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cinnamorollcrybaby · 18 hours ago

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Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation.

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: He’s losing his morals, guys… slowly but surely

Part one. | Part two. | Part three.

The rest of Nanami’s week progresses as it should, but Kusakabe’s words continue to repeat like a broken record in his mind. Did he care too much?

He’s only had one session with you thus far, but you seemed to have made a lasting impression. Something about you makes Kento’s brain fire off on all cylinders.

He didn’t believe in typical toxic masculinity culture. Something about the caveman-like “me man. you woman. me protect woman and provide” never really resonated with him.

He has been protective over clients in the past, especially whenever court cases were involved. He would come to their hearings with them for moral support. He also actively advocated against laws threatening the sanctity of reproduction rights for womb-havers.

He wanted what was best for his clients, but when it came to you… He personally had thought about paying your husband a little visit multiple times throughout the week.

It had to be something about your nature, he reasoned. Your soul simply resonated with his on a different chord. He wasn’t acting unethically. No, he was just experiencing natural biological influences.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he watches you settle in on his couch for a second session. You look so naturally breathtaking that Nanami doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath. You weren’t wearing anything fancy, but you had managed to capture his gaze.

He bites back the urge to tell you that you look lovely today. While it’s true and it’d be a nice way to open the session, it’d also cross a line.

“Usually, I start out with pleasantries…” he says, voice strained from the effort of keeping his eyes trained to your face, “but I’m really interested in hearing how it went with your husband this week.”

Interested is probably an understatement. Nanami had been reeling. He hadn’t felt such personable anger in a long, long time, but the sheer thought of your husband coercing you had his jaw already clenching.

You tense slightly, clearly not ready to jump right into it. Nanami’s chides himself inwardly for not easing you into the session better.

“Um…” you say after a big breath. Your heart begins to pound in your chest harshly, and you feel your skin prickle and flush. “Sorry— I’m just a bit nervous…” the words feel clunky coming out of your mouth.

Nanami’s face immediately shifts to a look of concern. He’s studied Gestalt counseling techniques, and just looking at your body language is sending him big red flags.

“Anxiety is normal, especially in a counseling environment,” he says calmly instantly relaxing his own body in hopes you’ll mirror him. When you don’t, he decides to go on. “What’s your body saying right now?”

You can’t meet his gaze. Your brain has decided he’s staring at you with judgement instead of empathy. Trying to shield yourself from him, you hug a throw pillow to your midsection.

“It’s saying I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

Now, Nanami’s heart is pounding as well — not with anger… Well, maybe some anger for whoever had instilled this response in you. Moreover, he’s anxious to get to the bottom of your anxiety.

“Okay…” he breathes out, trying to drag his mind back into therapist mode. “Why do you suspect I’d be mad at you?”

You continue to hug the pillow, closing your own eyes while you remember how it had went with your husband. “It’s hard to look at you right now…”

Nanami had never seen himself as an intimidating man. Sure, he was tall, standing over six feet, and he took good care of his physique. He knew his facial features were sharp, and on top of that, he kept himself cleanly groomed. His appearance was meticulous. He liked the routine of it, and it was one of the few things he could control.

“I can face away from you if you’d like. It may be easier to talk to me if I turn the other way.” He’s already standing, fully intending on turning his chair away from you, even if he’d miss seeing your pretty face.

You look up at him, and your eyes widen slightly as you see the lengths he was willing to go to make you feel comfortable. “Oh— You don’t have to..” you quickly say, not wanting him to make a fuss over you.

“I know,” he responds in a tone that causes your shoulders to drop. Since your last session, you had seemingly forgotten that Nanami wasn’t the enemy here.

“No, uh.. no need to move the furniture around… Why don’t you just sit on the couch next to me? We can face forward so it’ll be easier for me to talk to you,” you suggest nervously.

Nanami stops what he’s doing, and he glances at you carefully. There was more than enough room on the couch for him to comfortably sit next to you, and it wouldn’t be inappropriate. In fact, there had been plenty of times with other clients where he’d sit next to them. He would do so as an exercise for interpersonal skills or intimacy training.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” he responds, searching your face for any signs of hesitancy.

“I’m comfortable.” You nod in the affirmative. It was just sitting on the couch together. It’s not like you two were doing the devil’s tango.

After a few moments, Kento slides next to you on the couch. The cushion flexes as it is weighed down by him. He keeps his face toward his normal sitting chair and away from you.

He takes a deep breath, seemingly getting himself comfortable before restarting the session. “Good afternoon, Y/n. It’s nice to see you back in my office. Going back to our last session before we closed, I believe I sent you on your way with a bit of homework. Can you tell me how that went?”

“Good afternoon,” you greet him back, resisting the urge to look over at his face. “I did as we talked about last time with… enforcing boundaries and stuff..”

Your stomach does a cartwheel as Kento chooses not to speak. He allows silence to be his answer. He’s eagerly awaiting to hear how it went.

“Last Saturday— you probably don’t need to know the date. I’m sorry. — er, my husband asked if I was in the mood for sex that morning, and I told him that I wasn’t. During lunch, he kissed my neck and asked if I had changed my mind…” your voice trembles a bit, and you’re unsure as to why this is making you have such an emotional reaction. You didn’t have one on the day this happened, so why now? “I told him I was busy and I had errands to run… He walked away, but he asked again when I came back home. He said he was asking because he had a lot of yard work to do on Sunday, so if we didn’t have sex that day, then he’d have to wait until Monday.”

Nanami keeps up a poker face even while he’s seething in his seat. He can hear your voice tremble and every little sigh you make. How can your husband not see how much of a piece of work he is?

“Go on..” he calmly prompts you.

“So, I told him about how the repeated questions make me feel pressured and turn me off.” You run your fingers through your hair, subconsciously trying to soothe yourself before you got to the real meat of the story. “He asked me if I learned that in counseling, and he basically said counseling was a waste of time and money. He of course said it in a much more vibrant language, but that’s the gist of it.”

Nanami forced himself not to roll his eyes. Typical. Your husband was fine with you going to counseling when he thought it would benefit him. Now that he sees you forming independent thinking and using outside perspectives, he hates it.

“Is that why you thought I would be mad at you?” he asks, taking the chance to look over at your face.

You surprisingly return his gaze with a small nod. “He just said such mean things about you and sex therapy in general.”

“If anything, I am beyond proud of you. You stood up for yourself and didn’t waver.” Nanami gives you a warm smile that makes butterflies dance around in your stomach. He said it with such an earnest expression. You believe him. You made him proud.

But did you? “I… actually did end up giving in and having sex with him.”

Nanami’s adams apple bobs as he swallows down his reaction to that statement. Your piece of shit husband practically wore you down and bullied you into giving him what he wants, and the worst part was that you feel guilty as if you did something wrong.

“Did you want to have sex?”

Your hands rub at your eyes as you feel your resolve crumbling. “I just wanted to stop arguing. He finally agreed to drop it after we were done.”

This time, Kento can’t stop himself before he pulls you into his chest. His hands soothingly rub your hair as you fall apart in his embrace. He realizes in that moment that he’s so far beyond saving. In such a short period of time, you had found your way into his heart. He cares for you and not in the same way he cares for his other clients.

“You’re okay,” he softly whispers to you, and he adjusts himself on the couch so you can lean on him.

“I don’t know why I agreed,” you choke out. Hot tears are streaming from your eyes, and it feels like your air is being restricted. The only thing keeping you from really losing it is the rhythmic sound of Nanami’s heartbeat through his chest.

“Hey, none of that..” He scoops you further against him. Your bodies are completely touching, almost entangled together on the couch. His hand gently brush away the stray hairs stuck to your face. “It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. Have you ever heard of false confessions?”

You slowly lean up from his chest, looking up at his face as he continues to pet your hair soothingly. “False confessions?”

He nods, giving you a small smile. “It’s a known phenomenon where those who are innocent of a crime falsely admit to doing it anyway. It usually happens as a result of coercive or unreasonably long interrogations from the police. It just goes to show that coercion is powerful. It makes us admit to things that we didn’t do, agree to things we don’t really want, do things that we don’t want…”

You prop your forehead back down on his chest. His cologne smells so enticing like cedar and musk. It’s a fully masculine scent that wraps you up in a tight cocoon, making you feel safe and protected. You know this position is wrong. You’re nearly straddling his lap at this point, and if your husband saw you like this…

The thought is enough to return back to your seat. You steal a couple of tissues to dry your eyes. "Just- things would be easier if I actually felt the drive to have sex. I haven't felt... well, um-" The word horny is lodged in your throat. It feels so scandalous to talk about such natural desires. "I haven't felt turned on in a while. I don't even know if I ovulate anymore."

Kento shifts upwards, dusting off his slacks as he returns to a sitting position. He already misses the feeling of you lying on him. He can smell your perfume lingering around him, and it causes goosebumps to raise on his arm. It's a carnal feeling — being so attracted to a scent.

"I think it's time we address that thought. What's your idea of intimacy?" he probes, and he tries not to file this information away for later. He shouldn't be using questions to get to know what makes you tick. This is suppose to be a path of self discovery, but Kento can't help but wonder. He imagines all the ways he could rile you up, satisfy you, keep you happy and doped up on love...

Your eyebrows furrow a bit as you glance over at your therapist, wondering if he was asking a trick question. "What do you mean? Surely I don't have to give you the birds and bees talk, Mr. Nanami. When two people love each other very much..."

He gives you a genuine grin and a small scoff of amusement. "Darling, if that's your idea of intimacy, we have a lot to work on..."

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idk-karla · 3 days ago

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The Neighbor, pt. 1

Pairing: bucky barnes x single!mom!reader

Summary: Your daughter offers the quiet, brooding neighbor next door a soggy cookie

Author's Note: I'm currently deep in a Bucky rot 😭. This started as an idea and now I have a bunch of half written scenes of FLUFF and protective/stepdaddy bucky. So expect more to come!! or

I’d been living next to him for months. James Barnes. The winter soldier. Ex-Hydra weapon. Reformed avenger.

He’d move into the apartment next door to mine after Mr. and Mrs. Chen moved out. Their absence hit my four-year-old, Ellie, especially hard, the Chens usually babysat her sporadically throughout the week and even brought her to the farmers market with them every other Sunday so I could breathe for a few hours. Their warm, cluttered apartment had always felt like an extension of ours. Now, it was occupied by a ghost.

I barely saw him. He came and went like a shadow. He was quiet, kept to himself. Never rude, just... distant. Sometimes he would be gone for weeks. I never heard him leave or come back, my only indication was the bike reappearing next to my car after several weeks. I’d never spoken to him. Never really even seen him beside a shadow disappearing into the stairwell or a back turned in the hallway.

Until today. Ellie and I had finished dinner, and she insisted we eat the cookies we’d baked for dessert out on the porch. Her ballet class had run long, cutting into her play time, and she was lobbying hard for some fresh air before bed. Fall was rolling in, the leaves were changing and the breeze had a bite, but the sky was clear and painted pink and orange. I wasn't about to argue with a porch picnic. It was the first nice moment we’d had all week.

He was standing outside. For the first time. He leaned against the railing on his porch, back to us, phone pressed to his ear. The contrast between our two sides was laughable. His was barren, save for a single lonely plant near the door, probably a gift. Mine was a mess of half-alive plants, a beaten up patio set I inherited from the Chens, and toys everywhere. A bubble gun under a chair, a pink bike halfway tipped over, plastic bins full of glittery chaos. My life spilled onto the porch too messy, too loud. His was still. Silence.

He turned to face as soon as our feet hit the patio floor, eyebrow raised. I offered a small wave as I settled into the patio loveseat with my bowl of melting ice cream. Ellie immediately bolted for her scooter, dessert instantly forgotten.

He gave a curt nod and lifted a hand in return, then turned his back again, lowering his voice.

I watched him for a moment. Not stared, exactly, just... took him in. Broad shoulders. One vibranium arm, one human. Tousled hair that looked like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. The white Henley clung his body like it was made specifically for him. He was strong. Sturdy. Painfully handsome.

He cocked his head like he could feel my eyes on him and I looked away, ears warming in embarrassment. I went back to watching Ellie suddenly fascinated with Ellie doing laps in her socks, figuring he would just go back inside.

I was scraping the bottom of my bowl when I heard Ellie’s sweet voice. “Hi Mr. Solider,” She greeted him quietly with a soft smile as she rolled past the edge of our porch and onto his.

He blinked. “Hi,” he said softly, crouching down to meet her eye level. The phone was gone now. His expression was careful. Like he was trying not to scare her. Like he didn’t know what to do with something so small and soft.

Ellie held out a soggy cookie, clearly plucked straight from her bowl, dripping with pink ice cream. “Want a cookie? Mommy and I made them for dessert!”

I stood quickly, ready to nudge her back to our side and apologize, but a barely there smile ghosted Bucky’s lips, stopping me in my tracks.

“Sure,” He took the soggy cookie delicately from her hand. He studied it like it was a bomb, then popped the whole thing into his mouth.

Ellie beamed up at him like he was the sun, making my heart catapult in my chest. “Do you like it?” she asked, practically bouncing in place.

He nodded solemnly, as though she’d asked him something far more important. “It’s very good. Thank you.” Electric blue eyes met mine, making my heart flutter.

“I um-” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, heart doing an odd little flutter. “She was very excited about them. She mixed the dough all on her own.”

Ellie nodded enthusiastically, rounding us with her scooter.

“Well you did great.” He commended her before turning back to me, his voice was low. “Better than me. I can barely boil water.”

I smiled, relaxing just a little. “Well, she’s four and already one step ahead of you. Rough competition.”

“Guess I should retire now.” I exhaled a soft laugh, partially in relief at his gentle teasing. His tone was more cautious than playfully, like he was testing the air between us, but it made something warm spark under in my belly.

“Mom says you’re a superhero. Is that true?” The gasp that left my lips was only partially from the wheel that Ellie had just dragged across my big toe. Bucky looked down at my squished toe, back up at me and then down at Ellie like he wasn’t sure how to respond.

His mouth opened, then shut. He shifted on his feet. “I guess? I’m an Avenger.”

“What do you do?”

“Fight bad guys.” He said the fact like a question.

“Is it scary?” Ellie’s eyes were wide, a mix of intrigue and horror.

His jaw twitched. “Sometimes.”

She whirled without another word. and darted back inside in a split second. He looked at me, regret coloring his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

I held up my finger. I knew my kid. Ellie hadn’t gotten scared, like he thought. She was going to assemble her own team.

“She’ll be back,” I said with a smile, and sure enough, she returned a few seconds later with an army of toys in her arms. She laid them on the floor before her and grabbed her favorite rabbit.

“This is Ribi. He keeps me safe when I’m scared.” She waved him in front of her for Bucky to see.

Bucky crouched again, eyes softening. “That’s a very important job.”

“You can hold him if you want. He helps.” She shoved the bunny into his arms before he could decline. He looked at the rabbit like it was a live grenade. My heart tugged painfully at the sight.

