#and let them make the choice of whether or not to hang out with you

[gnometa233]

For a whole lot of people who share the "you can do whatever you want forever" ideology y'all sure don't have the, "i am responsible for my actions and accept whatever consequences come my way."

You people want to jerk off to incest and rape but don't want to accept the fact that people aren't going to hang with you.

You people want to identify as a historically inaccurate and bigoted label but don't want to accept people calling you out for it.

If you're really so solid in your convictions, why are you so hesitant on accepting the consequences?

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I'LL TAKE THE NIGHT SHIFT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: now that the chaos following the aftermath of the decay of angel incident has settled, mori intends on making good on the deal he made with the armed detective agency. and you have a very important decision to make.

(wordcount: 13.4k, fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, angst with a happy ending (if u can believe it!!), port mafia business, a bit of arguing, depictions of dazai's depression, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: one last age 22 fic before your girl goes on a slight break. the ada/pm swap YAYYYY, it honestly came out a lot less intense then i intended, and the happy ending was originally not supposed to happen BUT i think it's well-deserved for age 22 pmreader & dazai. they are grown now, and the whole theme of their reconcillation at 22 is that they're actually WORKING to make this work, so i thought it would be an injustice to not let this one end happily. ANYWAY, on another note, don't expect any fics from me in may! i'm going to be cracking down on civzai2 so i can have it ready to post for june! i hope you guys enjoy! reblogs appreciated!

Your phone has been ringing for the past twenty minutes.

You know it’s Mori frustrated at your absence, trying to call an executive meeting to discuss the upcoming parley with the Armed Detective Agency, where the Port Mafia will be taking one of theirs to drag into the dark. He can wait for all you care, you sigh as you lean back on your hands, the wind ruffling your hair as you look down into the window of the building before you.

You don’t know what you’re doing here.

You watch with a heavy, unwelcome feeling in your chest as Dazai laughs wildly at something a vaguely familiar man with purple and white hair says. The man looks distinctly put out by whatever Dazai is laughing at, as one usually is whenever Dazai is laughing because nine times out of ten, he’s laughing at someone else's expense. The other members of the Agency are hanging around too. You see the uptight blonde, Kunikida, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Mori’s favorite, Yosano, sits on his desk cackling, slapping Kunikida’s shoulder. The weretiger has his face buried in his arms, hiding himself from the world, while the other traitor, the girl that Kouyou obsesses over, hovers over him. There are others you don’t recognize, but they don’t really matter to you.

Only one does.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. You’ve seen Dazai laugh countless times—snorts that he hides in your shoulder, mocking jeers as he taunts Chuuya, muffled snickers that he tries to bite back when he’s caught by surprise—but you don’t think you’ve ever seen this type of carefree, reckless happiness before. The corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that’s so genuine that you almost question whether or not you’re looking at Dazai Osamu or some lookalike imposter who has stolen his place; he laughs so hard that he looks like he’s struggling to breathe, doubling over and slapping the desk he’s sitting at.

He’s never looked so at home before. So comfortable. Even with you back before he defected, when you guys were alone with no one else to bear witness, he couldn’t rid himself of all of the protective layers he wears, he couldn’t let himself be at ease. He never fully let his guard down, not even for a second, not even for you.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He did a few times, but you can count them on one hand, and they were never by his own choice—only when he was pushed too far, when his mind caved in on him no matter how hard he tried to weld together the cracks in the dam. 

It wasn’t like this.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” you ask quietly as soon as you feel the familiar presence behind you.

“Why the fuck are you torturing yourself with this?” Nakahara Chuuya’s gruff voice meets your ears, the roof shaking behind you as he lands on top of it. You hear him make his way over to you, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you admit, letting the pain seep into your voice to the only person whom you can trust not to use it against you. “When he told me Oda Sakunosuke’s final request, I doubted him… not that I was going to let him know that… but he really has changed, hasn’t he? You see it too, don’t you?” 

Chuuya lets out a noise caught between doubt and amusement. “Wouldn’t be too sure. Y’know what they say about tigers and stripes.”

“Don’t be bitter, Chuuya, it’s an ugly look on you,” you say dryly, eyes following Dazai as he pushes himself to his feet, dancing away as the purple-haired man tries to whack him. Your lips curl up into a small smile when you see the genuine glee painted on his face. “He’s changed. We, of all people, should be able to see that.”

“I’m not bitter,” Chuuya says roughly, “and if I was, I have every damn right to be. So do you. More than me, even. How the fuck can you see him living his best life and not be bitter? After what he did to us? To you?”

“Bitterness ages the skin, it’s probably why you’ve started developing wrinkles at the ripe age of twenty-two,” you quip, just to hear the aggravated noise that Chuuya lets out.

“I do not have fucking wrinkles, quit saying that shit,” Chuuya complains, flicking the back of your head hard. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Purposely,” you note, but then let out a soft puff of air. “I don’t know, Chuuya. I thought I would be bitter and angry. Sometimes, I still am. When I’m alone, usually drunk, I resent him so much that it makes me sick, but then…”

Then you see him. 

You see him happy. You see him surrounded by people who love him. You see him thriving in a way that he’d never be able to in the Port Mafia. Every day that passed while he was there, he somehow became darker and colder; less human, and more of an unfathomable concept. You could see it in his face when he would come home to your apartment, eyes empty and expression blank. His blood ran darker than anyone else’s in those towers, his mind a treacherous place that few would dare to even think of treading or even just understanding. He was never Dazai back then, he was the Port Mafia’s youngest executive, the Black Wraith, Mori’s heir. He was something to be feared and admired. He was the Mafia, everything it stood for, its incarnate. He was not Dazai. 

Not like how he is now.

You told him you forgave him when he showed up at your apartment three months ago, and you knew you meant it then, but you didn’t realize how much you meant it until now.

“He never fucking deserved you,” Chuuya says so quietly that you think he’s talking more to himself than you. Before you can comment on his words, he speaks up again, changing the subject: “Let’s get out of here. Mori sent me to come get you.”

You sigh, eyes lingering on Dazai for a moment longer before you finally turn to look at Chuuya. Despite the rough edge to his voice, you can see the concern plain on his face as he looks down at you, brows furrowed and lips curved down. He holds a gloved hand out to you, and you sigh as you place yours in it, letting him lift you to your feet. You wobble a bit, but he steadies you with a hand to your waist.

“Thanks,” you say quietly and then give him a small smile that has his eyes narrowing in suspicion instantly.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“What if I say pretty please?” you offer, linking your hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side.

“Stop tryna look cute. You’re not cute,” Chuuya scowls, and you scowl right back at him, dropping the act. “What do you want?” 

“Can you stall Mori for another… hour-ish?” you ask with a sweet smile.

Chuuya's face drops as he stares at you, and your eyes turn up as your smile widens. After a few moments of him just staring at you, as if trying to figure out if you’re being legit, he lets out a sigh of utter suffering. “You fucking owe me, you understand? That ‘45 Conti is going back up on the auction in New York in two weeks. I want it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you your fancy wine, Chuuya,” you agree, leaning in to brush your lips against his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but you see the way his cheeks heat up. “Whatever,” he mutters. “What’re you even doing that’s so important? You’re not usually one to hold up meetings like this.”

You sigh lightly, gaze tracking back to the window to where Dazai is leaning into the weretiger, trying to use him as a human shield. He laughs again, tossing his head back and jumping away, throwing a pen at Kunikida as the man tries to swipe him, and your throat feels a bit swollen, your heart tight. Not with jealousy or bitterness, but rather with content because four years ago, you never would have been able to picture something like this.

“I… have a decision I need to make before the meeting,” you finally tell Chuuya, voice a bit hesitant.

Chuuya gives you a long look, a heavy one, as if he knows exactly what decision you’re trying to make. You think that he probably does.

“I hope you make the right choice,” he says quietly.

“Yeah… I hope so too.”

---

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the graveyard on the west side of the city is unusually busy—it’s just your luck, truly. There’s a distasteful expression on your face as your gaze traces across the mourners as they visit their lost loved ones. You’ve never liked graveyards; you can count the number of times you’ve been to them on one hand. Being here reminds you too much of a past you can’t remember—even though the corpses are buried well below the ground, the scent of rot somehow still finds its way to you, smothering and nauseating. 

“What the hell are we doing here?” Klaus asks from next to you, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “This place is creepy.”

“What do you think we’re doing here?” you ask dryly, resting your head against the cool window as your driver takes you down a dirt path leading to a more secluded part of the cemetery, toward the grave you’re seeking.

Klaus pauses and then offers, “Meeting an informant?” 

You roll your eyes. “We are visiting a grave.”

Klaus is clearly offended by your tone. “Forgive me, damn, it’s not like you’ve ever been sentimental before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” you say flatly, although sentiments are the last thing that drew you to this place—resentment is far more fitting.

“Riiiiiight,” Klaus drawls like he doesn’t actually believe you. “Are we going to be here long? Cemeteries give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What the fuck is a heebie-jeebie?” you ask, turning your head to look at him so you can shoot him a strange expression.

“Seriously?” Klaus asks, blinking. “You’ve never heard that expression before?”

Your squinted gaze lingers on him for a second before the driver rolls to a stop in front of the small hill leading up to the grave you’re looking to visit. You shake your head and roll your eyes again as you step out of the car, instinctively holding your breath the moment the cemetery air reaches you. You have to force yourself to breathe, hoping you don’t look as uncomfortable as you feel. Your fingers tighten around the small bundle of petunias in your left hand.

“Isn’t that—” Klaus begins, frowning at the figure standing in front of the grave.

“Stay by the car,” you order as you make your way forward.

“But—”

“That’s an order, Klaus.”

You hear him sigh in irritation, displeased by your words, but he listens. Each step up to the grave is agonizing—you want to turn on your heel and leave, but you’ve already come too far to do that. Plus, it would feel like a wound to your pride now that he’s seen you.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here,” Sakaguchi Ango greets once you’ve come close enough. He looks down at the bundle of flowers in your hand curiously. “Especially with those.”

“It’s rude to approach someone’s resting site without a gift,” you reply blandly, brushing past him to kneel in front of Oda Sakunosuke’s grave, eyes lingering on the mossy cobblestone before you place the petunias down in front of it. “I have something I need to say, that’s all.”

“Not to me, I presume,” Sakaguchi replies, amused with himself. 

You’re not quite as amused.

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet through your head, traitor,” you murmur, giving the older man a cold look from the corner of your eye. “You’re lucky I don’t do worse.”

“Hah,” Sakaguchi says, pushing up his glasses—a nervous tick that makes your lips curl up. “You know, I never personally saw what you do to traitors, but I heard rumors through the grapevine. They say the executions you handled were more barbaric than Dazai-kun’s and Nakahara Chuuya’s combined. I found it hard to believe.”

A humorless smile rests on your lips as you stare at the grave in front of you. A necessary price—you don’t have an ability like Chuuya’s or a reputation like Dazai’s. Once it became clear you were in the running for the next open executive seat, you had to prove you were more than just Mori’s daughter. That the position should be yours and it wasn’t because of nepotism, and it wasn’t because you spread your legs for Double Black, as people liked to whisper back then. The easiest way of proving that was to make an example out of people, and with an ability like yours, it was easy to shatter a man’s mind before putting him in the grave.

“Chuuya’s never liked playing with his toys, and Dazai got bored with them long before I ever did,” you say absently, looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on him. “I don’t get bored until they break.”

Sakaguchi’s throat bobs, and you watch his hand slip into his pocket—surely getting ready to send some sort of signal to his friends in the government.

“Relax,” you say easily, sitting back on your heels. “I don’t disrespect the dead—not even him. I wouldn’t do anything here.”

“How reassuring,” Sakaguchi scoffs, but his hand drops back to his side. “What on earth do you have to say to a man that’s been dead for four years?”

His voice wavers strangely—he’s defensive and in pain all at the same time, like he has some urge to shield a dead man from whatever words you want to speak to him, but it hurts him to admit he’s gone all the same. Rich, considering you’re pretty sure the man played a part in his death.

“I could ask you the same.”

“That’s different,” Sakaguchi says tightly.

“Is it?” you ask, amused.

“It is.”

You let out a puff of air, but the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes. “Leave so I can say my piece. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be.”

Sakaguchi doesn’t respond, but you hear him walk away. He goes far enough that he’s out of earshot of you, but he lingers close, which tells you that he has more to say to you, much to your displeasure.

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut as you try to figure out what exactly you want to say. You tossed the words through your head the whole ride here, but now that you’re actually before the grave of the man you intended to speak them to, you find yourself at a loss.

“You… cannot fathom how deep my hatred of you runs,” you finally say, voice quiet. You swallow thickly, tongue pressing against the back of your teeth as you try to quell your rising resentment. “You’re the reason Dazai left me. You’re the reason he’s going to spend his life chasing after a goal he’ll always see as unattainable. You’re the reason that he’ll never let himself be at peace. You ruined him.”

You take in a shaky breath, blinking away the tears that suddenly sting at your eyes. “You saved him,” you correct after a moment, voice cracking. “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is now—not with you and Sakaguchi, not with Chuuya, not with me. You… wouldn’t believe how much he’s thrived in the light, or maybe you would, I don’t know. Maybe you saw something in him back then that I couldn’t, but I see it now. You would be proud of him… I’m proud of him.”

You exhale, shoulders slumping as you look down at the ground. “The President of the Agency made a deal with Mori—one member in exchange for protection when they needed it. Mori wants Dazai,” you say bitterly. You know that Fukuzawa shielded Yosano, and it makes you sick with rage that he didn’t do the same for Dazai. “I’ll… do whatever it takes to make sure it’s not him, but in return, you’re going to give him a sign that you’re proud of how far he’s come, understood? He can’t see it for himself, and I know he doesn’t fully believe me when I tell him, but he’d believe you. So find a way. You owe me that much.”

You feel crazy talking to a grave—Mori is a man of science, he’s never been religious, but Itou believed that the dead lingered, whether it was because of unfinished business or they just needed to see their loved ones some more, to protect them from the other side. You never really cared to hear his supernatural nonsense back when he was alive, but now you cling to it in hopes that maybe he’s still watching you, guiding you along the right path.

The wind picks up a little, and you swear you feel a brief warmth settle on your right shoulder—it’s probably just your imagination, but you’ll let yourself believe it’s Oda agreeing to your deal.

You rise to your feet with another shaky sigh. 

“Goodbye, Oda,” you murmur, throat tightening as you think back to the man who wanted you to come by his place to talk to the young girl he took in because he wanted her to have a strong woman to look up to—the only person who ever acknowledged how hard you worked to keep your place in the upper echelon. “One day, we’ll meet again. Hopefully not anytime soon.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel to leave, pointedly ignoring Sakaguchi when he tries to intercept you, walking straight past him back toward the car you came in.

“Do you know who he plans to choose?” Sakaguchi calls after you, voice wavering.

You don’t stop for him, but you say quietly, “I know who it won’t be.”

---

“Thank you for finally joining us,” Mori says dryly as you step into the conference room where all of the rest of the executives were waiting for you. “We’ve only been waiting for over an hour. Chuuya-kun has been trying to keep our attention on… office issues, I figured he was only trying to buy more time for you.”

Chuuya’ face reddens. “I don’t like the paper we write our reports on,” he says immediately, doubling down on whatever bullshit he’d been spewing to stall for you. “It’s too thick.”

“Right,” Mori agrees with a thin smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chuuya rubs the back of his neck and gives you a helpless look once Mori turns his attention back on you, but you don’t speak, staring down at the older man with an unreadable expression. You’d been wondering why he was so lackadaisical about filling Ace’s executive position—he blew you off every time you tried to bring it up. 

This was why. He didn’t need to fill it if he was just going to drag Dazai back and sit him in it.

You don’t say anything as you take your seat across from him at the executive table. He watches you curiously, like he has a feeling that you’re going to make things difficult for him today. He rests his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on top of them as his eyes drift between his four executives.

“I think it’s about time we call in on the debt that the Armed Detective Agency owes us, don’t you think?” he hums. “I, of course, have my ideas on who we should bring over, but I would like to hear your opinions.”

Verlaine waves his hand dismissively. “We all know who is coming back,” he says. “It’s best we keep this short so that I can go back down and prepare for when the Clocktower finally decides to make its move.”

“That boy is the only logical option,” Kouyou agrees flippantly, fanning herself as she leans back in her seat. “It’s best we get this over with.”

Chuuya looks distinctly uncomfortable, but he only averts his gaze to the table. You’re not actually sure what his opinion is on all of this—he could want Dazai back for all you know. He can’t safely use Corruption without him, can’t access the full extent of his ability, and you know Chuuya doesn’t like using Corruption, but he also doesn’t like the fact that he doesn’t even have the option of being able to use it. The two of you have talked about seeing if you could use your ability to put Arahabaki to sleep, but it’s all been theoretical; neither of you wants to risk actually trying it when there’s a chance it might not work.

“If you bring Dazai back to the Port Mafia, you may as well execute me now.”

Chuuya’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide, and Kouyou pauses mid-fan to look at you. Verlaine doesn’t react other than a slight raise of his eyebrows, but Mori’s lips curl up, amused.

“Oh?” he questions, “and here I thought you would be the most excited to have Dazai-kun back.”

“I don’t want him back here,” you reply flatly. “Bringing him back here when he doesn’t want to be here might as well be shooting us in the foot. He’ll work from the inside against us out of spite. I’m not going to sit here and watch while you make a decision that will cripple us. If he comes back, I will leave.”

Curiously, Mori tilts his head to the side, entertained by your words. “An ultimatum. You can’t possibly think that you’re worth more to me than Dazai-kun.”

You don’t think Mori means that. He likes saying things to get under your skin, he likes seeing how far he can push you until you snap, and nothing gets under your skin more than the idea of you being a second or third-choice to him. This time, though, you only hit him with the same amused smile he gives you.

“I know I don’t compare to either of your precious proteges,” you say, leaning back in your seat, and then pass the manila folder in your hand across the table to him. He looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you before humoring you, opening the folder to flip through the contents. You watch as his smile slowly falls as his eyes scan the profiles of six crime lords inside. “But you don’t think you’d be losing just me, do you?”

Oddly enough, Mori’s eyes gleam in delight at your words. “Is that so?” 

You exhale as you choose your words carefully. “Goldoni doesn't like you, Mori. He’s caught between the Port Mafia and the Order of the Clocktower, and it would be much easier for him to make peace with the Clocktower considering they’re on his border. The only reason why he chooses us is because of my friendship with him. Mishima might not outright betray you, but he’ll slowly start withdrawing support when you ask for it once he finds out that I’ve left. I was the one who helped Qu Yuan get her brother back from Cao Xueqin when the two organizations were on the brink of war. I was the one who made sure Paz got his foothold in the central U.S. while the Guild was here. I was the one who acted as the mediator for Nabokov when Bulgakov and the White Guard threatened to come down on the Pale Flame—he even gifted me his strongest ability user for it, offered me a permanent spot in St. Petersburg with him.”

Mori doesn’t immediately respond, squinting at you slightly as he listens to you speak. Kouyou looks between the two of you with an unreadable expression. Chuuya looks sick. Verlaine just looks like he wants to go back to his office.

“And you don’t need me to explain what Tolstoy would do if I asked him to,” you finish quietly. “He would do anything for me. He’s who I would go to after I leave here. He would give me an executive position, and in return, I would give him Japan.”

Kouyou says your name, aghast, but you ignore her.

“Without my connections, you lose your foothold in the government, you lose all of your major allies—you will be pushed out of Japan, and I would help him hunt you down to whatever dark crevice of the earth you try to hide in,” you continue, leaning forward. “You know better than anyone that I have the means of doing it.”

“The means, maybe,” Mori agrees, closing the folder to look up at you. Though his expression is serious, you can see the way his eyes gleam, like he’s pleased with the sudden turn of events. “But perhaps not the will.”

Your eyes narrow. “You think I’m bluffing.”

Mori shrugs, tapping his fingers against the closed folder. “I think you’re angry—anger is a fire that burns hot, but short. You’ve invested too much in this organization to truly walk away, let alone betray it. And you and I have been through far too much together, my dear.”

Your throat tightens at the reminder of your past with Mori, but you only raise your chin so as not to let the discomfort show on your face.

Chuuya exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Boss—"

But Mori lifts a hand, silencing him. “That’s not to say your threats are without weight,” he continues, tilting his head. “The depth of your connections is impressive, your influence undeniable. You’ve built something that hinges on your continued existence here. I recognize that.”

“I’m not the same girl I was back then,” you say, lips tightening. “I know my worth, no matter what you do to try to make me feel it’s less. You can’t afford to lose me—try to call my bluff. I dare you.”

Mori hums, resting his chin on his hand as he observes you, violet eyes glittering. “No, you’re not. That girl would have never had the guts to stand against me like this.”

You don’t reply to that. The tension in the conference room becomes stifling as the two of you stare at each other, each waiting for the other to concede.

“You should know by now,” he finally says smoothly, “that I don’t deal in ultimatums. I deal in opportunities. So tell me—who do you propose we take instead of Dazai-kun? There is no one there with equal value.”

This is it, you think, regret swelling in your throat as you meet Mori’s gaze head-on. There’s no coming back from this, and there’s no forgiveness for it. Dazai will resent you for this as long as he lives.

“Nakajima,” you reply after a moment. “The tiger.”

Mori stares at you for a moment, eyes widening slightly. All three of the other executives turn to look at you in shock, and you stiffen when Mori suddenly laughs. It’s a bright and amused laugh, one that tells you he’s genuinely surprised by your answer, delighted by it even. His hand flies to his mouth to smother his giggles, but his shoulders continue to shake as he slowly calms down.

“And I would argue that he’s more valuable than Dazai,” you say once he’s mostly quieted down. Mori raises his eyebrows, entertained, but nods for you to explain. “Every conflict Yokohama has seen over the past six months has been centered around him. The Guild had a bounty worth seven billion yen on him and started a full-blown war for him, destroying their organization. Dostoevsky and the House of the Dead and the Decay of the Angel were hyper-focused on getting their hands on him. According to Akutagawa’s reports from the conflict between him, Atsushi, Dostoevsky, and Fukuchi, Dostoevsky spoke of him being connected to the reality-altering book that’s apparently here in Yokohama. And I know damn well Christie is coming for it, and him, too. If we can get our hands on him and understand what exactly his connection is with that book, we might be able to get ahead of the imminent conflict with the Clocktower. I trust I don’t need to explain just how destructive it will be if it happens in the heart of our territory.”

Mori’s amusement fades, and none of the other executives reply, so you take it as an opportunity to drive the point home.

“Okay, I will explain then,” you continue flatly. “The Order of the Clocktower is a British state organization. They’re not part of the underground—not really—and they’re not a simple secret society like the Guild. They are backed and empowered by the English government, and the English government is backed and empowered by the entire Western world. If Agatha Christie gets her way, it won’t just be the Order of the Clocktower on our doorstep, it’ll be the American AASF and the French SFCCA—”

“That would start a military conflict with our government—” Kouyou starts to disagree, shaking her head.

“No, it wouldn’t, because Christie will call a meeting with our Prime Minister first. She'll frame the situation in a way that makes us the sole target of the military operations. They’ll say we’ve gotten our hands on an artifact that could alter the very fabric of reality, and because of it, we’re a major global threat. They’ll use the incident with the Decay of the Angel as an example and claim we used that book to bring back our members who were lost to the vampire virus and the detectives who were killed by Fukuchi.—it doesn't matter if it's not true because it'll be believable. They’ll back him into a corner to where he would either have to agree or be deemed just as much of a global threat as us, and when he agrees, we’re going to be facing the full military force of the entire Western world. How exactly do you think that is going to turn out for us?” 

“It’s all ‘what ifs,’” Kouyou says, raising her chin. “How are you so sure that’s what Christie will do?” 

Your gaze slides to the side to focus on her. “Because that’s what I would do. Christie is a political monster, more than I am, even. She won’t make mistakes—she’s going to keep her hands squeaky clean on the legal front.”

“There are still holes,” Chuuya says, leaning forward on the table to look at you. “Yeah, they could say we used it to bring back our members, but we could tell them that Stoker just canceled his ability. And there’s no proof that the detectives were killed—the only people that know that are the detectives themselves, who aren’t going to give themselves up like that, Fukuchi, who is dead, and…”

Chuuya’s expression suddenly shifts. He sits up right, gaze focusing on you. “You don’t think Dostoevsky is dead,” he realizes quietly. “Did you hear something?” 

