#the bad arguments never stop I fear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honeyryewhiskey · 5 months ago

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when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt.

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets.

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don��t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.”

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself.

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced.

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

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juliettejwnewinesa · 11 days ago

Note

this sounds like those dumbass "mha boys when you flinch in an argument 🥺🥺🥺" but PLS bare with me bc they're genuinely so entertaining and fun to read 😭

can you do weak hero boys where reader flinches when the argument gets heated? like she thinks they're gonna hit her because they got mad (maybe due to an abusive ex)??

PLS AND THANK YOU I WANNA EAT UR STORIES BRO THEY'RE SO WELL WRITTEN UGHH

Dude, shut up. I used to be obsessed with Bakugo and would watch Gacha Life edits of him and the others at 1 am, when I was around 11 years old. I know exactly what you mean by that. Let my anime self take over for this one. lemme cook bro.

🩶 Ahn Suho – “Hey, hey… it’s me.”

He was pacing again.

Suho’s voice had risen without him even realizing. His fists clenched, his jaw locked—and you were shrinking back near the doorway, trying not to show how bad your hands were shaking.

“You can’t just lie to me about where you went, Y/N! Do you know how worried I was?! What if something happened to you—!”

When he turned toward you sharply, you flinched.

It was instant. Barely a blink. Just a recoil. But Suho froze.

Dead silence.

His eyes dropped to your trembling form, the way your shoulders curled inward, like you were bracing for impact—and his heart broke.

“…Shit.”

He crossed the room carefully, slowly.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, kneeling in front of you like you were something fragile. “I’m not him. I swear to god, I would never hurt you.”

You didn’t mean to cry—but the tears hit fast.

And Suho just held you, hand on your head, voice low and raw against your hair:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve never raised my voice like that.”

⚪ Sieun– “I didn’t realize… you were scared of me.”

Seun never yelled.

But frustration had bled into his voice during the argument.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me you were struggling. You hide everything, Y/N. It’s like you don’t trust me.”

When he took a step forward, gesturing—not even sharply—you flinched back. Hard.

He saw it. The flinch. The panic. The quick glance at his hands.

His expression shattered.

“...Are you afraid of me?” he asked, voice barely audible.

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t look at him.

He stayed quiet for a moment, then backed away completely—hands up, face pale.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… you were scared of me.”

You shook your head fast, guilt crawling up your throat. “It’s not you. It’s just—him. My ex. I thought—when people got mad, they...”

sieun’s voice cracked: “I’m not him.”

You finally looked up—and he was crying.

🟡 humin – “Please don’t think I’m like that.”

humin was never the type to get genuinely angry at you. But this time, it had been a bad day. Fights. Stress. And he’d snapped.

“Seriously, Y/N?! You can’t just disappear without answering your phone! I was losing my mind—!”

When his voice echoed in the room, loud and sharp, you instinctively backed up. Your hand raised slightly—reflex.

Flinch.

humin’s whole demeanor changed instantly.

“Wait—no, no, baby,” he gasped, taking a slow step forward before stopping himself.

“I didn’t mean—did I scare you?”

You stayed silent. Tears welled. Shame on your face.

Ben crouched, hands shaking. “I would never lay a hand on you. Never. Please don’t think I’m like that.”

You sobbed into his chest when he pulled you in, and he just whispered again and again:

“You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

🔥 seongjae– “Don’t ever be scared of me. Ever.”

seongja e was intense.

And when he got mad, it was scary.

“You think you can just let people talk shit about you and walk away?! That’s not how this works, Y/N!”

You hated how your body reacted. Flinching away, stepping back like the violence he used on others would ever be used on you.

But seongjae went silent.

Stone still.

“…Did you just flinch?”

You bit your lip.

He stepped forward slowly, voice trembling with something he rarely let out—fear.

“Did you think I was gonna hit you?”

You didn’t answer. That was enough.

He let out a breathless laugh. Not cruel—just wrecked.

“I’ve busted heads for even looking at you wrong. And you think I’d raise a hand to you?”

His hands cradled your face like you were glass.

“Don’t ever be scared of me. Ever. I’d die before I hurt you.”

🖤 baekjin – “You think I’d ever use my strength against you?”

The most terrifying part?

baekjin didn’t even raise his voice.

He didn’t have to. His disappointment hit harder than any yell.

But when he stood up from the desk, angry and sharp, you took a step back.

His eyes narrowed.

“…Did you just flinch?”

You froze.

He approached—slow, measured. Dangerous.

But when he reached you, his touch was feather-light. Fingertips brushing your cheek.

“You think I’d ever use my strength against you?”

Your throat closed. You couldn’t answer.

His jaw ticked, and he pulled you into his chest—tight, protective, as if trying to erase every moment of fear you’d ever lived through.

“I kill men for looking at you. But I forgot to make you feel safe with me,” he muttered bitterly. “That’s my failure. Not yours.”

why does this layout look wierd, ill change it when im out of my taxi

247 notes · View notes

cherryxbooo · 6 months ago

Note

Okaaaay I can't resist on sending in another idea ❤️😊 I just loved the previous imagine too much!

Maybe some more Tim angst, where he's dating another officer for a while now and they're really happy. Then someday they get into an argument about something stupid, so she keeps ignoring him for nearly the whole shift. Later he hears over the radio that one officer got shot during a call and he already has a bad feeling. Just then his phone rings and Grey confirms his fears that it was you.

At the hospital it's not sure if you'll survive and Tim fears losing you without apologizing. In the end you survive of course and it's all just cute and fluffy in the end 🙊

We’re in this together

Summary: A police shift goes wrong, nothing out of the ordinary for an officer, but it hits differently when you’re losing the love of your life, and your last interaction was a fight.

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: fluff/angst

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the small kitchen as I leaned against the counter, cradling my favorite mug in both hands.

The first sip sent a warmth through me that was only rivaled by the sight in front of me.

Tim sat at the table, hunched over, tying his boots with the same care and focus he brought to everything he did.

Sunlight poured through the window, framing him in a soft glow, and I couldn’t help the way my lips tugged into a smile.

“Another day, another shift,” I teased, my voice gentle as I took another sip of coffee.