Ellie dumped the rest of her toys on the floor and launched into a wild story about how Ribi and Gary the dinosaur battled Dr. Meanieface to save her from his evil tentacles. Bucky didn’t even blink. He nodded along like he was being briefed on a real mission.

Then Ellie leaned into his side and whispered, like she was sharing national secrets. “But Mommy is the best one at keeping me safe. She cuddles me until I fall asleep. She’s scary so the monsters in the closet won’t ever take me.”

“Okay,” I cut in quickly, mortified. “Time for bed.”

It wasn’t time for bed. But she couldn’t read clocks, and my dignity was rapidly crumbling.

“Wait!” Ellie dove into her pile again, digging with urgency. Bucky met my eyes, and something warm and amused passed between us. It made my knees weak.Elllie yanked a sparkly little plastic purple elephant from the pile, nearly slamming it into Bucky nose. Thankfully, he titled his head just in time to avoid the blow. “I got this today! You can have it. For your missions. So you’re not scared.”

Bucky froze, blinking at her like she’d just offered him a piece of the moon.

“I can’t-”

“You have to,” she insisted, thrusting it into his hands. “It’s to keep you safe.”

He looked to me for help, and I just smiled. “You should probably listen. She doesn’t take ‘no’ well.”

“I haven’t named it yet, so you can pick” Ellie added, like a selling point.

With comical gentleness, he cradled the toy in both hands. “Can you help me pick the name?”

Ellie twirled in a circle, clearly considering the options. “He needs to be strong to protect you. Strong like…”

“Maybe a captain?” Bucky offered, with a little smile.

She nodded, tapping her chin. “What’s his weapon?”

“Um…” Bucky’s eyes met mine like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that question. I sighed.

“Maybe a sword?” I supplied helpfully.

“Yes!” Ellie shouted. “Captain GlitterSword!”

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest but simply nodded.

Ellie clapped her hands. “Promise to keep him in your pocket when fighting bad guys?”

Bucky nodded, a serious look on his face like he had just accepted the most important mission ever. Ellie held out a pinky to him, standing up on her tiptoes to reach him the best she could.

“Promise.” She demanded.

Bucky looked at me again, lost, and I shrugged. “You heard the boss.” I mumbled. Bucky wrapped his pinky around Ellie’s- big and small, scarred and soft. I had to look away. She absolutely beamed at him.

“Thanks,” He offered her quietly. Ellie nodded and ran back in the house, satisfied.

And then we were alone. Bucky stood again to meet my eyeline and we just stood there for a moment. The porch was quiet. The sun was almost gone now, the sky dimming into purple. The air between us hummed.

“Sweet kid.” He finally offered, bedding back down to pick up the discarded toys. It took me a few seconds to get my brain working to bend down and help him. “Thanks for humoring her.” I laughed softly. She was my ray of sunshine.

“She’s good company.” He glanced at me. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You either.”

He stilled, just briefly, like he was feeling something shift between us. Then he nodded once.

“I’ll see you around…” He trailed off, and I realized with a jolt he didn’t know my name.

“Y/N,” I offered.

“Y/N,” he repeated, tasting it like it meant something.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

He lingered for a heartbeat. “Night.”

I turned toward the door, heart thudding wildly. I didn’t have to look to know he was still watching me as I went inside.

Part 2

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rotapathetic · 3 days ago

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͏͏͏✧ ྅ ˚ . ᯇ * TWITCH STREAMER!RAFE IS LIVE ㅤ⁝ㅤ opening p.o. mail ۫ : .

❛i get why you hid her i would too❜ : bold text is stream chat! 💬

rafe cut the tape of the box, glancing at the chat. “my p.o. box is linked in discord i think, but mods, could you link it and pin it? thanks.” he looked down when he finally got the box open.

“alright, first one of the day. i’ll name this stream p.o. mail then change it later. there is a lot, and i’m opening them all because i’ve been meaning to get to it, so buckle in i guess.”

user pretty box user is it cool if i just send a letter? i don’t have any items to send right now user open mine next!!

“you don’t even have to send anything, but if you do, it most definitely doesn’t have to be an item. i love letters and i appreciate them, that’s totally fine. . and let me know which box is yours when you see it,” he addressed both chats.

rafe pulled out the first thing inside which was a little packaging. he opened it, pulling out a couple of keychains. some of them had legos attached or a little trinket, or just pretty stones. “woah, this is cool. you know your stuff, you know i like legos. this will make me use keychains more, thank you. is it okay if i give the others to someone? she’ll love them.”

user that’s my box! yes, i made the other ones for her lol

rafe read the chat, raising a brow. “oh, really? that’s so nice. yeah, she’ll go crazy. i’ll set them aside for her.”

rafe clipped one of the chains onto his pants, putting the rest away. he reached back into the box, pulling out a funko pop and a blind box. rafe chuckled when he noticed the difference. “did you make a his and hers box? one thing for me, the other for her?”

user at first i was mainly putting in things for her 😭 then i remembered i should put stuff you like too user that’s such a cute idea user she’ll love that

“that’s insanely kind you thought of her. she’ll really appreciate it.” rafe grabbed the last thing which was a note. he read it aloud, “‘hi, rafe. i just wanted to give you some things in return for giving me a new favorite streamer lol. i watched one vod a month ago and have since watched like all of your streams. you’re pretty funny i guess. there’s stuff for both of you guys in here so hope you like them,’ and then she drew a smiley face,” rafe finished the letter.

“don’t try to humble me about being funny, you know i am. but thanks so much. i keep all of these letters just so you guys know. i don’t throw them out or anything.”

user sweeettt user there he goes trying to be funny again

rafe put the items back inside the box, separating the letter, and put it to the side. “alright, next box. this is from. .” rafe tilted the box to read the name, “a crochet business. oh, that’s cool, my girlfriend crochets,” he opened it, pulling out a note. he read it aloud, “‘big fan of your streams! but i heard your girlfriend likes crochet. . so i made some things for her. hopefully she likes them!,’” rafe read.

“and this is her business,” rafe held up the box where there was a qr code and the name of their shop.

user wait this is all for her awhh

“she will really like this. i’ll let her open it.” rafe stood and walked off camera to roll over another gaming chair and put it next to his.

user wait a minute. . user awh she has her own chair

“pretty girl. .” rafe called out, “could you come here?” rafe looked to the doorway, waiting for you. when you appeared, slightly nervous, rafe held out a hand. “there’s something for you.”

you made your way to him, accepting his hand, then placing both on his shoulders, glancing over them to see what he held. “what is it?”

“sit down, you have to open them.” rafe looked over his shoulder to you. so you did, sitting in the chair he pulled over. the chair he bought when you told him you felt comfortable to be on camera now. the chair he had customized, despite your reluctance.

you sat, putting your hands in your lap, avoiding looking into the camera. that’s probably weird to do.

user dude finally user reveal!!! user wait chat don’t make a big deal or she’ll never come back user i get why you hid her i would too user prettyyy user hi!!

rafe handed you the box, giving all of his attention to you instead of the viewers. he wanted to make sure you felt as comfortable as possible and not like thousands of people were watching you.

“opening my p.o. mail and someone sent you some crochet items. want to see the note?” your eyes widened, taking in the box. “really? yeah, can i see?” you reached for the note, reading it. your shy disposition faltered slightly at seeing something cute, and it was made for you. you slightly pouted as you read, looking up to rafe. “no way. rafe, this is so sweet.”

rafe bit a smile, nodding. “it is. i said you would like it.”

you looked to the monitor that displayed the chat, trying to catch all of the chats, but they were moving pretty quickly.

user what’s your @ ?? user open it!! user i think the owner is in the chat user yeah, she’s freaking out

“um. . to whoever sent this, thank you. i will for sure check you out. i know i’ll love this,” you looked back down to the package, opening it. inside was one balaclava, a plushie, headphone covers, and a keychain.

you were in awe as you pulled out each item, showing them to the camera. “i have to wear this balaclava, it’s so cute. you know my color palette,” you put it on, looking to rafe. “cute, right?”

he couldn’t hold back his smile now, pulling out his phone to take a picture. “i have to capture this. baby’s first stream and mail.”

user i’m sooo happy for you guys love that really user is it okay if i make fan art of you??

rafe read the chat, grabbing another package, this one smaller than the first two. “if you could draw me, that’d be dope, yeah.” rafe opened it, pulling out two small containers.

user not you! sorry, her

rafe was still frowning at the items, unsure what they were as you read the chat for him. “me?” you pointed a finger to your chest. “that would be awesome, yes it’s okay. you don’t have to!”

rafe was still unaware of the chat, scrunching a brow, and tilting the item up. “are these nails? ohhh, they’re nails.” rafe showed the little containers to you. you gasped, grabbing them. “oh my gosh, these are so cute! i love them,” you examined them both, both sets nail sets you would wear. how did someone know you would like these?

rafe looked to the monitor. “do you guys want me to just leave the stream?” he partially joked, mostly serious.

user yes! user i mean we weren’t going to say it

you shook your head, “no, this is your thing. i’m sure there is stuff for you, of course.” you showed the nails to the camera. “guys, look at how adorable. is your business name somewhere?”

you turned the package around, spotting the name. “pretty and pressed, that’s so cute. i really like these, thank you so much. okay, rafe’s turn. no more me.” you even rolled your chair back a little, putting the attention on him.

rafe rose a brow, pulling your chair back by the armrest, closer to him this time. “right. . on to the next. .” he grabbed a bigger box with wording on the top. “e.l.f.? it’s not christmas time?”

your head swiveled to look at the box. “no, it’s not. .” rafe shrugged, showing the box to you. “yeah, e.l.f. you know them?”

user no way!! user hello? 😭 user not the christmas elf rafe!

“rafe, this is a makeup brand. that can’t be right. .” you didn’t want to accept another gift on a stream that isn’t even yours! “they have products men can use, skincare stuff. i’m sure that’s for you.” you tried to rationalize.

rafe opened the lid, grabbing the note that lied on top. he read aloud, “‘we heard there was a mystery girl that your chat has been going crazy over! no pressure, just let her know we have some items we think she’d love! love, the e.l.f. team,’” rafe read.

user oh she’s getting pr!!

“baby, this is for you! that’s so cool. this is cool, right? i still don’t know who they are.” rafe tried handing the box to you. instead, you sat still, staring it. “there’s stuff you can use in there, right?” you asked.

rafe looked into the box, shaking his head. “no, this looks like makeup.” he tried handing it over again.

you stammered. “but rafe. . this is really cool, yes, and i’m grateful, but where’s your mail? why do i have so much?”

rafe smiled at your upset face. “because they thought exactly what i did when i first saw you. wanted to buy you things before i even talked to you.”

#⠞ twitch streamer ㅤᩘ 🎧 rafe ㅤ⁝ㅤ is online ⌕ .. ༝#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe blurb

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kianamaiart · 1 day ago

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You are so good at handling some asks with such grace and empathy and understanding sometimes even when you don't have to. Someone could say the rudest most out of pocket thing but you choose kindness when responding anyway. I know that's not always easy for most people online so I find that very admirable and inspiring. And I'm gonna try to follow your lead because idk I wanna be like that

Aw thanks I'm glad! I'm not a very confrontational person to begin with and I try to remember before responding to anything that there's a person on the other side of the computer (someone who could be having a bad day, a child who doesn't know better, etc.). I don't say anything I wouldn't say to someone's face irl. I've always responded better to kindness and patience when I get something wrong and I think a lot of people are like that. I think fighting people sometimes makes them defensive or pushes them more into their ways (though I won't argue some people do just need to be told what's what haha). It's a win win situation a lot of the time because you just come off as nice and if someone's trying to get a rise out of you, you don't give them the negative reaction they're looking for.

The internet's always kind of been, but especially recently has become, a very vitriolic place. I'm just being the change I wanna see because oh my god what a nightmare

#ask mai anything

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nebinarnagovnara · 2 days ago

Text

(2/2) Edgeworth meets Wright for the first time

Part 1!

For the prompt of Narumitsu Week Day 5: Another Universe, here's part 2 of this comic for my Story Contest AU.

[Transcript]

The descriptions how the characters look are in the Intro post linked in the word "Story Contest AU" in the previous caption.

The comic is mostly monochrome in black and white, with slight color variation due to a filter.

Page 1:

Wright leans in to Edgeworth. "So," he starts, "See anything you like?" Edgeworth simply stares at him. Trucy, still holding the big painting, turns to Phoenix, "Daddy, can I have my burger?"

Edgeworth's empty stare of shock.

Edgeworth's empty stare of shock evolves into a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. The hand rises his glasses as he does so. "Of course," his train if thought begins.

"Um, sir...?" Wright questions him, "Uh." "Here you go sweetie," he hands his daughter a burger. She thanks him and adds, "I think you broke him." Meanwhile Edgeworth turned away from from them, his face in his hands, emanating a depressing aura while he is thinking, "Of course, it's the artist's daughter. Just what am I thinking? Embarrassing. I am so tired."

"Erm," Edgeworth turns back around to face Wright, his hand going through his hair, "My sincere apologies, but unfortunately I cannot afford original artworks at this time..." "Ah! Say no more!" Wright exclaims, his hand raising.

Page 2:

Wright is picking up a stack of papers from the table.

He hands Edgeworth the stack, grinning, while Trucy stares at Edgeworth from behind, munching on a burger. "Prints! Seven bucks. Go wild!" Wright tells Edgeworth.

Edgeworth starts going through the stack, his fingers dipping among the papers while thinking, "Ahh... Now I am expected to purchase something... I would feel incredibly bad if I left them hanging like this..."

His fingers stop, as he sees a glimpse of a Steel Samurai illustration.

"The Steel Samurai!!!" he yells in his mind as he stares wide eyed, sweating and blushing at his discovery.

"Do you sell more... Of this type?" Edgeworth asks, pulling the Steel Samurai illustration out of the pile. Trucy has her eyes on Wright now. "Ahh, no unfortunately..." he replies.

Edgeworth: "That's a shame." Wright: "To be clear, I did sell them at one con I was at... That one here is leftovers, haha." Edgeworth: "So you attend comic cons?" Wright: "Yeah, but mostly with a friend..." They continue going on and on while Trucy is eating her burger and her eyes swipe between them.

Page 3:

A panel of their hands, Edgeworth handing Wright the money bills. "Here you go," he says. "Thank you so much!" Wright replies. There are sparkles around them.

As Edgeworth is putting the print in his bag, Wright wishes him a nice day and he nods.

Edgeworth looks down and starts brooding. Wright looks at him questioningly.

"Here goes nothing," he thinks, pulling out a scrunched piece of paper from his pocket.

He hands Wright the paper. "A contest." Sweat drops roll down his face. Wright is surprised, and Trucy in her curious nature lifts herself up so she can try and peek the content of the paper.

Page 4:

Edgeworth is holding out the paper, blushing furiously and sweating. The focus is on him. He is surrounded by sparkles and cozy, dull lighting. "This is a flyer for an illustrated story contest. All the information is on it, if you wish to take a look... The contestants join in teams of two..." he begins to say.