“Not only do I not think he’s dead, but I would bet my life he’s with Christie right now in England planning out their next attack,” you say quietly. “It’s going to come soon—they know we don’t have that book yet, and they know Nakajima still doesn’t understand his ability. They need to make their move before we get any closer to finding it, because they know once one side gets their hands on it, it’s game over. Our best chance of finding that book is through Nakajima, and that’s why he needs to be the one brought over here. The Agency’s President gives him control over his ability, but not understanding—he needs to understand his ability so that we can understand his connection to that book, so we can find it before we’re getting fucked by the West’s military.”

Mori lets out a long breath, rubbing at his face as he leans back in his chair. “I have a lot to consider,” he says tightly, waving the four of you off. “Go. Meeting dismissed.”

Verlaine is the first out of the room—he always is—but he gives you a long look as he leaves, signaling to you that he’s going to want to talk to you soon. You sigh, but nod at him before he heads out. Kouyou is the next out, a grimace on her face and her shoulders a bit too tense as she makes her way out of the room. Chuuya waits for you at the door, leaning against the frame as you rise to your feet to leave.

When you turn your back to Mori, he finally speaks up. You knew he would. “You understand that he’ll never forgive you for being the reason his precious protege is dragged into the dark.”

He speaks the last two words mockingly, you don’t have to look at him to see the amused expression on his face.

“I understand,” you murmur, ignoring Chuuya’s heavy gaze. “I didn’t make my decision lightly. Nakajima is the best option for the Port Mafia.”

You make your way over to Chuuya, freezing when Mori speaks again, “Do you know why I’ve always held Dazai-kun and Yosano-kun in higher regard than you?”

You stiffen, ignoring how Chuuya looks away, pretending he can’t hear the conversation between you and Mori. A part of you wants to just walk away—you don’t need to deal with him taunting you right now, but you know he’s not going to let you leave until he’s made whatever point he wants to make.

“Why is that?” you ask tightly.

“It’s because they think for themselves. They take the initiative. You follow orders like a loyal dog, good for a lot of things, but not what I want,” Mori says casually. Your jaw tightens—like he didn’t make you this way, you think bitterly, but bite your tongue. “I’m glad to see you finally taking a step out of your shell, my dear. Fascinating that it only took threatening Dazai-kun for it to happen. I do wonder how far you will go to preserve his light.”

 You stiffen, gaze snapping to the side to focus on Mori, but he only gives you an easy smile in return, violet eyes glittering maliciously.

“I’m eager to find out,” he murmurs, before waving his hand dismissively. “Go. I’ll consider your alternative.”

You exhale sharply, head snapping back to look in front of you as you storm out of his office and into the hallway. Chuuya lets the door shut behind the two of you, reaching out to grab your wrist before you can get too far. He pulls you back toward him, forcing you to face him. His gaze is concerned as he looks down at you, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“I’m great,” you reply sarcastically, giving him an apologetic look when irritation flickers across his face. “He’s going to hate me, Chuuya.”

“Nakajima might not even be the one chosen,” Chuuya says. “The boss has been set on that bandaged freak. You know that.”

“Well then I’m dead,” you say with a tight smile. “I literally just announced my plans to betray the Mafia if Dazai is chosen. Kouyou will execute me on the spot.”

Chuuya’s expression darkens, and his voice is low as he promises, “I won’t let that happen.”

“Then you’ll be a traitor too,” you say airly. “Is that what you want?”

Chuuya doesn’t like the idea of that, you can tell from the way his face twists, but he doesn’t waver. Instead, he says again, “I won’t let that happen.”

Your throat tightens as you swallow, and Chuuya’s expression softens. He glances down the hall quickly to make sure nobody is around, and then he steps forward, reaching out to wrap an arm around you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close to him. You let out a shaky breath as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, arms hanging limp at your side.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, voice wavering. “Go to him, maybe. It’ll probably be my last chance.”

“Don’t say that,” Chuuya murmurs. “The bastard loves you. He always has—”

“And I’m repaying his love with betrayal, Chuuya,” you interrupt tightly. “This isn’t just us being on opposite sides. I put his protege—the kid that he saved—up on the chopping block. It’s too personal. There’s no coming back from it.”

“You did it for him, though—”

“And that makes it even worse. You know that.”

Chuuya sighs, but he doesn’t refute what you’re saying, which makes your heart feel even heavier. “Are you going to tell him when you see him?”

“I should,” you reply quietly. “So he isn’t blindsided.”

“But are you?”

“... I don’t know.”

---

Dazai isn’t in his apartment when you get there, so you decide to explore.

You’ve never been to it before—it’s messy, too small, and there’s a spoiled smell coming from his fridge. The futon on the floor is stiff, the padding is nonexistent, and the blanket is dirty, crusted; he probably hasn’t washed it in ages. Dazai has always liked soft things—he buried himself in fluffy blankets, plush pillows, and comfortable loungewear back when he lived at your apartment. He makes himself uncomfortable as a way of punishment. He would wear bandages that itched his sensitive skin until you stocked up on softer ones, and in his shipping container, he slept on a thin pad with an even thinner blanket until he moved in with you.

Now, he’s doing it all over again.

You frown as you kneel next to his futon, fingers brushing over the uncomfortable fabric, but your gaze is pulled away when you hear his door unlocking. You sit back on your heels, looking up as Dazai enters his apartment. A soft smile curls on your lips when you see the tired expression on his face—he doesn’t notice you at first, but when he does, he jumps so badly that his phone drops right out of his hands.

“Jesus!” he gasps, shooting you a withering look when he sees the amusement on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Not happy to see me?” you drawl, rising to your feet and tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I am,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He looks embarrassed as he glances around his apartment, eyes lingering on the mess around him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Want me to help you clean up?” you offer, making your way over to him. Dazai immediately leans down to brush his lips against yours in greeting. It’s so casual, so domestic, it makes your heart ache knowing that it’s not going to last. 

“Can you?” he asks softly. “I just—I haven’t been able to. I’ve tried.”

Your hands settle on his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over his hipbones through his pants. Dazai is never able to bring himself to clean when he’s in his head, and he’s always in his head. In his shipping container, he didn’t have enough belongings to actually make a mess, but once he moved in with you, he struggled to keep his room clean, so more often than not, you had to help him with it otherwise your whole apartment would start reeking.

“I know you have,” you tell him. “I don’t mind helping.”

Dazai lets out a puff of air, lashes fluttering shut and head hanging forward for a moment. You lift your hand to cradle his cheek, and he instinctively leans into your touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, kissing your palm.

You give him a small smile. “Go figure out what’s making your fridge smell,” you tell him before wandering over to a stray bag he has lying around so you can start picking up the empty bottles of sake and half-eaten cans of crab.

“I think everything is making the fridge smell.” You hear him say as you frown down at the pile of trash near his futon. 

“Then throw it all out,” you answer. “I’ll send you some groceries tomorrow.”

“My savior,” Dazai coos teasingly, but when you look at him to roll your eyes, you see the fond expression on his face as he looks over at you, dark eyes swimming with adoration. “How could I ever repay you?”

The words are still teasing, but there’s a breathy edge to them that lets you know there’s some truth to them. Your expression softens, and you hope that he doesn’t notice the way guilt suddenly clogs your throat. You think he might, considering the way he squints at you slightly, as if trying to figure out what exactly is going on right now. You should’ve just texted him to come over to your place, coming to his was too suspicious.

“How about you repay me by getting rid of this and getting yourself something more comfortable to sleep in?” you finally say after clearing your throat, nodding your chin at his futon. “Why do you have to punish yourself, Osamu?”

Dazai’s gaze instantly lowers to the ground. “It’s not—It’s not punishment,” he disagrees as he turns his back to you to start filling a trash bag full of all of the food in his fridge. “I just… I can’t let myself get comfortable. I’m scared if I get too comfortable, I’ll start slipping back into old habits and—”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you whisper, shaking your head as you tie off the bag and put it down near his door. You make your way over to him as he grimaces and tosses a whole carton of rotten strawberries into his garbage. He rises to his feet, an unreasonable expression on his face, and you slip your arms around his waist, resting your forehead on his shoulder blade.

“What’s really going on?” he asks quietly, lifting a hand to cradle the back of yours. “I know you wouldn’t come here for no reason.”

Always too perceptive, you think wryly, pressing your lips together so you don’t let out a damning sigh. You feel his thumb stroking the back of your hand, and you think you might be sick—you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve the tenderness from him, not when you know what’s coming and he’s oblivious to it.

“I’ve done something… really bad, Osamu,” you whisper.

“You’ve done a lot of bad things,” Dazai tries to joke, but you can hear the concern in his voice. You can feel the way his grip tightens on your hand. “I’m sure this is nothing extraordinary.”

“It is, though,” you reply, throat spasming as you swallow. He gently pushes your arms off of him so he can spin to face you. He cups your cheek to lift your face, but you slide your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him. “It really is, Osamu.”

“I know the worst thing you’ve done. It can’t possibly be worse than that,” Dazai says dryly, desperately trying to lighten the mood. His thumbs stroke your cheek as he tries to get you to look at him, but you don’t. “Talk to me.”

“It is,” you say. “It’s something you won’t forgive me for.”

Dazai swallows thickly, fingers tensing on your face. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive you for,” he tells you, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You almost tell him. You really do. The words are on the tip of your tongue, threatening to let loose, and his touch his so gentle, his gaze so soft and imploring. He deserves to know, he shouldn’t be blindsided when Mori inevitably calls this meeting in a few days, but you can picture the way his expression would close off once he processes what you’ve done, the way he would step away from you, and you just can’t. 

Even if he deserves it, you can’t. 

“Can you just… hold me?” you ask quietly, voice wavering terribly. 

You feel so weak. This was your decision, and you knew exactly what it meant for you and Dazai when you made it, but now all you feel is regret. You know you did the right thing. If Dazai were dragged back into the Port Mafia, he would never get out a second time. He’d sink back into the dark and would never let himself see or feel the light again. But it being his protege, you know he’ll do anything he can to get him back. Nakajima Atsushi will be back with the Armed Detective Agency within a month of leaving.

But Dazai never would’ve allowed them to risk trying to get him back. He never would’ve let them risk incurring the wrath of the Port Mafia for reneging on a deal on his behalf. He doesn’t see himself as worth it. You couldn’t let it happen.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice soft. “Come on.”

He leads you over to his couch, carefully pulling you into his lap. You sink into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you cling to his shoulders. Dazai’s arms are strong around your waist, one hand splayed on the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses your temple once before resting his forehead against the top of your head. You’re not usually the one being comforted like this—sometimes Chuuya will hold you when you’re upset, but more often than not, you’re the one doing the comforting—so you can’t help the way your eyes well with tears. 

Being in his arms doesn’t make you feel better, though. If anything, it only makes you feel worse. It makes the guilt in your chest swell, it makes the nausea building in your throat threaten to come up.

Dazai must feel when your tears start to spill over your cheeks, because his hand starts running up and down your back soothingly, fingers carding through your hair. He hums softly—it’s a vaguely familiar tune that you can’t quite place, maybe one of the ones he used to play on the piano for you—it’s low in your ear, you can feel the gentle vibrations of his chest through your body.

You love him. 

You love him so much that it makes you sick. You love him so much that you would do anything for him. He asked you months ago if you would ever choose the Port Mafia over him, and you told him no, but you were wrong. You would choose him—you would always choose him. You know that you’re fucking over the Port Mafia with this plan, you know that its going to get the short end of this deal—you don’t care, because it means that Dazai will be okay.

“I love you,” you rasp, voice cracking as you bite back a sob. “I love you, you know that, right?” 

He pauses in his humming briefly to say, “Of course.”

He says it so easily that it makes you choke, and he quickly resumes his soft hums, now subtly rocking you back and forth, kissing your temple again. He doesn’t say it back, and although he doesn’t need to—you can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his lips touch your temple, in the way he hums softly to try to chase away whatever is distressing you—you’re glad that he doesn’t verbalize it. You don’t think you could handle hearing it from him right now, it would be just what you need to send you spiraling over the edge.

You know he wants to know what’s going on. Not knowing things makes him anxious, and he can’t hide the way his fingers are tense against your body, even if his touch is gentle—his hands have always been his tell. Four years ago, he would’ve insisted and insisted until the two of you either fought or you gave in and told him, but now, he’s content to hold you. Content to comfort you. Content to love you. Content to trust you.

And you’re going to repay him with a knife through the back.

It’s for him, you remind yourself desperately. It’s to protect him. He’ll be able to get Nakajima back, and everything will go back to normal for them, even if it won’t for the two of you. Dazai might never get over the betrayal, he’ll never get over the guilt of you putting Nakajima on the chopping block in his place, he’ll never get over the resentment. He’ll understand maybe after the initial shock why you did what you did, but he won’t ever get over it.

You should tell him. Warn him. It might not change anything, but he shouldn’t be blindsided, not by you, not ever. But he’ll try to convince you against it, or worse, he’ll go to Mori and offer himself up on his own once he realizes that his transfer isn’t guaranteed. You can’t risk that. 

“I’m so sorry, Osamu,” you gasp, fingers digging into his thin dress shirt as you cling to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he tells you, voice low and soothing. “It’s okay.”

But you know it’s not.

You know it won’t be.

---

The fateful meeting with the Agency comes too quickly. 

“Ah, Fukuzawa-dono,” Mori greets when the Agency arrives at the small park where you’re meeting them. It’s a neutral site as demanded of this type of junction. You would’ve preferred the tea house in Nishi-ku, but Mori waved you off and said that it wouldn’t take that long. “I hope everything has gone well on your front in the aftermath of Dostoevsky’s attack. I heard the Ministry of Defense was trying to cause trouble again. If you’d like, I could have our lovely hime talk to Tonan-san on your behalf… for a price, of course.”

Mori’s lips curve up into a cruel smile. He knows Fukuzawa will never say yes, not when his last offer of assistance came with the price of one of his detectives. The President’s gaze hardens on Mori as he raises his chin.

“Unnecessary,” Fukuzawa replies coldly. “Spare the pleasantries. We’re here to fulfill our end of the bargain.”

Mori hums in delight, but he doesn’t immediately speak. Your gaze cards across the small group—all of them are here. Kunikida Doppo stands stiffly on the right side of the President, and Edogawa Ranpo rocks back and forth on his heels on his left. Yosano stands with her back turned in the far back—Kyouka and the tiger stand near her, along with an orange-haired boy that you dimly recognize as the illusionist. 

Dazai is here too. He stands separate from the rest, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face as he stares down at the ground. He won’t lift his eyes, not even to meet yours. You’re glad because you think if he looked at you right now, he’d see right through you.

“Of course,” Mori agrees. “Very well, I must say, it was a much more difficult decision than I originally anticipated.”

A ripple of unease spreads across the detectives. Daza finally opens his eyes. His lips turn down into a tight frown, dark eyes seeking answers as he looks directly at Mori before his gaze flickers over to you. You avert your gaze, swallowing as you raise your chin and focus your attention on Fukuzawa. You can tell this unsettles Dazai from the way he immediately straightens, looking between you and Mori uncertainly—he thought his transfer was a given, he’s realizing that maybe it was not.

“Nakajima-kun, won’t you come over here?”

Mori sounds too pleased as he speaks the words. His smile widens when he sees how Yosano immediately whips around, eyes wide. Most of the detectives look shocked, but Nakajima himself seems like he hasn’t even processed what Mori said. You can’t bring yourself to look at Dazai—Mori hasn’t even mentioned your involvement in this decision yet, but you know that he will. You can imagine the way his eyes widened at Mori’s words, and you know Mori probably took glee in it, considering how difficult it is to catch Dazai Osamu off guard, and the image of it makes your stomach churn.

Fukuzawa looks displeased. His jaw is tight, and his expression is hard; you can see in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting Nakajima to be the one chosen. He doesn’t protest—he knows better than to openly renege on a deal with a Port Mafia—but he does lower his gaze to the ground.

“Come now, Nakajima-kun,” Mori hums, beckoning the boy over. “Since our hime was the one who insisted on your transfer, you’ll be working directly under her… I do hope you’re comfortable with that arrangement.”

“What?” Dazai breathes out. “What?”

You ignore him, keeping your gaze trained on Nakajima, who finally reacts. You watch as the waves of realization visibly wash over him, eyes widening slowly before they snap over to you. His hands clench into fists at his side, and his lips part in disbelief as he struggles to find his words. 

Although your attention is on Nakajima, your mind is on Dazai—you can feel him looking at you, waiting for you to explain what all of this is about. The betrayal won’t hit him yet; if only because he believes you’re the last person who would ever betray him like this.

“I—what?” Nakajima stammers, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker between you, Mori, and Fukuzawa, pleading for an explanation.

You remain still, forcing yourself to maintain the neutral expression you’ve mastered over the years. But inside, your chest tightens as you will yourself not to look at Dazai. He’ll start to understand what’s happening now, what you’ve done, and you won’t be able to bear watching how the betrayal slowly writes itself across his face.

Mori chuckles, reveling in the tension, in the way your relationship with Dazai is crumbling in front of everyone like this. “Yes, she was quite insistent,” he continues smoothly. “I was set on… a different prize until she opened my eyes to your potential. The Port Mafia is eager to have you amongst its ranks.”

Nakajima takes a step back. “That’s not—” His voice shakes, and he stops himself, taking a deep breath before turning to Fukuzawa. “President—”

Fukuzawa doesn’t lift his gaze from the ground. His silence is an answer in itself. Nakajima’s breath hitches; he looks helpless, like he’s about to start crying.

“When you said you did something I wouldn’t be able to forgive, I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

Dazai’s words cut deeper than any blade. Your chest tightens, throat swelling as you fight to keep your composure. You knew this moment would come, you knew Dazai would look at you like this, you knew this would be the end of everything.

It’s for him, you remind yourself. He’ll get Nakajima out of the Port Mafia one way or another, and Dazai never would’ve let himself escape a second time. You did what you had to do—you’ll always do what you have to do, whether he agrees with it or not. He’ll understand what you’re trying to do, whether he ever forgives you for it… Well, that’s another matter entirely. 

Before you can open your mouth to reply to Dazai, Mori claps his hands together, voice laced with mock cheer. “Well then, now that that’s settled, let’s not drag this out any longer. Hime, take our newest recruit back home, won’t you?” 

A command. A test. A punishment.

You swallow hard, raising your chin as your gaze settles on Nakajima, whose body is tense like he’s on the verge of bolting.

“Come,” you say, voice even. “We’re leaving. If you try to flee, punishment falls on the Armed Detective Agency for reneging on a deal.”

Nakajima’s shoulders slump instantly, head falling forward—all of his will to run or fight dissipates at the mention of his actions falling on his found family. His hands tremble at his sides before clenching into fists again as he steps forward to stand at your side.

“Good boy,” Mori murmurs approvingly before turning his attention back to Fukuzawa. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Fukuzawa-dono. Until next time.”

The Agency watches in heavy silence as Nakajima forces himself to move. His steps are reluctant, but he walks toward you, expression twisted in disbelief. You can feel the weight of every stare pressing into you, most of all Dazai’s. You don’t dare lift your gaze to meet his.

“Let’s go,” you say coldly, turning on your heel.

Nakajima follows.

Dazai does nothing to stop you, but you hear him call your name—quiet, angry, but most of all, betrayed. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before continuing forward. You don’t look back, you can’t afford to.

Mori falls into step beside you, too pleased with the way this played out. His satisfaction drips from his voice as he speaks. “I do hope you enjoy your new subordinate, my dear. After all, you fought so hard for him.”

You don’t answer. You simply keep moving, ignoring the betrayal burning in Dazai’s gaze and the suffocating silence left behind by the Agency.

You did what had to be done. Even if it did cost you everything.

It’s only once you get to the car that Nakajima finally speaks. His voice shakes, like he’s nervous to say anything but forces himself to anyway. You would give him props for it if you weren’t so distressed by how everything went down. “You did this to protect Dazai-san, didn’t you?” 

Your gaze shifts to the side, focusing on the weretiger, who looks up at you nervously, waiting for your answer. You didn’t take him to be so perceptive, so you only raise your eyebrows at him curiously. He shrinks a bit under your gaze, but then he squares his shoulders and takes in a deep breath.

“You picked me to protect him,” he says again. “It would’ve been him otherwise. You had to convince them to pick someone else, and I was the most convincing option.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask coolly.

“It just makes sense.” Nakajima shrugs, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I think that I’m glad you did. Dazai-san… he’s good. I’m glad he doesn’t have to come back here. He tried to pretend everything was okay, but I could tell he was upset. He didn’t want to come back.”

“Hm,” you respond, turning your gaze away to look out the window, but it’s only to hide the way your expression drops at the confirmation of Dazai’s anxieties about returning to the Port Mafia. It makes you feel better about what you did, but only for a second, because you remember that no matter how much he didn’t want to come back, he never would’ve wanted his subordinate to come here in his place. “I doubt you’ll be here for long.”

“What?” Nakajima asks. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you really think Dazai will let you become a member of the Port Mafia?” you ask dryly. “I give it a month max before he figures out a way to force us to give you back up to them.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for that since you were the one to insist on me?” he questions, and to your amusement, he sounds like he’s genuinely concerned on your behalf. 

“Probably,” you agree absently.

“You must… really love him,” Nakajima says quietly.

Your throat spasms at his words, lashes fluttering shut as your head hangs forward. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

---

You don’t expect to see Dazai for weeks. You think that he’ll pretend you don’t exist, he’ll block your number, and stop coming around to see you. That’s what he would’ve done years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with what happened—that’s what he did do years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with. 

Instead, that very night, he barges into your apartment. 

You’re three glasses of wine in, drowning yourself in your sorrows, when you get the notification that someone is coming up to your apartment. You know it’s not Klaus, because he has a mission with Akutagawa in Tokyo for the next three days, and you know it’s not Atsushi, because although you told him that he could come up to your apartment whenever he needed after you showed him his, you knew it would be a long time before he ever felt comfortable enough with you to take you up on that.

You assume that it’s Chuuya, because he knows how upset you are and he knows you’re probably getting wasted by yourself. So when you get the notification someone is coming up to your apartment, you drag yourself out of your bedroom and down the stairs, wobbly on your feet. 

You get down there just as the elevator doors slide open. “Chuuya, do you—” you start to say, but cut yourself off abruptly when it is not in fact your best friend standing in the elevator.

“Osamu,” you whisper, eyes widening, taking a step back in shock. “What are you—”

“What am I doing here?” he finishes for you when your voice falls off—the words are cold and mocking, a harsh jab to the gut. He stalks forward in your direction and you step back quickly to keep space between you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Would’ve rathered me stay away so you can avoid taking responsibility for your shitty decision. Well, surprise! All of those years of getting pissed at me for avoiding confrontation are over—why do you look so upset? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? You should be happy.”

Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them. Dazai backs you into the wall and doesn’t give you the chance to run when he reaches out to grab your dress shirt hard. Your wine glass slips between your fingers and shatters against the ground as he tugs you closer to him so that you have nowhere to run or hide. 

Your breath is shaky as you look up at him, and he’s livid. You can see it in the way his eyes are black—the same darkness and intensity you remember back from his years with the Port Mafia, but they’d never been directed toward you before. You can see it in the way the corner of his lips twitches in fury. You can see it in the way his shoulders are tense, like he’s having to physically hold himself back.

He’s also hurt. His hands have always been his tell, and they’re not shoved in his pockets, so you see the way his fingers tremble around the material of your shirt. And his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, waiting for you to say something.

When you don’t say anything, Dazai’s expression twists in anger. He pushes you back against the wall as he lets go of your shirt. He’s not rough with you at all—he never is, even when he’s blinded with rage—but still, all of the air whooshes from your lungs when your back hits the wall.

He steps away, turning his back to you and running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends as he lets out a frustrated noise. 

“How could you?” he finally demands, but the words aren’t harsh—his voice cracks over them, and when he turns to look at you, you can see the hurt written plainly on his face. “How could you? After everything I’ve told you, how could you push for Atsushi? You know that he’s the only thing I have that proves that I’m doing something right. Something that Odasaku can be proud of. How could you? You? Of all people, I never expected you to do this to me.” 

You want to blame your speechlessness on the wine, but you know that’s not the case. You want to say something, you really do, but you can’t find the words for what you want to say. An apology isn’t enough, and you hadn’t anticipated that Dazai wouldn’t have put together what your plan was. You figured that he wouldn’t until he calmed down, but he’s usually pretty quick to set aside his emotions to look at things logically—but you suppose he never really has when it comes to you. That was an oversight, but what you really didn’t expect was seeing him tonight. You thought that he’d go quiet for a few days, a large part of you genuinely wondered if you’d ever hear from him again.