He glanced up at me with a crooked smile that never failed to make my heart flutter.

“Another day of you trying to boss me around.”

I raised an eyebrow, setting my mug down as I sauntered toward him.

“You love it when I boss you around.”

Tim chuckled, his hands pausing on his laces as he gave me a look that was all warmth and affection.

“You might have a point, sweetheart.”

He tugged the laces one last time and stood, towering over me in that way that always made me feel both small and completely safe.

“But I think I deserve a little credit for putting up with you.”

“Putting up with me?” I repeated, crossing my arms but unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.

“Who’s the one who burned breakfast again last week? Pretty sure I’m the patient one here.”

Tim stepped closer, his hands finding their way to my hips as he leaned down just enough to press a kiss to my temple.

“I burned breakfast because you distracted me,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, sending a little shiver through me.

I rolled my eyes, laughing softly as I rested my hands on his chest.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re perfect,” he replied without missing a beat, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was sweet and unhurried.

He pulled back, just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

“Ready to head out, or should we take another five minutes to ‘discuss’ who’s the patient one in this relationship?”

I laughed again, giving his chest a gentle shove.

“Grab your jacket, Bradford. We’re not showing up late just because you can’t stop flirting.”

Tim grabbed his jacket and slid it on, but not before stealing one last kiss, quick but lingering enough to leave my heart racing.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured as he opened the door for me.

“You make it too easy.”

The drive to the station was filled with the kind of soft, easy conversation that came with knowing someone inside and out.

Tim reached over at one point, his hand brushing against mine where it rested on the console.

Without a word, he intertwined our fingers, his thumb tracing gentle circles over my skin as we drove.

“Think Cap will still be in that mood again today?” Tim asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

“Probably,” I replied with a grin.

“You know how he gets when things don’t go perfectly. Angela said he spent half the night poring over those reports. Sounds almost like you.”

Tim shook his head with a soft laugh, his eyes briefly meeting mine.

“He needs to take a page out of your book and learn how to relax. Just like how you thought me.”

I smirked, squeezing his hand. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

“You would,”

he replied with mock exasperation, but his grin softened as he lifted my hand to press a kiss to my knuckles, his lips warm and gentle.

“That’s why I keep you around, you keep everyone on their toes.”

My cheeks warmed at the affection in his voice, and I leaned back into the seat, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment.

With Tim, even the drive to work felt like something special, like a little pocket of peace in the chaos of our lives.

As we pulled into the station’s parking lot, Tim shifted the car into park but didn’t move to get out just yet.

Instead, he turned to me, his gaze soft and adoring.

“What do you want to do on our next day off? Our day off is sacred, you know.”

I tilted my head, pretending to think, even as a smile tugged at my lips.

“How about a picnic? Somewhere quiet, just us. You bring the sandwiches, and I’ll bring dessert.”

His smile widened, and he leaned in to steal one last kiss before we stepped out into the world of uniforms and chaos.

“You always know how to make a day perfect,” he murmured against my lips.

“So do you,”

I whispered back still not believing I've got the grumpy Tim Bradford wrapped around my finger.

The precinct was already alive with its usual controlled chaos when we arrived.

The familiar hum of ringing phones, clacking keyboards, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air.

Officers walked around, exchanging case files, refilling coffee mugs, and prepping for the day ahead.

Tim and I stepped through the front doors together, the click of his boots against the tiled floor perfectly in sync with mine.

Ever the gentleman, Tim held the door open for me, his hand brushing lightly against the small of my back as I walked in.

The gesture was small but grounding, one of those quiet moments of affection that felt uniquely ours.

We didn’t make it three steps inside before Lucy’s voice rang out, full of teasing energy.

“Oh, look, it’s the power couple gracing us with their presence!”

she called, grinning from ear to ear as she leaned against her desk.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“Good morning to you too, Chen.”

Angela was quick to join in, an amused smirk playing on her face.

“Wait a second... is that a smile on Tim’s face? What did you do, bribe him with something?”

I turned to Tim, arching a playful eyebrow.

“See? They think you’re less grumpy. Guess I’m rubbing off on you after all.”

Tim let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not that grumpy,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him by twitching upward.

“Oh, sure,” Angela replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“And I’m the King of England.”

I laughed, giving Tim a quick wink as we moved toward our desks.

“Don’t worry, Bradford. I like you grumpy. Keeps things interesting.”

He shot me a mock glare, but there was no hiding the warmth in his eyes as he pulled his chair out and settled in across from me.

The morning briefing was the usual mix of updates and assignments, with Grey running through the day’s agenda in his signature no-nonsense tone.

Tim sat beside me, his leg brushing mine under the table, a quiet reminder of his presence that made my heart skip despite the mundane nature of the meeting.

When the captain finally dismissed us, Tim leaned over, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“You zoning out on me, sweetheart?”

I smirked, tapping my pen lightly against my notepad.

“Nope. Just wondering how you manage to look so serious all the time.”

He tilted his head, a playful gleam in his eye. “It’s a gift.”

“Must be exhausting,” I teased, standing and grabbing my notes as we joined the others heading toward the bullpen.

The rest of the morning passed in a comfortable rhythm as Tim and I fell into our usual routine.

Working together had become second nature after months of finding our rhythm.

We didn’t need words to communicate half the time, a shared glance or the slightest tilt of his head was enough to tell me what he was thinking.

But as the hours ticked by, the warmth of the morning started to shift.

Calls came in one after another, each one more demanding than the last.

The weight of the job pressed down on us, and the lighthearted banter that carried us through most days began to fade.

During a brief moment of reprieve, Tim appeared beside me, holding out a steaming cup of coffee.

His expression was softer now, more serious, but the affection in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Thought you could use this,” he said simply, his voice quieter than usual.

I took the cup, my fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I said softly, meeting his gaze.

He gave a small smile, one of those rare, genuine ones that he saved just for me.

“Don’t mention it. You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. Always.”

It was moments like these, tucked between the chaos and the noise, that reminded me how lucky I was.

With Tim, the hard days felt a little less heavy, and the good ones felt extraordinary.