Wright simply stares at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, also blushing. The focus is now on him, and he is the one surrounded by sparkles and cozy, dull lighting. Edgeworth continues, "I am a writer, Miles Edgeworth. Your artworks have piqued my interest... If you're interested..."

Wright nervously smiles at him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nghh... There it is..." Edgeworth realizes to himself, "That look of pity..."

Trucy practically jumps in front of Wright. He jerks at her appearance. "That's so great!" she exclaims, smiling widely, "Perfect!"

Page 5:

"Daddy hasn't drawn in weeks!" she continues giddily, accentuating the 'weeks', those words sharply stabbing Wright's head. He freezes in shock. Edgeworth's hand twitches as Trucy quickly swipes the flyer away from him.

"It'll be so good for him!" Trucy says. Edgeworth stares dumbfounded at his now empty hand, and fixes up his bag on his shoulder.

Wright, exasperated, looks at his daughter, shoulders slouched, blushing from embarrassment. In return she turns on sparkly eyes and looks at him back.

Her gaze gets more intense and way sparklier, and Wright closes his eyes.

"Okay!" Wright declares, straightening up, one hand on his forehead, and another digging through his hoodie pocket. He repeats himself more quietly, "Okay." Trucy raises her arms in victory and grins.

"Listen, um, Mr. Edgeworth," Wright begins, smiling nervously, pulling out his old Nokia phone from his pocket, "I can't promise anything, but you did buy from me. You can give me your number and I can let you know by tomorrow. How does that sound?"

Page 6:

Edgeworth, with the back of his hand over his mouth, surprised, stares at him. "... That is amenable, yes." The answer he gives him is calm, but inside his mind, he is crying in excitement and relief, yelling "There is hope!" in all caps. The panel is filled with flashes and flickers.

Edgeworth is typing in his number in Wright's phone. "...Erm, forgive me, I didn't catch your name?" he asks.

"Oh! Phoenix Wright. Nice to meet ya," replies Wright.

"Likewise." As he says this, Edgeworth thinks, "What year is this phone from...?"

[End transcript]

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #trucy wright #gyakuten saiban #naruhodo ryuichi #mitsurugi reiji #naruhodo minuki #narumitsu #wrightworth #narumitsu story contest au #Please ignore how Wright's bag appears and disappears at random. As well as Edgeworth's flyer.#I wasn't very concentrated while I was drawing this #nmweek25

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terrietont · 2 days ago

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The issue I have is when people act like having a character that is just apathetic and sadistic or purely kindhearted is brand new revolutionary writing and that everyone should follow the villain vs hero format all the time. That there SHOULD be a villain or a hero and not “maybe guy is just an ass but not a true antagonist” or “the “villain” is a systemic problem” that makes people reflect and think more.

I’m just so tired of the internet’s weird “gotcha” boner for pure evil villain characters over any more complex morally grey ones or complex themes, or the people have this idea that people should interpret a character as good or bad and not in the middle.

Yeah tons of my fav characters are problematic people, but they don’t exactly deserve death. Or decent people have flaws and shouldn’t be put on a pedestal as “can do no wrong.”

But because black and white storytelling is so popular, even the nuances of a mad nutcase evil person that actually has more to them and the reason why they might be doing said evil thing is glossed over audiences as “bad guy bad” only.

There’s also tons of glorification over just pure evil in fandoms and it becomes genuinely concerning at a certain point and… just honestly really boring in my opinion.

In all honesty, I wish more people would try and look into the nuance of why someone would do what they do. And no I don’t mean making excuses for them, I mean really understanding what makes a person act a certain way so we don’t get people who act that way in the future. And to better understand people acting up and getting to the bottom of their toxic behavior. Even if there is an irredeemable character, there is still motive and intent and it’s so much more fascinating looking at the mental perspective of a villain and why they may be doing what they do.

It’s just feels like a lot of people don’t seem to care about looking to the psychological aspect of a character’s motives and only look at the outside and how “cool” a character is or looks. Don’t get me wrong, aesthetic attraction is real but being like “Character is so cool because they’re an asshole!” Is (again in my opinion) a dull way of looking at a character.

Again this isn’t “uwu my villain is such a sad pookie that needs protection” or “This good guy is secretly evil because they’re too nice!”

it’s “What caused this kind of behavior? Was it trauma? Were they taught? Is it fear?“ I wonder what’s really going on in their head”

That’s why I think true crime is fascinating on a psychological basis. What causes a person to do something so heinous?

The more we look into the minds of people like that, the closer we get to stopping other people going down that pathway. Getting would-be villains help before they become too far gone.

Plus. The most beloved characters are morally ambiguous. It’s not like it’s not popular to love morally grey, but again I’ve seen so many people have a problem with there being no real good or evil in a story.

Again this is just my opinion and I personally prefer morally grey nuance but I’m not against irredeemable as long as it isn’t done all the time or has a complex purpose that makes me think.

some of you think ‘nuanced’ only means ‘morally grey’ and I’m here to tell you that actually straight up good characters can still be nuanced and unapologetically evil characters can still be nuanced. the character doesn’t have to be an anti hero or morally dubious to have depth. they don’t even have to feel sorry about their crimes to have depth.

#general fandom warning #nuance is important #mental health in fiction #personal opinion #sorry for the rant

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quietstormxr · 3 days ago

Text

No Feelings

Garrick Tavis x f!Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Garrick is tasked with getting closer to her. He didn't expect everything else that came with it.

A/N: Violence, Swearing, Angst, no real spoilers in this one!

Word Count: 10.6k

Happy @empyreanevents Garrick Week!

“Are you always this charming? Or did someone put you up to this?” Her eyes bore back at him, both question and accusation.

Garrick is unfazed, its not the first time a woman has questioned his interest, it just proves that she isn’t just a capable fighter, but also perceptive.

“No one put me up to it, I’ve watched you fight and seen you converse with Emetterio, just thought you could show me some of those skills.” The lie rolls off his tongue, both truth and challenge. There’s a slight bite on his tongue at the sharpness of it, but he shakes it off. It isn’t the first time he’s started here and he’s certain it won’t be the last if Xaden has any say.

If he wasn’t someone who enjoyed casual hookups, he would question why he was the one always assigned to leave broken hearts in his wake, but between Basgiath and his parents death, settling down isn’t in his personal vocabulary any longer.

She stares back at him a moment longer before he’s caught off guard when her melodic laugh shoots straight through him.

“You’re telling me, Mr. Can’t Keep It In His Pants, is just trying to be nice?” The incredulity on her face makes her eyes sparkle, something he hadn’t ever noticed before. She cocks an eyebrow, obvious challenge to the tale he’s spinning.

“I mean I wouldn’t be oppos-“ His words die on his tongue as a dagger he didn’t even see her grab slices through the air next to his neck, the bite of the blade grazing his skin and landing with a decisive thunk behind him.

Garrick just stares – blinking. Of course he had been told no before, some women just didn’t bed hop, though those were few and far between since entering the rider’s quadrant. But this, this was new, and he didn’t know if he was mad or exhilarated by the sight.

“Did you just throw a dagger at me?” The words are incredulous, almost as if that had never happened. But of course, plenty of daggers had been thrown his way, just not for this reason before.

“If you want to flirt or get in my pants, you can move on Tavis. I’m not here for your good time.” Her voice is dismissive, turning back to the supply paperwork she had been working on keeping inventory of the weapons.

The feistiness of the challenge heats his blood in a way no other woman has in the last two years. What’s the harm if there’s a little satisfaction along with accomplishing his mission? As long as he can get the numbers that are close enough to touch each week, anything that comes after would just be a bonus.

“Well I’ve never backed away from a dare before, why start now?” His eyes light up as the annoyance sparks on her face. “Look, I’m trying to get another weapons proficiency and you’re apparently the only one who has it.”

It isn’t a total lie, but it’s definitely not the truth. Garrick is more than proficient with every single weapon available at Basgiath, but its no secret that she's the master when it comes to lances. A weapon not common in the school, not common in battle, but when wielded can extend the reach needed.

Her quirked eyebrow is the only indication she gives that this is even a consideration.

“I promise no flirting or trying to get in your pants. Just a student and a master.” He says while pointing between her and himself.

A loud sigh of exasperation leaves her, and he can’t help the quirk to his lips as an adorable look of inconvenience passes across her face.

“Fine.” She says with exaggerated slowness. “But if you start getting any ideas, this is off.” She says gesturing between the two of them.

As he walks back to the dorms, satisfaction settles in his chest, maybe this entire endeavor will be easier than he thought.

___________

“Why the fuck does he always get to be the one to do this?” Bodhi whines as he looks between the other two boys.

“Because you don’t know how to operate when I tell you no feelings involved.” Xaden snaps back, irritated to have to explain this to Bodhi once again.

Garrick sits on the chair, looking entirely too smug for his own good. “Last time we told you to do something like this, you ended up confessing in the first week.” Garrick’s snark is smart, though he isn’t about to pass the chance up to entertain the newly appointed logs master for Emmetterio.

“But I was only eleven! And she’s way out of Garrick’s league.” Bodhi continues in protest.

Garrick’s nose wrinkles, a look of aggravation stealing across his face. “She’s not out of my league. She’s beautiful and you’re just jealous.”

They all know this conversation is ridiculous. Are more than aware they shouldn’t be speaking about any woman this way, but this isn’t just for sport, it’s for survival.

“She’s more than out of your league considering the display that she made in the dining hall two months ago.” Bodhi points his finger to both accusatorily.

It doesn’t take much to drum up the memory of her walking up to Railan and slamming his face into his mashed potatoes, completely unprovoked. Or that he ended up in the infirmary with a broken wrist after she challenged him to a spar. Only for everyone to learn later that he had cheated on her with a scribe.

“That’s different. I’m not going to cheat on her, just make her think I’m interested, get to know her and break up eventually – nothing more, nothing less. I just need her to trust me, if I get to bed her while at it, so be it.” The confidence radiating off Garrick coming in thick waves, assured that this whole plan will be easy. His earlier achievement with her solidifying his bravado.

“Quit the fucking bickering.“ Xaden commands, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You flirt with her, train with her, get her to bring you to the faculty offices and check the logs. We only need the information every two weeks. No one needs to be in a relationship, garner feelings, learn about childhoods or share secrets. This is just meant to be a simple transaction.”

Bodhi and Garrick look at Xaden and exchange their own glances, his entire description clearly hitting on something he’s done before.

“She’s not fucking Catriona, Xaden. I’ve spoken to her before, and she doesn’t deserve to be used like that.”

“Maybe not, but we didn’t deserve our fate either, yet here we are.” With the words out of Xaden’s mouth, they all go silent. There isn’t any arguing with that, no way to brook a rebuttal when no one bothered to do it for any of them at the respective ages of sixteen and seventeen.

“I already spoke with her today. She’s going to train me with lances and I’m going to get the weapons proficiency. If we train enough, there’s no way not to break her down at some point.” The plan seems simple enough, train and get the information they need. Besides, Garrick has enough women banging on his door, having to settle for a friendly relationship won’t be an issue.

___________

“You’re late Tavis.” She calls as the lance sails through the air landing square in the mat at his feet. The version of the weapon a crude one compared to the intricate piece standing tall next to the woman who is currently glaring at him.

“Didn’t know that it was imperative to be here at the exact moment asked.” It’s a ridiculous comment, he knows well enough that if someone says a specific time, it’s always abided by. However, he couldn’t help the run to the forge that kept him longer than he was hoping.

“You are a soldier, aren’t you? If nothing else, you should know by now punctuality is not a request, it’s a demand.” Garrick’s blood continues to heat, the forceful nature of her words and her air of confidence lighting a fire he isn’t here to stroke.

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to punish me with some grueling drills I suppose.”

She doesn’t even wait, words that were meant to be playful striking a chord he didn’t know there was to stroke, before slicing forward with the triple blade at the end. Garrick staggers back, caught off guard by the ferocity of her reply to his teasing words.

“I told you before, I’m not here to flirt. If you want to work, then fine, otherwise, don’t waste my time.” Her words cut as sharp as the blade she wields. Garrick nods in acknowledgment, the challenge to focus singing the song of battle in his blood.

“Grab the lance and take your fighting stance. Let’s see exactly what you have down already.”

As she retakes her stance, the fight in her eyes burning, Garrick can’t help but think how impossibly attractive she is. Battle lines sharp, eyes even keener, yet posture relaxed, as if she’s been fighting for her life far longer than she leads on. He can’t help the way his eyebrow quirks, its possible they have more in common than he thinks.

___________

Days turn into weeks, and Wednesday evenings begin to be his favorites. The routine one he dares to hope for, a lesson with a woman not afraid to claim her readiness for war. A weapon in both her sharp edges and even sharper tongue. Though he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit it was the cooling off after weapons practice that was truly his favorite.

Her eyes that once only studied him in suspicion begin to soften, a recognition and appreciation of their time spent together. Perhaps it was because he was an eager student, always latching on to each lesson and trying to perfect the technique before their next session. Or perhaps it was the way in which she began to reveal the softness that still resonated under the sharp exterior.

Another Wednesday, another day when he pulled his strength, reining it in so she always had a slight upper hand.

“When are you going to use your full strength?” She asks breathlessly.

Garrick can’t hide his surprise, brows shooting up as he turns back to face her again. She gives him a look back that screams please, you don’t think I noticed, come now. For once in his life, Garrick feels sheepish. Most girls he’d been with never thought much about his power or his body as a weapon, well everyone except Imogen, but they’d known each other since childhood.

For a moment he’s speechless, how can he explain that he’d been going easy without explaining why he was there in the first place. But even then, was that why he continued showing up every Wednesday?

He blinks, clearing away the surprise before falling back to his usual teasing. “Didn’t think you were ready to handle all of me?”

He watches as her brow rises in surprise and sarcasm. She’s less than impressed with his retort, he can read that plainly on her face. Though he doesn’t even have the chance to reply when she rolls to the side and swipes the lance under his feet, blades slicing through the leather of the mat.

She doesn’t stop there either, letting the weapons arc and come full circle, blunt edge heading straight for his head. Arms raise in instinct to block, reverberations shooting through his arms as the weapons clash. Though it’s the crack that suddenly begins that has him looking up. Without warning, the wooden shaft splinters and fractures in too many directions.

“Shit!” She calls as he stumbles back trying to clear his vision from the shards. Falling on his backside, the impact rocking the cuts now marring his arms.

“Fuck.” Garrick groans out as he tries to still his eyes, a shard clearly roving uninvited in his eye. Eyes still closed, he can feel a tentative hand land on his shoulder, making his head turn.

“Hey, it’s just me.” She calls out in a soothing voice he’d never heard from her before. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

“There’s a shard stuck in there somewhere. Having a hard time opening it.” He responds in the direction of her hand that still rests on his shoulder.

“Okay. Can you lay down and I’m going to get some water to try and wash it out.” Her hand leaves him; a sudden coldness meets the skin where it was resting.