“Osamu,” you murmur, taking a step closer to him, but he steps away from you.

“No,” he says, holding up his hand before turning his back to you. “Stay over there. Don’t come closer. Explain. I need you to explain, and I need to think. I don’t think straight when you’re near me, so just stay over there and tell me why.”

You halt in your tracks as you stare at him. You still don’t say anything, and you can see him getting more and more frustrated with each passing second. You try to tell him that you only picked Atsushi because you knew Dazai would get him back, that you couldn’t let Dazai back because you knew he would never let the detectives do the same for him, but you can’t.

“Was the idea of me being back so bad?” he demands, eyes wild as he turns on you again. “Let me guess, you finally proved yourself to Mori while I was gone and didn’t want to be back in my shadow again. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all you’ve ever cared about. It’s only ever been Mori and the Port Mafia. Now that you finally have it—his approval, in track for taking over after him—you don’t want to risk me coming back and taking it from you again.”

You draw back like you’ve been slapped—you may as well have been, you think, throat tightening. Your lips part to tell him no, of course that’s not the reason why, but you can’t force the words out.

Is that what he really thinks?

“You don’t think I knew back when we were kids that you were jealous of me?” he asks, laughing breathlessly as he looks down at you. “I knew it from the moment we met. You resented that Mori kept me in Yokohama and sent you away, that I replaced you—you hid it well, but I knew. I saw the way your expression got all twisted whenever he praised me, when I got the open executive spot, how you’d never look me in the eye when I came back from meetings.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then whisper, “I loved you.”

“Not mutually exclusive,” he scoffs. “Love and resentment are two sides of the same coin.”

“Is that what you really think?” you ask him quietly. Dazai has always known how to hit you where it hurts, but this was… “That I wanted Nakajima because of… selfishness? Because I was scared you’d come back and upstage me?” 

Your voice cracks, your eyes wet with tears as you take a step backward. You don’t know what you thought he would think of all of this, but realizing that he thinks so little of you makes you sick to your stomach. Dazai’s expression twists at your question, like he only just realizes the gravity of the words he said to you, but then anger flashes through his eyes again.

“I don’t know what to think because you won’t explain,” Dazai shouts—you’ve heard him yell a handful of times before at his subordinates while he was with the Mafia, but never at you. “Won’t you fucking tell me why you picked him?”

“Because I knew you would get him back!” You mean to yell at him, but your words get caught on a sob that you just can’t bite back. You want to blame it on the alcohol, but you know it’s a product of the guilt that has been weighing you down for days and the newfound understanding of just how little Dazai thinks of you. “I knew you would get him back, Osamu, and I knew you’d never let them risk getting you back. That’s why I insisted on Nakajima. If you came back here, you’d never get out a second time, and you’re right, I don’t want you back here but it’s not because of jealousy, it’s because you don’t belong here.”

Dazai stares at you, expression unreadable, but before he can say anything, you continue.

“I told you that I’ve seen how much you’ve changed for the better, I’m not going to let you ruin everything because you’re going to throw yourself back to the Port Mafia to be a fucking sacrificial lamb for the rest of them,” you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, I am selfish, because I don’t give a damn about any of them. I care about you, and because you care about them, I tried to figure out a way for the whole fucking Agency to come out of this deal unscathed, and the only way of ensuring that is making sure Nakajima was the one picked. I knew Mori would jump at the chance to put a wedge between us by flaunting my part in this decision to you at the meeting, and I knew you would fight tooth and nail to get him back, so your precious Agency would be whole again by the end of the month.” 

Dazai says your name quietly, but you shake your head, stumbling over to the couch so you can sit down. You feel too dizzy—nauseous. You can barely see straight and your whole body feels fuzzy from the wine you’d been drinking.

“That time we met after you defected,” you whisper, taking in a ragged breath. “You were so drunk, you probably don’t even remember what we talked about. But you told me I never would’ve chosen you over the Port Mafia, and that’s why you couldn’t say goodbye.”

You hear him making his way over to you, but you don’t dare look up from where you’ve buried your face in your hands.

“I told Mori that if he brought you back to the Port Mafia, he might as well execute me on the spot,” you say, ignoring the way he inhales sharply as he sits down next to you. “I told him I would leave. I’d go to Tolstoy. I would bury the Port Mafia and then him. I convinced him to pick Nakajima because I knew you would get him back, even though I knew it was screwing us over. I chose you, I’ll always choose you, Osamu, no matter what the cost is, even if you hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” he tells you quietly, tugging your hand to beckon you to look at him. “Look at me. Please.”

You let out a shaky breath and lift your head from your hands to look at him. The expression on his face is conflicted—you’re sure that he has plenty to say, but just doesn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you just tell me when you came over?” he asks desperately, threading his fingers through yours and squeezing tightly. “If you just explained—”

You shake your head. “I didn’t trust you not to go running to Mori to offer yourself up once you realized your transfer wasn’t a given,” you tell him quietly, “I did what I had to do.”

Dazai’s expression instantly twists. “But if you’d explained—”

“No,” you insist, looking away from him until he tugs your hand again. You let out a heavy sigh, eyes landing on his. “No, Osamu. You’re too emotional when they’re involved. I couldn’t risk it, I’m sorry.”

Dazai blanches. “Too emotional?” he demands, offended. “E-emotional? That’s ridiculous, I’m not emotional.”

Your lips curl up softly when you see how flustered he is by the accusation. “A little emotional,” you disagree, expression smoothing out when he lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles before pressing your palm against his face. “It’s endearing, but I just couldn’t risk it.”

His lashes flutter shut as he sighs heavily into your palm. Your throat tightens when he turns his face into your hand, forcing you to cradle his cheek. He doesn’t speak for a moment, but when he does, it makes your chest feel heavy.

“Promise me that if something like this happens again, you’ll tell me,” he whispers, dark eyes sliding back open to look at you. They’re a light amber in the dim lighting of your living room—too soft, too gentle, too imploring. “I—I need you to talk to me. I can’t—you don’t understand how it felt at the meeting. I was mad that Atsushi was chosen, but it felt like—the thought of you going behind my back. Betraying me. I couldn’t breathe, I’d never felt anything like that before. It felt like I was dying. It felt like I was losing you. I’d only ever felt this way before when—”

When Oda died, you finish for him when he cuts himself off abruptly, pulling his face away so he can turn his head in the opposite direction. You let out a soft sigh and shift in your seat to turn toward him. You lift your hand to his face to force him to look at you again—when he does, his eyes are glassy like he’s about to start crying.

“I can’t promise you that,” you tell him quietly, thumb stroking his cheekone gently. “I told you back during the Pushkin incident that I won’t be able to tell you everything anymore, but can you just trust that I’ll always choose you?”

Even after everything that’s happened the past few days, it scares you how much you mean those words. You will always choose him, no matter what the cost of it is. Your breath is shaky as you hold his gaze, searching his eyes for understanding.

Dazai is quiet for a long time, the silence thick between you. He’s still holding your other hand, and though his hand trembles, he holds onto you tightly, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I can… I can do that. I can try.”

“I will always choose you, Osamu,” you repeat quietly, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

Dazai suddenly looks guilty, averting his gaze to the ground. “I didn’t mean what I said before,” he murmurs. “I—I was just angry. I—”

“I know,” you interrupt. “It’s okay.”

You don’t want to think about what he said before anymore—he was wrong, but he was also right. You had been jealous of him when you guys were younger, a part of you resented him as much as you loved him, and though you tried to push it away, it was always there. A constant reminder that there would always be someone more valuable than you to Mori. That you’d always be his second, third choice. You should’ve known Dazai had always been aware of it, but you never expected him to use it against you.

“It’s not,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Osamu, please,” you say, eyes sliding shut as you look away. “Drop it.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, voice cracking as he finally whispers, “You’re all I have. You’ve always been all I’ve had. I just… can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” you promise, shifting forward. “You—”

You bite back a yelp when Dazai suddenly grabs you. He lays back against the couch and pulls you onto his chest. You tense for a second, but then he wraps an arm around your waist and brings his free hand up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you close, you can feel his heart thrumming in his chest, the erratic pace evening out to match yours, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He kisses your temple before resting his forehead against the top of your head as you sink into his arms. 

Your eyes flutter shut, suddenly all too tired—the wine, the stress of the day, and the stress of this conversation with Dazai finally getting to you. The weight of Dazai’s arm around your waist and the feeling of his fingers absently toying with your hair is quickly lulling you to sleep.

He hums in protest, but the vibration only makes you sleepier. “You can’t sleep—we need to set up guidelines about Atsushi.”

You let out a soft laugh, but you don’t open your eyes. “This isn’t co-parenting, Osamu.”

“I mean, it kind of is,” he says. “Atsushi is my little protege, you’re my girlfriend, he’s going over to you, and we’re technically separated in two different organizations. So it’s kind of co-parenting, and like good co-parents, there needs to be rules and the first one—”

“Tomorrow, Osamu,” you yawn, shifting to nose his neck before you kiss his pulse point gently. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, but his arms tighten around you and he lifts his head briefly to kiss the top of yours again. “Fine, fine, I suppose it can wait until morning, but only because my sweet hime is sleepy.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he echoes softly as you drift off to sleep. “More than you could ever imagine.”

---

Chuuya is quite glad that he decided against bringing up his ‘97 Petrus when he gets up to your apartment and finds you curled up on the couch fast asleep with the very fucker that Chuuya was coming up here to console you over.

He really should’ve expected this.

He stands at the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and lips twisted in a deep frown as he looks down at the two of you. For a long, heavy second, he can only stare, thoroughly uncomfortable when a strange, warm feeling bubbles in his chest. The sight is too familiar—if Dazai’s bandages were wrapped around the right side of his face, he could almost pretend the three of you were eighteen again and Chuuya came up to your apartment for a movie only to find the two of you passed out already.

Then, with a low scoff, he runs a hand through his hair and whispers, “Unbelievable.”

Dazai’s face is half-buried in your hair, one arm snug around your waist and the other cradling your head, and you’re fast asleep in his arms. He can’t see your face, but he doesn’t need to—he can picture the peaceful expression on it, one that he’s hardly seen since the bastard left four years ago.

Dazai is sleeping too. Chuuya’s almost surprised he didn’t wake up when the elevator arrived on your floor—he’s always been a light sleeper. He supposes it’s just testament to how much Dazai lets his guard down around you. How much he trusts you. How much he loves you.

Chuuya sighs as he rolls his eyes. “Told you it would be fine,” he mutters to you as he snatches a blanket off of the armchair to drape it over the two of you even though he knows you can’t hear him. “Worried over fuckin’ nothing.”

You shift in your sleep when you feel the blanket on top of you, and Chuuya’s throat tightens when he sees the tear tracks staining your cheeks. He lets out a puff of air, lifting a hand to stroke your hair gently for a moment before he shakes his head to leave the two of you in peace.

“Both fucking freaks. Deserve each other.”

If there’s a small, fond smile on his lips, then he’s glad neither of you are awake to see it.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[lascvitae]

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ WANNA MAKE YOU MINE²

♯┆ karina pulls y/n deeper into her world, and even though y/n knows she should be careful, it's already too late. she’s falling hard and fast. and honestly? she already did.

part one. part two. part three.

pairing. karina x fem!reader genre. strangers to lovers, fluff, suggestive!!, goodness karina wants you so bad warning(s). making out, (lots of it actually) cursing, underage drinking, scream mentioned 🤓☝️ karina showing her true colors, karina teases you literally like throughout the entire chapter, she’s possessive and obsessive but you like it :shrug:

word count: 11k

❝baby, don’t be scared, want you everywhere

catch you if i fall, i mean it.❞

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: lawd.🧎‍♀️

masterlist.

minjeong didn’t look at you. she just stared ahead, eyes blank and teary, like her mind was somewhere else. 

you swallowed, chest tight. “i’m sorry. you didn’t deserve this.”

she let out another bitter laugh. “yeah, well. i did it to myself. didn’t i?”

“no. you didn’t. you had a crush. you were in love and you trusted someone with that.”

minjeong’s bottom lip wobbled, and her eyes squeezed shut like she was trying to hold everything in.

“why would jiwon do it?” you muttered. 

minjeong’s jaw clenched. “i don’t know.“

you turned toward her, your voice quieter now. “how long were you in love with her?”

minjeong didn’t answer right away. just curled her fingers tighter into her sleeves.

“too long. i was stupid. especially after i saw what she did to yujin.”

your eyebrows furrowed. 

“shit—“

“who’s that?”

“i— she’s— i’ll just let karina tell you.“ she sniffled. 

you bit your lip nervously before nodding slowly and curiously. “does jiwon know you’re here?”

another long silence.

then minjeong shook her head. “i don’t think she cares.”

it made your heart ache. because whatever happened between them, jiwon had a choice.

“i’m gonna fix this.” you said.

minjeong gave you a tired look. “how?”

you didn’t know yet.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

you didn’t know where else to look.

after hearing minjeong crying in the stairway, you needed jiwon. you needed her to look you in the eye and tell you it wasn’t true. that she didn’t hand over minjeong’s secret like it was nothing. so you ended up at the counselor’s office.

you told yourself that maybe jiwon was here. maybe the guilt pushed her into one of the chairs or forced her to ask the counselor for help. but when you opened the door the office was empty.

you sat down on the fake leather couch. it squeaked under you, and you just sat there. 

you stared at the wall with that dumb motivational cat poster. the one that said hang in there.

and then the door opened.

you didn’t look up. didn’t need to. you already knew who it was.

karina closed the door behind her. she stood for a second. as if she was debating whether to speak or just look at you.

“i figured you’d be here.” she said eventually.

you didn’t respond. she stepped further inside.

“you shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“sorry, i didn’t realize i needed your permission to walk away.” you scoffed. 

“don’t say it like that.”

“can you just… leave me alone? you knew this would happen. and you didn’t stop it.”

karina stayed quiet for a while. “but i didn’t cause it.”

you let out a bitter laugh. “no. you just sat back and let it happen.”

“she told jiwon and jiwon told someone else. that’s not my fault.”

“but you knew, karina. you knew it would blow up like this. and you let it.”

“no i didn’t.” she protested. “how was i supposed to know that she’d anonymously send in a tip on ning’s page? it isn’t my fault that jiwon betrayed her.”

her words stung you. 

‘it wasn’t my fault that jiwon betrayed her.’

‘jiwon betrayed her.’

when the words finally settled, karina was standing right in front of you. 

“it isn’t my job to clean up someone else’s mistake.” she continued. “you don’t get to stand here and act like i’m the bad guy. i didn’t sell minjeong out. jiwon did.”

“but you could’ve protected her.” you whispered.

“from what? the effect of her best friend’s actions? i told you. that isn’t my job.”

you winced at her tone. 

“leave me alone, karina.”

you looked up at her as she stayed silent. then she stepped back. 

“stop looking at me like that and maybe i will.”

and there it was. 

you locked eyes with her and even though you were upset with her, it was like you were entranced. again. 

you didn’t know what to believe. 

“i didn’t care about minjeong’s secret. i cared about what it would do to you.”

you stayed silent. 

karina stepped closer. “if i had said something, it still would’ve gotten out. and then you would’ve been right in the middle of it. i didn’t want that.”

“so you just let minjeong burn instead?”

“i would’ve let the whole school burn if it meant keeping you out of it.” the words hit you hard.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do.” 

“i care about you. i care when you cry. when you walk away from me. when you disappear without saying anything.”

“that’s not caring, karina. that’s control.” you shook your head.

“maybe. but it’s still real.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you reached out for her. 

hell. you didn’t know why you did it.

maybe it was because you were tired of running from the pull she had on you. but you leaned in. 

not all the way.

not enough to say i forgive you or this is okay now.

but enough to feel her warmth. 

you didn’t look at her. 

“i hate that you always make it feel like it’s just us. like the rest of the world doesn’t matter.”

“because it doesn’t. not when it comes to you.” she said instantly. 

you winced. not because she said it but because you believed her.

her hand hovered between you two, not touching you. you let your fingers slide toward hers. just enough for them to meet.

when they did, she caught them softly. you looked at her then.

karina’s voice softened. “you’re not like the rest of them. and i… don’t like sharing things that matter.”

you knew what she meant. you knew she was talking about you.

you leaned into her shoulder. it wasn’t because you forgave now, but because you wanted to. and maybe that was worse. she didn’t say anything, she just let it happen. let you rest against her like she was waiting for it.

you couldn’t help but feel like you fell right into her trap. 

karina’s house always felt like it was trying too hard not to be a house. it was always too clean. but tonight, there was something different about it. 

the low hum of music from ning’s bluetooth speaker and the scent of popcorn filled the air, accompanied by her candy perfume. 

you were sitting on the edge of her velvet couch now, tucked into a cushion with a blanket karina tossed over you. your fingers gripped a cold glass of something sparkling and pink, courtesy of ning. 

aeri claimed the armchair, legs folded up with her hoodie zipped halfway as she scrolled through her phone. ning was sprawled out on the floor, face down in her phone beside a half empty bowl of popcorn.

karina sat close as she always did. her thigh pressed against yours, arm draped along the arm of the couch behind you. you could feel her fingertips brushing your shoulder every now and then. 

“anyway. i still can’t believe jiwon actually cracked. like damn. she really folded under pressure, huh?” ning started, voice casual in a way that meant she was about to say something dangerous. you didn’t say anything. just stared into your drink.

karina shifted beside you. “ning.”

“what? i’m just saying. i expected better. that girl keeps secrets like it’s her job.”

“she made a mistake.” karina said. 

“did she?” ning placed a gummy bear into her mouth before chewing lazily.

“kinda seems like she knew exactly what she was doing.”

“okay but that doesn’t mean you needed to go full tmz at lunch. you nuked our table.” aeri chimed in without looking up.

“and yet, no one one got up until y/n did.” ning said, eyes flicking toward you. the silence that followed made your ears ring. your throat tightened.

karina’s thumb found your knee, rubbing slow and soothing circles. “can you not?”

“i’m just observing. she’s here now, isn’t she? you’re welcome, by the way.” ning said. karina tensed next to you.

“maybe now you’ll finally chill out. stop staring at her like you’re crazy.” ning teased. 

“shut up.” karina said. it hit like a brick.

you felt it. the shift. the change in karina’s tone when someone crossed a line, even if it was someone she considered a friend.

“relax. you’re so sensitive when she’s around. it’s kinda cute.” ning said.

“i’m tired.” you said.

“you wanna go upstairs?” karina turned to you immediately. 

you stared at her.

“we don’t have to stay down here.“

“yeah. upstairs, please?”

she was on her feet before you could even set your glass down. her hand found yours again and you followed her out of the room without a glance behind you.

she didn’t say anything until you reached the stairs. “i didn’t want you to feel like this.” she mumbled.

you looked over and her eyes were already on you. she was concerned.  her gaze was protective in a way that felt way too intense for someone you’d only just gotten close to.

“i’m okay.” you lied.

“you’re not.” she said. and her hand squeezed yours. “but you will be.”

her room door opened with a click. you stepped inside first. you hovered near the doorway, unsure of what to do with your hands.

karina crossed the room and sat at the edge of her bed, kicking off her shoes without a word. she pat the space next to her but didn’t look at you.

you sat. not too close. but not too far either. and for a while, neither of you said anything. just sitting in the quiet. 

karina turned toward you slightly. “are you mad at me?”

you didn’t look at her. just stared at the soft curve of the candle’s flame. “i don’t know.”

“you have every right to be.” silence again. “i don't care if anyone else leaves. but not you.”

you turned toward her, heart pounding. “why would i leave?” she stayed silent. 

karina leaned back on her hands, eyes focused on the ceiling. “because i scared you.”

“what?” she finally looked at you. 

“i didn’t want you to think that i was controlling. or obsessive. you’re the only thing i’ve wanted in a long time that actually makes me feel something. and i was scared that if i pushed too hard, you’d run.”

your breath caught. your chest felt full and tight and warm at the same time. “i wouldn’t.” you said. 

karina gave you a laugh that was devoid of any humor. “you say that now.”

“i mean it.”

she looked down. her fingers curled slightly as if she was resisting the urge to reach out for you. “then tell me not to hold back.”

“what?”

“if you want me to stop, i’ll stop. but if you don’t…” she finally looked at you again.

“i won’t hold back anymore.” you were suddenly aware of how close you were. you could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

you stayed silent for a moment. “you scare me sometimes.”

karina wasn’t offended. if anything, she was curious. “why?”

“because you always know what you want. and you always get it.”

“that scares you?” a slow smile found it’s way onto her lips. 

“no. what scares me is that i think i want to be yours.” you could feel the air change.

karina leaned in, forehead pressed to yours. “you already are.” then she kissed you.

it was slow. her hand slid to your back, pulling you in. your fingers caressed her hair, her cheek, then her jaw. you memorized the way her breath hitched when you parted your lips for her. you pulled away to catch your breath. but only for a bit. 

karina’s lips found yours again. it was like she was memorizing the shape of your mouth and the taste of your breath. you didn’t mean to pull her closer. you didn’t mean to sigh against her lips, or let your hands twist in the material of her hoodie. you didn’t mean to pull her down with you as you leaned back. 

but she came willingly, moving with you until she was leaning over you, one hand beside your head and the other still at your back. she kissed you like she was starving. like she was holding back for weeks and finally let herself go. and god, you let her.

you leaned into her, melted into her. you let her kiss you like she owned the moment. because she did. her lips parted just enough to whisper. “you have no idea what you do to me.” your breath caught.

and then—

“HELLO?!?” you both froze.

“okay, wow. i knew it! i told aeri it was happening! pay up, bitch!” ning’s voice echoed from the doorway.  karina groaned into your shoulder as you jumped back like you were caught committing a crime. 

“ning— what the hell?!”

“oh, don’t ning me. i knocked. twice.” she leaned against the doorframe with zero shame.

“anyway. aeri’s making some strawberry lemonade cocktails and i came to get you before she mixes them with that expired peach vodka again.”

again?

you looked at karina, who looked more annoyed than embarrassed. and then ning disappeared. karina sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. 

you were still catching your breath, staring at the door that ning had just came through. “should we go down?” you asked eventually.

karina leaned in one last time, brushing her lips against your cheek. “in a minute.”

“hurry up! i want to toast to the sexual tension finally bursting!” you heard ning yell. 

karina groaned. 

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

karina’s grip on you didn’t even loosen up once on the walk down. you stepped into the kitchen and were immediately hit by the scent of strawberries, citrus, and something that smelled dangerous.

“okay. i don’t know what to call this one yet, but it’s mostly lemonade and like, strawberry puree… and then like, a splash of evil.” aeri said while standing at the counter.  “define ‘splash.’” karina said, eyeing the bottle of vodka on the counter that looked more than half empty.

“i’m not a math prodigy. want some?” aeri shrugged. 

“absolutely not.” karina said, but ning was already pouring some into plastic cups for you. one of them was immediately put into your hand.

“cheers to tension relief! and karina’s face when i walked in.” ning said dramatically.

“i will murder you.” karina mumbled.

“i’m not judging! karina’s been like, clinically obsessed with you since day one. it’s honestly a relief that she finally acted on it.” you took a sip.

it was surprisingly good. it had just enough burn at the end to remind you that this was probably a very bad idea. “so are we gonna pretend that i didn’t clock the way karina was looking at y/n two weeks ago?” aeri said, sitting on the barstool. 

“are we finally past the mutual pining stage?” you nearly choked on your drink.

“we’re not past anything. we’re right in the middle of it.” karina said. that shut everyone up for a second.

“that was kinda hot.” ning giggled for you. you tried to hide your face behind your cup but karina pulled it down, locking eyes with you.

“none of that.” she said in a voice that only you could hear. you swallowed hard. something that you did a lot around her. 

“okay. this is where we toast, guys. you left me hanging.” ning rolled her eyes. you all raised your cups and for a moment it felt weirdly… normal. the tension turned into laughter, sarcasm, and increasingly dangerous drinks. karina stayed close the whole time.

you let her. you weren’t scared anymore. you were curious how much deeper this could go. and somehow, you ended up on karina’s balcony. 

one of them, at least. 

it was quieter out here. the sliding door clicked shut behind you and karina stepped onto the balcony right after you. the breeze was cool against your skin, courtesy of the ocean not too far away. 

your head was light and everything felt slower. it was quiet if you ignored the faint noise of playboi carti playing through ning’s bluetooth speaker. 

she finally spoke. “i hated that ning walked in.”

“yeah. i noticed.”