Tim and I rarely fight, but if we did, we were quick to make up. But this time I wasn't so sure about that.

It began in the shop during a lull between calls, one of those rare, quiet moments when the hum of the engine was the only sound filling the air.

The city seemed unusually still, as though even it were taking a breath.

I glanced out the window, watching the sunlight play off passing buildings, when the thought struck me.

“Hey,” I said casually,

“we’re out of supplies in the first aid kit.”

Tim, who’d been focused on the road, flicked his eyes toward me briefly.

“You forgot to restock it, didn’t you?”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried an edge that immediately put me on the defensive.

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Me? You’re the one who used it last.”

He let out a short breath, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, and I told you to refill it afterward.”

“You told me?” I shot back, incredulous.

“No, you mentioned it in passing, and I assumed you’d take care of it since, you know, you used it.”

Tim’s jaw tightened as his gaze stayed fixed on the road ahead.

“It’s not about who used it. It’s about being prepared. What if we get a call and need it? Are we supposed to improvise because you didn’t think to check?”

His words, laced with frustration, hit a nerve.

My temper flared, and I turned in my seat to face him fully.

“Oh, so now it’s my job to clean up after you? Got it. I’ll just add that to the list, right after making sure you remember to pack your lunch and not leave your coffee mug in the car.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“This isn’t about me leaving my mug. This is about you taking responsibility for something important instead of deflecting every damn time.”

The way he said it like I was careless or didn’t pull my weight, sent a sharp pang of hurt through me.

“Wow, Tim,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Thanks for the lecture. I’ll be sure to put it in the suggestion box right after I file all the other things you think I should be doing better.”

“Forget it,”

he muttered, his tone curt as he turned his attention back to the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I crossed my arms, glaring out the window as silence fell over the car.

The warmth and ease of the morning were gone, replaced by an icy tension that made the air feel heavier.

By the time we pulled up to the next call, the tension had settled in so thickly it felt like another passenger in the car.

Neither of us spoke as we stepped out and approached the scene, our usual rhythm replaced by clipped movements and short, professional exchanges.

For the rest of the shift, I kept my responses to Tim short and curt.

If he asked for status updates, I gave him the bare minimum.

If he cracked a joke to try and lighten the mood, I didn’t even spare him a glance.

It was petty, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.

I could feel his frustration growing with every brush-off.

The way his jaw clenched or the flicker of annoyance in his eyes when I avoided meeting his gaze only confirmed it.

By mid-afternoon, he stopped trying altogether, the usual back-and-forth banter between us replaced by strained silence.

Finally, during a rare quiet moment back in the car, Tim broke the silence.

His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

“You going to keep this up all day?”

I didn’t look at him, instead staring out the windshield at the street ahead.

“I don’t know,” I said flatly.

“Are you going to stop being an ass?”

He sighed, long and heavy, the sound of someone grappling with his own frustration.

“Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Have it your way.”

But even as he said it, there was something in his tone that softened the edges of my anger.

I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, catching the faintest flicker of hurt in his expression.

It wasn’t like Tim to let things fester, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d pushed too hard.

Still, my own stubbornness held firm, and I looked away before he could catch me staring.

The silence between us stretched on, heavier now than it had been before.

The next day arrived, and the tension between Tim and me hadn’t eased.

With us both being too stubborn to give in.

We were back at the station for our next shift, with the two of us still clearly not on speaking terms.

The air was thick with unspoken words as we went through the motions of starting our day.

Tim was focused, doing his job with the usual precision, but the distance between us was palpable.

Angela and Lucy exchanged looks as they watched the two of us, sensing that something was off.

“So,” Angela started, leaning against the counter with her coffee cup,

“what’s going on with you two? You guys usually can’t keep your hands off each other, and today��”

She gestured between us, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Nothing?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, glancing between Tim and me.

“You two seriously not talking?”

I glanced at Tim briefly, but his attention was fixed on the paperwork in front of him.

I sighed inwardly, turning to face my friends.

“It’s just... a disagreement,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

Angela looked unconvinced.

“A disagreement? You’ve barely looked at each other all morning. Come on, you can tell us. What happened?”

I didn’t know how to explain it.

The argument from yesterday still felt fresh, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet.

“It’s fine,” I said, shrugging it off. “We’ll work through it.”

Lucy wasn’t convinced either, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Right, because it’s so obvious you two are just fine.”

I forced a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Now, we’ve got work to do, right?”

Tim didn’t seem to notice our conversation, too absorbed in whatever report he was reading.

I glanced at him again, feeling the weight of the silence between us.

Part of me wanted to reach out, to say something, but the other part was still too angry to make the first move.

The next few hours felt like a blur of cases and calls, my mind distracted by the unspoken words lingering between us.

At least I was scheduled to go on patrol with a rookie today, which meant I’d be away from Tim for a while.

The rookie, Aaron, seemed eager enough, though I could tell he was still finding his footing.

I was relieved, in a way, I didn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of being in the same shop as Tim while we were still this... distant.

Late in the shift, the radio crackled to life, breaking the silence.

“Units 23 and 45, we have a report of a suspected robbery crew holed up in an abandoned warehouse. Multiple units responding. Proceed with caution.”

I immediately grabbed my gear, my heart rate spiking slightly.

This was serious.

Aaron, looked at me, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“You ready, Officer?”

I gave him a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes.

“Just follow my lead.”

The ride over was quick, the weight of the situation settling in as we pulled up to the scene.

The warehouse loomed in front of us, abandoned and desolate, like something out of a movie.

Officers were already moving into tactical formations, their expressions tense as they communicated through earpieces.

My stomach tightened as we got out of the car, the sound of officers shouting commands echoing through the air.

We were assigned to clear the second floor of the building.

I glanced up at the stairs, the darkened interior of the warehouse giving off an eerie vibe.

My instincts kicked in, but I pushed the thoughts aside, there was work to do.

Aaron and I moved cautiously up the stairs, checking our corners as we went.

The silence was deafening, the only sound our footsteps on the dusty floor.

It was too quiet.

As we reached the top of the stairs, I motioned for Aaron to take the left side while I covered the right.

We moved slowly, staying low to the ground.