In seconds, he hears the familiar click of boots and the squeal of leather as she kneels next to him, the unmistakable slosh of water greeting his ears.

“Is it both eyes or just one in particular?”

Garrick moves both, and the right sings in pain. “Seems to just be the right side.”

“Try to open your eye just a little so the water can wash through. It’s cold so it may sting a little, and I’m sorry for that.” She says as one arm rests on his face, cradling it towards her and the sounds of water.

A sudden gasp leaves him as the icy water begins to meander down his face and over his eye. A finger begins idly stroking his cheek, a move he’s unsure if she even realizes she’s doing. Minutes later, the feeling of water sluicing over his face fades and he feels her palm drag down the side of his face.

“Can you try moving your eyes again and see if that did the trick?” Her voice is tentative, apologetic in a way he’d never heard from anyone.

Through closed lids he tentatively moves them left and right, there’s still discomfort in one, but the worst of the pain has dissipated.

“I think you got it out.” Garrick replies as he begins to flutter his eyes open, readjusting to the brightness of the sparring gym.

Vision focusing, his eyes find her face, concern painting her features from above and he thinks it might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His eyes flare in shock at his own thoughts, a mental reprimand – no feelings he reminds himself.

“Does it still hurt?” Her voice doesn’t raise, the concern still peaked through every word. “We should probably get you to the healers, just in case.”

Her hand moves down his arm, a gentle coaxing touch, before she grabs his hand and begins to pull him forward. Garrick opens his eyes in a squint while watching her actions carefully. As soon as he’s standing, he pulls his hand away feeling scorched by the heat of her hand.

“Sorry.” She says as though she takes the blame for the entire incident. “Do you want me to help you to the healers? I understand if not.”

He can’t believe the way she has seemed to curl into herself, her usual commanding presence turning unsure. A pang surges through his chest, and he rubs at it without understanding why.

“You know that wasn’t your fault, right?” His words are quiet, holding the hope to soothe the discomfort that seems to run through her.

“Well, either way, I am sorry.” She repeats as she begins to pick up the shards that litter the space around him.

Garrick is unsure how to move forward. He tries to wrack his brain for moments like this, but soon realizes that no one has apologized to him, especially not in Basgiath. Why apologize to the son of a traitor? A traitor himself. Why apologize to someone who moves from bed to bed, never staying long enough to matter?

Gods. Has he really just forgotten how to be human?

Instead of acknowledgment, he just moves. Walks towards the doors of the sparring room only turning for a second to look back as the doors close behind him.

______________

“What did you do to her?” Bodhi’s voice greets Garrick as he continues towards the battle brief room.

“What the hell are you on about? Who her?” Bodhi gives him an unimpressed look in return as they both enter into the room.

Without trying, his eyes roam the room, looking for a woman who showed him more compassion than the average person here. Garrick can’t help the way his shoulders tense when his eyes finally land on her. Instead of her usual proud stance, her shoulders curl in slightly, and he doesn’t miss the white bandages that wrap tightly across her knuckles. Eyes narrowing as they finally clock the blood that has begun to seep through the white cloth.

“You know damned well who I’m referring to.” Bodhi’s head cocks to the side as he follows Garrick’s line of sight. “Heard through the grapevine that her squadmate found her in the gym beating the punching bag like she has a vendetta against it.”

Garrick turns looking at Bodhi, expecting to see the laughter in his eyes and the lie, but it’s not there. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Well since you were the last one, she spoke to and she told her squadmate that she just lost track of time while training, I’m just assuming.”

Garrick’s eyes swing towards her again, not believing that she would punish herself for something that wasn’t her fault. But, he understood the compulsion better than most. What was there if you didn’t punish yourself for the one’s you couldn’t protect? Gods, he, Xaden, and Bodhi were walking advertisements for doing just that.

For the second time since he was tasked with this, he felt his chest tighten, the thought of inflicting more pain on you tearing at his insides.

“Regretting your assignment yet?” Bodhi prods as he studies Garrick’s face.

Garrick just scoffs in response, but they both know he agrees without even speaking. He needs to move this along and get in and out of it as fast as possible. The last thing he wants is to inflict more pain than necessary.

He tries to concentrate through battle brief, but he can’t get her bloodied knuckles out of his mind. His fist closes around the pen that he has poised on parchment, the creaking of the force on it dragging looks from Xaden and Bodhi.

Taking a deep breath, Garrick adjusts himself, letting his eyes slide shut to get away from the incessant want to look her way. Bodhi’s snicker makes his eyes open and he glares back at him while he feels Xaden lean closer.

“Should I have Bodhi take over?” The question is quiet, but it causes Garrick’s heart to race erratically.

“No.” He says, almost too quickly to be casual.

Xaden doesn’t ask anything else, just sits back in his chair.

As soon as Devera closes her lecture, Garrick is on his feet, striding to the nearest column. He watches as cadets file out, unaware that he still stands there. When the familiar fall of hair passes, his hand shoots out and wraps snugly around her wrist, halting her movements.

She whirls, dagger raised in defense, blood beginning to drip from her hand at the pull of the action on her wounds. Garrick isn’t surprised, he doesn’t try to defend himself, he knows that she’s used to being hunted. It’s showcased in the way she trains, how she constantly battles to be better, to perfect every movement.

He watches as her eyes widen in shock, moving quickly to apology and remorse, to finally settle on irritation. “Is there a reason you go grabbing people like that?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He rushes out, knowing that if he doesn’t push through it, he’ll never give her what he should have yesterday. “I shouldn’t have left like that after you helped. It wasn’t your fault, and I never thought it was.”

Garrick is mesmerized as he watches her ire soften, the ridge of tension in her shoulders easing as he continues to talk.

“And I wanted to see if you’d like to hang out after dinner.” Her eyes are now narrowing again, but this time trying to read exactly what he’s trying to say. “No weapons. No flirtations. Just talking to smooth over everything and get to know each other outside of the shattering of weapons.”

She continues to study him, clearly trying to parse out if he is lying or not. Garrick doesn’t move, his facial expressions don’t change, every single thing is as neutral as it possibly can be. After moments, she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.” She huffs out before pointing her finger at him. “But no funny business, or I walk.”

With that comment she turns and heads back towards her squad, her closest friend wrapping her arm around her and pulling her away. Garrick watches as she walks away, appreciation lighting up his features as she moves farther from view.

“How hard are you going to try to flirt with her now?” Xaden asks as he follows Garrick’s line of sight to the two girls heading to their other classes.

“Not at all.” Garrick turns his head to Xaden and quirks an eyebrow at his best friend.

“You mean to tell me that she truly got you to keep it in your pants?”

The words are all accusation, and Garrick wants to deny it, but he can’t, his own reputation warranted.

“She asked me not to, so I won’t. I just need to get back on equal footing after yesterday and this is the best way to get into her good graces again. Besides, if we start hanging out, maybe she’ll finally drag me to see those logs.”

Xaden shakes his head in agreement as they both begin walking to their next class.

___________

“You’re lying.” She says, though the amusement dancing in her eyes and the smirk on her lips belies her words.

“No, I’m not.” Garrick chuckles as he leans his head back on his forearm. Gone is the hard and stoic soldier, the constant tease, and he’s peeled back the veneers and let her see him. The real him.

“You mean to tell me that you ate an entire chocolate cake yourself, in less than an hour, just because you didn’t want to share with Xaden?” She repeats, still incredulous.

“You, my dear, haven’t seen Xaden with chocolate cake.” The minute the words leave his mouth, her head tilts back, a harmonizing melody of laughter slipping from her lips.

The smile of amusement plastered on his face falls, though it gives way to something softer, a look of complete adoration. A look he’s never given any other woman. The sound reverberates through his bones, lighting up the hollows of his chest that have been vacant since losing his mother.

As her laughter begins to fade, she looks back at him, a question in her eyes.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” The words roll off his tongue, the truth lined in every word. The smile that tugs at his lips is impossible to hide as he watches her face flush, pink dusting her full cheeks.

She falls onto the grass next to him, hands trying to hide the flush still rising on her face. “Are you sure you aren’t flirting?” Question coming out muffled from the fingers covering her mouth.

“I promise.” His own laugh answers as he goes to move one of her hands. “You asked me not to and I’ll always respect your wishes.”

She finally brings her hands away from her face and faces him again.

“Thank you.” She whispers as a soft smile curves her lips, both of them falling in a contended conversation.

____________

“I feel like I’m going fucking insane. The numbers were correct a week ago and now we’re short another thirty.” She grumbles as she sits at her desk, Garrick making himself at home on the floor of her room.

A month of trading stories, sparring, and general friendliness has turned into nights together.

“Bring it down here and let me take a look.” Garrick says, his voice coated in a lazy nonchalance.

She looks between him and the sheet between her fingers, a dip creasing between her brows. “I’m not supposed to show this to anyone other than Emetterio.” She comments worrying her bottom lip.

“I won’t say anything to anyone.” Garrick hopes his tone is comforting, because the lie is beginning to make his own throat constrict.

“Fine.” She concedes before adding. “But if you do, you have to promise to never eat chocolate cake again.”

Garrick gasps at her, his hand covering his heart. “How dare you threaten my favorite dessert!” The mock exasperation paints his voice and expression, but her own is serious.

“Fine.” He grumbles finally.

She sits on the floor next to him, scooting to meet his own shoulders. The touch sends a shiver skating through his body; he looks over to find her poised over the paper trying desperately to reconcile the numbers correctly.

For an hour they pour over the numbers. His eyes roam the entire report, soaking in every bit of information he can.

“Are you sure they didn’t miscalculate the raw material available or utilize too much? That could explain the lack of weaponry, correct?” He tries to explain away the missing daggers, full well knowing they are sitting in a bag in Xaden’s armoire.

“That may be true, it seems like the smiths are getting a little heavy handed in their weapons skills. This has been happening since I was assigned to help Emetterio. It’s the whole reason that I was given the assignment.” She ponders, giving him more information that he’d ever thought he’d get from her.

They sit there looking over the numbers more, but neither comes up with any other explanations, both eventually returning back to their own assignments. The guilt that wasn’t there before begins to gnaw at Garrick’s thoughts, he knows the true answer, is aware why the logs will never be correct, but his lips remained sealed.

Her yawn cuts through the companionable silence that had descended on them, the only other sound the scribble of pens as they both continued to work.

“I think I’m going to head to bed.” She says as another yawn slips past.

Garrick rises, gathering his things into his own pack. As he rises to his full height, he sees that she’s stepped closer and his eyes get caught on her lips. The sudden urge to capture her soft pink mouth with his own.

He turns, the thought still lingering. As she opens the door, Garrick turns back, in his mind intending only to say good night, but without thinking he leans down and softly touches her lips with his own. It isn’t anything like the usually stormy kisses, ones exchanged in passion and desperation, just looking for release.

This is sweet, caring, and the opposite of every single thing he should be doing. Garrick pulls back, apology sitting on his tongue. But, before he can speak, her hand threads through his hair and yanks him back towards her. Their lips meet again, it still isn’t hot, still a little tentative, but there’s no denying the fire that has begun to spread in every vein.

When they part again, her face is flushed, a beautiful blush rising to her cheeks and a sweet smirk crosses his lips.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” She asks tentatively, as if dreading the response.

“Of course, if you want to.” Garrick replies, before bending down and stealing one more kiss.

The only response she gives is a shy smile as she slowly closes the door to her room. A smile tears at his face, dimple on full display as he revels in this turn of events. Boots clicking through the stairwell as he returns to the third-year floor.

Though the minute he opens his own door, it drops as Xaden sits in his chair, clearly waiting on a report.

“Getting in too deep there, Tavis?” His smirk is dirty, a knowing look that Garrick hates.

Garrick refuses to answer, to play Xaden’s game. He tasked him with finding out information, and he will, but he wants to keep her too. There must be a way to keep both.

“They’re aware of the discrepancy between the ore their producing and the weapons that are fired. Though it seems like the smiths are being blamed for being heavy-handed.” Garrick report, monotoned. He refuses to give anything else but the facts he learned, Xaden doesn’t need to know he kissed her.

Xaden doesn’t need to know that the minute she pulled him forward that Garrick knew he was in trouble. Knew that he was treading a wire he never wanted to be put on.

“Probably should hold off on pilfering anything for a week or so, let the numbers wash out correctly.” Xaden nods as Garrick continues, they have to be practical in order to operate under the noses of the Basgiath cadre.

“Agreed.” Xaden says rising from the chair. “Keep it up, seems like your little project is starting to trust you.”

“Don’t call her that.” Garrick snaps as Xaden walks into the hall.

Xaden’s brow quirks at the response. “It wouldn’t be good to get involved, you know. Things like this always end badly.”

“Says the king of no feelings.” Garrick grumbles as he turns and closes the door in his best friend’s face.

He’s aware this isn’t ideal, that he’s going to have even more secrets to hide, but gods, he doesn’t want to give you up. Not just yet.

______________________

“Hey there.” Garrick greets as he opens her door.

Her smile in response lights up every tired part of his heart. Stepping in, he takes in the simplicity, not just in the décor of the space, but also the ease that she exudes. His body begins to sag in exhaustion.

How long has it been since he’s had a good night’s sleep?

She rises from her chair, hair loose and swaying, light training clothes hugging each curve of her body as she strides quickly towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him down to her level.

“Hi.” She breathes after she kisses him quickly.

She takes his hand and brings Garrick further into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Glad to be back from being pulled to the midlands?” She asks as Garrick sinks down on her bed, slotting herself between his parted legs.

The lie hits him in the chest and he drags her forward, burying his guilt into her stomach. His own stomach turns sour, churning at his own lies. Calloused hands splay across her back, anchoring himself to her, desperate to chase away the lies and demons clinging to his skin.

“Glad to be with you.” He breathes as he hugs her tighter, the tension from the drop finally releasing from his shoulders.

“That bad?” Her words are soft, her voice the only real thing in his life.

“At this point, I think anything that involves days away from you may just be the worst.” Garrick grumbles as his thumbs trace circles into her lower back.

The sweet sound of laughter greets his ears, and he pulls himself back, every ounce of hardness melting at the musical reverberation. His eyes light up at the sound, warmth pouring back in after days without her. Garrick can’t help himself, can’t stop the need to erase any distance between him.

He pulls her down, a shriek of giggles following as she lands on top of him in the bed. In a flash he as her back to the bed and leans over her, head resting on his palms.

“Never stop laughing.” He whispers as he pushes hair from her cheeks, pink with the remnants of happiness.

“Are you getting sentimental, Section Leader?” The question is meant to be teasing, but the smile on her face makes it all too real.

“I don’t know about sentimentality, but I’m not sure if the sun would be quite as bright without that beautiful sound.”

Their eyes meet and Garrick can barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. Her eyes are a beautiful mélange of adoration and love, emotions that he’s never thought would be directed at him. Her hand rises and she cups his cheek, the tenderness causing him to melt into her touch.

“Let’s get some sleep. You’ve been out a while and need it.” She says as she continues to map his face with her hand. He leans into her, head resting on her chest as her hand moves through his hair.