“i’m serious. i waited so long to kiss you like that. i wasn’t done.” she said in a lower voice than usual. her words were a little less accurate. you turned to meet her gaze. 

“i think you made your point.” you said quietly.

“did i?” she mumbled, tilting her head. 

“because i don’t want there to be any confusion. not with you.” her fingers brushed against yours on the railing as a reminder. 

“i like you. in the i can’t stop thinking about you kinda way. maybe i’ve done it all in the wrong order or came on too strong, but i’m not pretending.” your heart did something weird at her words. 

“i don’t want to pretend either.” you said. karina’s arm brushed against yours again. you could feel her sigh before you heard it.

“i don’t usually say shit like that. like, i never say shit like that. but with you, i can’t not.” she admit in a slurred voice. you turned your face toward her, and she was already looking at you. 

“stay tonight.”

you nodded. maybe it was the drinks. or honestly just karina. but staying felt like the only right answer.

the first thing you felt was warmth of a blanket. then the consequences of last night. karina’s scent still lingered on your skin. it was expensive and addictive. 

you stirred, stretching slightly before rolling onto your back. the spot beside you was empty, but it was still warm. you blinked slowly so that your eyes could adjust to the light slipping in from the slightly cracked bathroom door. that shit was huge. 

but when you looked inside, you nearly forgot how to breathe.

karina stood in front of the mirror, pulling her damp hair into a high, effortless ponytail. her outfit made you sit up.

it was a black cropped tank top paired with a skirt. just tight enough to show off the slope of her waist. she had on the silver rings she always wore with her sunglasses pushed in her hair. and her back was to you. that was when you saw it.

the spine tattoo.

black ink ran straight down her back. you couldn’t read it from here, but it looked like something elegant and sharp. just like her. 

it curved perfectly with the shape of her body, disappearing under the hem of her top. it was hot. unfair. 

she bent slightly to grab her lip balm off the sink and you caught yourself staring so hard you forgot how to blink. karina caught your reflection in the mirror.

“you’re awake. did you sleep okay?” you cleared your throat, dragging your eyes away from her back like you weren’t just hypnotized.

“didn’t think your bed would be so soft.”

“you drooled on me. that’s how soft it was.” karina smirked and turned slightly toward you. you groaned and dragged a pillow over your face.

“don’t say that to me right now.” she laughed quietly. 

“i made you tea. it’s probably not warm anymore now but it’s the thought.” she spoke. you peeked over the pillow to admire her. 

“thanks.” karina walked over to you and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching to caress your cheek with her thumb. 

“you looked so peaceful. i didn’t want to wake you.”

“you could’ve.” you mumbled.

“next time.” she responded. there would be a next time. you continued to stare at her. 

“what?” she asked, lips curving at your attention. 

“you have a spine tattoo.” you said.

“yeah.”

“for how long?”

“for a while.”

“you never said anything.”

“you never asked.” she said, slipping her jacket on slowly and hiding the ink from your view. it was a simple line, but it held so much weight. what else was she hiding from you? you sat up slowly, pulling the blanket up with you. “where’s aeri and ning?”

“alive.” karina smiled. 

“that’s good.” you replied. 

“i guess.” she stood again and grabbed her lip balm from the organizer, applying it in the mirror. “they’re texting like they’re stranded in the sahara.”

“we’re going out by the way.”

“out?”

“yeah. brunch. or lunch. something along the lines. ning just wants to eat.”

“and you? what do you want?” you smiled, pulling your knees up to your chest. karina tilted her head, giving you that look. the one that always made you forget how to breathe. “i want you with me.” she said simply.

it was crazy how one sentence from her could make your whole body feel like a firework. “okay.” you whispered.

she walked back over and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “take your time. i’ll wait.”

but all you could think about was that tattoo. and how bad you wanted to trace it with your fingers. you were going to ask about it again later. when it was just the two of you and no jacket in the way.

───────── ౨ৎ─────────

the doors of karina’s car swung open like a reveal scene in a drama. it was the kind of car that made people look twice. karina stepped out first with her sunglasses on. then aeri, stretching a little with an eye roll. then ning, dramatically fluffing her hair like she was getting her picture taken. 

then finally, you.

karina was there in time to help you out, her fingers wrapping around your hand before you could even close the door behind you. “keep holding my hand. i like when people see it.” she said under her breath, lips brushing your ear.

“see what?”

“that you’re mine.”

you walked past a group of college guys who clearly noticed her, then did a double take when they saw your hand in hers. karina didn’t react. she just tilted her chin slightly and pulled you closer. “i don’t like how he looked at you.” she said flatly.

“i think he was looking at you, karina.”

“exactly. and then he looked at you like he thought he had a chance.” 

you laughed. “you’re insane.”

she just smiled like it was a compliment.

and the second you stepped into the store, it was like something changed.

it was all because karina had entered.

it was like everyone noticed her at once. the store wasn’t even that packed, but heads still turned. people’s eyes drifted from clothes to the tall, sharp featured girl who walked like she didn’t need to try. the world just shaped itself around her.

karina wore that black cropped tank top that was still tight and unfair. the silver belt made it look like it was made to show off her waist.

you didn’t notice the way you fell in step beside her until aeri leaned in.

“everyone’s staring. it’s like walking next to an off duty model.”

“off duty? karina hasn’t clocked out since birth.”

karina didn’t care about the compliments. she was too busy scanning the racks like she had a mission. and that mission, apparently, was you.

you didn’t even get to touch a single hanger.

“oh— welcome back miss yu.” a worker said, already straightening up.

“we’ll bring you both something to sip on.”

your eyes widened. “we get drinks?”

“it’s karina. you could get a couch in here if you asked nicely.” ning said from behind you.

karina turned around with a red dress dangling from her finger.

“try this on. she said, it wasn’t up for debate. 

“you didn’t even check the size—”

“i looked at you.” karina tilted her head. 

“what if it doesn’t even fit?” you said, cheeks warming up already.

“then we buy you the size that does.” she replied as if it was obvious.

“karina—”

“baby. i already made up my mind. this one’s yours.” she said and you swore your soul left your body for a moment. 

“fine. but if i try something, you do too.” you mumbled.

“me?” karina raised a brow. 

“yeah. fair’s fair.”

she stepped closer. “you just wanna see me undress.”

you choked. “no— i mean—”

“then say that, sweetheart.” karina smirked, taking a corset top and black skirt from the rack like she was humoring you. 

you were in the dressing room, staring at yourself in the mirror with a dress so tight it was almost suffocating. it was red, strapless, and it clung to every curve you didn’t know you had. 

your thoughts were a mess.

“karina, this is insane.” you called through the curtain.

“does it fit?” she replied. 

“that’s not the issue!”

“then it’s perfect.”

you cracked the door open. “your turn.”

karina took the corset top and matching skirt from aeri. she disappeared into the stall next to you without even glancing back.

you tried not to listen. you really did.

but you could hear the rustle of fabric. and the sharp slide of the curtain.

and then—

“y/n.” her voice called. 

“i need help with the zipper.”

you froze.

aeri and ning had wandered off somewhere to look at outfits.

so it was just you.

you stepped out of your stall, heart pounding in your chest. “you’re serious?”

“wouldn’t ask if i wasn’t.”

you pulled her curtain aside.

and your brain? it stopped working. 

karina stood in front of the mirror in a black corset top that hugged her waist and the skirt hugged low on her hips. she was too hot for you. and your heart. 

just beneath one of the ribs in her top you saw something peeking out. 

it was a another tattoo. 

not the spine one. not the collarbone one.

this one sat just under her chest, printed in fine black ink. it was unreadable but unfair.

your breath hitched.

“zip?” she asked half turned, watching you through the mirror.

you nodded stupidly, stepping in.

your fingers brushed the bare skin of her back as you carefully zipped her up.

“how many tattoos do you have?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“three so far.”

your eyes glanced at the ink again. “this one’s older?”

“mhm. older than them all.”

your gaze met hers in the mirror.

your body temperature was suddenly too warm.

“your hands are shaking.” she said in a teasing tone.

“because you’re hot!” you blurted.

karina laughed before biting her lip. like she wasn’t currently ruining your ability to form a coherent thought.

she turned to face you fully with that teasing gaze still in her eyes. her voice was low. “so you admit it.”

“karina—”

“i’m buying this. and yours.”

“i haven’t even decided if i’m getting mine—”

karina stepped in until your space was hers. her hand came up, tilting your chin up until your eyes met hers.

“if you won’t wear it for you, then wear it for me.” she murmured. 

“i like seeing you in things i picked out. is that so bad?”

you were helpless. and breathless.

it didn’t feel like just spoiling.

it felt like claiming.

“that’s not fair.” you whispered.

she smiled. like she already won.

“you didn’t answer.” she added.

“answer what?”

“do i look good?”

you didn’t even pretend to play it cool.

“you look… insane.” you said in a dazed tone.

karina smirked.

her hand dropped to your shoulder, fingers brushing lightly as she fixed the strap of your dress. it was so gentle that it made your stomach flip.

“you two better not be making out in there!” ning’s voice rang out from somewhere near the jewelry.

karina smiled. 

“not yet.” she replied, eyes never leaving yours.

your knees genuinely almost buckled.

karina stepped back, finally giving you room to breathe. but the heat she left behind lingered on you. your hands were still trembling as you retreated to your own stall, trying to steady your pulse and ignore the flush creeping on your skin.

you somehow managed to change back into your clothes, and the red dress draped carefully over your arm like it was made of glass.

when you stepped out karina was already waiting. she was back in her black tank top and skirt, with her phone in one hand. she looked like she owned the store. she probably did.

you opened your mouth to say something just when ning came skipping around the corner with a glass of champagne in her hand and a pair of sunglasses that were definitely not hers.

“are you two done eye fucking in the fitting rooms or should i grab another drink?” she asked, taking a sip.

“it was one sided.” karina was unphased. as usual. 

“it was not.” you hissed.

“awh! i love mutual delusion!” ning cooed.

aeri was behind her, holding three bags and a pair of stilettos that looked legally dangerous. “i’m ready.”

karina took both your dress and her outfit, slinging them over her arm.

the four of you strolled toward the register and the moment the cashier saw karina, her expression shifted from professional to terrified to mess up. like she already knew who she was.

“put it on my account,” karina said before the girl could even speak.

“you have an account here?” ning asked. 

karina raised a brow. “don’t you?”

“no!”

you stood there, trying not to look out of place in a store where a single price tag could probably pay your rent. meanwhile, karina was taking black card out like it was nothing.

“did you want the jewelry as well?” the cashier asked politely, gesturing to a small tray of necklaces and rings karina had set down.

karina didn’t even glance at it. “all of it.”

your eyes widened. “wait—”

“let me.” karina said without looking at you.

you went quiet. you were stunned. and maybe just a little bit turned on.

the cashier handed karina the shopping bags with both of your outfits folded neatly inside, along with the jewelry in a smaller velvet pouch.

karina handed the pouch straight to you.

you stared.

“they’ll look better on you.” she said.

and then she walked off, sunglasses finally down over her eyes like she didn’t just buy you an outfit and jewelry without blinking.

   ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“this is the last one,” ning groaned dragging her feet. 

“i’m begging. starving. withering away.”

“you had champagne in the last three stores.” aeri reminded her, adjusting the stack of bags in her arms.

“champagne isn’t food. it’s a coping mechanism.” ning snapped.

“you had two glasses. in every store.”

“you’re not helping, babe.”

the four of you stepped into the final store. it was so clean and so quiet that it felt like even breathing too loud would cost money. 

the employees were all beautiful and you were pretty sure you saw someone famous just casually browsing.

karina’s hand was already on the small of your back, steering you toward a rack of dresses.

“you’ll like these.” she mumbled, and she was right.

you glanced over your shoulder. ning had already zeroed in on the drink tray being passed around and grabbed a flute without even asking. aeri followed with no hesitation, sipping something sparkling while fully making eye contact with the most anxious employee nearby.

you, on the other hand, were kind of overwhelmed.

“karina. this is… insane.” you whispered.

“mm. try it on.” she said, grabbing a dress off the rack and holding it against you like she could already picture it.

you hesitated. “you’re not trying anything?”

“i’m not the one getting spoiled today.”

your face heated up. she said it so casually like you weren’t already fighting for your life every time she looked at you.

you disappeared into the dressing room before your knees gave out. and you didn’t notice her grab another dress. 

the one she picked was black and silky. you’d barely finished zipping it when she called out softly.

“let me see.”

you cracked the door and peeked out.

karina was leaning against the wall across from you with her hands in her pockets, and it made your stomach do a thing. the look she gave you could’ve killed a victorian child.

“turn.” she said.

you did. slowly.

she tilted her head, biting back a smile. 

“walk.”

“karina—”

“please?”

god. 

you did. a few steps back and forth, pretending you weren’t walking straight into your downfall.

“what do you think?” you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

karina stepped forward. “it’s not the dress that i’m looking at.”

you were already flushed, ducking back inside. you were halfway into the second dress when you heard the voice behind you.

“need help zipping?” she asked lowly.

you almost died.

you turned to look at her just as karina slipped inside your dressing room like it was nothing.

“you—” you started, clearly panicked.

but she was already behind you, fingers brushing your spine carefully. 

her voice was soft. “relax.”

you didn’t.

her hands ghosted up your back before adjusting the fabric with a precision that made you shiver. she wasn’t just zipping you up. she was watching. your every breath, your every twitch, and every timesucked in too sharply.

“you really like watching me suffer, don’t you?” you whispered.

“no. i like watching you fall.” she leaned in.

“fall for what?”

her smile curved against your skin. “you’ll see.”

the door creaked open suddenly.

“okay, i know you’re in there again—“ ning’s voice called out.

you jumped.

karina, who was unbothered, responded. 

“we’re almost done.”

“you said that at the last store.”

aeri was sipping again, arms full of designer bags. “ning’s gonna start eating the mannequins.”

“i am!” ning shouted.

you stepped out finally, still struggling.

you watched karina’s expression shift from relaxed to focused. then focused to something darker and hungrier.

she was just staring. “you’re gonna kill me.” she said quietly.

your throat tightened. “it’s the dress, right?”

“no. it’s you in the dress.” she said.

you swallowed.

“you… can’t wear that around people.” she said, voice low.

“why not?”

“because i’m not trying to go to jail.”

“oh my god.” ning said.

karina looked at the nearest employee. “we’ll take this one.” the employee practically bowed. “we’ll wrap it for you.”

when you made it to the counter the cashier smiled, probably thinking you were just another couple with money to burn. but karina didn’t smile back. 

she handed over her black card like it meant nothing again, eyes lazily looking between you and the total on the screen.

ning leaned over from behind and stage whispered loud enough for the whole line to hear. 

“she was moaning over the price tag earlier but not when karina was practically eating her in the dressing room.”

your soul left your body.

the cashier stared. aeri choked on her gum. karina just smirked.

“oh my god. ning.” you hissed.

“what? i’m just saying. karina spends and y/n bends.”

“stop talking.” you begged, face already ten shades of red.

karina grabbed the bagged clothes with one hand then handed it to aeri.

“let her talk. she’s not wrong.” she murmured near your ear. 

you nearly died on the spot.

   ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

the brunch spot was the kind of place you only visited to take pictures in.

aeri ordered like she’d been here before. 

ning ordered like she owned the place.

“and three mimosas. just to start.”

two were for her. 

karina didn’t even look at the menu. she looked at you.

���get whatever you want.” she said softly, making you fold instantly.

you were still recovering from the dressing room.

and the walk here. where she held your waist the whole time and dared anyone to look at you too long.

you were just starting to feel normal again, laughing at aeri complaining about her mimosa and taking a bite of ning’s food without asking when your phone buzzed.

jiwon

hey. you should know something before school tomorrow.

your stomach dropped.

there no context. no follow-up.

just that.

your fingers hovered over your screen for a second before you typed fast.

you  

what are you talking about?

you stared at your phone. 

you didn’t realize your expression shifted until karina nudged you with her foot under the table.

“you okay?” she asked.

you nodded too quickly. “yeah. just— just got a weird text.”

karina didn’t press. she already knew that something was off. 

you opened up your text with minjeong. 

you

minjeong

jiwon texted me 

[one attachment]

your appetite disappeared.

“you sure you’re good?” aeri asked.

“yeah.” you lied, setting your phone face down.

they continued to talk and laugh.

but your chest felt tight.

you tried to stay present.

you really did.

but the second you flipped your phone down, the energy shifted for you. your mind kept spinning. what did jiwon mean? why now? and why send that kind of text without explaining?

karina didn’t take her eyes off you once since you read it.

“you sure?” she asked again, quieter this time.

you nodded, managing a weak smile. 

“mhm. promise.”

but your knee was bouncing under the table and karina clocked it immediately.

she leaned back just, draping along the back of the booth behind you. her thumb grazed the top of your shoulder.

it was subtle and protective.

she didn’t touched her food much. she was too busy watching you.

your phone buzzed again.

you didn’t dare to look. not with karina watching. not with her sitting so close.

but she was mid sentence. anxiety was eating you out from the inside and it made you hopeful. 

so you flipped your phone over. subtly. 

jiwon

i never sent anything in anonymously. that wasn’t me.

your heart dropped.

karina was still mid-sentence, but her eyes cut to your screen for a second.

just one second.

you angled it away instinctively.

but it was too late.

“everything okay?” she asked in a soft voice. but there was something sharper under it now. you couldn’t name what it was.

you forced a smile.

“yeah. just… texting minjeong.”

she tilted her head and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “minjeong?”

you nodded, thumbs already typing out a quick message before you could stop yourself.

you

minjeonggggg

i need you

the moment it delivered, karina leaned over and gently kissed your temple.

“be right back.” she murmured.

“where are you going?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even.

“bathroom.” she didn’t wait for you to respond. just turned and walked off with the same effortless grace that made everyone stop and stare.

you stared down at your screen. it was still unread.

“she’s gonna find out, you know.” ning said suddenly. 

your head snapped up. “what?”

“whatever it is. karina’s not stupid. if anything, i’d say she knows everything.” aeri sipped her mimosa.

“you’re acting like i’m hiding something.”

“we’re just saying. karina doesn’t miss much.” ning sang.

“plus she already saw your screen.” aeri added.

“you might as well just tell her before she finds out on her own. she’ll like it better.”

you weren’t sure if it was a warning or advice.

maybe it was both. 

but then you remembered the message.

jiwon’s message.

“i never sent anything in anonymously.”

that meant someone else had. someone who knew.

your stomach twisted.

and before you could talk yourself out of it, you typed to jiwon.

you

who is yujin?

you barely had time to process the weight of what you just sent when you saw the text wasn’t delivered.

blocked.

you stared with cold blooming in your chest.

karina returned a few seconds later, sliding back into her seat like nothing happened. her hand brushed your thigh beneath the table.

“you okay?” she asked, smiling.

and you smiled back.

but you had no idea if it reached your eyes.

the car ride back was thick with silence.

it was too quiet. 

aeri and ning had stayed behind for dessert. it was something about a mochi place that was trending on instagram, but ning reassured the two of you that her ‘lil shit’ would pick them up. 

karina drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting idly on the center console like nothing was wrong. 

like she hadn’t seen the name yujin flicker across your screen.

you haven’t said anything since. but it was eating at you. the silence. the question. the fact that jiwon blocked you the second you texted.

you looked over at karina, voice lower than you meant. “who’s yujin?”

she didn’t even blink.

her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. it was something quieter.

a knowing kind of tilt.

“i figured you’d get there eventually.” she said softly.

your throat tightened. “so?”

karina turned to look at you briefly. her tone was gentle.

“don’t worry about it, princess.”

the car hummed.

you stared at her, but she didn’t elaborate.

it felt like a promise.

when she pulled up in front of your place, she didn’t say goodbye. she just looked at you.

“i’ll see you soon.” she murmured.

you stepped out with a shaky breath and the door shut behind you quietly.

you bit your lip.

first period felt off from the beginning. karina’s seat was still empty.

you weren’t used to that.

she was usually early on time. but today? the silence she left behind felt heavier than usual. and you were already on edge.

minjeong was two rows ahead, slouched low in her chair. but when the teacher turned to write something on the board, she moved in her seat just enough to glance back at you. then she passed a folded note along the edge of the desk.

you opened it under your book.

"didn’t see jiwon on the bus. she hasn’t answered me either."

your fingers tightened around the paper. 

your eyes flicked up toward the door again as if somehow she’d be there now.

no one came.

you pulled out your phone under the desk and quickly typed out a message to minjeong.

you don’t think… karina—

before you could hit send—

the door creaked open.

your head snapped up.

karina walked in with an unreadable expression. her jaw was tight and she handed a late pass to the teacher without a word. 

she didn’t even look at you until she was sitting.

she leaned in slightly, voice low.

“you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

your blood chilled.

your stomach dropped.

no one knew that. you didn’t text it to anyone. you just laid there in bed, tossing and turning while your brain tried to put together jiwon’s text, her disappearance, and yujin.

“how do you know that?” you asked.

karina smiled, the corners of her mouth curving.

her thumb reached out, brushing underneath your eye gently. 

“the eyebags. they’re kind of cute.” she murmured.

you should’ve laughed.

but your heart was beating a little too fast and your skin felt a little too hot.

she turned her gaze forward like nothing happened.

you stared at her, the memory of her hand against your cheek still tingling.

   ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

lunch rolled around, but it didn’t feel like a break.

your head was still spinning from history class. jiwon’s name wasn’t called on the roster. at first, you thought maybe she was just late, but the teacher didn’t even pause. like she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

you were walking with minjeong toward the courtyard when you heard someone whisper behind you.

“she moved schools. out of nowhere.”

“i heard her parents pulled her. like, literally overnight.”

you didn’t even realize you’d stopped walking until minjeong tugged lightly on your sleeve.

“y/n?” she asked. her voice was quiet.

your mouth felt dry. “did you hear that?”

minjeong nodded slowly. “something’s wrong. i just… i know she wouldn’t leave like that without saying anything.”

your heart twisted. you knew how close they were, or they used to be. and now jiwon was gone. just like that.

“she didn’t even say goodbye. not even a text.” minjeong whispered. 

before you could respond, a familiar warmth grazed your wrist.

karina.

she appeared beside you like she had always been there, her fingers brushing. 

there was a small silver chain around her neck that you’d never seen before.

“you weren’t at the table.” she said softly, her smile unreadable.

“we were just— um— walking.”

her gaze moved briefly to minjeong, then back to you.

“come with me.” she said, her tone not exactly a request.

you looked at minjeong, hesitant.

she shook her head before you could speak. “it’s fine. i’ve got somewhere to be.”

you nodded, swallowing your guilt and letting karina guide you by the hand to her table. 

“you missed first period.” aeri said to ning. 

“i’m in my delinquent era.”

karina rolled her eyes then reached into her bag and pulled something out. a small, velvet box.

your brows lifted. “what’s this?”

she opened it. inside was a delicate silver bracelet with multiple diamonds. 

she was still spoiling you. 

“i had it made.” she said softly like it wasn’t a big deal.

she was still spoiling you. 

you blinked. “karina— ”

“don’t.” she took your wrist before you could react and fastened the clasp herself. her fingers were steady.

“it looks good on you.”

your brain stopped.

“you really didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.”

ning made a gagging noise. 

“you guys are disgusting. in a cute way, but still. disgusting.”

aeri smirked. “she’s just mad she hasn’t gotten her matching bracelet yet.”

“i want a matching necklace, actually.” ning said. 

you tried to hide your flustered face behind your hand but karina caught your wrist again, turning it to admire the bracelet on your wrist.

then ning spoke again.

“sooo. did you hear about jiwon?”

karina just tilted her head, her thumb still brushing your pulse.

“what about her?”

“she left. like, gone gone. moved schools outta nowhere. no warning. it’s kinda sus, right?”

aeri raised a brow. “i thought she was besties with that other girl.”

karina gave a light laugh.

“i guess she won’t be getting that rain check.” she said, voice dripping with something too smooth to be innocent.

you tensed.

her words were so casual. her fingers didn’t leave your wrist.

and when you looked at her she was already smiling.

like she didn’t just say something that sent chills down your spine.

“one day she’s here, the next she’s just… poof. there was no goodbye, no story, not even a last-minute rumor. that’s not how people leave this school. not without someone knowing.”

karina let out a small hum beside you, like she was interested but already had the ending to the story.

“she probably had her reasons.” aeri offered.

ning leaned in across the table with a conspiratorial voice. “okay but what if she didn’t leave voluntarily?”

you tensed. 

karina’s eyes cut to yours. she was amused. 