My hand hovered near the grip of my weapon, but something felt... off.

And then, a single gunshot shattered the silence.

The sound was deafening, ringing in my ears, and before I could react, pain exploded in my side.

I gasped, the force of the impact knocking me to the ground.

My breath hitched as I tried to focus, feeling the warmth of blood soaking through my uniform.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay conscious. “Aaron…”

My voice was shaky, but I could still hear the panic in his voice as he called for backup.

But all I could focus on was the searing pain in my side and the growing sense of fear that gripped me.

At that moment my mind went blank and the last thing I could think about was... Tim

Meanwhile,

Tim was still at the precinct, sitting at his desk, his mind occupied with the usual paperwork and the hum of the station around him.

It was a rare quiet moment, one of those in-between times when the calls had slowed down, and officers were catching their breath.

He barely noticed the radio crackle to life at first.

But then, a voice came through, sharp and urgent:

"Officer down. Requesting medical assistance."

His stomach dropped.

A cold wave of dread swept over him, his breath catching in his throat.

The world around him seemed to slow as he stared at the radio.

He was trained for these moments, for the harsh reality that could hit at any moment.

But this? This felt different.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he looked around the bullpen. His heart was racing.

The words replayed in his head. Officer down.

The feeling of helplessness, of not knowing who hit him like a freight train.

But he had a feeling who it was, otherwise he wouldn't be reacting like this right?

"Who is it?" Tim's voice was low but desperate, laced with an emotion he wasn’t willing to admit.

The other officers in the room exchanged glances, but no one had an answer.

The station seemed to be holding its breath as everyone waited for more information.

Tim didn’t wait.

His eyes locked on his phone as it began to ring, the screen lighting up with a name he’d never wanted to see in this context: Grey.

His heart pounded harder, a sickening sense of dread seizing him.

He grabbed the phone with shaking hands, swiping it to answer.

"Grey," he said, his voice tight, barely holding it together.

There was a pause on the other end. A heavy silence.

Then, Captain Grey’s voice came through, thick with an emotion Tim couldn’t place.

“It’s Y/L/N, Tim,” Grey said, his tone grim.

“She’s been shot. They’re taking her to St. Joseph’s.”

Tim froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow.

Y/n has been hit. He couldn’t breathe.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one a blur of terror and disbelief.

His hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles white as he struggled to keep it together.

“Tim…” Grey’s voice softened, as if he could sense the storm raging inside him.

“Get to the hospital. They’ll need you there.”

Tim didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

He just slammed the phone down, his body already in motion, his heart racing like it might beat out of his chest.

The sound of his boots pounding against the floor was deafening in the silence of the station.

He didn’t think. He didn’t ask questions.

His mind was consumed by one thought, one single, unrelenting impulse: Get to you.

He grabbed his keys off the counter, his fingers fumbling as he rushed to the door.

He didn’t stop to grab his jacket, didn’t hesitate for a second.

His eyes were wild with panic, his breath shallow as he sprinted out of the station.

The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. Every second that ticked by felt like a hundred years.

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his grip so tight it was painful.

The sirens of other emergency vehicles echoed in the distance, but they only made the dread in his chest grow deeper.

What had happened? Were you okay?

His mind raced with questions, but every time he tried to focus on the answers, the fear crept back in.

He couldn’t let himself go there, not yet.

He didn't even get to apologize, to hold you, to tell you how much he loved you.

The hospital loomed ahead, its lights flashing in the early evening dusk.

Tim didn’t slow down as he pulled into the parking lot, his car screeching to a halt.

He was out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop, barely registering the cold night air as he rushed inside.

His heart was pounding in his ears, the noise around him a blur as he darted through the hospital’s hallways.

He had no idea where he was going, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get to her.

Finally, he reached the ER. The doors swung open, and he froze for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he scanned the room.

Nurses and doctors moved quickly, their expressions grim as they passed by.

"Sir," a voice called from behind him, and he turned to find one of the paramedics who had been at the scene and knew about Tim's arrival.

“She’s in surgery.”

Tim’s breath hitched, and he felt his knees go weak. Surgery.

The word felt like a punch to the gut.

“Is she…” His voice cracked, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t want to hear the answer.

The paramedic’s eyes softened, but there was no comfort in them.

“We don't know yet, the bullet went deep making it a dangerous operation. They’re doing everything they can.”

He was out of breath, his chest tight, his mind spinning.

He couldn’t shake the image of you he created in his brain, lying on the floor of that warehouse, the pain in your eyes, he wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there to protect you.

He walked over to the waiting area, collapsing into a chair, his head in his hands.

His body felt like it was made of stone, but his mind was all fire, anger, guilt, fear, tearing him apart.

All he could do was wait. And pray.

Tim sat in the sterile, quiet hospital room, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand, his eyes fixed on your face.

The soft beeping of the machines monitoring your vitals was the only sound that filled the space, but even that felt too loud, a reminder of the fragile thread that you were hanging on.

Tim had barely been able to breathe since he’d received the call about you.

The news had come like a punch to the gut,

'Officer down.'

It was all a blur after that, the frantic rush to St. Joseph’s, the sterile scent of the emergency room, the doctors giving him no guarantees.

They weren't sure you’d make it through.

Those words had haunted him, repeating in his mind over and over, and no matter how many times he told himself you were a fighter, the fear never quite went away.

He never told you that he loved you properly that morning, never had a chance to make it right.

The argument from the day before still felt raw, and the thought of not getting the chance to apologize tore at his heart like nothing else could.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Tim whispered softly, his voice barely audible.

“I should’ve told you I loved you before. I should’ve… I should’ve been better. I’m so sorry.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, as if his touch could bring you back to him.

Your hand felt warm in his, but the stillness of your body only made him feel more hopeless.

What if he’d never get the chance to make it right?

What if this was the last time he’d hold your hand, the last time he’d be able to tell you how much you meant to him?

Angela and Lucy arrived not long after, their faces a mix of concern and support as they entered the room.

Tim hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked away from you.

Lucy tried to lighten the mood, cracking jokes to get him to smile, but it felt impossible.