Garrick’s arms tighten around her as the precarious situation with the woman underneath his cheek begins to plague his mind.

“Please stay.” The words are barely a whisper, but no less a plea. Want wrapped up in utter desperation. He isn’t even sure she heard him, her heartbeat steady and hand tangled in his curls.

“Always.” It’s returned on barely a whisper as he hears her breathing even out. At that, his arms wrap around her, impossibly closer, clawing desperately to hold onto something he feels like he’s already lost.

________________

“How’s your new toy, Tavis?” Imogen questions as she appears in the training gym, the smirk on her face indicating there’s more to the question than just face value.

“What are you on about Imogen?” His words are curt, being up since dawn on leadership meetings cutting his patience thin.

“Didn’t know if you’ve seen her today. She seemed to be on a warpath of sorts when she stormed through the dining hall earlier.” Garrick’s eyes narrow, suspicion growing uncomfortably.

He studies Imogen’s face, the too-satisfied smirk, the eagerness to engage in whatever this question entails causing his hackles to rise. Without waiting on Imogen’s convoluted skirting of the topic, he storms out of the training gym, sure-footed steps taking him to the familiar door that he’s spent so many hours behind.

Before reaching the handle, his hand is moving, lesser magic working to click the lock, but as Chradh’s magic flows, nothing happens. The door, the very same door he opened yesterday, stays stubbornly closed. He swallows hard, heart tightening as if a fist has been wrapped around the organ, uncertainty weaving through every breath he takes.

Garrick knocks, three times, a fourth, and still nothing. The door remains stubbornly closed, not a hint of movement on the other side.

“Don’t think you’ll find her in there. And even if you did, I doubt she’d let you in.” Imogen’s words are filled with satisfaction, the kind that means his own world is breaking.

“What the fuck happened?” Garrick snarls, worry and fury melding equally wrapping a fist around his throat.

A snarled chuckle is returned, Imogen straightening in the doorway across. “I believe Xaden may be the one who should be answering your question.” Her only words before opening her own door and disappearing through the threshold.

Garrick doesn’t stop, taking the staircase, two at a time, pace frantic. He doesn’t knock, doesn’t wait for Xaden’s command to enter, no that is for civilized conversations, and this one is decidedly not.

“What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” Garrick’s furious gaze takes in the room. Xaden sat in his chair at his desk, Liam hovering behind, and Bodhi comfortable on the bed.

Liam and Bodhi turn when the door slams open, eyes widened in shock, but Xaden doesn’t even turn his head.

“I did what you were supposed to do two months ago.” Xaden’s tone is flat, a finality to the words that has the panic in Garrick’s throat tightening. “Or let her overhear it at least.”

Garrick’s entire world stops. The words clanging in his brain but making absolutely no sense.

“Overhear, what?” The whispered snarl drips venom, fury rising faster than the ocean tide.

“Bodhi, Liam, go.” Xaden orders to the two other men, but Garrick doesn’t trust himself.

“No, you stay.”

Xaden lifts a challenging brow, but it’s the only emotion revealed before he turns back to his desk.

“I let her overhear Bodhi and I discussing the shortages that were on the logs. Let her realize that the secret she told you to keep wasn’t a secret at all.” The explanation is blasé, every word rolling off Xaden’s tongue as if he’s only discussing the weather.

Red. Everything is fucking red.

Garrick’s temper flares and he turns and pounds his fist into the door, splintering the wood in several spots. Breathing ragged, he turns back to the men in the room, eyes narrowed in a deathly glare.

“When the fuck will it be time for you to keep the fuck out of everything in our lives? You can’t dictate the people we choose to be with. Fuck, Xaden! Just because you want to be fucking miserable and pine over the General’s fucking daughter, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to!”

Xaden shoots out of his chair, both men facing off, fury radiating in a wave of heat the temperature of dragon fire.

“I’ll keep out of everything when the scars rest on your back, Garrick.” The words are low, in tone and threat.

Garrick’s nostrils flare and eyes widen. This, this is what it always boils down to. The threat that will forever hang over their heads.

“How about you two settle this like normal, in the sparring gym?” Liam suggests as he slowly approaches the two men.

“No. I’m tired of this. Of this looming threat every time we don’t fall in fucking line.” Garrick presses, rising to his full height, making use of the inches he has on his best friend. “I’m your best friend. I’ve always listened, followed orders, gotten you out of scrapes, helped move along plans, but when is it fucking enough, Xaden? When will our debt to you be paid?”

“Do we all have to be miserable and alone, hopping from bed to bed for the rest of our lives because something worth dying for is dangerous to you? You sit here and dictate Liam to follow around Sorrengail. You say its for protection, but hell, we all know you’re in love with her.” Xaden’s shock registers for only seconds, the emotion gone in a blink.

“Even if Liam’s interested in someone, how can he compete with the schedule you gifted him? She has an entire fucking squad and every single one of your circle constantly protecting her, at what cost? Living, Xaden, at the cost of living!” Words begin tumbling out, the grief of something Garrick may have lost pushing him past restraint.

“And you do what? Take away the one thing I had that didn’t feel like a burden, that brought back a little bit of peace. Why? Because for once, I was happy? For once I didn’t have to rely on flirtation and sarcasm to feel something. Godsdamnit, Xaden – just why?” The fight has drained.

Fury giving way to resignation and sadness. Garrick turns, not giving any of them to speak, and walks out the door. His steps don’t falter, each one beginning to fill his boots with lead. The threat of what he expects to find burying itself in worry.

But as he searches every single nook and cranny of Basgiath, he comes up empty. It’s as though she has disappeared. At the dining hall in the evening, he searches again, his heart in his throat as he waits to face the punishment for the way he used her. Frantic responses roll about in his head, any way that he can possibly rectify the situation.

_______________

Words and ideas are wasted as days pass and there is still no sign of her. Her door still inaccessible, her form missing every battle brief, the sparring gym bereft with no logs being taken regarding weaponry. The walls scream as they seem to shrink with each day that passes.

Garrick watches her squad, noting the way they even search for the familiar face. A gnawing unease begins to eat at his very being. It isn’t just their relationship, but what if someone else heard Xaden, heard that she had broken protocol.

Worst cases begin to swirl in Garrick’s mind, closing his eyes, all he can see is her bloody and broken, chained because of his choices.

‘Is Cois in the Vale?’ Garrick questions Chradh as the third day of nothing comes to a close.

‘Your human squabbles are not my responsibility.’ The grumpy brown replies, though there’s no real bite.

‘Please Chradh. I need to find her.’ The words are an appeal to the brown’s loyalty.

‘Cois is in the Vale. But she will not share any details, unless you want her to continue trying to snap my neck.’ The response does nothing to soothe the worry in Garrick’s mind.

Garrick breaks out into the courtyard, steps desperate to find something to settle his mind. Before he makes his tenth stride, pacing across each stone, light footsteps skirting rocks along the cobbled path. His eyes rise and his heart stops.

She stands there, bloody from head to toe, hair mussed with dirt and grime, leathers torn and barely clinging to her form. Her steps continue, slow and overly measured, trying to push past pain. One of her eyes so bruised, it is sealed shut, cuts marring her beautiful face.

When awareness finally hits again, Garrick is moving, strides eating up the distance in seconds, but a panicked voice makes him stop.

“No.” The word leaves her lips, but pain and fear are etched across her face. She tries to straighten, stand up to her full height, but Garrick doesn’t miss the small hiss of pain.

Garrick’s hand rises, his palms itching to hold her, to touch her and make sure she’s truly standing in front of him.

“I said no.” The words are more forceful this time, malice sliding into her voice.

“I asked you to keep what I told you to yourself. Didn’t think I needed to explain that I would be punished if anyone else found out about it. I trusted you, thought giving you my trust meant something in return.” She shakes her head, as if disappointed by herself. “I didn’t know that I was just a fucking project for you to pretend with. Just a little plaything for whatever you and Riorson have going on.”

Her eyes land on a point behind her, but Garrick can barely breathe, let alone focus on anything else.

“So, I hope you enjoy what your little game cost. Maybe next time you and your best friend will consider the people that will have to face the consequences of your actions. But I should commend you, Tavis, I truly thought you cared about me. Thought all the rumors of the quadrant were really a lie.”

An indignant huff leaves her lips, the split on them opening back up. “More fool me, I guess, just another pawn in whatever game you enjoy playing. So bravo, I hope you enjoyed every minute of it.”

Her eyes move, a form coming and stepping up next to her.

“Let’s get you to the healers.” Her squadmate says while glaring at Garrick.

Everything comes crashing down. Her words settling into every broken crevice. Garrick swallows, trying desperately to give voice to anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. Every apology, every damn wish to make it better, to take her place, burning like bile as it sits, not making it past his lips.

Instead, he watches as she limps away, watches as she drags his heart along with her. Wild energy coils inside him, the force making his entire body vibrate. Before he can blink, he’s entered the training room, walked up to the nearest punching bag, and the next sound that greets his ears is skin hitting leather as he blasts each bag past its point. His mind races as the skin on his knuckles begins to burn, fingers fracturing the only feeling that can get past the barriers of his anger, his misery.

Garrick doesn’t know how long he stays there, how long he lets his blood pool on the floor, skin torn from his knuckles. It isn’t until exhaustion begins to settle, reality clawing its way back in, but the pain from his split skin is nothing. Nothing compared to the pieces his own heart has fallen into.

“You should get those bloodied knuckles mended. Doesn’t look good for a Section Leader to let anger get the best of him.” Xaden’s words float to him, Garrick turning to see him settled on the wall closest to the door.

Garrick scoffs, ire still burning between them. He walks towards the door, intent on ignoring Xaden like they have been for the last few days. But before he crosses the threshold, he turns, eyes hard.

“I pray to Amari that you never have to see the woman you love beaten and bloodied for your actions. For all the things you never told her. Eye swollen shut because you’re just another traitor. Beautiful face full of cuts and bruises, that even when mended will leave a mark on your soul.” He pauses, letting his words settle between them. “Because no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, no one and nothing will be able to take that mark away. The mark that your love left on her, and not one of gentle compassion and devotion, one that mars you both.”

Garrick walks away then, lets their choices settle between them. The true cost of rebellion, the cost of war.

________________

Garrick tries desperately to seek her out. To plead his case and tell her that she was never a project, that his need for her was never something he faked. It was the only real thing he had for himself.

Every time, she is surrounded by squadmates, by loyal friends that help pick up her pieces when they learned of his betrayal. He knows that he isn’t worthy, he never may be, but it doesn’t change the way that his entire being cries out for the chance to be with her again. To feel her nimble fingers tangle in his curls, her melodic laugh reverberate through his chest. All the quiet ways in which she showed him love.

The older years gather in the sparring gym, challenges resumed on a higher level, skills expertise being analyzed by the professors. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her.

Garrick’s hands fist when her opponent is called.

Oswyn. Fucking Del Oswyn. The man that had been trailing her for months after she slammed her ex’s head into the table. The smile that lights up Oswyn’s face is the very definition of sinister, the gleam in his eye pleased amusement.

Garrick watches as she walks to the mat, posture rigid, but held with power and purpose. She wasn’t quite as aware of Oswyn’s attempts, especially since Garrick gave him a black eye when he found him watching her through the door of the sparring gym one night. After that Oswyn backed off, clearly not willing to mess with the threats Garrick had levelled.

But now, now he wasn’t there, wasn’t a barrier to all the other men that would seek to use or hurt her. It didn’t matter; he would do anything to make sure that Oswyn played by the rules. There was no doubt in Garrick’s mind that she could take down Oswyn, but he was also aware that Oswyn wasn’t beyond playing dirty.

They circled each other, the familiar dance of sparring, opponents sizing up each other, looking for weakness, any way to gain the advantage. He only caught it because of the scrutiny, the slight hitch in Oswyn’s stance, the indicator that something was hidden, a weapon he didn’t normally keep there.

She lunged, fist aimed squarely for his jaw, but a quick step to the left and he was out of reach. She countered, body swerving quickly to follow his retreat. Oswyn’s boot came up, the glint of metal streaking and before anyone could react, it swiped through her ribs.

Garrick could only watch as the pain stole across her face, hand gripping her side, blood seeping through her fingers. She didn’t fall. With her left hand, she grabbed the curved dagger at her side, a weapon clearly made solely for its wielder. The blade cut across his boot, hidden dagger falling to the ground.

A scream tore through her lips as she sliced the blade across his knee, bringing him to the mat. Oswyn tried to swipe for her feet, but a dagger was flung, holding the sleeve of his arm to the floor.

“He yields.” Emetterio announces.

She turns; familiar eyes meeting Garrick’s with triumph. Before she can spin away, her face crumples and everyone around them erupts. Garrick looks down at Oswyn and a malicious look runs across his face, before she falls to her knees.

Garrick’s eyes widen as he sees the handle of the blade slotted through her back. Panic ceases his lungs, before his feet move. Anger turning him into a weapon, meant only for destruction, to inflict maximum pain on the ones that seek to hurt her.

Her squadmates rush to her, two lifting gently and quickly rushing out towards the healers. As soon as the doors swing shut, Garrick’s fist wraps around Oswyn’s throat, his other hand twisting and pulling the air from his lungs. Distant orders sound in his ears, but his focus is on the bastard in front of him. The one who may have just cost the life of the girl he would willingly trade his own for. Garrick’s face closes in on the fear filled eyes in front of him, a glare as sharp as the daggers strapped to his ribs.

“If you dare to lay another fucking hand on her, your life is forfeit. Challenge or not. You. Will. Die.” The last words are punctuated, a wrath of righteous fury running through his veins.

As the last word leaves his lips, he closes his wielding fist and releases his grip on Oswyn’s throat. He steps back two steps, the picture of control, though the hazel in his eyes has hardened to a molten gold. Walking away from the mat, he slams the doors open and walks out, steps firm and steady, but his heart beats wildly in his chest.

Approaching the bridge to the healer’s quadrant, he sees the shadows move, whisps beginning to drag over his feet. His steps halt, head turning slightly, finding Xaden standing a few feet behind.

“You need to go back to your post.” Xaden’s words are command and directive wrapped into one.

“No.” Garrick replies, finality sweeping through the word as he continues to look over his shoulder. “I’ve let you decree enough of my life. I’ll always be there to stand by your side and help in every way I can, but I will no longer let it be at her expense.”

With that, Garrick moves, steps continuing to carry him forward to the healer’s quadrant. Opening the doors, he’s met with chaos, light blue robes fluttering in every direction. He scans the hall, looking for any sign of black and continually comes up short.

The next time a healer passes in front of him, his hand shoots out, blocking her from escaping. “I’m looking for a rider that was brought in with a knife in her back. Where is she?”

He doesn’t even register the words he says, the actuality slicing through his own heart.

“I believe she’s in with Nolon. They aren’t allowing anyone in, you can wait outside with the other two that brought her in, if you stay out of the way.” The healer recites before flitting away to another duty.