“why so tense, baby?” she asked.

you glanced away too quickly and caught it.

sunghoon, a couple tables over, was laughing with his friends when his eyes briefly focused on you. and then he smiled.

it was enough to make your stomach flip. it was the type that would’ve felt sweet if you weren’t sitting next to karina.

because she noticed.

of course she noticed.

her hand that was resting casually on your thigh under the table tensed slightly. 

you looked back at her, startled by how unreadable her expression was.

“i’m not tense.” you said.

“you are.” she murmured, thumb brushing over your leg. 

“it’s okay. i’d be nervous too if someone disappeared right after betraying me.”

you froze.

“i didn’t— she didn’t betray me.” you started, voice catching. 

karina tilted her head. “didn’t she?”

her stare was magnetic. she was smiling but something behind her eyes sparkled with knowing. 

she was still tracking sunghoon’s glance like it was carved into her eyelids.

aeri was unaware. ning, unfortunately, was not.

“you two weren’t that close, right?” ning asked 

“i mean, i thought she was tight with minjeong, but…”

“she was. they were.”

ning’s brows raised like she just realizing something. “wait. minjeong didn’t mention anything, did she?”

you didn’t answer.

which was all ning needed.

“oh. damn.”

“let it go. we’re talking about someone who left. let her stay gone.”

ning smiled, slow and shark like.

“right, right. my bad. guess i just love a good mystery.”

“you would be terrible in a whodunit. you would expose the killer just for fun.” aeri said, sipping her drink.

“only if the killer’s hot.”

karina laughed.

then she leaned toward you again, her voice barely above a whisper.

“you’re thinking too hard.”

“i’m not.”

“you are. relax. you’re safe.”

you turned to face her, heart pounding.

“are you saying that because you want me to feel safe, or because you know i am?”

her smile widened, lazy and slow, like she knew something you didn’t. her hand moved up your thigh subtly. 

“both.”

then she leaned back like nothing happened.

across the table, ning raised her eyebrows. “damn, i still want whatever weird love potion she used on you.”

karina smiled.

“no potion. just luck.”

and maybe a little bit of control.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

you didn’t mean to hang out with them after school. really.

but one minute you were walking out with every intention of hanging with minjeong and the next, aeri had her arm around your shoulder while dragging you towards karina’s black car. 

you sat on the edge of the couch, guilt tugging at your chest. minjeong had only sent a “k” when you texted about changing plans and it stung more than it should’ve. you felt like you owed her something. but karina was sitting beside you now, watching you like she already knew every thought.

“tell me what’s on your mind.” she said softly.

you tried to shrug it off. “nothing.”

“you can’t lie to me.” she murmured.

you turned to look at her, and she was already closer than you realized.

“i’ll say it again. you don’t have to pretend around me. i don’t like it when you pretend.” she added.

maybe it was the way she said it. or the way her voice was grounding you.

“i’m starting to think you might be insane.” 

karina smiled.

it was a soft one this time. 

“but you like it.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to.

she reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’ve never let anyone get this close.”

you swallowed. “that’s not true.”

“it is. not since—”

she stopped herself. and then, instead of finishing, she leaned forward and kissed you.

your eyes fluttered closed on instinct.

it started like a question. gentle, like she was waiting for you to push her away.

you didn’t.

you kissed her back. and when she moved a little closer with a hand curling at the back of your neck, you let her.

the couch creaked under you. her thumb grazed your jaw and she kissed you again, deeper this time. and then her lips trailed to the corner of your mouth, then to your cheek, and then lower.

your breath caught when she kissed beneath your ear.

then under the edge of your jaw.

“karina—“ escaped your lips before you could stop it.

she paused there. lips against your skin, with a ghosting smile.

and then she whispered. “it’s jimin.”

you stared.

“what?”

she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “my real name. i thought you should know.”

yoh stared at her, heart still pounding in your chest.

“why now?” you asked quietly.

“because you say my name like it means something. and i want it to be the right one.”

you were still trying to process it.

jimin, jimin, jimin. 

then her phone buzzed on the coffee table beside you.

she glanced at the screen.

then declined the call. too fast.

you didn’t get to see the contact.

“everything okay?” you asked, breathless from more than just the kiss.

she gave you a soft smile. “yeah. just my mom. i’ll be right back.”

you watched her disappear down the hallway and past the kitchen. ning was arguing with aeri about “borrowing” a bracelet from karina’s jewelry drawer but it all faded into the background as you slowly stood up.

then you heard her voice again from an almost closed door.

“no. i told you. i’m handling it.”

silence. then softer, almost broken. 

“i can’t lose her like i lost yujin.”

your body went still.

you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your lungs started to ache.

yujin.

there it was again. that name. that secret.

and now, suddenly, it wasn’t just curiosity

it was dread.

you heard her footsteps before you saw her.

soft and steady.

you didn’t move when she stepped back into the room, but your body tensed. like it knew she was near before your mind caught up.

karina was quiet as she sat beside you again, her perfume infesting the air and claiming the space all over again. her thigh brushed yours, fingers reaching for your hand. 

“sorry about that. my mom needed something.” she said softly.

you nodded too quickly. “no worries.”

and that was your first mistake.

because karina turned her head slightly toward you and her voice dropped. velvet and sharp.

“what did you hear?”

your stomach dropped.

“i— what?”

karina didn’t push. she only tilted her head like she was looking through you, not at you.

“it’s not a bad thing.” she said softly. 

“you’re just a little quiet now.”

you swallowed. “just thinking.”

that was your second mistake.

her hand lifted and brushed the side of your neck. then her thumb caught the edge of your jaw.

“i know who you’re thinking about.”

your breath caught.

she said it like a dare.

you didn’t nod or speak. but your silence was a yes.

her thumb traced under your eye and you swore she could feel your pulse under her fingers.

“you’re a terrible liar, baby.” she whispered.

“i didn’t mean to— i just overheard—” your voice broke.

“i know.” she hushed you instantly, forehead brushing against yours.

“but now you know how much you matter to me.”

her hand curved around your jaw and tilted your face just so your eyes met hers again.

“i lost someone before. it won’t happen again.” she said, voice barely audible.

you felt her words more than you heard them. you felt it everywhere in your body. 

she leaned in and kissed your cheek softly.

then your temple.

then the corner of your mouth.

“i won’t lose you.” she murmured, and this time it felt like a promise with weight to it. 

like a vow.

you were still trying to breathe when her lips grazed your ear.

“you’re mine, right?”

your lips parted. “karina—”

“say yes.”

and when you didn’t answer, she kissed you.

it wasn’t urgent.

it was slow.

like she had all the time in the world to unravel you.

when she pulled back, your whole body felt light.

ning’s voice rang out from the living room. 

“if no one’s picking a movie, i’m making us watch the notebook again!”

you were still in a daze, heart thudding from the way karina had kissed you like she already owned the part of you you were still trying to understand.

aeri groaned. “i swear to god, ning—”

you stood, slow and little unsteady, your skin still tingled. you didn’t even make it a full step before—

her hand wrapped around your wrist.

“wait.”

you turned.

karina sat there on the couch, legs pulled up and hoodie sleeves too long past her wrists. for once, she didn’t look like the girl who had the entire school wrapped around her finger. she didn’t look like the untouchable center of the universe, or the beautiful girl who whispered your name like a secret. she just looked…

soft?

her hair was a little messy from your hands and her lips were pink and slightly swollen from the kisses you just shared. 

and when she looked up at you, there was no teasing glint in her eyes.

it was something she’d never let anyone else see.

“can’t we stay in a little longer?” she asked, quieter this time.

and it wasn’t about the others. it wasn’t about the movie.

it was about you. about the fact that something in her unraveled when it was just the two of you. something she didn’t let anyone else close enough to see.

your heart broke a little in the best way.

she looked down for a second, fingers curled around your wrist. “just for a minute. just you and me.” she added.

you sat back down.

her hand was still on you.

“i can’t say no to you even if i wanted to.”

“you’re not supposed to.”

you didn’t know how to look at her. you didn’t know how to not look at her.

and then she leaned in again, forehead resting gently against yours. her eyes fluttered like this was the only place she could breathe.

you swallowed, barely holding it together. 

“you okay?”

she nodded after a while, but it was slow. like she didn’t trust her voice yet. “i just… i don’t get this feeling with anyone else.” her voice broke a little.

you folded. completely.

your chest ached and your hands moved on their own, sliding up to cup her face. 

“you make me insane.” you whispered.

karina laughed under her breath. she opened her eyes.

“i win.” she said, quieter this time.

you smiled helplessly. “win what?”

she leaned forward until her nose brushed yours. “whatever game you think we’re playing.”

there was that again. 

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

because you knew that she wasn’t playing.

and for once, neither were you.

karina sighed, already standing. but she reached for your hand like it was instinct. 

then fingers laced with yours.

“come on.” she said.

you followed her out.

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ning had already claimed the comfiest spot on the couch, mystery drink in one hand and the tv remote in the other. she was wearing fuzzy socks, phone lighting up every few seconds.

aeri was stretched out across the floor with a pillow under her head, scrolling through tiktok and arguing with ning about everything.

“we’re not watching a movie where the guy literally dies in the rain, ning.”

“he dies in the bedroom, aeri. after loving her for like sixty years.”

you stepped in with karina still holding your hand, and they both looked up for one second.

aeri smirked. “took you long enough.”

karina cut in before you could say anything. 

“y/n needed help with something. zippers are hard.” she said, so sweet it made your pulse stutter.

ning choked on her drink. “excuse me?!”

you turned, ready to hit karina with a you did not just say that, but she was already plopping down onto and crossing her legs like nothing happened. she tugged you down next to her, hand still warm around yours. her arm brushed your shoulder like a secret no one else was allowed to know.

ning leaned closer with a wicked gaze. 

“you two are freaks.”

“romantic freaks.” aeri corrected.

“lovers.” ning said.

karina smiled, resting her chin on your shoulder like it belonged there.

aeri finally tossed her phone down. “listen! movie time. i’m not sitting through another failed vote.”

“i already said the notebook—” ning started.

“and we said no. too soft. we need violence. blood. screaming.” 

“that’s… a shift.”

“i want to see people running for their lives, babes. scream. classic. camp. a cultural reset.”

“i agree. the notebook is too straight.” karina said.

ning groaned. “you are so gay.”

aeri sat up, suddenly way too enthusiastic.

“uh uh. you cannot tell me ghostface isn’t hilarious. and iconic. and hot. scream is literally a comfort movie.”

“comfort?? people die.” you asked. 

“exactly. makes my problems feel small.”

“i don’t mind. i’ve seen worse things before.” karina hummed. 

ning turned to you with a dramatic gasp. 

“is she talking about you?”

you shoved a pillow at her.

karina just laughed, pulling you in. her arm slipped behind you on the couch, fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder. 

“let her pick it. it’s her first group movie night.” karina said.

“wait— me?”

three pairs of eyes turned on you. karina tilted her head, curious.

you swallowed. “uhh… something scary is fine?”

aeri smiled. 

“this is why i fuck with you.”

“i’d hate to have to hold you if you get scared.” karina laughed. 

“you would love to hold me.” you gave her a look. 

“guilty.”

ning clicked the remote, scrolling. “okay, whatever, scream it is.”

the movie started and the room dimmed. 

you leaned into karina and her thumb was now lazily brushing your arm. she didn’t flinch at anything. of course she didn’t.

halfway through the first kill, you felt her lean in.

“you’re blushing again.” she whispered, lips barely brushing your ear.

you couldn’t help it.

because even while ghostface chased teenagers around in a suburban house, all you could focus on was her.

   ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

the movie ended in a mess of blood with the credits rolling. ning was laid out across the couch dramatically, half sleeping.

aeri was halfway into her phone, texting with one hand. “that was not scary.” she mumbled. 

but karina hadn’t moved.

she was still beside you, elbow resting on the back of the couch behind you. her fingers grazed the edge of your shoulder.

you turned to look at her.

“be honest. you hated it.”

she smiled without looking at you, her eyes still on the credits. “i didn’t hate it.”

you raised a brow. 

“i liked watching you more. you get all quiet when you’re scared.” she added, turning to meet your gaze.

“that’s because i’m trying not to scream.” you scoffed. 

karina tilted her head while smirking. “you can scream around me.”

your heart was stuttering.

“karina—”

“you always say my name like it’s a question. like you’re not sure i’m real.” she murmured, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“sometimes i’m not.” you admitted. 

that made her pause.

she studied you, eyes unreadable, then sat back a little to really look at you.

and then her hand, the one resting near your shoulder, moved with her fingertips trailing gently across your collarbone like she was drawing a shape only she could see. her thumb brushed the strap of your top.

“you don’t show this side to anyone else, do you?” you asked, half whisper.

karina smiled. “no.”

and there was something about the way she said it. it was honest. and maybe a little scared.

you didn’t even realize you were leaning in until your nose brushed hers.

“i like you like this.” you murmured.

her breath hitched and then her lips were on yours, gentler than you expected. 

you could never get enough of her lips.

she didn’t pull away, mouth moving to your jaw, then your neck, leaving soft, slow kisses down to your collarbone like she wasn’t in a rush.

like she was memorizing you. 

your fingers found the hem of her shirt, anchoring yourself.

she kissed your shoulder once more then pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

“you’re dangerous.” you whispered.

karina smiled “i know.”

then ning called out from the kitchen, “if you’re making out again, at least wait until i’m asleep!”

you jumped. karina didn’t react.

she just looked up at you with a gaze that made your heart stop and reached for your wrist.

you stood first, dizzy with affection, and she gently tugged you back.

and of course you obeyed. 

you rode with karina to school the next morning.

“you’re staring.” she said, tone light.

“i wasn’t.” you lied. obviously.

she smirked, one hand drifting from the wheel to rest on your knee.

“you were.”

you didn’t deny it this time. you were still a little dizzy from last night. from the way she said ‘can’t we stay a little longer.’ from the way she kissed you. from the way her voice dropped when she called you baby.

karina slowed the car, parking into her usual spot out front because of course she parked like she owned the school. a few students glanced over, taking mental notes who was in the car with her this morning. you weren’t imagining the change in attention.

and then— sunghoon.

he looked up as karina changed the gearshift into park, expression freezing the moment your eyes met. the moment he saw her.

he straightened instantly. paled even.

then bowed.

like a full ninety-degree ‘i fear for my life’ type of bow.

karina smiled slowly with her sunglasses still on. one hand draped casually over the steering wheel. “cute.”

you didn’t even have time to ask what that was about before she was opening your door for you like a chauffeur.

“come on.” she said smoothly, eyes falling to your lips for just a second.

she always made it feel like walking beside her was a privilege.

like being with her meant something dangerous.

and judging by the way people stared as you walked into school with her, they knew it too.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

you spotted minjeong near the lockers with her hoodie half zipped and earbuds tucked into her collar.

she looked up right as you stepped away from karina’s side.

“i’ll be right back.” you said, already moving.

karina caught your wrist.

her thumb brushed the inside of your pulse as if she was memorizing the rhythm. “where are you going?” she asked, head tilting like a puppy. 

except a puppy wouldn’t be wearing tinted dior lenses and a diamond studded earring.

you glanced at minjeong again. “to talk to her.”

“…now?”

you tried not to smile. “yeah. now.”

karina didn’t let go just yet. her pout was so slight and so subtle that you almost missed it. “i was gonna walk you to class.”

“i’ll only be a minute.”

she let your wrist go with a sigh that was a little too dramatic to be serious.

“fine. one minute. sixty seconds. that’s it.” she said. 

you shot her a look. “are you gonna time me?”

“i’ve already started.” she said. “fifty nine.”

you rolled your eyes and turned toward minjeong who had absolutely seen all of that.

she didn’t say anything right away. her jaw was tight like she had been holding something in too long.

you leaned against the locker beside hers. 

“hey.”

“hey. you still haven’t seen her real side, huh?” she said. 

“what do you mean?”

minjeong didn’t look at you.

“you know what i mean.” she mumbled.

“karina doesn’t just let people in. she chooses. and when she does it’s not always a good thing.”

you shifted uncomfortably. “she’s been sweet, actually.”

minjeong looked at you now, finally. and her eyes were tired.

“she’s been obsessive. that’s how it starts.” she said.

you tried to speak but her next question caught you off guard.

“have you heard from jiwon?”

you shook your head, guilt creeping in. 

“she blocked me.”

minjeong furrowed her eyebrows.

“she what?”

“she blocked me after i asked her about yujin. i haven’t heard anything since.” you admit. 

minjeong looked like she was doing math in her head.

your throat felt tight. “you think karina—?”

minjeong shut her eyes for a moment. “i think you need to be careful. that’s all i’m saying.”

you were about to respond when karina appeared with a smile on her face. 

“time’s up.”

you groaned.

“unbelievable.” minjeong mumbled. 

the smile told you that she heard all of it.

“ready?” karina asked, already matching your stride without waiting for an answer.

you nodded. and she didn’t take your hand this time. just brushed her fingers against yours. 

you glanced up at her, trying to read her face. but she was unreadable in the way that made your chest flutter. calm, composed, and a little too quiet. 

“you’re distracted.” she said after a few steps. 

“she asked about jiwon.”

karina didn’t answer. not right away. but you could see the smile tug at the corner of her mouth, like she knew you would bring it up. like she was waiting for it.

“i’m gonna stop by the counselor’s office.” she said instead. 

“why?”

“finishing something up.”

you stopped walking. she took one more step before turning back toward you.

there was something in her eyes now. the kind of look that made your breath catch even when she wasn’t saying anything.

she leaned in close with a low voice. 

“you should tell minjeong to be careful, too.”

your heart thudded once, hard.

“…karina?”

but she just smiled like she didn’t just say something vaguely threatening.

“don’t look at me like that. i’m being good.” she said, brushing your hair behind your ear gently. 

“you’re being cryptic.”

“i’m being considerate.” she corrected. 

then she leaned in. "you don’t want me to show you what not being good looks like.”

you knew she was teasing. mostly. but it still made your knees weak.

and then, like nothing had happened, she stepped back.

“i’ll see you at lunch. don’t miss me too much.” she said with a soft little smirk as she turned. you stood there for a bit too long, dizzy with affection and dread equally. and the worst part? you already missed her.

taglist — @saysirhc @prologue-ae @yuyuy90 (@spidrgamer @sh1ba100 @1800hotnfunn)

[kamisobsessed]

Crazy

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

Summary: Jensen is trying to work but you love to drive him crazy.

Warnings: Smut. Oral (M Receiving). Dom!Jensen. Semi-Public (In Front Of Others Without Them Knowing). Rough Sex. Slapping. Some Pet names. No Use Of Y/N.

A/N: We were being very horny in a gc with some friends of mine and we started talking about this scenario, so I had to write it. Also ignore the stupid dates and random words, I just threw like big meeting words in it.

masterlist — taglist

Jensen sat back in his chair, the screen of his laptop casting cool blue light across his face.

He looked effortless — one arm resting on the desk, the other lazily curled near his chin, fingers brushing his jaw while his agent and the showrunner rattled off potential dates for the next month of production.

“We’re tentatively thinking the 10th through the 24th,” the showrunner said. "You good with that?"

“Depends on flights,” Jensen replied, tone smooth, even. “And whether I get a bed that isn’t moving for more than two days.” His voice was calm and professional.

You entered the room without a word.

You didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t speak.

You just sank slowly to your knees and slid beneath the desk between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body through his joggers.

He didn’t look down.

But his thigh twitched the moment your fingers brushed the inside of it.

Still, he kept talking.

“If we’re going into press immediately after the shoot,” he said, “I want my call times locked by the 5th.”

Your hands slid higher, slow, steady, deliberate.

He clicked mute.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he muttered, low and sharp.

Your mouth was already on him.

You pressed your lips right where he was already starting to harden beneath the soft fabric of his joggers. His hips shifted — reflex, not choice. His knuckles tightened against the desk.

You smiled. And kissed him again.

"You're fucking crazy, y'know that?" He murmured.

You traced the shape of him with your mouth, kissing slow and patient, until he was fully hard and straining against the fabric. Then your fingers hooked his waistband, tugged it down just enough to free him.

Thick. Hot. Already leaking.

You wrapped your hand around him and stroked once, slow and tight.

Then took him into your mouth.

He didn’t breathe for a second. Then he let out a low, harsh exhale and clicked back to unmute.

“If we push press to the week after, I can flex the 29th and 30th,” he said, his voice raspier now, just a hair off. “But I need confirmation by end of day.”

You swallowed him deeper.

His hand slid under the desk and into your hair. Not guiding. Just holding. Anchoring. Like he needed the contact to survive the storm you were pulling him into.

You sucked him slow and deep, your rhythm perfect, your tongue circling with precision. He tried to stay still. Tried to keep the mask on. But his thighs flexed, his hand trembled, and you could feel how badly he wanted to lose control.

Muted again.

“You keep going like that,” he growled, “and I’m gonna cum all over your tongue with three people still watching me.”

You moaned around him.

His cock twitched hard in your mouth.

“You like that?” he said, breath breaking. “Knowing they’re listening while you take me apart under the desk?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your mouth was too full, too busy wrecking him inch by inch.

He clicked unmute again, barely hanging on.

“Uh...yeah,” he said, voice rough, strained. “I’m good with that.”

No one on the call noticed. They had no idea what was going on beneath the camera.

But you felt everything. The way his muscles tensed, the heat building fast beneath his skin, the way his hips started to roll against your mouth, searching for friction he knew he shouldn’t chase.

Muted.

“Fuck. I’m gonna—”

And then he did.

He came with a stifled groan, hand clamped over his mouth, thighs shaking around you as his cock pulsed his hot cum against your tongue. You swallowed every drop, held him there, let him ride it out while he came completely undone.

The meeting ended with a quiet click.

And then silence.

His chest rose and fell. He looked down at you.

Eyes dark. Mouth parted.

“Get out from under that desk,” he said, “and bend the fuck over it.”

You didn’t even get the chance to stand.

Jensen grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you out from under the desk, his grip firm, possessive, not cruel, but firm. He was done pretending to keep it together. The moment that meeting ended, he snapped.

“You want to act like a little fucking distraction,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “then you’re gonna take what you fucking asked for.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he turned you around and shoved you down onto the desk. Papers scattered. Your hands hit the wood hard, legs trembling.

He didn’t undress you carefully. He yanked your pants down fast, rough, baring you completely, his palm dragging across your ass as he kicked your legs farther apart.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

The warning in his voice was sharp enough to sting. He wasn't playing around any longer.

You heard the sound of his joggers hitting the floor, and then he shoved inside, thick and deep, in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, your hands clawing at the edge of the desk. He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask. Didn’t soothe.

He just grabbed your hips and started using you.

His pace was relentless, deep, pounding thrusts that sent the desk rattling under your body, your breath punched out of you with every slam. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you in place like he owned you. You are his.

“Thought you were so fucking clever, huh baby girl?" he snarled, fucking you harder. “Sitting under that desk, moaning around my cock while I’m trying to talk.”

You tried to answer but couldn’t.

He reached up, grabbed your hair, yanked your head back just enough to growl in your ear.

“You wanted my attention, yeah? Like the little slut you are," His hips slammed forward. “Now you’ve got all of it.”

You choked out a gasp, pleasure blooming fast inside you. Your body was already close, already raw and wet from everything before, and now he was wrecking you, ruining you with each punishing thrust.

“You’re dripping,” he hissed. “You fucking like this, huh? My fucking slut."

You nodded frantically, your voice broken. “Yes. God, yes—”

He smacked your ass hard.

“Louder.”

“Yes, Jensen—!”

His hand wrapped around your throat and pinned you flat against the desk, his body caging you in while he thrust deeper, angrier. His cock filled you completely, slamming into that spot that made you scream.

“Good girl,” he growled. “You don’t get to be quiet now.”

You came first, back arching, breath breaking, your orgasm crashing through you so violently your knees gave out. But he held you up. Fucked you through it.

And he didn’t stop.

Not until you were whimpering and pleading under him.

Only then did his rhythm falter. His grip tightened. A vicious growl ripped out of his chest as he came, hard, deep inside you, every muscle locked down as he emptied himself with a final punishing thrust that left you gasping.

Then silence. Just your bodies. Breathless. Sweat-covered. His cock still inside you. His hand still holding you down.

Then his voice, ragged and low against your ear.

“You want to pull that stunt again?” he breathed. “Next time, I won’t be this nice.”