How could he laugh when you were lying there, so close to slipping away?

She offered him a drink, trying to give him space to breathe, and as soon as she left to go down the hall, Angela stayed behind, sitting beside him in the chair.

“You know, you don’t have to do this alone,”

Angela said, her voice soft but firm, as if trying to remind him he didn’t have to carry the weight of everything by himself.

“You’ve got people who care about you.”

Tim swallowed hard, running a shaky hand through his hair.

The guilt was suffocating, and the uncertainty of what would happen to you next made his chest ache.

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her, not after everything. The last words we said to each other… they weren’t even good ones. We fought. I fought with her, and now… now I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to make it right. What if she… what if she doesn’t wake up?”

Angela reached over, gently placing a hand on his arm, her eyes full of empathy.

“Tim, she knows. She knows you love her. She knows you’d never want to hurt her.”

“I should’ve told her that,” Tim muttered, looking down at his hands, his voice thick with regret.

“I should’ve told her before. She deserves to hear that from me, not after everything's already gone wrong. What if... What if she doesn’t know how much she means to me?”

Angela squeezed his arm in reassurance.

“She does, Tim. You just have to believe that. And when she wakes up, you can tell her then. You’ve still got time to make it right.”

“I just wish I’d made more time… before all this happened,”

Tim whispered, his voice barely above a breath, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

As the hours dragged on, Lucy came back with a drink, and the two women left, sensing that Tim needed some space.

They both exchanged a concerned glance before making their exit, but their presence, their words of support, had offered Tim a little comfort.

Still, as the door closed behind them, he was left alone in the room again with you.

His heart beat painfully in his chest, and the room felt colder now that the comforting voices of his friends were gone.

He sat back down in the chair beside your bed, his hand still holding yours as if he could keep you anchored in this world with his touch.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Your fingers twitched, and Tim's heart skipped a beat. His gaze snapped to you, not daring to blink, as he saw your eyelids flutter.

For a moment, he thought he might be imagining it, but then you blinked again, and this time, your eyes fluttered open, groggy but focused.

Tim didn’t know what to do first. He could barely breathe as he leaned closer, his hands shaking.

“Y/n?” His voice cracked, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

His hand moved to your cheek, gently caressing it as if to make sure you were real, that this wasn’t some dream he was having.

“Baby, you’re awake?”

Your eyes met his, blurry at first, but then clearer as you seemed to recognize him.

A small, weak smile spread across your face, and Tim felt the tight knot in his chest slowly start to loosen.

“Tim?” you whispered, your voice soft, hoarse from the intubation, but still full of recognition.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he breathed out, his voice thick with emotion.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tim called for the doctor immediately, unable to tear himself away from your side.

His heart raced as he watched you, feeling a mixture of relief and fear.

What if you didn’t make it through this?

What if you slipped away again before they could get to you?

But then the doctor arrived, checking your vitals, and gave them the good news.

You were stable. You had pulled through.

“You’re going to be okay,” the doctor said.

“You’ll need to stay here for a few days, but you’re out of the woods.”

Tim let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He felt a sense of relief that he hadn’t felt since the moment you were shot.

You were here.

You were with him.

I let out a small chuckle, despite the pain, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thought I was in heaven when I opened my eyes and saw all these lights.”

Tim couldn’t help but laugh, his hand tightening around yours.

“Please never scare me like that ever again." He said now much more seriously, before speaking up again.

"I’m so, so sorry, babe. For the argument, for the way I talked to you, for everything.”

My smile faltered, my eyes full of vulnerability.

I reached out with my free hand, gently cupping his face.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should’ve let us get so angry. I love you, Tim. I just… I just want you to know that.”

“I love you too,” Tim replied, his voice shaky.

“I love you more than anything. And I promise, I’ll never let something like that happen again. I won’t take you for granted. I’ll fight for us, always.”

My voice cracked as I spoke again, tears spilling from my eyes.

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Tim. I don’t ever want us to be apart again.”

Tim kissed my hand, his lips brushing over my knuckles, the tears still flowing freely from both of us.

“I swear, babe, I’ll make it right. I’ll spend every moment from here on out showing you how much I love you.”

“No more fights. No more leaving things unsaid. Let’s never do that again.”

Tim smiled, pressing his forehead against yours as he whispered the words that had been stuck in his heart all along.

“No more fights. I promise. We’re in this together."

"Always.”

In that moment, everything felt right again.

I was alive. I was here, with Tim.

And nothing, no matter what, would ever break us apart again.

The end

#tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x reader #tim x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfiction #the rookie x reader #the rookie imagine #the rookie fanfic #tim bradford x fem!reader

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forkshighschooler · 1 month ago

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can you do some Paul Lahote headcanons where he finally allows himself to be vulnerable around his imprint, the reader? (paul lahote x female!reader)

Thank you soo much, love your works 🩷

~love, Lacy

Paul Lahote Headcanon

( Him being vulnerable to his imprint)

A/N- Thank for reading some of my other work! I hope this is what you meant!if you have any others requests I would love to write again for you!

1.It Doesn’t Come Easy

Paul grew up equating strength with silence. Vulnerability was something people used against him — something unsafe. So when you come along and treat his rage and silence with patience instead of fear, it unnerves him. It takes months for him to realize you’re not just tolerating him — you see him, and you stay.

⸻

2. He Talks About His Dad Once

Late one night, you’re both lying in bed — he’s warm behind you, arm loosely wrapped around your waist. Out of nowhere, he says, “He used to hit the wall. Never me. Just the wall. But I always thought… someday he would.”

He doesn’t elaborate. You just hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. It’s quiet, but your presence says everything. Paul doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t sleep much that night. He just holds you tighter.

⸻

3. He’s Afraid You’ll Leave

Even after imprinting, there’s a voice in the back of his head that whispers: She could still leave you.

It’s not insecurity in the usual sense — it’s abandonment trauma, buried deep. You catch it in the way he sometimes stares at the door too long when you say you’re going out. The way he texts, “you okay?” when you’re gone longer than expected. The way he sleeps with his arms wrapped around you, like you might vanish.