Garrick’s boots clip against the stone floor, footsteps heavy, echoing the dread that has clawed up his throat since he watched her face crumple. Wrath and fury turning to panic and dread.

The familiar forms of her squadmates come into view, both turning to observe the newcomer.

“If you’re here to drive the knife in further, you can turn around right now Section Leader.” The honorific slips from the man’s lips like a slur, Calvin or Caylin, he can’t remember.

“I’m here to make sure she’s alright, Cadet.” Garrick isn’t afraid of him, but he won’t spit in the face of the way her squad cares for her either. “She can tell me to leave once she’s healed and awake.”

_________________

Minutes turn into hours, the agony of waiting pulsing under Garrick’s skin. He’s unsure when he started, but the dagger continues to twirl end over end as he waits outside the door. The hall is too quiet, no sound reverberating from outside the door, healers walking in and out, somber expressions plastered to their faces, bloodied sheets wrapped in their hands.

As he focuses on another set of red stained sheets, his throat works, trying to swallow down the chance that he may never see her open her eyes ever again. But just as he begins walking the line of worst case scenarios, Nolon walks out. Every inch of the older man is sunken, tired from the toll of mending, shoulders hunched, exhaustion pulling at every feature.

“She’s – stable.” The words are soft, meant to be reassuring, but the pause between says there’s more he isn’t saying.

“She’s going to be unconsicious for some time.” He continues, his eyes turned down. “She lost a significant amount of blood and the blade knicked her kidney.”

Nolon looks up then, face somber, straight to her two squadmates. “If you wouldn’t have gotten her here when you did, I’m not sure she’d still be alive.”

Those words cause Garrick’s lungs to cease. The truth that he almost lost her a second time collapsing his carefully crafted control. He wants to rush to her, to beg her to wake up, to hit him, scream at him, hate him – anything.

“You’re welcome to see her, but I’d suggest you all get some sleep. She’ll most likely be out for a day or so, if not longer.” Nolon’s words are supposed to be a comfort, to soothe the worry, but it does nothing to tamp the frantic nerves that still course through Garrick’s body.

Nolon turns and walks towards another wing of the infirmary, but Garrick’s eyes stay on the door of her room. He can feel her squadmates look to him, they want to push him away, to make him leave, but he won’t, not until he can see the sunlight hit the familiar orbs that have been haunting him both waking and sleeping.

“I’m assuming you aren’t going to leave her to rest, are you?” The words are inquisitive, the sharp edge that was there before dying slightly.

“No. I’m not leaving until she’s awake.” The words are out of Garrick’s mouth as he steps forward, his hand resting hesitantly on the doorknob. “You both can rest, I’ll be here.”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, hesitation finally wiped away as he pushes the door wide. Eyes settling on the form on the bed, all the blood rushes from his face. There, laid in the middle, is his girl that looks smaller than she ever has before. All color has leeched from her face, the normal warmth of her skin tone faded to a sickly hue. Her eyes are sunken in, deep purple bruises underneath her dark lashes.

Garrick’s jaw tightens, his jaw feathering with held tension, every inch of his body locked. He wants to say it’s because of his control, because he can never let things slip, but it’s truly because the guilt is surging faster and harder than before. The woman he loves hurt because he wasn’t by her side.

He hesitated, didn’t move when he should have, didn’t predict the threat, even when it was right in front of him. The only thing moving him forward is the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the one thing holding him in the room and not running to kill Oswyn. Fuck the useless threats.

His chest begins to match hers, her steady breathing dragging his feet closer and closer, until he’s next to her bed, his larger fingers curling around her own. It’s that contact that brings the control crashing down.

Tears that he hadn’t shed since he watched his parents burn falling down his face in sheets. The truth behind every missed moment with her crashing all at once, the possibility that he would never be able to hear her beautiful laugh or watch her smile. Loss, grief, and heartbreak tumbled into hot tears that he wouldn’t dare show to anyone else.

“Please, come back. Please.” Garrick can only plead as his forehead comes to rest on your intertwined hands.

“Make me cross a gauntlet, fight ten opponents at once, bleed every ounce of blood I possibly can – just please come back to me.”

In the quiet of the room, tears still falling, words whispered in fierce desperation, Garrick’s heart cracks open. The organ that he had chained crumbling underneath the reality that she was never leaving the space.

So, he sat there, day after day, until on the morning of the third day, her breathing picked up. Eyelids beginning to flutter, he rises from the chair, the ache of being in one spot too long stretching through his entire body.

As her eyes flutter open, the fear that never settled finally dulls at the edge, the recognizable color letting him finally take a full breath.

Eyes squinting at the bright lights, he moves closer, hand ghosting over hers as to not frighten.

“Welcome back to us.” His words are soft, the relief flooding through each word.

Her head turns slowly as her mind begins to work again, she blinks fast and then realization must dawn, because he can see the walls rising in her eyes.

“Wh – Why are you here?” The words are a rasp as she begins to cough lightly.

He turns and finds a glass of water, handing it to her while helping her sit up. As she sips the drink, she doesn’t move her eyes from his, clearly not wanting him here.

“I’ve been here since your fight. You should know that I’m not going to let anything hurt you.” Garrick’s words come out, his own eyes widening as realization dawns.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Unless it comes directly from you, right?”

Garrick can’t help the flinch. She hasn’t even been awake for ten minutes and already his own actions are biting back at him.

“I never meant to hurt you.” His words just seem hollow, even to his own ears.

“For some reason I think that’s exactly what you expected to do.” Her snark isn’t unexpected, it’s warranted even.

Garrick clears his throat trying to gather his own thoughts, he can admit to himself, this isn’t exactly going the way he wanted it to.

“Let me ex-“ Before he can even finish, her hand shoots out, stopping his thoughts.

“I don’t want your explanation. You broke my trust. You used me to get something and accomplished your task. How about we just leave it at that?” As she turns away from him, Garrick wants to turn her back to him, to force her to listen. But he knows that she won’t give in or hear him if she doesn’t want to.

Still, he refuses to leave without showing her that he truly does still need her. Damning the consequences, he leans down, breath ghosting over her temple and kisses her there. Not with heat, or passion, just with the gentle care that he’s determined to give her. To make her understand that it was truly real.

___________________

“Garrick, get up. Someone’s going to see you.” She says in a forceful whisper, eyes flitting to the left and right.

“No. I’m going to kneel here and beg until you let me at least explain myself.” The reply slips easily from his lips, he’s not above groveling and begging, not at this point. Over a week has passed since she returned from the infirmary and he can't stand it. He refuses not to be able to protect her any longer, for her not to know how important she is, how loved.

“You can’t let just anyone find one of the most feared riders in the quadrant on their knees.” She huffs as she steps forward and grabs the arm of his flight jacket, wrenching him to his feet.

“I don’t give a fuck who sees me. All I care about is you.” He says as she pulls him into her room and closes the door behind him.

Not giving her a second to think, he’s on his knees again, this time his arms are around her waist bringing her to him.

Gods. He’s missed her smell. Missed the way her body molded in his arms. Missed the way her hand fists in his hair as if its muscle memory, the place where it has always belonged.

“Please let me explain.” His words are muffled as he tries to bury himself in her stomach. Desperation mingling with a small slice of hope.

“What is there to explain? Xaden knew I was there, he knew I would hear everything he said. Your faithful leader showed your hand, what else is there?” Her words are clipped, forceful and too damn true.

“What you heard is true. Even if I want to take back every single ounce of them, you’re right.” Garrick gets out as he looks up at the woman he so desperately needs. “But there’s one thing that Xaden never accounts for. Fuck, something that I didn’t either – until you.”

“The reason for getting close may have been bullshit, but the minute you began to pull me into your orbit, it became the opposite – the excuse. The excuse for all the others to stay away, to let me get close to you. And as the days went by, I fell, I never intended to – but I did.”

“And I could have fucking killed Xaden when I found out, when I realized that he blew up every single thing I had because it wasn’t part of his plan.” Garrick rises, his hand coming up to cup the soft skin of her cheek.

“You were never part of the idea, but gods, now you are my only plan. The only thing that makes sense in this death sentence. The one thing that keeps me wanting to come back home from war, to not be lost to dragon fire and battle.”

Her eyes searched back and forth as she looked up at him. Garrick didn’t know what she was looking for, but he hoped that she found it, hoped she believed how much he needed her.

“Are you ready to scale the insurmountable mountain of proving that you’re really here because you want to be and not because of some directive?” She challenges, fire lighting up her eyes.

“I will scale anything you put in my way. I refuse to let a stupid fucking directive derail the one thing in my life that’s been only mine. And gods I hope you are still fucking mine.”

Control is lost as Garrick surges forward, arms lifting her from the floor, wrapping around her waist and tugging her to him. His face gets lost in the crook of her neck, her familiar scent settling him in a way he hasn’t experienced in months.

"And I'll keep my word, I promise no chocolate cake until you trust me again." Garrick can feel the way her lips quirk in his hair, the one indication that maybe, just maybe, she'll forgive him - eventually.

In that moment, he knows that he’ll protect Tyrrendor, his Duke, the continent, but never at the cost of her.

Taglist: @ilovetomtailor@nevermoresworld@nastylicious@iambored24601@mysticalfuncollectorus@sadpieceofbread@alwayshave-faith@bestillmystuckyheart@luvly-writer@yuelhua@mitziix

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing x reader #the empyrean #the empyrean fanfic #fourth wing #iron flame #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #garrick fourth wing #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis x you #garrick x reader #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing fic #f!reader #empyreanevents2025 #garrickweek2025 #onyx storm #anon request

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ggukivrse · 19 hours ago

Text

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 07

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, fluff, angst, they finally communicate yayay, (2) cliche kdrama scene, (eventual) explicit sexual content, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 7.7k

notes: one more chapter to go!!!! i hope this one explains everything :< if it doesn’t, please do drop by in my asks so i can over-explain everything until you guys are sick of it lolol. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are very appreciated!! enjoy reading my darlings <33

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⤷ chapter seven — zombie girl

"maybe i've been getting you wrong / i cover you with questions / cover you with explanations."

“Jungkook. You’re a fucking idiot.”

Taehyung’s voice is blunt and tired as it carries across the quiet living room.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. He’s still lying on the couch, one arm flopped over his eyes to shield them from the grey haze of early morning light seeping in through the wide windows. His neck hurts. His back’s worse. And the blanket he grabbed last night is too damn thin. But more than anything, it’s the weight in his chest that keeps him from sleeping again.

Well, that and Taehyung who's crouched by the coffee table, in sweatpants and a plain top, his hair sticking up in multiple directions. He’s holding two mugs, and one gets plunked onto the table in front of Jungkook.

“I mean it,” Taehyung says, settling onto the floor, legs crossed like he’s gearing up for a lecture. “Like actually. You're an idiot.”

Jungkook sits up slowly, wincing as something in his shoulder clicks. Despite looking comfy, the couch had felt like concrete to sleep on last night. He takes the mug and mutters a thanks, even though he knows he’s not off the hook.

“Fuck, Kook.” Taehyung drops his head back and groans into the ceiling. “Okay. Let me get this straight. She said she wouldn’t take back an ex, in a game, while she was acting like your girlfriend, and instead of thinking ‘oh maybe she’s just playing the part’— which, by the way, is what you literally asked her to do— you spiral like you just got dumped or something?”

When he puts it like that, it does sound stupid, so Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just takes another sip of coffee.

“I need you to hear how insane you sound right now,” Taehyung adds, pointing at him. “You’re acting like she tattooed the words ‘I hate Jungkook’ on her forehead.”

“You don't get it, hyung. I— I kissed her,” Jungkook says quietly.

Taehyung’s mouth snaps shut. He stares.

“And then she said that. Or didn’t say anything. Whatever.” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots. “I know it’s stupid. But it felt… like I was wrong for thinking it meant something. Like I got my hopes up and she was just being nice. Or drunk. Or— fuck, I don’t know, trying to keep things from getting awkward.”

Taehyung leans back on his palms. He doesn’t say anything for a while.

Jungkook keeps talking.

“But it's fine now. I'm giving her space. Clearly she doesn't think of me in the same way anymore and fuck— it sucks but I'll learn to live with it.”

Taehyung exhales slowly. “Okay.”

“I just… I miss her. All the time. Even when she’s right there.”

Jungkook sets the mug down and leans forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. There’s something about saying it out loud, finally, that makes his chest feel like it might breathe again.

Taehyung watches him carefully with that frustratingly calm stare that always comes out when he’s being more perceptive than people give him credit for.

“You do realise you're fucking leaping to conclusions here, all based on something so miniscule.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for her,” he says eventually, voice quiet.

“Then just stop trying to protect her from yourself and talk to her," Taehyung says, voice laced with exasperation. "Maybe you're right after all — though I seriously fucking doubt it — but you'll never know unless you talk to her.”

“I can't."

"Why?"

“Because if I do—” Jungkook sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. “Then I have to hear her say it. That she’s done. That she doesn’t love me anymore. And, hyung, I don’t think I can handle that. I really don’t.”

Taehyung is quiet for a long moment. His eyes are unfocused, like he's thinking through a million things at once.

“Okay.” His voice is calm, but Jungkook knows him too well to miss the edge underneath. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say she doesn’t feel the same way anymore.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Let’s say the kiss meant nothing to her,” Taehyung continues. “Let’s say she’s over it. Over you. That all of this”— he gestures vaguely between them —“is just her being polite and going through the motions.”

He pauses, watching Jungkook carefully.

“If that’s true... don’t you think she would’ve walked away by now?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, but something in his chest twists.

“She’s not stuck here, Kook,” Taehyung says, voice softer now. “She’s not trapped. We’re not kids. We’re all adults, and she doesn’t owe anyone anything — not even Jin hyung and his proposal plans. If she really didn’t want to be around you, she wouldn’t be. She wouldn't have agreed to your plan in the first place.”

Jungkook swallows hard. “I never said she hated me. I just… I don’t think she loves me anymore. Not like she used to.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung raises a brow. “And what makes you so sure?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. Because the truth is: he’s not sure. Not really.

"You can't keep pretending that you know how she feels because it's easier than actually finding out, Kook. You can't just avoid her under the guise of giving her space that she never asked for."

Jungkook scrubs a hand over his face. “When you say it like that, I sound like a coward.”

“You are being a coward,” Taehyung says plainly. “But I also get it.”

That surprises him.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “You’re scared. That makes sense. You’ve always loved hard, and you’ve never really figured out how to deal with the idea of it not being returned.”

Jungkook looks at him, something almost defensive rising in his chest, but then it fizzles. Because it’s true.

He has always loved hard. Maybe too hard. Maybe in a way that’s always been just a little too much.

“And maybe she’s scared too,” Taehyung adds. “But she’s still here. Still trying. And it's not fair if you don't try either.”

Jungkook’s throat feels tight again.

He thinks about your voice last night. The way it cracked, just slightly, when you said he couldn’t kiss you one day and ignore you the next. He thinks about the way you stood in the living room and asked if you could talk, like you were still trying to hold onto something.

Maybe she’s scared too.

That thought sticks.