A/N: I went to SPN NJ this past Sunday and I miss it so much. Jensen and Jared give such good hugs. Ugh I miss them.

tags: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @caplanbuckybarnes @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @mostlymarvelgirl @waynes-multiverse @deanspookiebear @multiversefanfics @chevroletdean @skywalker0809 @winchesterwild78 @cas-is-my-angel7

[cloudyzeusy]

He was too fucking pretty to be just an assistant. I knew it from day one — the way he shifted under my stare, the way he dressed like they didn’t know what it did to me.

But he did. Oh, he did.

Today, he tested me.

Late reports. Smart mouth. Eyes rolling when I gave orders.

So I leaned back in my chair, spread my legs, and said it — slow and deliberate:

“Get under the desk and suck my cock.”

He blinked. Laughed, nervously. "You can’t be serious-"

I cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

He hesitated. But I just waited.

"That's not in my job description," he muttered.

I smiled coldly. "Neither is your attitude. And I’m one more sigh away from cleaning out your desk for you."

He stilled.

I let the threat hang there, eyes locked. Then added - voice like ice, fingers already unzipping. "Or you can prove you're worth keeping."

His cheeks flushed with something between rage and arousal. "You’re an asshole," he hissed. Yet he face just flushed his eyes locked onto my crotch.

"And yet..." I glanced down at the space between my legs. "You're still standing there."

Another second. Then, with a muttered curse, he dropped to their knees.

"Good choice."

He glared up at me, but their fingers trembled as he pulled down my waistband. I buried a hand in his hair before he could change their mind.

“Open your mouth,” I said. “Wide. Don’t make me ask again.”

His lips parted. I fed it to him slowly, inch by inch, watching his face twist with reluctant need, breath hitching as I filled his mouth.

He whimpered — whether from humiliation or arousal, I didn’t care. I gripped the back of his head and began to thrust.

Hard. Claiming their mouth like it was mine - because it was. Everything about them was mine.

“You complain,” I growled, “but you take it so fucking well.”

He moaned around me, choked a little, but never pulled away. Not once.

"That's it," I groaned, eyes locked on the sight of his stuffed full, face slick with spit. "Knew you’d be good at this. Just needed a little discipline."

He tried to glare up at me -weakly, eyes already glassy - but I grinned.

“You’re lucky I don’t bend you over this desk and remind you who owns you.”

A shiver ran through him.

'Fuck.' I groaned before grabbing the back of his head and slowly fucking his mouth. I sped up my thrusts until I was right on the verge of coming.

I pushed his head down as I came into his mouth. Keeping his head down I watched as he tried to swallow everything down as best he could, come and drool making it past his desperate attempt at swallowing it all.

When I finally let go, he collapsed back on their heels,with a gasp panting, lips swollen, eyes dazed.

“Get cleaned up,” I said, zipping up. “And next time I say on your knees, you don’t hesitate.”

He didn’t say a word.

But his thighs were trembling, clenched together.

And that smug little smirk on my face?

It was because I knew he had just came in his pants.

your faves <3

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 27

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 26 | Series Masterlist | Part 28

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: An idea comes to you regarding part of your future and Bucky has a few choice words for your parents.

Chapter Warnings: Confrontation, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: I don't know what happened to the original post. Let's try this again! More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought it would feel strange with Curtis hanging out in the kitchen while you baked the brownies, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and it was something you’d have to get used to since he would be around you going forward. He didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk unless you asked him a question, likely trying to remain in the “shadows”. You did wonder what was on his mind since he mentioned being trapped, but it wasn’t any of your business. He was your bodyguard and that didn’t mean he’d be your friend. 

“Smells delicious,” he said, standing when you took them out of the oven. 

“Don’t worry. I won't burn myself,” you said, nodding for him to sit back down. “And thanks. I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will.”

Ray walked into the kitchen the moment you set the brownies out to cool off and looked between you and Curtis who settled back in his chair. “A treat for breakfast?” he guessed.

“A treat for Curtis,” you said, making your bodyguard smile a little.

Ray blinked hard and slow. “I see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. Did that upset him? 

“Well, that batch is for Curtis. You have first dibs on the other batch,” you clarified. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. “And what about the boss?” 

“He’s third. He knows what he did,” you said unapologetically. They were your brownies. You could do what you wanted with them.

Curtis hid a smile before Ray asked, “And how are you feeling?”

You put your hands on the counter and shrugged. “Hard to say since I’m seeing my parents today and still dealing with…”

“Everything,” Ray finished for you. 

You nodded. “I appreciate you asking.” It felt like you hadn’t talked to him in days and you admittedly missed it. Like Curtis, keeping you safe wasn’t a bore or chore in his eyes. He believed you were brave and part of you was starting to believe it, too. 

“We’re all glad you're safe now,” he softly said.

“Careful there. You might be showing emotion,” Curtis said, earning him a glare from his colleague. 

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked. 

“He sulked for a minute when you kicked him out of the kitchen,” he said, making Curtis snort. Again, Bucky knew what he did. “But he’s in his office. Called Steve and Natalia. He also got an update on Lois.”

“How is she?” you asked, hoping that things were still looking up.

“She’s recovering well,” he assured you. You were glad to hear that. “From what we know, she’s stubborn and strong and it’ll take time, but she’ll be fine.”

You let out a breath. “I really need to see her, and I need to talk to Natasha,” you said. A woman you could hopefully help heal and move forward and a woman who was going to help you in some capacity. Both receiving and paying it forward. As that thought settled in your mind, an idea washed over you, making you stand up straighter and look at Ray again. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I have a thought,” you answered, trying not to get too excited. “I need to talk to Bucky.”

Curtis jumped from his chair when you walked out without another word, his footsteps behind you nearly silent. He really was going to be a good bodyguard for you. Ray followed, too, likely curious about why you rushed out so quickly.

Bucky looked up from his desk when you walked into the office, a smile on his face when he stood up. “Brownies ready?” he asked, holding his hand up to keep Curtis and Ray from walking in. 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I came in here for,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. Bucky immediately went to join you. “I have a bit of a crazy idea and I wanted to get your opinion on it.” 

“You want my opinion?” The subtle shift in his posture showed he was touched. “And I’m the crazy one, Kotyonok, so nothing you could say would ever sound crazy to me.”

You didn’t dispute that he was crazy. “So, you know how one of the things that attracted you to me was helping your mom and my generally kind nature?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you helped Natasha however long ago so she could give the women who work at her hotel a better life, right?” you continued. You remembered Natasha telling you if it wasn't for Bucky she wouldn't be where she was. 

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, not elaborating on how or why.

“What if I do something kind of like that? What if I try to help other women who have…” You swallowed and tried to find the right words, suddenly nervous to ask for his opinion. “Been through stuff, like Lois or me.”

He tilted his head. “You want to help women who have been hurt in some capacity?”

“Yeah. Assault. Abuse. Trauma,” you said. You thought of your own situation, not just Clark's attack, but Bucky systemically making his way into your life. He wasn't out to harm you, but some stalkers did try to harm their victims. “And it's not like I’d have to quit being a florist. I just… I don't know. I want to do something.”

It could've been a means to take back some more control of your life. Being by Bucky’s side, you didn’t want to lose who you were in your core and wanted to continue putting good back into the world. Perhaps you wanted to pay it forward even more since others didn't have the kind of money and protection you now had. 

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you asked when he stayed quiet. 

You were a florist. Yes, you volunteered when you could and wanted to help people, but it wasn’t your area of expertise. An endeavor like that was out of your depth, wasn't it? 

Bucky framed your face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pride and fury. “Don't you ever say an idea of yours is stupid. I won't stand for that,” he said, his gaze softening considerably. “Especially since that’s a great idea.”

You studied him, looking for any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t. “Really?” you asked in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of your nose with a smile. “Really. Money won’t be an issue. We can sketch out a plan and figure out what exactly you want to focus on, start local and small. Or you can sketch out the plan and I’ll give input if you seek it out,” he said, a hint of his businessman tone coming out. “If this is really something you want, we’ll make it happen.”

“So, just like that?” you asked. He was really supporting this?

“Of course. It’s admirable that you continue to look out for others and I’m going to support whatever you want to do,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You didn’t want to admit how nice it felt that he was backing this up, especially when you had no set plan yet. 

“It also means a lot that you asked for my opinion.”

“Well, we have to talk through these things. It’s what couples do,” you said. 

His smile was brighter than the light in the room. “So, you really see us as a couple now.”

“I guess so,” you said. What choice did you have?

He sighed before he kissed your lips, featherlight and full of promise. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, suddenly standing and helping you to your feet, too. “You’re still in your robe.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” you reminded him, your mind going back to Curtis and wondering more about his past. 

Bucky checked his watch. “Why don’t you get ready for lunch? I think Curtis and Ray have seen you in your robe enough for one day,” he tried to tease and checked his watch. 

“And what about the day I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear?” you blurted out without meaning to.

Darkness crossed Bucky’s eyes, but it was more lust than rage when he put his hands on your hips. “I’d hate to have to hurt my own men, but I do love the thought of you walking around our home so… freely.”

“I’ll bet you do,” you whispered, knowing he’d probably chase you around or drag you to bed if he had the chance. “But for now, yes, I should get dressed.”

“Don’t want to keep your parents waiting,” he said, letting you pull away to get ready. “I hope I make a lasting impression.”

You shivered, wondering just what kind of impression he wanted to make. “I’m sure you will.”

Curtis leaned against the wall outside of the office while Ray stood on the other side. “You want to help others, huh?” your bodyguard asked.

You stopped to face him. “Yeah, I do.”

Curtis didn’t say anything else, but he looked impressed. So did Ray. You didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had to get ready for a lunch that you didn’t want to go to. 

But your whole life as of late had been a series of events you had to participate in without much of a choice, so what was one more?

Bucky held your hand the entire drive to the restaurant and didn’t force you to talk, which you appreciated since your stomach was in knots. You found yourself playing with the diamond necklace, which he had put around your neck before you left. Your mom would no doubt stare at it or make a comment since you had never had such a nice piece of jewelry. Was this going to be a disaster or were you overthinking it?

“We’ll get through this quickly,” Bucky told you once the car stopped, his lips brushing the top of your hand. “Long enough for me to meet them and send them on their way.”

The knot in your stomach tightened more. How exactly was he going to send them on their way? “And after that?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, helping you out of the car.

You didn’t pay much attention as you were escorted to the private table, but you knew Ray and Curtis weren’t far behind. The place was bright and airy, but sophisticated. It would've been a nice place to go on a date. Would this lunch sour that idea?

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, pulling out your chair for you.

Considering the way he burst into your life you never expected to lean on him for anything. You had since your attack and now this, looking to him for support without meaning to. You even asked for his opinion on your idea to help other women, which you did seek out. Who were you becoming?

“Why do I care so much about what they think?” you asked when he sat down beside you.

“Because they’re your parents and it’s natural,” he replied, taking your hand under the table. “But you don’t need them.”

You were about to argue that you did need them before you caught them in your line of sight, your back rigid as they moved closer. They didn’t look overjoyed to see you, which broke your heart a bit. Bucky squeezed your hand before you realized you had squeezed his hand first. This was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s good to see you,” your dad said when Bucky released your hand only to pull your chair back to help you stand. “And you must be-”

“Bucky, her boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, shaking his hand and smirking when your dad winced and turning a critical eye on your mom. Neither of them hugged you before they took their seats and you quickly sat back down to hide your embarrassment. “You two raised quite the woman,” he added, daring them to say something.

“Thank you,” your mom said, looking over the menu. 

“Since the menu seems to be more important than greeting your daughter, please, pick whatever you want,” Bucky smiled like a wolf getting ready to strike while you gaped at him. “I spare no expense when it comes to her and her… loved ones. Just look at her necklace. I purchased it for our first date.”

Your mom’s mouth fell open and you felt a bit of satisfaction when your dad squirmed in his seat. Did that make you a bad person? “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Your mom cleared her throat. “We’re thrilled to see you. It’s just with our accounts being frozen…”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” you filled in the blanks. You were used to it.

“Yes, I’m sorry about your accounts,” Bucky said without sounding sorry at all and pretended to look over his menu. “Interesting how you always think of others first even when you have a lot on your mind, Kotyonok,” he said loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Makes me wonder what that came from.”

Your mom’s mouth didn’t drop again, but you heard her sharp inhale on her next breath and your dad squirmed again. They weren’t used to subtle insults like that, especially for someone who had just met them. But as Bucky took your hand, you very much felt like his queen and he was defending you as such.

“Aren’t you going to compliment her necklace?” Bucky asked, turning his head to smile at you. “It’s as beautiful as she is.”

Your face felt hot when your parents stared and admired the diamonds. “They don’t have to say anything,” you mumbled.

“But I don’t understand. What kind of parents don’t compliment their child, especially when they haven’t seen them in some time?” he asked. Once again, it was loud enough for them to hear. He was digging the knife in and twisting it in the most passive aggressive way.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom said enviously, avoiding looking at Bucky. 

“Thanks,” he said, flagging the server down and putting a hand to his chest. “Like I said, whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You picked a light meal, knowing there was a high chance you couldn’t stomach something heavy. Your mom chose the highest priced meal, which Bucky merely smiled expectantly. Your dad had the good sense to not do the same. It would’ve been nice if they asked how you were or gave some sort of indication that they cared.

“How did you two meet?” your dad asked to break the tension, which only made you nervous all over again.

“My club, and I very much fell for her first,” Bucky answered easily and leaned over to kiss your temple. “I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Club?” your mom questioned. “Since when do you go to clubs?”

“It was for Addison’s bachelorette party,” your boyfriend answered for you, smiling again. “You know Addison, don’t you? I would hope so. She’s practically family to her.”

You took a sip of your water and said nothing as your parents looked more uncomfortable with each passing second. The air was awkward to say the least.  Bucky, on the other hand, looked over the moon one second and was ready to kill the next. It had to be giving your parents whiplash.

“She’s a good friend,” your mom said, her smile shaky. “How’s the shop?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The shop’s great,” you said and found yourself smiling since you did love the place and your job. “Mrs. Crandle is still a great boss and-”

“And you’re still just a florist,” she cut you off dismissively with a shake of her head, wiping your smile away. “You could’ve been so much more.”

Your eyes glossed over, but you held your head high. “There’s nothing wrong with me being a florist, and I am more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Ease up,” your dad whispered to your mom, shocking you both. Since when was he not on her side? Or was it because Bucky glared at them?

“Just a florist.” The man beside you chuckled, a dark and empty sound. “Tell them about the idea you told me about earlier today.”

The knot filled your stomach so much that you feared you’d get sick. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said, not wanting to hear what they had to say since they never backed you up on anything.

“But it’s a great idea,” he assured you, giving your parents a smile. “Wait until you hear it.”

Your dad leaned forward and appeared interested. Was it for show? “What is it?” 

Bucky nodded, encouraging you to speak up. “I went through something recently,” you said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out. “And it made me realize I want to help others and build a support system for women who have been through things.”

Your parents looked at each other as you held your breath. “That sounds ambitious,” your dad said just as carefully as you. “I realize you have good intentions, but…”

“You can’t just up and decide you want to run a charity,” your mom said, laughing and tapping her finger on the table when Bucky gripped his water glass. “You need more than just good intentions. You need experience and funding, which you have none of.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you expected. They wanted you to be more, but offered no encouragement when you tried. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I went through?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. For the first time, your mom looked worried. “Someone-”

“They don’t deserve to know.” Bucky took a sip before he gently set the glass down, making you eye him warily. He looked like he was ready to explode. “She isn’t just deciding, by the way. She has volunteer experience and she’s going to formulate a plan. And what she may lack in other ‘experiences’, she has passion, heart, and drive. It’s a shame you're too blind to see that.”

Your mom shrank back in her seat, looking as small as you felt. “I didn’t mean-”

“And as far as funding, I’ll be helping her with that since I don't expect either of you to lend her a thing. She has her own money, too. You just didn't know it,” he explained, bitterly laughing again at their shocked expressions. “Jesus Christ. You’re her parents. You should be proud of her. She’s loved by everyone she meets and she has thrived without your support.” He let that hang in the air before he continued. “She has more character in her finger than you two have in your entire body and I will back her up on anything and everything she needs because I believe in her.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh to ground him, your eyes welling with tears again. You were torn between not wanting him to cause a scene and for him to keep speaking because it just felt nice to hear. It felt pathetic and empowering, a strange combination. 

“I just wanted you to support and love me,” you whispered, your chest aching at finally saying the words. “Why didn't you?”

Why did it hurt so much that you didn't have the love you needed?

Your dad leaned back like you slapped him while your mom didn't move. “We did and do love you,” he swore, looking to his wife for help when Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “Tell her.”

He shouldn't have to tell her that.

“We just wanted you to have direction,” your mom said, flinching when Bucky leaned forward with one elbow on the table. She couldn't even say she loved you. 

“She has always had direction. You just never bothered to look where she was going,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Though I guess your lack of support helped build her into the woman I love, so I almost wonder if I should thank you for not being who she needed.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to insult us,” your dad said since your mom was rendered speechless for once. 

You almost warned your dad that Bucky wasn't the kind of man to mouth off to, but didn't. 

“You know, I think I know now why you wanted to become a florist,” Bucky said as if he didn’t hear him. “You’re surrounded by warmth and brightness and you get to watch things bloom and grow and thrive because you never had that.”

You blinked away your tears. Bucky saw what they didn’t. You didn’t have to point it out.

“We do love our daughter, even if we didn't show it in the best way,” your dad argued, trying to take your hand across the table, but Bucky pulled you back. It was another brick added to the wall to keep people he didn’t want near you out.

“You didn’t love her enough and you never will.” He took his wallet out and threw some money on the table, more than enough to cover the meals that hadn’t yet arrived at the table. “Thank God I love her enough for all of us and I always will.”

Your mom sniffled. You hardly ever saw her cry. “I…” She trailed off when your boyfriend tossed more money on the table. 

“That should cover the rest of your time here in the city. Take it. Or don’t. But I’m not going to sit here and play nice with people who make my future wife feel low about herself.” He pushed himself up and let your parents see just how large and imposing he was. “Just leave her alone the way you always have.”

They were good at leaving you alone. 

“Please,” your dad begged, making you pause. “We’re sorry.”

“Empty apologies mean nothing,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, and as it stands, I don’t want you at our wedding, but maybe your loving daughter will change my mind.”

“Wedding?!” your mom exclaimed. 

“Yes, she’s going to be my wife and have a wonderful lifetime with me.” He smiled when you didn't disagree. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Bucky helped you up from the table and led you away, not even letting you look back when you heard your mom choke on a sob. They didn’t chase after you. They never would.

Your steps felt heavy. Your head spun. It was a relief that they knew how you felt in some capacity, but you didn't feel much better. Why not?

“They’re the past and I’m your present and future,” your boyfriend whispered, slipping an arm around you when you bit your lip. “I’m the family you need.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you said, making him preen. 

“I’ll always defend and stick up for you,” he promised, his grip possessive. “And I'm proud of you.”

What was there to be proud of? No, you wouldn't think like that. You were a good person, and a survivor. Your parents and their lack of support and care wouldn't take that from you.

“But I didn’t even get to tell them what happened.” What if they had wanted to help? They weren’t loving, but you were still their daughter and your mom had looked worried for a second.

“You don’t need them. Not when you have me,” he said, leaving no room to argue when he nodded to Ray and Curtis who hovered nearby. “And I won't let them hurt you ever again.”

You should’ve known lunch with your parents meant Bucky would close the door. You would have no choice but to move forward. And you didn't know what that meant except that you were now one step closer to being entirely his. 

This chapter took a lot out of me! As a mom who wants to show nothing but love and support to my babies (and protect them), I want to wrap Kotyonok in a huge hug. Where do we think they'll go from here? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cassiemaebarnes]

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 2

Part 1 | Masterlist

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 3334

Later that afternoon, you walked out of the training room, completely whipped and dripping sweat from your workout. Steve was really putting you to work, but you expected that from an Avengers-level workout.

As you walked down the hall to your room, you peeled off your shirt, not wanting it on your body any longer. You felt disgusting and just wanted to take a nice long shower. You swung open the door to your room and took a step in, then froze.

This was not your room.

It was Bucky’s.

He was leaning back on his bed, shirtless, holding a book in his hand when he quickly sat up, looking at you like you were crazy. “Do you know how to knock?” he said, annoyed.

You paused for a split second, eyes wandering over his bare chest and his chiseled abs, then landing on the scarring around the shoulder on his metal arm. His real arm though…

“OH – sorry I,” you slowly turned back to look at the hallway, then looked back at him. “Wait, this isn’t the 8th floor?”

He just sighed, trying – but failing – to hide a smile. “No, this is the 7th floor.”

“Oh,” you said, glancing back at the hallway. “Why did they have to make all the hallways the same.

“What are you even doing?” he asked, clearly looking you up and down.

You were suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you were just in your sports bra. You glanced down quickly then looked back up at him, face flushing. “I just finished my workout and – I hate when my shirt is sticking to me.”

“Makes sense,” he replied, shrugging. “Are you not going to the team meeting?”

You gave him a confused look before your eyes went wide, pulling your phone out of your pocket to look at the time.

The meeting started in 5 minutes.

“Shoot,” you said, shoving your phone back into your pocket. “I need to shower.”

“Here, just use mine,” he said, getting out of his bed. “I’ll get some clothes for you.”

You sighed, embarrassed, but you knew you weren’t gonna have time to go back up to your room. “Thanks Bucky,” you said, running to the bathroom.

When you shut the door, you dropped your shirt on the ground then peeled off your other clothes. You turned on the water and stepped in, rinsing yourself off. You squeezed out some of his body wash into your hand, quickly lathering it over your body before rinsing again, then turned the water off.

You grabbed the only towel on the rack and started drying yourself off. It was still damp, so he clearly used it this morning, but you didn’t have time to look for a clean one.

You were just hanging the towel back up when Bucky knocked on the door. “I have clothes for you.”

You hid behind the door, opening it just enough to stick your hand out. He dropped them in your hand, and you closed the door again.

You set the clothes on the counter, then paused, glancing down at the pile of sweaty clothes on the floor. There was no way you were putting your sweaty bra and underwear back on. You felt bad, but had no choice. You pulled on his gray sweatpants, pulling the drawstring as tight as they would go and tying it, then pulled a plain black t-shirt over your head.

You glanced in the mirror, and you were swimming in his clothes. It would have to do.

You scooped up your clothes, then pulled the door open and walked out. “What do you want me to do with my clothes.”

“Oh, you can just put them in my laundry basket,” he said.

“Oka-” you started, before stopping yourself. “Wait, I thought you said you drew the line at doing my laundry.”

He just laughed. “You can come get them later then.”

“I will wash these for you though,” you said, walking over to the laundry basket.

“You don’t have to. I mean, you did just shower.”

You paused, not sure whether to tell him or not. You glanced up at him, but at the same time, he looked down at the pile of clothes in your hand, realizing.

“Ohhhh,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I’ll let you wash those for me.”

You let out an embarrassed laugh before dropping your clothes in the basket and walking out the door.

Bucky remained frozen in place for a second too long, distracted by the fact you were in his clothes with nothing on underneath…

He shook the thought out of his head before stepping out into the hallway.

You walked down the hall, pressing the elevator button before stepping in.

“Make sure you press 4,” Bucky said, smirking at you.

“I know, I know,” you said back, shooting him a look.

When the doors opened back up, you hustled down the hallway, walking into the meeting room just a minute late.

When you walked in together, the conversation stopped.

Everyone was looking at you two.

…Everyone was looking at you.

Your hair was still damp, Bucky’s black shirt draped halfway to your knees, and the gray sweatpants practically swallowed your legs. It was immediately, painfully obvious these were not your clothes.

Sam was the first to speak, of course.

“Well, well, well,” he said, leaning forward in his seat, eyebrows raised. “Would you look at that. Matching outfits now? Real cute.”

“Oh no,” you mumbled, clutching the waistband of the sweatpants to keep them from sliding down too far.

Nat’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Wow. Either that was the fastest moving relationship in history or someone took a very wrong turn.”

Steve just blinked at both of you, clearly torn between being the responsible team leader and absolutely dying inside.

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, but Tony cut you off. “I KNEW it. Barnes, I told you she’d break through that ice fortress of yours eventually.”

“It’s not like that!” you exclaimed, cheeks burning. “I – I got the floors mixed up, okay? The hallways are the same, and I accidentally walked into Bucky’s room thinking it was mine and then—”

“And then you decided to just…take a little shower?” Clint offered helpfully, trying to contain his laughter. “You sure that was an accident?”