⸻

4. He Trusts You With His Temper

He tries so hard to keep his temper in check around you — and he’s mostly good at it. But one day, something sets him off. You’re there when he phases, panting and growling in the trees. Instead of being scared, you speak to him softly.

“Paul, I’m not leaving. Come back to me.”

He does. Shaking, naked, eyes wide with shame. He expects you to flinch. You just wrap him in the blanket you brought and rest your forehead against his chest. His breathing slows. That’s when he knows: you’re his anchor.

⸻

5. He Lets You Touch His Scars

Paul never talks about the worst fights. But when you trail your fingers along an old scar on his ribcage one night, he doesn’t stop you. He just says, voice low, “That one was mine. I lost control.”

You kiss it without a word. He closes his eyes and exhales — like he’s been holding that shame in for years.

⸻

6. His Love Isn’t Loud — It’s Honest

He doesn’t say “I love you” often. But when he does, it’s raw and unguarded. It’s whispered in your hair when he thinks you’re asleep. It’s muttered into your skin after a bad nightmare. It’s spoken with wide eyes during arguments, as if losing you would be the final crack in him.

“I love you,” he says one night, barely above a breath. “Even when I’m scared of what that means.”

⸻

7. He Apologizes — Really Apologizes

It’s a big step for Paul. Not the casual “my bad,” but the real, trembling kind: “I was scared and I pushed you away. That’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”

His voice shakes. His jaw tightens like he expects you to lash out or walk away.

Instead, you cup his cheek and say, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

Paul doesn’t speak. He just leans into your hand like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

⸻

8. The Softest Moment: He Lets Himself Fall Apart

It’s a quiet night. Rain outside. No patrol, no pack, no pressure. You make him tea. He sits beside you on the floor, head resting against your shoulder. For once, he lets the silence stretch — no front, no mask. Just a man who’s tired. A boy who grew up too fast. A soul learning how to be loved.

He whispers, “I don’t know how to do this. But I want to try. With you.”

You brush your thumb under his eye where a tear threatened to fall. “That’s all I need.”

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

#forkshighschooler #twilight fanfic #twilight wolfpack #twilight x reader #paul lahote x reader #twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x yn #wolfpack headcanon

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astuteology · 9 months ago

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Some more astrology notes/observations🍀🦫

🪐Aries placements are more observant than Scorpio placements. Here's why- they are the babies of the zodiacs, and as a baby, they observe everyone and everything around them. Learning things on their own. Knows who has bad aura or energy.

🪐Planets in the 5th house makes you more appealing to others than planets in the 1st house.

🪐Capricorns placements are hard to anger but once angered, their rage is worse than an aquarius or a cancer.

🪐Underdeveloped cancers fit the stereotype of gemini having 2 faces than gemini itself.

🪐Mercury in the 1st house individuals are turned off "badly" by people who talk shit and speak with half knowledge.

🪐1st house moon has this brightness on their face that makes others stop and stare. I'm sure they've had this question "do I have something in my face?". Actually you do, it's your magnetism.

🪐Underdeveloped Scorpio rising are all talk and no action. They're gonna be like "oh I'm gonna show them why they shouldn't have done that!". And then they run away, avoiding confrontation.

🪐As much as an aries like direct, clear and open communication, they themselves act passive-aggressive sometimes.

🪐Speaking of aries, their love for freedom is above everything. They want love that frees them. Same goes for aquarius.

🪐Virgo's perfectionism can make them loyal and dedicated partners.

🪐Cancer sun + leo moon, when in an argument with their love, they became dramatic and attention seeking, needing reassurance.

🪐Aquarius sun + Scorpio moon makes the individual fear intimacy and emotional vulnerability. Aqua's reluctance to open up and scorpio's intense emotional needs. This create a push and pull dynamic.

🪐Taurus venus + Sagittarius mars makes an individual have conflicting desires. Commitment vs exploration. Stability vs adventure. Emotional intensity vs intellectual connection.

🪐Scorpio placements are often lost in their thoughts even more than gemini or pisces placements. They often feel like outsiders, observing life from afar.

🪐Leo placements are passionate. Like VERY passionate. They do be having a tendency to burn the bridges, quick and fast.

🪐Capricorns often possess a witty, understated sense of humor.

🪐Speaking of Capricorn, they are sooooooooo slow to trust. Even more than a Scorpio.

🪐Aries moon is as sensitive as cancer and pisces moon. They feel so deeply.

🪐Aries placements competitiveness can lead to sabotage and self destruction.

🪐Cancers strive for perfection more than a virgo. But this can lead to anxiety and burnout.

🪐Taurus placements can love you and never let you know. Ever.

🪐I've seen virgo placements being obsessive in relationships more than Scorpio placements. (Tell me why, please.)

🪐Sagittarius placements are often restlessness. They are looking for something that they don't even know.

🪐Mars square uranus- self destructive tendencies.

🪐Aries venus in the 12th house: hidden vulnerability- fear of loss. Fear of losing themselves or their lover.

🪐Mercury square neptune- inner turmoil and emotional depth.

🪐Moon square Saturn: inner critic. Perfectionism.

🪐Gemini in the 12th- easily distracted. Easily scattered. A small memory can scatter them.

🪐Cancer moon in the 12th: fear of abandonment. Fear of emotional rejection. Difficulty in trusting others.

🪐Sun square Jupiter- confidence or arrogance?

🪐Sun conjunct saturn- fear of not shining. Fear of not meeting the expectations. Self doubt.

🪐Mercury conjunct pluto- obsessive tendencies.

🪐Mercury square chiron- self doubt that feels like it goes on forever. Self criticism.

🪐Venus square Saturn- harmony or authenticity?

🪐Libra venus in the 12th- fear of opening up. Fear of being judged. Fear of angering your partner.

🪐Pluto square moon- terrified of superficial people tbh. They are very very very scared of opening up.

🪐Pluto trine neptune: rebirth. Transformation. Regeneration. Renewal.

🪐Jupiter square uranus: restlessness for something. Something that needs a change.

🪐Jupiter conjunct mars- fear if the unknown. (Strange? I know.)

🪐Saturn square moon- weight of responsibilities. Their head are usually heavy. (I'll fight with god to take half of your responsibilities.)