“She deserves better than this,” Jungkook murmurs, barely audible.

“Then stop making her guess how you feel,” Taehyung says simply. “Be honest with her. With yourself.”

Jungkook leans forward again, elbows digging into his knees. His hands are clasped, jaw clenched. There’s a thousand thoughts running wild in his head, none of them helpful. But under all of it — under the fear and the guilt — there’s one quiet thought that keeps returning.

She’s still here.

Taehyung watches him for a second longer, then pushes up off his palms and stands, stretching his arms overhead until his back gives a quiet pop. He groans at the sound, rolls his shoulders, and then grabs his now half-empty mug off the table.

“I’m serious, though,” he says, glancing down at Jungkook, who’s still hunched over like the weight of the entire conversation is settling into his spine. “You don’t have to figure it out right this second. But whatever you do, just don’t hide from her.”

Jungkook nods absently. Not a promise, but not nothing either.

Taehyung takes a few steps toward the kitchen, then stops and glances back.

“Oh,” he adds casually, “and maybe be careful around the girls today.”

Jungkook finally lifts his head, brows knitting. “Why?”

Taehyung smiles over his shoulder. “Apparently Jimin overheard them planning to fight you if ____ needed them to."

Jungkook blinks.

“They were very enthusiastic about it,” Taehyung says, disappearing into the kitchen. “Might wanna watch your back.”

Jungkook huffs out a soft laugh despite himself, dragging a hand through his hair. Rain has started to tap against the windows again in a steady manner, and he's starting to find the glum weather to be rather mocking of the situation and everything going on.

He finishes up the last of his coffee in one, bitter sip before standing with a sigh and moving into the kitchen. His legs are stiff, muscles tight from sleeping in the wrong position — or maybe not from sleeping at all. He doesn't really know anymore.

He finds Taehyung leaning against the counter, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly while sipping from his mug with the other. The sliding glass doors are to his right, blurred slightly by the rain dotting the glass. It’s not heavy. Just enough to leave streaks down the panes and a soft grey veil over the view outside.

Jungkook makes his way over to the coffee machine, and nudges the kettle into place. His mind feels weirdly quiet now. Not peaceful, but blank in an odd way. Like there’s nothing left to think until something new sets off the spiral.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Speak of the devil,” Taehyung mutters.

The tone pulls Jungkook’s attention immediately. He glances over, brows furrowing. “What?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. Just lifts his chin toward the window.

Jungkook follows his line of sight.

Out on the sand, maybe a few metres from the lazy ocean, sits you. Hood down. Legs pulled to your chest. Arms wrapped around them loosely. Your hair’s getting damp from the light rain, sticking slightly to your skin, and you're just sitting there.

No umbrella. No towel. No rush to move.

Jungkook watches for a few seconds, expecting you to shift, to stand, to brush off your jeans or shake your head and head back in, but you don’t.

You just stay where you are.

Taehyung exhales next to him, tapping the edge of his mug with his thumb. “She been out there long?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. Instead, he simply says, "She's gonna get sick."

Taehyung hums noncommittally, eyes still fixed outside. “Yeah. Probably.”

The rain’s light but steady, enough to soak through clothes if you sit in it long enough. Which — judging by the look of it — you’re doing. You're not curled up for warmth or sheltering your head with your arms. Just sitting, with your back to the house, posture unreadable, and from here, Jungkook can’t even make out the expression on your face.

That bothers him more than he’d like to admit.

“She doesn’t even have a jacket,” he mutters. His hand hovers near the kettle, but he doesn’t go for another cup.

Taehyung leans against the counter, casual as ever, and sips from his mug. “You think she’s out there because of yesterday?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer.

Because what’s he supposed to say? That he doesn’t know? That he hopes so, because at least then it means you still care — but also hopes not, because it means he really fucked up?

He looks down at the floor briefly, and shakes his head. “Maybe.”

Another beat of quiet.

Then Taehyung says, like he’s thinking out loud, “Or maybe she just needed to be alone.”

That makes Jungkook hesitate.

Because yeah, maybe you’re out there for space. And maybe walking out with an umbrella and a few soft apologies isn’t what you need right now. He could keep doing what he’s been doing — hanging back, trying not to make things worse, convincing himself that silence is safer than saying the wrong thing.

But where has that gotten him?

Nowhere good.

The kettle clicks behind him, but Jungkook doesn’t move to fill his mug. Instead, he sets it down on the counter and walks toward the door, eyes flicking briefly to the umbrella stand that’s been sitting there since the trip started, untouched.

He grabs the handle of the nearest one. It’s a little worn at the edges, slightly bent near the tip, but it’ll do.

He stands there for a moment, the umbrella resting loosely in his grip. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he gets to you — if he says anything at all. Maybe you won’t even want to hear it. Maybe you’ll ask him to go. Or maybe you won’t say anything, just let the silence stretch between you the way he did last night.

But watching you from behind the glass, doing nothing, feels worse.

The air that greets him as he pulls open the door is cool and damp, the scent of sea salt drifting in with the breeze. He steps out, closing the door behind him, and pops open the umbrella with a soft click.

The sky is painted a murky blue — too dark to be morning, but too light to still be night. The kind of early where the world feels like it has come to a still.

You sit in the sand, your knees drawn up, your fingers tangled together just to keep them still.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out here. Long enough for your plaid pyjama pants that you hadn't bothered to change out of, to get damp where they press against the ground. Long enough for your fingers to start going cold. The rain has softened to a mist, barely more than a whisper now, but you’re already soaked through at this point. Still, you haven’t moved.

You should. You know that. It’s not warm, and you didn’t exactly dress for sitting in wet sand like a ghost of your former self. But movement feels like a thing that belongs to people who have direction. And right now, you don’t.

You just feel untethered.

Not angry. Well, not exactly.

Just tired in a way you haven’t let yourself admit until now.

The past few days have been a slow unravelling. And yesterday — yesterday pulled at the last few threads.

You think back to the living room. The sound of rain tapping against the windows. The way you stepped in front of him, heart in your throat, trying to speak. Trying to say something — anything — to bridge the space that had suddenly, grown between you.

"I’m sorry the kiss didn’t mean anything.”

The words still sting.

You don’t think he meant it to sound cruel. Jungkook doesn’t weaponize words like that. But it definitely landed cruel.

Because it did mean something. It had to. Or maybe you just wanted it to so badly, you convinced yourself it did.

You glance down at your hands in your lap. Sand clings to the skin between your fingers. There’s a bit under your nails. You brush at it absentmindedly, then give up.

If you're being honest, this isn't really about the kiss. Or the argument.

It’s about how he’s been holding you at arm’s length ever since.

You keep trying to understand it. What changed. What line you must’ve crossed in that kitchen or at the beach or in the thousand unsaid things between you.

You try to make sense of his silence in the morning, of the way he ignored the coffee you made, the way he got up from the couch when you tried to sit beside him, and you keep circling back to the same hollow conclusion: he’s done trying.

But if he’s done trying, why does it still feel like he’s watching you every time you’re not looking?

You sigh, pressing your thumb to the inside of your palm, grounding yourself in the motion. Your eyes drift to the grey ocean that stretches out in front of you. It reminds you of Jungkook in that way. Always steady. Always showing up. Even when you didn’t ask him to.

Even now, after everything.

A part of you still feels like you’re waiting for something. For him.

And maybe that’s the worst part — not knowing if you’re waiting to forgive him, or waiting to finally let him go.

You hate that it’s not clear.

Because you don’t hate Jungkook. Not even close.

You’re hurt. You’re confused. You feel like you’ve been spinning in circles while he holds all the answers and refuses to hand you even one. But you don’t hate him.

You can’t.

He was your best friend before he was anything else. He’s still the person you catch yourself thinking about when something funny happens. Still the person you instinctively turn to in a crowd. Still the name your mouth almost forms when you’re half-asleep and dreaming about something soft and good.

And maybe that’s why all of this feels so impossible to sit with.

Because loving someone that much doesn’t always fix what’s been broken.

You close your eyes.

You don’t hear the sliding door or the soft crunch of footsteps in damp sand. You’re too far out to notice much of anything but the breath of the ocean and the thrum in your chest that won’t quite settle.

The rain stops rather abruptly.

Or at least… it stops hitting you.

You open your eyes, confused.

There’s an umbrella above your head.

And beside you, a quiet figure crouches, a little out of breath, holding it over you like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be here.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. His clothes are damp, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The shadows under his eyes and his hair seem to almost match in colour.

You look at him, but don’t speak.

He meets your gaze briefly. Then drops his eyes to the ground.

“Can I?” he gestures, motioning to the space beside you, his voice soft.

You don’t answer. Instead, you simply turn your face back toward the water like the question never left his mouth.

The space between you is narrow but it feels impossible to cross. And still, you feel him hovering there beside you, like he’s waiting for a sign you’re not going to give.

He hesitates before sitting down, the action almost cautious.

You hear the shuffle of damp fabric, the gentle thump of his weight settling into the sand. He angles the umbrella to cover the both of you, his arm stretched awkwardly behind you to keep it in place. You can feel the tension clinging to him in every movement.

The rain ticks against the nylon of the umbrella and the ocean murmurs. You can hear the faint sound of him breathing. You don’t look at him.

Not because you’re angry — okay, maybe a little — but because you don’t trust what might happen if you do. You’re too raw, too exposed, and you’re still trying to figure out if the ache inside you is grief or something worse — hope.

You’re tired of hoping.

Seconds pass in silence that slowly melts into minutes. You start to wonder if he's going to speak at all, or if he's continue his bullshit from yesterday when you hear him sigh quietly.

“I thought you were talking about me,” Jungkook says eventually, voice low, almost embarrassed. “When you said you’d never take back an ex.”

Your stomach twists as the realisation dawns on you.

“And I know I shouldn’t have assumed,” he adds quickly. “I should’ve asked. Or at least waited. But I didn’t. And it felt like… you were drawing a line. Like the kiss meant nothing to you.”

He shifts slightly beside you. You don’t look, but you can feel him angling toward you, tentative, like he’s bracing for impact.

“I didn’t say it to hurt you,” he continues quietly. “What I said last night. I just—” He sighs again. “I was hurt. And confused. And scared that I was the only one who still cared that much.”

You blink slowly, eyes on the sea.

He sounds sincere. He always does. But sincerity doesn’t patch holes. It doesn’t rebuild trust. Not when you’re the one who’s been standing in the wreckage for weeks, waiting for answers that never came.

“I didn’t know what to do when you didn’t answer me that night,” Jungkook says after a beat. “When I asked if you meant it. You just… went quiet. And I panicked. I thought maybe you were just being kind. Or that you were too drunk to really mean it. Or worse — that you were trying to keep things from getting awkward. And then I started thinking about what you said during the game, and I just—” He breaks off. “I spiralled. I thought I’d made it worse. That maybe being close to me again was just... exhausting for you.”

You still don’t look at him.

Not yet.

He sighs again, softer this time. “So I pulled back. I thought it was what you wanted. I thought, if you didn’t care anymore, then maybe I was just in the way. And I couldn’t take the risk of asking. Because if I asked and you told me straight out that you didn’t care for me anymore in the way I cared for you, I— I wouldn't have been able to handle it."

You finally turn to look at him. Just slightly. Just enough to see the way he’s holding himself — like everything inside him is tense and tired and barely holding together.

“You think I don’t care about you?” you ask quietly.

He blinks, startled by your voice, by your words, by the fact that you’ve finally turned toward him.

You shake your head slowly, incredulous. “You think I’d agree to your stupid plan to in front of our closest friends if I didn’t care about you in the slightest?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he says.

“I let you kiss me,” you continue, voice a little stronger now and sharp with disbelief. “I let you touch me like nothing had changed. I’ve spent every night in the same bed as you, Jungkook. Do you honestly think I would’ve gone through all of that if I didn’t care?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Do you know how hard it’s been? Watching you treat me like a stranger one second and like something you still want the next? Pretending it doesn’t bother me every time you walk away when I try to sit beside you, or when you ignore the coffee I made, or when you act like I’m the one who created this distance?”

His jaw tightens, expression pinched like he’s finally hearing all of it — the hurt, the confusion, the vulnerability you’ve been biting back since this trip started.

You look at him then. Fully. And it takes everything in you not to cry from the weight of finally saying it.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says quietly. “When we broke up.”

The more he speaks, the more questions that form in your head. You look at him, brows furrowed in confusion. His eyes are fixed on the ocean now, like he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze again.

Your voice is low when you finally speak. “The right thing?”

He nods once, but doesn’t elaborate.

You wait.

And when he still doesn’t say anything, you ask, “For who?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, after a long beat, he says, voice so quiet that the sound is almost lost to the wind, “For you.”

That stings more than you expect. Because if this is what him doing what’s best for you looks like, you don’t want to see what the opposite would’ve been.

You want to speak, but you stop yourself. You want to hear the whole story — no more fragments, no more half-truths — and you want him to want to tell it.

Jungkook sighs again, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. His other arm is still outstretched, holding the umbrella over both of you. You wonder how long he’s going to keep it there before his arm gives out.

“I know you’re mad,” he says finally, softly. “You have every right to be. I just… I needed you to know it wasn’t because I stopped caring. I never stopped.”

But that isn't enough anymore. You've learned to realise that caring and choosing are two different thing, and he chose to walk away for reasons you're still unsure about.

The silence between you stretches long and thin. You return your gaze to the sand in front of you, but you can feel him in every fidget and every glance he throws your way.

“Then why did you?”

He doesn’t ask what you mean because he knows.

And maybe that’s the worst part — that he’s known this whole time, that you’ve been drowning in confusion for weeks and he’s been standing on shore with the answers in his pocket.

His voice is hesitant when he eventually speaks. Almost as if he never wanted to say the words out loud.

“I saw the email.”

Your brow furrows before you even realise it. You glance at him, and he’s already looking down, lashes low, jaw set.

“What email?” you ask.

“The one from Berlin.”

Your stomach drops.

You hadn’t told anyone. Not back then. You were still trying to figure it out yourself — if you could do it, if you even wanted to.

You never imagined he’d seen it.

“How?” you ask, a little sharper this time. Your heart racing now.

“You left your laptop open. You were in the shower.”

Your lips part slightly. “So you… read it?”

“Just the subject line.” He looks guilty. “The name of the program. The ‘congratulations.’ That was enough.”

You look away, back to the ocean. You remember the moment now — coming out of the bathroom, finding him on the couch with his phone in hand, your laptop screen closed.

He must’ve seen it and said nothing. Carried it and let it snowball.

You blink slowly, trying to process. “You should’ve asked me about it.”

“I know.”

“Instead, you—” You stop yourself. Swallow hard. “You broke up with me?”

His answer comes quickly this time, like he’s been holding it in ever since.

“I didn’t want to hold you back.”

It’s so simple. So clear. So frustratingly stupid.

You let out a short, humourless laugh and shake your head. “So you just made the decision for me?”

Jungkook goes still beside you.

“You didn’t even ask what I wanted,” you say, voice soft but steady. “Didn’t give me the chance to choose.”