“I had a workout!” you blurted. “I was sweaty! And there was a meeting and I didn’t have time to get back to my room and – he just let me use his shower, okay?”

That only seemed to make the laughter worse.

“Wow, Barnes,” Sam said, grinning at Bucky, “you let her use your shower? You won’t even let Steve sit on your chair.”

Bucky, to his credit, stood there completely deadpan, arms crossed. “She smelled bad. It was for the good of the team.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony said, nodding solemnly. “A real team player. Noble. Selfless. Letting a beautiful woman parade around in your clothes like that.”

You groaned, slinking toward a seat and trying to disappear into it.

“I’m literally just trying to survive this meeting,” you muttered, yanking the oversized t-shirt further down your thighs.

Bucky slid into the seat beside you and leaned in just enough to whisper, “You know, if they’re gonna keep teasing us anyway…”

You side-eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t.”

He smirked. “I was gonna say, next time just use the bubble bath.”

You smacked his arm, which only made him grin wider.

Tony clapped his hands once. “Alright, lovebirds, save the domestic disputes for later. Some of us are trying to run a global security initiative here.”

You slumped in your seat, shooting Bucky a look.

“Next time,” you hissed under your breath, “I’m triple-checking the floor.”

“Next time?” he said, teasing. “So you’re planning on coming back?”

Your mouth opened to respond – but you didn’t get the chance. Sam let out a dramatic gasp.

“Next time?!”

You buried your face in your hands.

This was going to be a long meeting.

--

The second Steve said, “Alright, that’s it for today,” you didn’t even get the chance to stand up.

“Sooo,” Sam drawled, spinning in his chair to face you and Bucky with a shit-eating grin. “You two headed back to his room together? Gonna pick up where you left off?”

Your jaw dropped. “We didn’t start anything!”

“Oh come on,” Nat chimed in, resting her chin in her hand. “You showered in his room, wore his clothes, and showed up to a meeting together looking like you just rolled out of the same bed.”

Bucky raised a brow. “We didn’t share a bed.”

“Yet,” Tony added, unhelpfully.

“Guys—” you tried, flailing for some kind of dignity as you stood up, tugging the giant sweatpants back into place before they betrayed you.

Clint wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t forget the part where he let her touch the sacred shower. Pretty sure that’s more intimate than dinner and a movie.”

Steve rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. “Can we please just—”

“Nope!” Sam cut in, clapping Steve on the back. “Not until we figure out what floor her next shower’s on.”

You turned to Bucky, absolutely mortified. “Are they like this all the time?”

He was leaning back in his chair, calm as ever, arms crossed, and clearly enjoying your suffering. “Usually worse.”

“Worse?” you repeated in disbelief.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded solemnly. “You should hear what they said the first time Steve brought a girl over.”

Steve pointed a very serious finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Oh, I think I want to hear that one,” you said, smirking now as the attention started to shift.

Bucky gave you a look. “Don’t deflect. This is your moment.”

“My moment?” You scoffed, motioning toward your outfit. “You’re the one who gave me your clothes and practically pushed me into your shower.”

“And yet,” Nat said, standing and stretching, “you didn't have to put them on, did you?”

You blinked at her. “I wasn’t gonna walk in here naked!”

“I mean, that would’ve been a stronger entrance,” Tony said, shrugging.

You groaned, ready to melt into the floor, but Bucky stood and gave the room a final smirk. “Alright, show’s over.”

“Going somewhere, Barnes?” Sam called.

Bucky looked down at you, deadpan. “Yeah. She still owes me a load of laundry.”

And just like that, he turned and started walking toward the door – clearly expecting you to follow.

You hesitated, then threw your hands up. “Y’know what? Fine. Anything to get away from you children.”

You started walking too, and immediately Tony whistled, followed by a round of exaggerated *“Oooohhhh!”*s from everyone.

“Don’t forget to fold them, sweetheart!” Clint shouted after you.

“Color-safe detergent!” Sam added.

You flipped them off behind your back as the door shut behind you, Bucky silently chuckling beside you in the hallway.

After a few steps, he bumped your shoulder. “You alright?”

You sighed, but a smile was starting to tug at your lips. “I’m never living this down.”

He shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“How?”

He paused just long enough to make it suspicious. “You could’ve actually walked in while I was in the shower.”

You choked. “Bucky!”

“Just saying.”

You groaned again. “Next time, I’m just staying sweaty.”

“Oh no you’re not,” he said, smirking again. “You still smell like my soap.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging the waistband of his pants again. “And I’m still swimming in your pants.”

“Could be worse,” he repeated.

You gave him a side-eye. “Define worse.”

He gave you that look again – cocky and soft all at once. “You could’ve walked in while I wasn’t wearing pants.”

“…I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You definitely didn’t.

And unfortunately, he knew it.

Once you got your clothes back from Bucky’s room and made it to your own, you jumped in the shower right away – this time taking a real one, no surprises or awkward encounters involved. Afterward, you gathered up your laundry, tossing in your own clothes along with Bucky’s shirt and sweatpants, and started a load.

When everything was clean and folded, you headed back down to his room. And this time, you knocked.

The door opened after a second, and there he was – shirtless again – but this time, it felt more like a coincidence than some carefully timed move. He looked a little surprised to see you, but his expression softened almost immediately.

You held out the neatly folded shirt and sweatpants. “Figured I should return these before anyone starts teasing us more.”

He let out a small laugh, taking them from you. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Well,” you said, stepping back slightly with a small shrug, “I did hijack your shower. And your towel. And your clothes.”

There was a pause. Then he asked, quieter, “You wanna come in?”

You hesitated – just for a second – then nodded. “Sure.”

You stepped inside, and this time he actually reached for a shirt, pulling it on as you sat in the chair tucked into the corner of his room. The space felt more familiar now. Less intimidating. Like maybe the weirdness of the day had somehow made it feel a little more like his orbit and yours weren't so far apart.

“I still can’t believe I walked into the wrong room,” you groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“They’ll move on eventually,” he said, settling across from you. “Someone always messes up worse.”

“I hope so,” you muttered. “I’m ready to pass the spotlight.”

He smiled a little, then nudged a bottle of water toward you. “You okay, though? I know they were kind of relentless in there.”

You looked up, a little surprised by how sincere he sounded. “Yeah…I’m okay. Just a little red in the face.”

“You handled it pretty well,” he said. “Better than I expected, honestly.”

You gave him a mock glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“I meant that in a good way,” he said quickly, looking sheepish. “You held your own.”

That softened you, more than you expected. “Well…I had a pretty good backup.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “Anytime.”

A quiet settled between you, not awkward, just...easy. Comfortable. You let your eyes wander around the room – messy in a lived-in way – and realized how at ease you felt here, despite how the day started.

“I still feel bad about using your stuff,” you said after a moment.

“You really don’t need to,” he replied. His voice had dipped lower, softer. “If you ever need anything again, just knock.”

You glanced over at him, lips tugging into a smile. “I did knock.”

He smirked. “Yeah. You’re learning.”

You gave a small laugh, warmth blooming somewhere in your chest. “Next time I’ll even say please.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

You took a sip of water, stealing a sideways glance at him. “Just for the record, I do know which floor I live on.”

“I know,” he said, smiling at you. And somehow, that made your face flush more than all the teasing from earlier combined.

You twisted the cap on your bottle slowly, fingers fidgeting. “Still. Thanks for not making it worse.”

“Anytime,” he said again, settling back in his chair, his tone as steady and certain as ever.

And you believed him.

Conversation came easy after that. You talked about everything and nothing, laughter bubbling up in places you didn’t expect. Before you knew it, time had gotten away from you. One minute, you were dropping off his clothes – the next, you were sitting side by side on his bed, watching some old black-and-white movie he claimed you had to see.

At some point, the movie blurred into background noise. The weight of the day caught up with you, and without meaning to, you sank deeper into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But you did.

When you woke up, the room was dark. The soft hum of the screen was gone, and a faint glow from the hallway peeked under the door. You blinked sleepily, shifting under a blanket you didn’t remember pulling over yourself.

And then you realized…

You were still in Bucky’s bed. Alone.

You sat up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes – and that’s when you saw him. On the floor.

He was curled up on the other side of the room, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across his chest. Another blanket was draped haphazardly over him, clearly not doing much. His hair was a little mussed, his metal arm catching a faint silver gleam from the window.

Your heart tugged at the sight.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could and knelt beside him, gently pulling the blanket up to cover his shoulders. You reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his face, fingers hovering near his cheek for half a second before you pulled away.

Then you tiptoed to the door, pausing with your hand on the knob to glance back one last time.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you said softly.

Behind you, in the quiet dark, Bucky’s eyes fluttered open – just for a second. He watched the door close behind you, and smiled to himself before letting his eyes drift shut again.

--

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen to find the entire team already there – coffee in hand, plates half-full, conversation buzzing with low morning voices and clinking silverware. You were still rubbing sleep from your eyes when you stepped into the room, and it was only a few seconds before Nat caught sight of you and grinned.

“So,” she said casually, not even looking up from her mug. “I got up around three last night for water. Weird thing – your bedroom door was wide open.”

You froze.

“And you weren’t in it,” she added, finally raising her eyes to meet yours with a knowing glint.

You barely had time to process that before all heads turned your way – and then to Bucky, who was sitting calmly at the table, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t been caught red-handed.

Your mouth opened to explain, but Bucky beat you to it. “She fell asleep watching a movie,” he said smoothly. “That’s all.”

“Ohhh,” Sam drawled, raising an eyebrow. “So we’re doing sleepovers now?”

“It wasn’t a sleepover,” you said quickly, cheeks already starting to burn.

Clint smirked, stabbing at his eggs. “That’s what they all say.”

“I let her stay in my bed,” Bucky added, trying to sound grumpy, though the corners of his mouth were definitely twitching. “I didn’t want to wake her up.”

Nat sipped her coffee, utterly unfazed. “How sweet. Like a gentleman in a rom-com.”

Tony leaned forward on his elbows. “Can we all just take a moment to acknowledge that they’ve known each other for – what? Twenty-four hours? And we’ve already had: mistaken identity, shared showers, borrowing clothes, and now a full-blown sleepover.”

“Honestly,” Sam added, “at this rate, we’ll be invited to their wedding by the weekend.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands, mumbling, “I hate all of you.”

Bucky just laughed quietly beside you, his expression way too amused.

“Hey,” Wanda chimed in, grinning. “I’m just impressed. You’ve had a more exciting first couple days than anyone here. I didn’t even talk to half of you until, like, week three.”

“Yeah,” Steve added, “and I don’t remember any of us getting a Bucky Barnes welcome package that included his bed.”

You shot Bucky a glare. “Can’t wait to see what happens on day two with Bucky.”

He raised his coffee toward you in mock salute. “Me neither.”

And just like that, you were back to laughing with them – even if your face was still on fire.

You just shook your head, poured yourself a cup of coffee, and slid into the seat next to Bucky.

And when your knee brushed his under the table, he didn’t move it.

Neither did you.

--

Part 3 | Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid

[callsigns-haze]

He holds me

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

After a brutal mission, Garrick confronts Xaden for putting his little sister—his only remaining family—in danger, questioning how she could love someone who lets her bleed. Emotions explode until she snaps back that at least he holds her, prompting a raw, emotional fallout between the siblings.

Warning: This story contains strong emotional confrontations, sibling tension, and references to violence and injury. Themes of protection, trauma, and strained relationships.

The moment your boots hit the gravel of the flight field, you're barely steady before you're moving again—wiping blood from your temple with the back of your hand and ignoring the sting of a gash running down your arm. Chaire grumbles behind you, protective and restless, her wings half-flared as if still deciding whether to take off again. Beside you, Xaden lands clean and sharp, Sgaeyl letting out a low growl that ripples through the ground.

You're both tense. It hadn’t been a clean run.

Before either of you can speak, the shouting starts.

"Are you out of your godsdamned mind?!"

You don't even have time to turn before Garrick’s voice booms across the field like thunder. He’s sprinting toward you, armour unbuckled at the throat, his normally composed face twisted in fury. Imogen, Bodhi, and Liam trail behind him, but none of them make a move to stop him. They all look at you—and they look worried.

Xaden steps slightly forward, not enough to be obvious, but enough to remind anyone watching that you weren’t alone. That he'd been there.

“Don’t,” you warn your brother the moment he’s within reach, raising a shaky hand. “Not here.”

But Garrick doesn’t stop. He grabs your shoulder, eyes raking over the blood on your arm, the split in your lip, the tear in your gear. His voice drops, low and lethal. “You were supposed to be delivering supplies, not walking into a death trap. What the hell were you doing out there?”

You stiffen under his grip. “Following orders.”

“Whose orders?” he snaps, eyes flicking toward Xaden. “His?”

Xaden doesn’t flinch. “She volunteered. And she saved the mission.”

“She shouldn’t have had to!” Garrick’s voice cracks, the rage undercut by something more dangerous—fear.

“I’m a squad leader now,” you say tightly, jaw clenching. “You don’t get to decide where I go, Garrick.”

“You’re my sister,” he hisses. “I do when the choice is between you living and dying for some godsdamn crates of weapons.”

For a second, no one speaks. Even Chaire goes still behind you.

Then you step out of his grip.

“We don’t get to pick the easy missions anymore,” you say, steady despite the tremble in your hands. “Not if we want to win this war.”

Garrick looks like he’s been punched.

And then, quietly—“You’re all I’ve got left.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

But Garrick doesn’t stop there.

His gaze snaps to Xaden, the fury rekindling like a storm wind catching flame. “And you—” he spits, stalking forward, jabbing a finger toward his best friend’s chest, “—you’re supposed to protect her, not drag her into shit like this!”

Xaden doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He just watches Garrick with that calm, too-sharp stillness he always wears like armour.

“I didn’t drag her anywhere,” he says, voice cold. “She chose—”

“She’s twenty years old!” Garrick roars. “Still in her second year! What the hell do you think you’re doing, letting her fly into ambushes and fire fights and warzones while you—while you watch?! While you let her bleed, Xaden?”

You shift beside them, but Garrick’s on a roll now, and it’s like he can’t stop the words from pouring out.

“You shouldn’t even be with her. You think this thing between you two is safe? You think it’s smart?” He gestures wildly between you. “This isn’t a fling at Basgiath anymore. This is war. And she’s too close to you. She’ll follow you anywhere—she almost died for you.”

“I’d die for her,” Xaden says simply.

But that only seems to push Garrick further.

“You already have! You’re already dragging her down with you and calling it love—what happens when she doesn’t come back next time, huh?” His voice cracks again. “What happens when you’re holding her while she bleeds out in your godsdamn arms?”

That’s when he turns on you.

“And you—” His eyes land on you like fire, pain cracking beneath every word. “How can you even love him when he does this to you? When he lets you get torn up, lets you walk into danger again and again—when he’s the one holding you while you bleed?”

You stare at him.

Your heart’s racing. Your knuckles are white from how tightly you’re clenching your fists.

And when you speak, your voice is soft. Deadly calm.

“At least he holds me.”

Garrick flinches.

You take a slow step forward, voice rising—not in volume, but weight.

“You want to talk about who’s there for me? Who knows what I face every day? Who doesn’t treat me like some breakable child?” You shake your head. “He doesn’t make me sit on the side-lines. He doesn’t try to protect me so much he ends up ignoring me.”

You look your brother in the eye.

“He holds me when I’m bleeding, Garrick. You weren’t even here to see it.”

Behind you, Xaden says nothing—but you can feel the way his eyes are locked on you. Grounding. Constant.

Just like he always is.

A/N: SO like my finals are in 8 weeks so I wont be posting much BUT I am taking blurb requests for our fourth wing men Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

[yourstrulyrani]

dad!simon riley x reader

a/n: if u guys wanna request/ask anything (blurbs, hcs, ?s about me, etc.) the button is right at the top of my blog so feel free! once again thank you guys for the love.. you all are such sweethearts. i’ve been craving domesticity lately so here is simon riley as a dad!

dad!simon riley who takes up feeding and diaper changes in the middle of the night after you give birth. he reasons with you by saying you need the rest. giving birth was already physically tiring for you and he knows you need to recover and that starts with your sleep. he knows you’re stubborn and may offer to help, but he sweetly lays you back down on the bed. he kisses your forehead gently, letting his lips linger longer than needed. “all i need for you is to sleep sweetheart, i'll take care of the baby.”

dad!simon riley who makes sure his kids are involved in something they love. he asks the kids first for their preference and then enrolls them. if your daughter is in ballet, he never misses a recital. if your son plays football, he makes sure to go to every game. he needs to make sure he doesn’t reflect his father, whether it be as a husband or a dad. this choice started when he met you and now, it's going to end with you and the kids.

dad!simon riley who definitely forces his kids to support the teams he does. he bought the kids (and you) manchester united jerseys. he even refers to the kids as “the red devils” after the team’s nickname because of how much trouble they can cause at times. whenever man united has a game, he makes sure everyone in the house is on the couch wearing their jerseys.

dad!simon riley who never yells or physically hurts your children. again, he made a vow to you, the kids, and himself: he would never end up like his father. when he needs to discipline them though, his change in tone is more than enough for your kids to quake in their boots.

dad!simon riley WHO IS SO A GIRL DAD. i can imagine his huge tank of a body struggling to balance on a pink kids chair having a tea party with his daughters. he just got back home and had no time to change since he was too eager to some spend time with you and the girls. now, he’s in uniform wearing a pink tutu and a tiara (talk about a fashion statement). his british self shows when he extends his pinky finger around the tea cup. he even “gossips” about you in a perfect posh accent to your daughters, “well i heard she puts milk in her tea? she’s quite the spectacle," as he sassily sips nonexistent tea from the tiny cup, making you and the girls giggle.

dad!simon riley who always wants you to have the final say in decisions regarding the kids. so whenever the kids ask if they can hang out with their friends or go out somewhere, he always directs them to you, “i’m fine with it, but go ask your mom. if she says no then it’s final, kid.”

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[thedivinetarot]

Nobody's son, Nobody's Daughter

Does your future spouse feel your energy?

☆ How to chose your pile? 🕯📜🗝🦪

☆ Disclaimer:

This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave what doesn't, if you need to know whether they feel it or not DM for in depth reading🤍. This is for people who want a sign or are manifesting their fs. Again, don't hang your whole life on your spouse, they will come in the divine timing.

☆ Note:

I'm back as I promised dears. And I have an important announcement. I started Ko-Fi account and joining is totally free for everybody. If you'd like to support me here is the link, no pressure on donations.

Lots of love💕

Arya

Pile 1 - Garden 🌿

🤍 Do they feel your energy?

Yes but you guys are hidden from each other lol. This person (regardless of their gender) is out there but you can't SEE them and they can't SEE you. I see that there's emotional charge here. Perhaps you two feel the same things in the same time or have the same emotional capacity and emotional maturity. I see distance, you guys have a distance between you and them. This person is far away yet you two are on the same emotional wavelength. This person might either be your age or a little older, perhaps 3-6 years older. They are coming into your life but first you have to finish a karmic cycle or change your location or after deep transformation. Perhaps when you meet them you'll be relocating from your parent's house into another city for work or study. This person might also be someone that you cut off, or blocked or might be someone who is finishing a huge chapter in their life. I see that they are working on their confidence and building healthy emotional regulation. There’s a choice that should be made before you two meet. I see that you two are in your own shell and the world is just "world-ing" around you. There's emotional independence here and both of you seems to not focus on dating or relationships but they feel the same way you feel and your lives are quite in sync with one another. That's what I'm seeing, thank you for reading this🤍 and take care💕.

♡ Placements for you:

Scorpio, Gemini, Virgo, Cancer, Taurus, Dominant planets in moon, neptune, Mercury. Sun or moon in the 8th, 3rd, 6th, 4th, and 2nd house in the chart.

Pile 2 - Girl with candle🕯

🤍 Do they feel your energy?

Short answer yes, but they are someone you know from the past (if youdon’t have anyone in mind then it might be a potential soulmate). I see that there's always an exchange of energy between you and this person. I see that you are focusing on yourself and your own business in the material world but you have a strong etheric cord between you two. Perhaps this person is stalking you energetically, thinking of you. Wishing they could come forward and express their feelings but there’s something stopping them. Perhaps the divine and Perhaps their own circumstances. Now I'm not saying you should run back to them because they are like that. Be more discerning and take care of yourself. If this is a toxic person or emotionally distant one it's not something you want to revisit and relive again. What is interesting is that this person and you have finished a karmic cycle but they can't freaking let go. They are like an energetic parasite that is lurking in the shadows. You keep them up at night and they keep overthinking of "what if" and "what could've been". There’s a distance between you and this person too. This person sees potential but... they know that you'll probably not approve of them again if they come in. I see that you have recovered from your rejection wound. Someone here, either you or them have a rejection wound and you had to recover after this situation with that person. Not gonna lie to you and make things rosy or cute but this person is trying to indulge in the material world to forget about you but the thoughts of you keep slipping in their mind. That's everything I have for you pile 2, take care💕.

♡ Placements for you:

Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, Pisces, Libra. Dominant planets in Neptune, Venus, Uranus, Saturn. Sun or moon in the 2nd, 6th, 10th, 12th and 7th house in your chart.

Pile 3 - Candles ✨

🤍 Do they feel your energy?

Hey, so... Short answer No, they don't. I'm picking up on two people here. Someone old in their late 20s or middle 30s to early 40s. This person is very mature. Have their own stable job and income. And they are serious about dating OR someone who is very comfortable in the solitude and doesn't want to leave their comfort zone and meet new people. I'm picking up on someone who had their fair share of heartbreak and those experiences made them more resilient and more mature. I see someone who is responsible and structured, not spiritual at all. I don't see any energy exchange happening between you and them. Your lives are not in alignment yet. It might happen if they chose to move from their comfort zone and get to know people. They are so strict I'm picking up on ESTJ, ENTJ, ISTX and even INXJ. Someone in their own world and doesn't leave their comfort zone easily. Now the other person is their complete opposite. I'm picking up on someone who have the most chaotic love life. Your person is in their early to mid 20s, possibly still in college. They are partying hard and lovebombing others harder. This person's life is a MESS rn. I see that they are in a very chaotic state in their life especially toward dating. I see that this person is a serial dater or date multiple people in the same time or one after another because they hate being alone. I see that they are currently in a relationship with someone and they are either being lovebombed/ sexbombed by that perosn lol or they are doing that thing. Anyways, this person's is love life is unstable af. I'm picking up on someone with the MBTI ESFP, ENFP, ISFP, and for a few they might be an EXTP. In both cases you and that person are not aligned energetically yet. Because you have your life and they have their life too.

☆ Placements for you:

Libra, Aries, Taurus, Sagittarius, Cancer, Mars in Aries and Sagittarius. Dominant planets in Mars, Saturn. Sun or moon in the 7th, 1st, 2nd, 9th and 4th house in your chart.

Post date: 25th of June 2025 - Wed.

3 ✅ out of 4

*Feedback is appreciated

[tanpl-if]

In the summer of 1986 you get a letter informing you of your mother's death.

The first and only letter you get in ten years since you left your hometown.

You stand in the middle of the old, tiny room that you can barely afford to rent and read it over and over again until the buzz at the back of your head quiets down. Until your hands stop shaking.

You think of what it means for you.

I hope you arrive soon. You know Marrowbone will always have a place for you.

The words spin in your head and you think of Marrowbone then—a secret, lonely place, standing at the edge of everything, surrounded by forests and fields, barely acknowledged on the maps.

But it is home.

And whether you like it or not, you are coming back.

There are no people left is an 18+ horror inerractive fiction game for language, themes and potential explicit content

• romance one of the 5 ROs or choose a platonic route

• choose between 3 preset personalities for MC that will open different paths in the story and exclusive scenes

• reconnect with your old friends and make new connections

• explore your hometown

• remember why you left

DEMO: (09.03.25)

Olya - Aside from working the bar left to her care by her parents, she isn't up to much of anything, the days passing by her seamlessly. You watch her work - pale fingers gripping the glass she is cleaning a bit too tight, lips pressed into a frown - and think how much she has changed since you last saw her.

She looks older. More tired too, but more than anything angry. With life perhaps. With you - for sure. The tension hangs between you, threads through every conversation, follows with every touch.

A decade of silence will do that, you think, almost guilty. You wonder if there was ever a chance of putting the fragile pieces back into place.

You wonder if the only thing left for you is to mourn.

Timur - Head held low, he keeps to himself most of the time. You remember him a sickly thing - his parents never letting him out to play, hiding him away in fear for his poor health. You remember sneaking into his room - muted laughter and hushed whispers, when you kept him company.