🪐Uranus square venus: detachment. Fear of intimacy. May even lose interest in love.

🪐Neptune square moon- reality or illusion? Is it real or is it fake? Am I being guided or am I being lied to?

🪐Scorpio in the 8th house is same as the Scorpio sun, moon or venus.

🪐Aquarius moon experience emotions in different ways, often needing space to process.

🪐Aquarius ascendant- unpredictable first impression.

#astrology observations #astro notes #astro placements #astrology placements #astro community #astrology notes #scorpio #aries #libra

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prettycalla · 3 months ago

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|| obiurgatio ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader

Summary: You are a tactile person. Your husband is a jealous man. (Request prompt)

Word Count: 892

Tags and warnings: Geta is jealous, reader is tired, they love each other though, mild arguing, fluff, no use of Y/N.

(To the anon who requested this, I hope this is okay! I'm not sure if it's exactly what you had asked for, but my writer's block is still pretty bad and I did my best.)

Masterlist

There are many things that you and Geta do not agree on. Having a level head and raised with siblings, you are often able to rise above petty squabbles, and allow your husband his opinions while you maintain your own.

But there are times when you must draw the line.

Geta has been pacing back and forth across your shared chambers for the better part of five minutes now, turning the same ring around and around on his finger in agitation. You watch him quietly from where you are reclined on the lectus by the window. A light breeze caresses your skin and you are grateful for it, as you can feel a headache quickly building.

“You have embarrassed me,” he says, finally breaking the tense silence.

You sigh. This is not the first time he has said it.

“You are embarrassing yourself with your childish behaviour,” you retort.

He stops then, glaring at you.

“You would blame me for your actions?” he questions in a clipped tone.

You bury your face in your hands for a moment. For as much as your affections run deep for your husband, he is also often the most frustrating man you have ever encountered.

“Please explain to me what it is that I have done to offend you,” you say, keeping your voice as calm and diplomatic as possible.

It proves difficult.

“You, with the senator’s wife-" he starts, struggling to find words. "How you acted with her. It was not appropriate.”

Geta pulls a face of disgust.

You bite your tongue, allowing yourself a moment to collect yourself. Geta has always had a way of making the most mundane of things sound like a travesty when it suits him. Kissing your dear friend on the cheek in a public setting is one of those things, apparently.

“She is my friend, Geta. We have always greeted each other in such a manner,” you explain tiredly.

You have had this argument many times before, and each time it is the same.

You have always been a tactile person. When you were very small, you would clamber into your parents’ laps and press kisses to their faces, expecting the same in return. On more than one occasion, you had fallen asleep in the arms of one of your siblings, warm and safe in their embrace. Even as you grew older, kisses on the forehead or cheek and lingering touches on the forearm or shoulder were how you showed your affection to those dearest to you. There is never any hidden intent behind it - it is how you show love.

Marrying an Emperor did not suddenly strip you of everything you once were.

Your husband, however, does not see it that way, and while you are frustrated by him, you understand. His childhood was worlds apart from yours. He was taught from an early age to lock his heart away, to learn to rule with an iron fist. That to love is to show weakness.

How long it took you to slowly pull away each carefully constructed piece of armour he had placed around himself. Even now, there is still work to be done.

There are times when you look at him, you see not the feared Emperor of Rome, but the fearful little boy that still lingers.

You know that he does not mean to hurt you - he is so afraid of being hurt himself. He is afraid of losing you.

Resolved, you rise to your feet, reaching out to lightly grasp his arms.

“Husband,” you say gently.

He allows your touch, but he will not look at you.

“Geta,” you try again, a soft smile on your lips.

Finally he looks up, meeting your gaze. You take his hand in yours and place it over your heart.

“This belongs to you,” you tell him sincerely. “No matter what, this will always belong to you.”

Geta’s tongue runs across his lip nervously, before he slowly reaches for your hand and places it over his own heart.

“Just as mine belongs to you,” he replies in a whisper.

Your smiles widens, and you lean in to press a kiss to his mouth. He is hesitant at first, before he finally gathers you up in his arms in a fierce embrace.

He does not apologise - there is still much more work to be done - but you feel it in how he holds you. When you part, his dark eyes are shining with tears.

“No more of this," you murmur, gently running your thumb across his cheek, "A God has no need for envy.”

"You are devoted," he says. It is not a question.

"Until my last breath, and beyond the stars, carissime," you reply, leaning in to kiss him again. "My love for others does not negate my love for you."

He watches you intently, his gaze flickering across your face, as if to find even the smallest amount of deceit.

He finds none.

You know that he will not change overnight, and this may not be the last time you have this very argument. But knowing that he is willing to let you in, to listen to you, is no small feat, and you do not take it for granted.

Your husband is a stubborn man, but he has certainly met his match in you.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

#emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #emperor geta #geta #requests #prettycalla writes #angie writes

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mamiobesssionfics · 1 month ago

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Where You Said You’d Be

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Warnings: mention of past abuse, angst

Summary: You made her promise, long ago, that no matter how bad things got between you, she would never let you fall asleep alone.

It wasn’t a complicated promise.

You had asked her early on when the two of you were just learning how to be soft around each other, what it would take for you to sleep peacefully again.

The answer had been simple.

“Just don’t let me sleep alone. Please.”

You had whispered it one night in her arms, her fingers tracing the outline of your spine. You had never explained the full reason.

Not at first. Not until months later, when the trust had begun to bloom.

Your ex-boyfriend had made the nights a battlefield.

The bed had become a place of tension, of fear.

You never knew if sleep would bring rest or violence if the turn of a blanket would lead to a bruise, a shove, or worse.

Even long after he was gone, you still woke in a panic, you swore you could hear footsteps that didn’t belong.

Rhea had listened, jaw clenched so tight her teeth might crack.

And she had pulled you into her arms like you were something sacred.

“I’ll never let you sleep alone again,” she had promised, voice low and steady against your skin. “Not even after the worst day. Not even if we fight. Never.”

And for a long time, she didn’t.

No matter how exhausted she was, no matter how busy her schedule got, she always found her way to your side.