“I thought—” He breaks off, then runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve talked about wanting to live abroad since freshman year. About how you’d take any opportunity you could get if it was the right one. And that program? It was a huge deal. You worked your ass off for that email. I couldn’t be the reason you turned it down.”

“But I did,” you say, not looking at him. “I turned it down.”

He’s quiet.

“I turned it down before we even broke up,” you add, and there’s no satisfaction in saying it. “I read it, I thought about it, and I knew I wasn’t ready to leave.”

You glance at him, and he’s staring at you, frozen. “You didn’t even give me a chance to tell you that.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Because you didn’t ask.”

Jungkook lets out a shaky breath. “I thought I was doing the selfless thing.”

You finally meet his eyes. “It wasn’t selfless. It was cowardly.”

He flinches a bit, like you hit him, but you don’t take it back.

You don’t enjoy saying it. You don’t want to hurt him. But it’s the truth, and the truth matters now more than ever.

You look away again, toward the sky and the dull curve of the horizon. Your voice is quieter when you speak. “You say you never stopped caring. But caring about someone means you talk to them. You trust them to make decisions with you, not for you.”

“I didn’t trust myself,” he admits. “Not to be selfish. Not to ask you to stay.”

Fuck. In a way, he's right in that sense — you would've stayed if he'd asked you to and you're not sure if that makes you proud or foolish.

You draw a shaky breath and hug your arms tighter around your knees.

“Do you know what it felt like?” you ask, voice just above a whisper. “Thinking I wasn’t enough?”

Jungkook’s voice is immediate. “You are.”

“It didn't feel like it, Jungkook. It felt like— like you just realised one day that I wasn't good enough so you left. That I was something you could just throw away without looking back.”

“I just— I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed.”

Your chest tightens. You wish he’d said that weeks ago. You wish you didn’t understand it now.

The umbrella has started to dip, though Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice. His shoulders are slumped, his hand shaking slightly where it grips the handle. You don’t reach out. You don’t steady it for him.

Instead, you stare at the ground.

Because for the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re finally getting answers. And for the first time, you wish they didn’t hurt this much.

For a while, neither of you speak. You simply watch as the ocean laps at the shore gently, trying to quiet your mind.

Jungkook shifts slightly beside you, the umbrella angling just enough that a light drizzle brushes the edge of your shoulder. Still, neither of you move. He must feel it too, but maybe, like you, he’s not sure if he has the right to fix anything anymore.

You tuck your chin against your knees.

“I thought you were going to propose.”

He freezes.

You don’t look at him. Just keep staring down at the sand, wet and rippled and full of small, wavy lines. “I found the receipt from the jeweller. A few days before it happened. You’d left it in the glove compartment.”

His breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I didn’t know if I was imagining it,” you continue. “But… you were acting different. Distant and like, nervous. You’d been asking Tae weird questions. I figured maybe you were just waiting for the right moment.”

Another beat passes, and you let out a soft, bitter laugh. “And then you left.”

You finally glance at him.

His face is tight with something like regret. Shame, maybe. His eyes are focused on a point in the distance, jaw clenched so hard you can see the tension in his neck.

“I was,” he says, voice low. “Going to propose.”

You swallow hard, throat dry. “Why didn’t you?”

He hesitates. “Because I saw the email, and I panicked. Everything just—shifted.

“I thought if I proposed, it would be selfish. Like I was tying you down. Making you choose me over something bigger. Something more. And I didn’t want to be that person.”

“You weren’t tying me down,” you say. “You were supposed to be part of the future. Not the thing standing in front of it.”

Jungkook’s eyes finally flicker to yours.

“I know that now,” he says. “But at the time… all I could think about was what if you said yes because you felt like you had to? Because you didn’t want to hurt me? And then a year from now you’d wake up in some apartment with me and wonder what could’ve happened if you’d left when you had the chance.”

You blink hard, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “You should’ve trusted me to make that choice.”

“I didn’t trust me,” he says. “I loved you so much it scared me. I still do. And it felt like— like too much of me was wrapped up in you. Like I couldn’t be objective anymore. I couldn’t think straight. I just—”

He breaks off, eyes cast low, voice thinner now.

“I thought letting you go was what I had to do.”

You breathe in slowly, trying to steady your pulse. “So you let me go. Without asking. Without warning.”

“I know,” he says. “I know I handled it all wrong.”

You nod once, slowly. “You did.”

“I kept waiting for you to call,” you admit. “I thought that maybe you’d change your mind. That you’d wake up and realise it was a mistake.”

“I did,” he says, instantly.

The wind brushes past you, loosening strands of hair from behind your ear.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, quieter now. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I thought if I stayed away, it’d be easier. For both of us.”

You look down at your hands.

As stupid as it was, he thought he was being selfless. But really, he was afraid. Of being the one who made you stay. Of being the reason you didn’t go. Of being loved too much, and losing it anyway.

You don’t know what to do with all that.

You’re not sure if it’s something to forgive, or just something to live with.

The umbrella’s starting to tilt. His arm’s been outstretched too long.

You glance at it, then at him. He’s not complaining — just sitting there, jaw tight, fingers white-knuckled around the handle.

You reach over without thinking and adjust it yourself, steadying the angle so it stops dripping at the edge. Your hands brush, and his flinch is barely perceptible — not from the touch, but from the way it happens so easily. Like it always used to.

The umbrella rights itself. The air between you doesn’t.

God, this would've been so much easier if you didn't still love him. If you didn’t still want to know how he’s doing first thing in the morning or wonder if he’s eaten. If your body didn’t still tilt toward his in a room without meaning to, like it forgot what happened.

But you do. You still love him.

And love — the kind you had, the kind you have — doesn’t just go away.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t make the hurt disappear either.

You lower your hand, letting go of the umbrella. Letting go of him, too, just a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you murmur.

Jungkook swallows hard. “I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean.”

“I mean,” you start, then stop. “I need time.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sits a little straighter, arm still raised, rain still pattering gently over the both of you.

You continue, voice careful. “Not because I don’t care. I just… I’ve been so tangled up in everything that happened, and in what you did and didn’t say that I haven’t had a second to think for me.”

You draw in a deep breath. “And I need that.”

Jungkook finally lowers the umbrella. Not all the way, but just enough that the edge dips again and the mist kisses the back of your neck. He nods slowly, like it hurts, but he understands.

“I want to be honest with you,” you say, softer now. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if we’ll fix this. But I do know that pretending we’re fine, or jumping back into what we had— it wouldn’t be fair. Not to either of us.”

Jungkook blinks fast and nods again.

“But I meant what I said the other night,” you add. “When I didn’t move away. When I let you kiss me. It did mean something to me.”

He exhales shakily. “Okay."

You don’t say anything after that. Neither does he.

The sky has slowly started lightening into morning. You know you're going to regret sitting out here later — you can already feel the ache building in your back. But for now, you hug your knees a little closer to your chest and stay.

The stars are bright tonight, painted across the dark sky in constellations. A soft breeze rolls through the open balcony, and the air is cool against your arms where they rest along the wooden railing.

Up here, it’s quieter than usual. Everyone's gathered around in small groups as you stand a few steps off to the side.

Your body relaxes into the railing, elbows hooked over the edge. You haven’t really spoken to anyone tonight. You’d slipped back inside after the beach and crashed on the bed without a second thought. It’s the first time all week your mind hasn’t been a mess of things you don’t want to admit out loud.

Now, you feel the last of it — the fog of that sleep — still lingering at the edge of your awareness. You blink slowly, eyes tracing the way the light spills over the floorboards, how it wraps around Namjoon and Aria as they talk quietly near their door. Jimin’s halfway through telling a story to Hoseok, animated as ever, and Yoongi keeps interrupting with deadpan commentary that earns a laugh every time. Kiara rests her head against Hoseok’s shoulder, her hand absentmindedly playing with the sleeve of his hoodie.

They’re all waiting.

Yasmine isn’t here. She’s with Seokjin and Haeun, probably directing the last-minute touches for whatever proposal magic he's cooked up. She swore everyone else wasn’t allowed downstairs yet. “You'll ruin the surprise,” she said earlier, shoving Jimin back up the stairs when he tried to sneak a peek.

Your gaze drifts over the group again, pausing for a beat on the spot where Jungkook isn’t.

You haven’t spoken to him since this morning. You hadn’t meant your words to sound like a wall going up, but maybe they had. He's been giving you space ever since, and you'd taken it.

You’d gone inside and slept like you hadn’t in days. And now you’re here, awake and still somehow tired, unsure what to say even if you knew where he was.

You rub a finger along the edge of the railing just as you hear footsteps from behind you.

Jungkook comes to a stop beside you, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne — faint and familiar, buried somewhere in your memory alongside sun-warmed sheets and midnight conversations. He rests his forearms on the railing, mirroring your stance. There’s a careful sort of quiet that settles between you, more comfortable than awkward.

“You slept,” he says after a moment.

You nod. “Yeah. Knocked out.”

His voice is soft. “Good. You needed it.”

“I think my body gave up arguing.”

He hums in agreement. “You looked peaceful.”

You glance sideways at him. “You were watching me?”

He shrugs. “Just… passed by. The door was cracked.”

You hum and let the silence return, not rushing to fill it.

Down the line, Jimin says something that makes Kiara burst out laughing. The sound is warm, and it pulls a small smile from you too.

You don't notice Jungkook moving until he's pulling something from his hoodie pocket. “Hey, um— before you say anything,” he starts, holding up his hands a little, “this isn’t me trying to win you over or anything. I just… I got you something.”

You blink, turning to him more fully.

He holds out a small bundle wrapped in crinkled tissue. “I actually bought it the day we went into town. That’s why it took me so long to ‘get water.’”

You stare at the bundle, then slowly reach out and take it from his hand.

“I saw them and just… thought of you,” he adds quickly. “That’s all.”

You unwrap the paper. Your fingers pause when you see what’s inside.

Earrings.

Small pearls that are almost identical to the ones you lost.

Your breath catches, but you don’t say anything. You just hold them in your palm, letting the weight of them settle, letting the quiet linger while your heart does something you’re too scared to name.

You turn the earrings over in your hand and the light catch on the glassy stones. They glint, just like the pair you used to wear.

“They’re almost the same,” you murmur.

Jungkook leans a little closer, arms still resting on the railing. “Yeah. I thought they were, too.”

You glance at him, catching the faintest curve of a smile before he looks away.

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You brush your hair back and slip one earring in, then the other. They’re light, barely there. A part of you wonders how long he had them tucked away. How long he’d been waiting for the right moment — or maybe convincing himself there wouldn’t be one.

When you glance at him again, he’s already watching you. His eyes flicker to yours for half a second too long before he looks away, clearing his throat.

“They look good on you,” he says.

You smile, small and real. “You always say that.”

His mouth pulls into something like amusement, but there’s something else there too. Something quiet and tender.

He doesn’t say anything else.

For a few long seconds, you both watch the stars. And in the quiet, you feel it again — that thing that’s never fully left. The pull. The ache. The way being near him still feels like second nature even when everything else feels unsure.

The earrings catch the light as you turn back toward the sky, your profile soft in the glow of the overhead bulbs. You don’t say anything else, and neither does he. Jungkook stays still beside you, watching the curve of your cheek, the gentle sway of your hair in the breeze.

He lets out a slow breath and shifts his gaze forward.

There’s a strange peace in this moment; like standing on the edge of something that used to be home, knowing it may never be again, but still loving it anyway. He’s not sure what to do with that.

Then, from the stairwell behind them, Kiara calls out, voice bright and breathless, “They’re coming up!”

Everyone turns, chairs scraping and voices rising.

Jungkook doesn’t move right away. He watches as you straighten up, tucking your hair behind your ear. You walk forward a few paces, toward the centre of the balcony, just as Seokjin and Haeun step up into view.

“She said yes!” Seokjin beams, his hands thrown up in triumph.

Haeun laughs, eyes glassy and shining. “Of course I did, idiot.”

The group erupts — cheers, clapping, congratulations tumbling over each other. Jimin shouts something about planning a bachelor party that immediately makes Yoongi groan. Namjoon pats Seokjin on the back so hard it nearly knocks him forward.

Jungkook stays back, leaning against the railing.

He watches as you move forward and wrap Haeun in a hug, then Seokjin too. Your smile is wide — real — the kind that lights up your whole face. It hits him all at once: how beautiful you look in this moment. How easy it is to picture a future like that with you.

How close he’d come.

His hand twitches at his side.

He remembers standing in a jewellery store with Taehyung a few months ago, holding a ring box in his hand and wondering if you’d cry when he asked. He’d imagined this exact scene — your friends around you, stars overhead, your arms wrapped around him instead.

But it hadn’t happened. Because he hadn’t let it.

Because he’d thought he was doing the right thing by letting you go before he became something that held you back. Before he became the reason you said no to the rest of the world.

And yet here you are.

He swallows hard, pushing the thought down. It’s not just regret — there's something more than that. Something like almost.

Almost asked.

Almost said yes.

Almost forever.

Jungkook exhales slowly, and from across the balcony, you glance back at him.

It’s only a second, but he can tell you feel it too.

You look away first.

Only because Kiara calls your name, reaching out to pull you back into the circle forming around Seokjin and Haeun. Jungkook watches as you step into it easily, your laughter mixing with the others’, your hands clapping as Jimin demands a full retelling of the proposal, as if none of you saw it coming.

Jungkook doesn’t move right away.

He lingers at the railing, hands buried in the front pocket of his hoodie, eyes still trailing after you. There’s something familiar in the way you laugh at whatever ridiculous thing Seokjin is saying, the way you throw your arms around Haeun without hesitation, nudging Seokjin with a mock-scolding look. Like nothing’s fractured. Like you belong there.

You always did.

And maybe that’s what makes it hurt — how natural it still feels to love you in silence.

Eventually, he moves. Makes his way over with a grin that feels steady enough. He wraps both Seokjin and Haeun into a hug, murmuring something that makes Haeun laugh and Seokjin say, “Took you long enough.”

Just as he steps back, the first firework cracks open above.

A deep, thunderous sound fills the air before gold floods the sky, scattering into a trail of light that fades into falling blue sparks. Instinctively, everyone presses in toward the railing, crowding together. In the quiet jostling, you end up beside Jungkook again.

Neither of you speak.

You’re watching the sky like it’s something brand new. Head tilted back, arms loosely crossed on the railing, lips slightly parted. The reflection of the fireworks dances across your face in flashes; amber, silver, a soft lavender that makes your eyes seem even softer.

Jungkook doesn’t watch the sky.

Not really.

He watches you.

In the brief pause between bursts, he sees your lashes catch the light, your expression unguarded.

How are you still the most beautiful thing in a sky full of fire?

Another firework blooms — gold again, then violet, then a wave of silver sparks that make the whole group gasp.

You exhale slowly, like you’ve been holding your breath.

“It’s so pretty,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

Jungkook doesn’t look away. Not even for a second.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes only on you. “It really is.”

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