following Noah's and his princess' journey. I can't wait to share with you the next part very soon and then, the epilogue.

All my love <3

#the unmaking of a warrior #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x ofc #noah sebastian x you #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #thank you all for giving this fic so much love #it means a lot #samurai!noah

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