The memories taste bitter now, after all those years.

He seems more shut off now, and as much as you expected him to forget you, you're even more surprised when he gives you the same smile that reminds you of a sweet little boy that used to be your neighbor.

In the midst of half-forgotten faces and unwelcome memories, he still feels the same as when you were kids.

You're not sure if it brings you comfort or not.

The Doctor - He does his work well, and that's what matters, the doctor says, not in the most friendly fashion.

His face is lined with age, gray temples vivid among the black, as he runs his fingers through his hair, looking at another report with pursed lips and tired eyes.

You don't remember seeing him before, a hard thing to achieve for one of the few doctors of Marrowbone - a surprise and a revelation at the same time.

You know he is local, and your mind burns with questions. You can't imagine anyone in their right mind coming back here if they ever managed to leave - not by choice anyway - but you hold your tongue. It's not your place to intrude.

And it's definitely not your place to judge.

The Gravekeeper - As frail as she appears to be, she manages to be just as cheerful.

The keeper's granddaughter spends her days taking care of the dead - keeping them company, she says - the hem of her dress brushing against gray stone, as she moves around, steps light.

She is all sweet smiles when she talks to you, dimples catching your eye. And though you never saw her before, there is Marrowbone etched into her in a way you can't explain - dark eyes and a knowing pull of her lips - there is no doubt she has always been a part of this town.

The Widow - There is a rumor about her, almost a tale, nurtured by years of boredom from the residents of small town - not much to do in Marrowbone aside from gossiping about your neighbors - about a woman on the hill, lonesome in her manor, a number of husbands lying dead in the small graveyard in front of her home. About a woman always wearing black, forever in mourning. Some believe her cursed, though a more cynical crowd would call her much meaner names - a gold-digger with an exceptional streak of luck.

A witch.

You see her there, standing at the top of the hill - her dress swaying in the wind, black veil covering her face. And though you can't make out a single detail behind it, somehow you know - her eyes are on you.

Sonya - Your mother. You don't know what happened to her.

asks and scenarios are welcome!

tags: @interact-if

[clesired]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 | 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a fred weasley x slytherin!reader? with her being draco’s older sister?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! your brother and boyfriend’s twin end up in a brawl, but fred considers himself the real winner.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! light!angst ( reader and draco argue ), fluff, slytherin malfoy fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.4k words!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You quietly sigh to yourself as you look at the two most important men in your life standing before you.

Both your brother and boyfriend look like they’ve been through the mud—or rather, the wet grass of the Quidditch pitch; but the former is clearly faring worse than the latter.

You’d watched the whole brawl go down—the whole school had, staff included.

The only reason Fred isn’t bleeding like Draco or sporting a busted lip like his twin is because his teammates had held him back.

Three of them.

He’s not hurt, but he’s furious—and while he’s been good on leaving Draco alone since you’ve begun dating, the look in Fred’s eyes right now tell you that he’s still reared up to go.

And you can’t say you blame him. Your brother had been out of line and you know it.

Which is why you cross your arms and focus on the blonde, staring into an identical pair of your own grey eyes as you frown.

“I don’t even know where to begin with you.” You say quietly. “Not only do you insult my boyfriend’s mother and his family home—but then you go and get into a brawl with his brother!? And then get them both banned from playing Quidditch!?”

Draco is immediately on the defense. You know your little brother. You see it in the way he stands up straighter, face growing contrite and indignant—he’s going to argue back.

And sure enough, “He hit me first! What was I-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” You cut him off sharply, and he instantly quiets. Years of being a big sister and essentially second mother for him during the school year has taught him when to back down.

“You deserved it, and we both know it. You insulted the Weasleys first. George might’ve thrown the first blow, but you threw the first stone.”

You shake your head slowly as you look down at him. “After everything our family has been through, Draco—I really thought you would know better than to attack another person’s.”

He swallows softly as he hangs his head, his fists clenching at his side—a habit he does whenever he’s angry at himself. And your father.

You can see that your words have hit home for him. Good. You know your little brother is an arse, which is putting it lightly—but you also know that there’s still good in him.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, and you shake your head.

“I’m not the ones you need to apologize to.” You say pointedly as you raise a brow.

Draco’s face morphs into an angry scowl and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to take it all back—but then he lets out a soft sigh and looks at Fred.

“I’m sorry, Weasley. It was wrong of me to attack your mother’s character and home like that. Or get you banned from Quidditch.” He says quietly. He looks like he’s just swallowed a sour lemon as he says it—but his tone is genuine and you know he means it.

You look at your boyfriend then, to gauge his reaction.

It’s his decision whether he forgives your brother or not, and you’ll support him in whatever choice he makes. Draco messed up, and you won’t allow your brother to get away with his wrongdoings like everyone else does.

What kind of a big sister would that make you?

Fred’s still angry, you can tell. His jaw is clenched and he’s taking deep breaths. He seems to grow taller as he stares down at the younger boy, and his fingers twitch at his side—like he’s fighting his body to keep still.

“I’m going to say this once, so listen up, Malfoy.” He starts, his stare growing more intense as he continues to look down at your brother.

“I don’t like you. I probably never will if you keep up the way you are—but I do respect you. You’re my witch’s brother, and whether you like it or not, I’m marrying your sister one day.” He steps closer, the height difference becoming more apparent as he does so.

Draco’s tall, but Fred is just simply taller.

“I’m here to stay, mate. We’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. So stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.” He nods slowly.

“But speak on my family like that again, disrespect the Weasley name—your sister’s future name; and I’ll show you why you should consider yourself lucky it was the other twin that got his hands on you today.” He finishes quietly.

Fred’s words even make the hair on the back of your neck rise. You know he means it, and from the way Draco swallows and casts his eyes to the side—he knows it too.

The blonde nods slowly. “Understood.”

Fred seems to ease up a little then, as he takes a step back and then another. He doesn’t stop until he’s beside you, arm securely wrapped around your waist.

Draco turns to look at you again and you instantly see the question in his eyes.

Are we okay?

You sigh softly and nod as you move to wrap your own arm around Fred.

“Apologize to the rest of the Weasleys by tomorrow.” You narrow your eyes, “I will know if you don’t.”

Draco lets out a quiet sigh and nods. “I will, Y/N. I promise.”

You step away from Fred to pull the younger boy into a hug—one he returns reluctantly, but within seconds he’s squeezing you tight and resting his chin on your shoulder.

He needs this hug. Deep down, your brother is sensitive—his craving for love and belonging steep. He always needs reassurance whenever you two have a row, always afraid that that’ll be the day you walk away from him forever. Thank you, dad.

“We’re okay, I promise. I love you, even though you’re a little shite sometimes.” You whisper softly, and smile when you feel him squeeze you tighter.

When you pull away, he returns your smile with his own—albeit smaller. “I love you too, Y/N.”

He nods to Fred and then begins to head to the dungeons.

You smirk softly as you make your way back into Fred’s arms, watching your brother go. “Staying with Fred tonight, cover for me with Snape! Thanks, love you!”

You hear a faint groan of complaint as he rounds the corner and you smile triumphantly.

Fred rubs your arm up and down gently as he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.

You tilt your head up to him and smile apologetically. “I’m sorry for what he did today.”

He shakes his head instantly as he rubs your back soothingly. “Don’t apologize for him, love. You did nothing wrong.”

“I know, I know, but still. He said awful things about your mum and got you banned from Quidditch!” You sigh softly as you loop your arms around his neck and begin to fiddle with his hair. “He’s my little brother. My responsibility.”

Fred grabs your hands and brings them to his lips, kissing them gently. “Your brother, yes. Your responsibility, no. But your efforts are appreciated, love.”

He smirks softly as he pulls your hands back around his neck. “You had the git apologizing quicker than it’d even taken for the brawl to get going.”

You shake your head in amusement as you roll your eyes playfully. Normally, you would gently chastise him whenever he makes a snide remark about your brother—but you figure you can let it slide for today, all things considered.

“I hope you didn’t accept his apology for my sake, though. You have every right to be upset and not forgive him if that’s how you feel, Freddie.” You say softly.

He shakes his head gently. “I know, love. I chose to forgive him for exactly why I told him.”

You melt as you recall his words about marrying you and someday giving you the Weasley name. “I can’t believe you said all of that.”

“And I meant every word of it.” He murmurs softly before gently pulling you into a deep but tender, lingering kiss.

When he pulls back, he smiles, thumb caressing your cheek as he cups your face. “Besides, the way I see it—the bloke hates me and I’m dating his sister. He can still play Quidditch, sure, but who’s the real winner here? And I didn’t even have to touch a single hair on his pointy head.”

You burst out laughing before leaning into his chest. “The real winner of the brawl, huh?” You play along.

He just smirks softly. “Damn right, love.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! angryfredangryfredangryfred 😵‍💫😵‍💫. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©clesired - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[pomelace]

everything but us

pairing: frank langdon x afab!reader

content warnings: angst, panic attack, emotional distress, patient death, grief, cheating, alcohol mention, kissing, guilt, medical trauma, no physical descriptiors used for reader, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : I don’t know where I wanted this to go, I started writing and couldn’t stop. it’s heavily inspired by all the tweets I keep seeing of people saying they want frank x mel cheating trop next season. hope you enjoy it and please send me ideas you have. I'm happy to write anything! 

word count: 2,485

The restroom door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with the sound of your own unraveling. 

The fluorescent lights above flickered, harsh, and sterile, casting distorted shadows on the white tile walls. You clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles white, breath stuttering in short, ragged bursts. Your reflection in the mirror stared back like a stranger — eyes red-rimmed and wide, cheeks streaked with tears you couldn't recall starting.

You tried to breathe— in, out, in, out—but your chest felt caved in, lungs refusing to expand. Your scrubs were soaked under your arms, clinging to your trembling structure. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block out the world, the hospital, the soft flatline that still echoed in your ears.

It happened so fast, there was no time to think—no time to figure out why.

The patient came in alert, smiling, laughing. She looked fine. You’d done everything right. Every test, every consult, every careful step. She was young. Healthy. Talking your ear off about her upcoming trip to Europe.

And then she wasn’t.

One moment her eyes were alive, full of light, full of plans, and then she went out like a candle. Her heart just… stopped. You reacted before the shock hit you. Gloves on. Code called. Epi drawn. You started compressions, fast and hard, trying to push life back into her.

It was all too much. Your hands didn't even feel like your own anymore; they were tingling, numbing at the fingertips, the sensation coming and going like a flickering static. You couldn’t catch your breath. Couldn’t stop the spiral. Patient after patient, life after life, slipping through your fingers. It felt like death clung to you, like you were cursed. Tainted. Everyone you touched seemed to fade. 

As if you carried a quiet plague you couldn’t shake.

You clung to the sink like it was the only thing anchoring you, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Head bowed; eyes shut tight. If you kept them closed long enough, you’d disappear, you’d fall into a place where none of this was real. 

Somewhere better. Somewhere safer.

But then, the soft creak of the door broke through the silence, and your eyes fluttered open. You didn’t need to turn around. Didn’t need to look in the mirror to know who it was.

Frank.

He had followed you. Of course he had. After you left in a blur, he stayed outside the restroom door, caught in hesitation. Weighing the moment. Debating whether to come in, whether to cross that invisible line.

But now, he’d made the choice.

His footsteps were quiet, deliberate—careful, like he was approaching something fragile. 

Frank’s brows knit together the moment he sees you—like he already knows. Like he felt it. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; he knows you’re not. Instead, he stands next to you, shoulder brushing yours in a way that makes you ache and calm at the same time.

He lets the silence hang for a moment, heavy but bearable. You feel him glance sideways, like he’s waiting for you to say something, but also ready to just stand there with you if that’s what you need.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says gently.

It was like he could read your mind; knew everything you were thinking in that moment. He knows you too well.

You hated him for it.

You shake your head, eyes still fixed on the small crack on the tile beneath your foot.

“I did everything right,” you whisper, voice cracking. “And it still wasn’t enough. I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I—I made a mistake.”

Frank exhales, and it’s not frustration—it’s empathy. He leans forward; hands clasped like he’s holding something fragile between them.

“You didn’t make a mistake,” he says quietly, turning his head just enough to meet your eyes. 

“You’re one of the best damn residents I’ve ever seen come through these doors.” And not because you always get it right—but because you care. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you real.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But all you can think about is the weight in your chest and the way his presence both soothes and burns.

“And what if caring is the thing that breaks me?” you ask, voice barely audible.

He turns toward you now, fully. His eyes search yours, and there’s something in them that feels too raw, too sincere. 

“Then I’ll be there to help pick up the pieces.”

The words linger in the air like a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell. And suddenly, you're not sure if the ache in your chest is from grief—or from him.

You almost hate the way the words make you feel better so soon, as you feel some of the tension in your shoulders release. Although your eyes are aligned on the tile, you can feel his eyes on you, and for some reason that thought makes something in your stomach swell. Your mouth works to say something, but no words come out, and you think he can sense your internal struggles, as he hesitantly reaches a hand to rest on your back, rubbing it in a way meant to soothe. It does make it better, though you’re left with a different type of ache in its place.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and tight. The warmth of his hand on your back is gentle, steady—and completely undoing. You hate how your body leans into it before your mind can stop you. How your breath stutters in your chest. How much you want something you can’t have.

No matter what you said, no matter how much you pushed him away, you always ended up here letting him comfort you, letting him in, even when you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t. 

You lifted your eyes from the floor, catching the reflection in the mirror. There he was, watching you, and for a moment, he saw what you saw: red, swollen eyes, a sniffing nose, and a pale, drained face. You hated being seen like this, hated that it was him seeing you like this.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. He wrapped you up without asking, pressing your head to his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And that was the moment you broke. The tears came fast and hard, no longer quiet or hidden, and you sobbed into him with all the weight you’d been carrying. 

He didn’t flinch. He held you firmly, gently, like he’d been waiting for this, and he didn’t let go.

It felt warm. Too warm. Comforting in a way that made your chest ache. It was suffocating and soft, all at once. And you didn’t want it. 

You didn’t want to fall back into this—into him. 

You had told yourself last time would be the last, that you’d never let yourself crawl back into his arms, or worse, his bed. You swore you’d never kiss a married man again, never let his hands on you, even if the world would call this nothing more than a friendly embrace. But you knew better. You both did. This wasn’t casual. This was vulnerable. This was stripped bare, and you hated that it still felt like home.

And yet, you didn’t move.

You didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop. You let his hands stay on you, let the silence stretch between you like thread pulling tighter and tighter. Your body betrayed everything your mind was screaming. Because despite everything, despite the guilt, the shame, the promises, you felt safe here. Held. Known.

You closed your eyes and let yourself breathe in, just once, just long enough to remember how it used to feel when things were simpler. When the lines were blurrier, and consequences felt far away.

But they weren’t far now. They were pressing in on you from every angle. His wife. Your career. The hollow ache in your chest that never really went away.

You opened your eyes and pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at him. His expression didn’t change—steady, unreadable, like always. But you saw the flicker behind his eyes. The guilt. The want. The knowing.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “We can’t.”

But even as you said it, your fingers were still tangled in his shirt, knuckles white, like you didn’t believe yourself.

“We aren’t doing anything,” he said.

His voice was calm, too calm, like he wanted to turn the moment into something innocent. Like if he said it softly enough, it would make it true. But it wasn’t. You know better. You weren’t imagining things—you could feel it in the way his hands lingered just a second too long, in the way his eyes dropped to your lips before finding your gaze again. You could feel it in the ache between you, the silence that hummed louder than any excuse ever could.

“Don’t do that,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel crazy.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what the right answer was—what version of the truth would hurt the least.

But there was no version of this that didn’t hurt.

“We can’t,” you said, your voice shaking.

Still, he didn’t move. Still, you didn’t let go.

It was maddening—this closeness, this tension wrapped in denial. He wanted to pretend. You couldn’t. You were already bleeding from the truth.

“We can’t? Or you can’t?” he asked, like all of it—this mess, this weight—rested on your shoulders. Like the choice was only yours to make. But it wasn’t. He had started it, and now here he was, acting like this was normal. Like it didn’t mean anything.

Before, it had been simple. You hated each other. You pushed each other’s buttons, pulled loose threads until something snapped. Everything between you was a challenge of words, of pride. You walked all over each other, tore into each other’s work.

But he changed it.

One kiss. One stupid, drunken kiss behind closed doors. One moment where the fire between you flipped into something dangerous. That night ended with him in your bed, your bodies tangled together like you were trying to erase everything you’d ever said to each other. Since then, it hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t slowed. And now the rules were gone. Burned to ash.

And still, he looked at you like this was nothing. Like the lines he crossed didn’t matter unless you said they did.

“Don’t put this on me,” you said sharply, your voice cracking as you finally stepped back, out of his arms, out of the heat of him. Your body ached at the distance, but your pride demanded it. 

“You don’t get to make this my fault.”

He followed, closing the gap just enough to steal your breath again. 

“Why?” he asked, his tone low, edged in something sharp and bitter. 

“Because you don’t want to admit you’re wrong too?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. 

“This isn’t about being right or wrong, Frank. This isn’t a damn competition.”

He leaned in closer, eyes locked on yours, taking your space like he always did—slow, deliberate, like he knew how hard it was for you to hold your ground when he got this close. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

That hit something raw inside you. Your jaw clenched, your fingers curling at your sides. 

“I don’t want this,” you snapped, though the words felt like lies the moment they left your mouth. 

“I want peace. I want to walk into work without wondering if I’ll crumble the second you look at me like that.”

“And yet,” he said, voice softer now, “you always come back.”

You looked at him, blinking hard. 

“So do you.”

“But I don’t deny it,” he said, voice low as he took another step forward, closing the space, boxing you in until your back hit the wall.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Call me sick,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “but I don’t regret an inch of it.”

The words landed like a blow. You flinched—not visibly, not enough for him to see—but inside, something cracked. Because part of you wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe the ache meant something. That this wasn’t just recklessness but need. That you weren’t the only one waking up every morning with the guilt still clinging to your skin.

But hearing him say it aloud—so bold, so unapologetic—made it real. And it made it worse.

Guilt surged up in you, thick and heavy. It filled every hollow place, pressing against your ribs until you felt like you might choke on it. You didn’t know what you hated more: the fact that he didn’t regret it… or the fact that a piece of you didn’t either.

He was close now—too close—and every inch of your body screamed to move, to escape, to walk away. But the part of you that had been holding on, the part that had wanted this even when you swore you wouldn’t… didn’t want to. And it terrified you.

His breath fanned across your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, and you felt the tension in his body, the storm building just under the surface.

For a second, everything froze. His gaze flickered to your lips; the air thick with the weight of it. You wanted to pull back, wanted to say something, anything, to stop him from reading the way your chest was rising and falling too quickly, stop him from seeing how desperate your heart was to tear down the walls between you.

But then his hand was at your cheek, fingers gently brushing against your skin, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. It was a touch that felt too familiar, too intimate. And before you could think, before you could stop yourself, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. But that didn’t last. It deepened, the urgency behind it undeniable. His mouth moved against yours, warm, insistent, as if he were starving for this—starving for you. 

And you? You didn’t pull away. You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you kissed him back, the guilt slipping away in the heat of it, the noise in your head drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both left breathless, your hands trembling at your sides. His forehead rested against yours, both of you silently grappling with what you let happen again, what you had just allowed.

And that was the moment you realized there was no going back anymore.

©pomelace 2025

[featseungmin]

crush

bang chan x reader fluff, established relationship; approx. 500 words

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

You have a crush on your boyfriend.

It’s easy to dismiss. He’s your boyfriend. Obviously, you love him.

But there’s a difference between simply loving someone and having a crush on them.

And you have a crush on your boyfriend.

They say that real love is what’s left after the honeymoon phase is over. Once the novelty of the relationship wears off, you find love in the choice of each other. In the reliability, the mundanity. And yeah, there’s love in the way Chris sits out your coffee mug every morning. There’s love in how he saves you the pickles when his sandwich comes with them, just because it makes you happy. There’s love in every egg soup, every bowl of instant ramen, every steak he serves for you.

But it’s been years, and you still get a little bit starstruck around him. You catch yourself staring at him–whether you’re at an event or just hanging out with the Kids–captivated by how he’s the most handsome man in the room. And when he inevitably catches you (because he always catches you, you’re about as subtle as an elephant), you find yourself getting shy and giggly, like you’re back in high school again.

Years, and he still makes you nervous. Nervous in the way that big trips make you nervous. Nervous in a “fantasize about him leaning in and kissing you” kind of way. 

Years, and when he’s gone, you find yourself hoping that every notification that pops up on your phone–every email, every Instagram notification, every Kakao chat–is him. Even when you know he’s busy. Even when he’s working in some far-off country. Especially then. Because nothing makes you giddy like seeing his name and contact photo pop up on your phone screen. Because just seeing that ‘Chris’ with the little black heart beside it can immediately turn your day brighter. 

You feel a little goofy, having these thoughts while you’re sitting not even four feet away from him. You sit on the leather couch in his studio, legs crossed and laptop balanced on your knees. For once, you’re trying not to be quite so obvious that you’re staring. 

There’s just something about Chris when he’s at work. His hard-set concentration face. The way he moves with such precision, even when he’s just trying something out. The way his hair gets more and more touseled as he runs his hands through it.

He looks exhausted. He’d left the house before you this morning, and he’s been in this room most of the day. You’d told him that you’d keep him company until he was ready to go home, and you’d meant it. You’ve been here, together but working separately, for hours.

He leans back, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back and letting out a deep, guttural groan. And when he looks over at you and catches you staring, he flashes you a goofy, tired-eyed grin.

“I’ll be ready to go in like… ten minutes,” he says, flexing his fingers so they pop. 

And when he stands to go to the bathroom, he cups your face with both hands and places a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. 

You watch him go, a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in your chest that makes you want to kick your feet. Out of all of the people in the world, he’s yours. And you couldn’t feel luckier.

[the-autistic-vulcan]

I'm Gonna Grow Wings (Thunderbolts x Suicidal!GN!Reader Headcanons)

Request: Can I please ask for a Thunderbolts x suicidal thoughts!reader please? If not I do understand :) - Anonymous

Description: Being a member of the Thunderbolts and having suicidal thoughts

a/n: as said with the other mental illness posts, this is taken with extreme care and research, so i do hope i do this topic justice. reader is hinted to be previously experimented on, reader does have ideations, poor mental health, isolating, but protective and supportive fluff heading your way

gif credit: @captainofmischief, @whitedarkmoonflower

You carry a heavy weight on your shoulders, something the group had sensed was all too familiar for all of them

They firmly believe in a sense of community - and mental health and talking things through seem to be top priority for them all, but talking just doesn't do it for you

So they've all come up with ways to help you out - in their own special way, of course

Bob is a little more sensitive about your situation, whether it had been something traumatic in your past or feeling genuinely alone, Bob knows how to keep you from harming yourself further

With this in mind, he can empathise with your situation - having run on drug for a portion of his adulthood and seeking help where no one would give it to him, he make every effort to sit and listen

Even if it isn't a meaningful conversation, he wants to divert your attention from the negative thoughts as much as he can and wants to

Yelena and John, aside from endless bickering and butting heads, they have a level of respect for you that ultimately comes out as silent but strong support

When you remain in your room away from people, Yelena urges you to come out and hang with her, whether it is chores or watching a movie - your choice, of course

John, on the other hand, understands the feeling of emotions becoming stunted when you don't really know how to express how you feel - so sparring is a good physical outlet for the two of you to partake in

Alexei is doing his best to understand your feelings - although, the understanding may come out in some form of story of when he was feeling down in his glory days

But he is trying, trust me - Alexei kind of offers to be your dad in a sense - on the one hand, it helps him connect better with you and slowly but surely fix himself from his past with raising Yelena

On the other hand, he gives you a good laugh - he often says laughter is the best medicine, so he's always there if you're looking for something to laugh at and with

Bucky and Ava understand the feeling of wanting to escape an impossible situation

Being poked and prodded at for heaven knows how long is something they can never escape, and they sense it in you - Ava becomes someone who tries to prevent anything harmful in your vicinity - whether it is something you can use to hurt yourself or otherwise

Bucky is like a weighted blanket, since you can be prone to emotional episodes, he's able to bring you back down, offering soft words of encouragement and letting you know you aren't alone anymore

With a family like this, you never feel so solitary anymore, they've even helped you out of your shell a bit

Slowly but surely, you realize you've got six wonderful people who can empathise and listen to you

You're not alone, anymore. Not with them.

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