Even when there had been arguments, tension, and slammed doors, she still crawled into bed beside you, pulled you close, and let sleep find you in the safety of her arms.

Until tonight.

Rhea had come home late, looking like she’d been fighting storms.

She barely glanced at you.

She threw her bag on the floor, kicked off her boots, and started snapping at you about dishes left in the sink.

“You could have done something while I was gone,” she said, brushing past you.

“I did,” you said quietly, confused by her sudden coldness. “I just, I didn’t get to the kitchen.”

“Right. Of course, you didn’t.”

It spiralled from there.

Words flung carelessly, old wounds tugged open. She was tired and frustrated. You were hurt, trying to keep your voice calm, trying to reach her.

But she didn’t want to be reached.

When you both stood on opposite ends of the room, breathing heavily, your throat tight with unspoken pleas, she turned away.

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” she muttered.

You froze.

“Rhea,” you said, voice cracking, “please. Don’t.”

She didn’t answer.

You waited.

She didn’t come.

The bed felt like a tomb.

You tried to stay awake. Stared at the ceiling. Curled up with your back against the cold side of the mattress, trying to remember her warmth.

Eventually, sleep dragged you under.

And with it came the dream.

You were back in that place. That voice. That room. The air turned heavy, his hands grabbing you, shoving you down, your throat closing in terror. You screamed and screamed and screamed.

Until you woke, sobbing.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t tell where you were. You were shaking, crying out into the dark.

“Please stop, please don’t, please don’t touch me, please…”

The door slammed open.

Rhea was there in seconds, still barefoot, eyes wide with panic. “Hey! Hey, it’s me!” She dropped to her knees beside the bed, grabbing your arms. “Baby, I’m here, I’m here.”

You flinched. “Don’t let him touch me again, please don’t let him-”

“Shhh, no one’s touching you,” she whispered, climbing into the bed and pulling you into her lap. “I’ve got you. He’s not here. He’ll never hurt you again. Never.”

You were shaking so hard that your teeth clicked.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sobbed.

She held you tighter, swaying gently. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I broke my promise. I didn’t think, I just, I was angry and tired and selfish.”

You pressed your face into her chest. Her heartbeat was wild beneath your ear.

“You said you’d always stay,” you said through sobs.

“I know,” she whispered, kissing your hair. “I’ll never walk out again. I swear to you. I will never leave you to face the night alone. Not ever.”

You clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you from falling.

Eventually, the tremors stopped.

She tucked you under the blankets, curled up behind you, her arm strong and sure around your waist.

She didn’t let go. Not even for a second. She whispered apologies, lullabies, promises.

Her breath is warm against your neck.

And when you slept again, she was there. Just like she’d promised.

Right where she said she’d be.

You woke slowly.

The room was bathed in early grey light, soft and quiet, the world not quite awake yet.

And neither were you.

But what you noticed first, before the ache in your throat, before the memories creeping at the edge of your thoughts, was the warmth.

Her.

She hadn’t let go.

Rhea was still there, arms wrapped around you like a second heartbeat. One hand rested flat on your stomach, her nose tucked gently against the nape of your neck. You could feel her breathing slow and steady, like the ocean in sleep.

It felt safe. Real.

For a few moments, you didn’t move.

You just let the warmth of her back into you.

And then, as if sensing the shift in your breathing, she stirred.

Her arm tightened around you, holding you closer.

“You awake?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep and guilt.

You nodded.

Rhea pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you whispered.

She shifted slightly, enough to prop herself up on her elbow and look at you properly.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she hadn’t slept much after you did.

“I messed up,” she said. “No excuses. No defence. I let my mood take over and I forgot what you needed from me. I broke a promise I never should have broken.”

You looked at her, really looked, and saw it in her, the regret, fear, shame. The same emotions that had clawed through you in the dark, now etched into her features.

“I didn’t want space,” you said softly. “I just wanted you.”

“I know. And I gave you the one thing I promised I never would.” She swallowed hard. “I heard you crying. It- God, it felt like I’d ripped the floor out from under you. I never want to hear that sound again.”

You blinked fast, throat tight.

“I don’t blame you for being tired,” you said gently. “But when you weren’t there, it felt like… he was.”

Rhea closed her eyes like your words physically hurt her.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said firmly. “Today. Tomorrow. However long it takes. But for now, I just want to take care of you. Let me?”

You nodded, and she kissed your forehead with such love that didn’t belong to someone called The Nightmare.

She pulled the covers over both of you again and stayed wrapped around you, your bodies entwined like roots grounding each other.

Later, when the sun crept higher, she charmed you out of bed with soft touches and kisses.

She guided you to the bathroom and helped you brush your teeth with her arms around your waist.

Then she made you tea, your favourite kind, with a little extra honey and a clean hoodie draped over your shoulders like a hug.

She called out of training.

Didn’t even glance at her phone after that.

Instead, she stayed home, set up a nest of blankets on the sofa, and let you pick the movie. You barely watched it. You just curled into her, her hand resting protectively on your knee, thumb tracing circles into your skin.

She made you lunch. Cut the crusts off your sandwich. Kissing your cheeks between every bite.

“Do you still want me?” she asked quietly at one point, voice low like she feared the answer.

You turned to her, placing your hand on her cheek. “I never stopped.”

She kissed you like an apology, like a vow.

Like you were everything.

And that night, when sleep came again, she was already waiting. Arms open, body warm, lips at your temple.

“I’m here.” she whispered, as you drifted off.

And this time, you believed her.

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heartz4rafe · 7 days ago

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pov: rafe cameron x stargirl!reader

stargirl!reader who… doesn’t take any shit from rafe. she hits back, breaks things, gets into screaming matches with him because she’d rather die than be pushed around by a man.

stargirl!reader who… is fucking loaded but never spends her own money. she’s her father’s golden girl, has never been denied anything in her life and rafe knows better than to tell her no.

stargirl!reader who… is a master of detachment. she’ll make rafe work. rarely folds first after an argument. she takes apologies in cash only!

stargirl!reader who… kinda has a drug problem. loves white lines, between her and rafe they run barry dry.

stargirl!reader who… is super maddy perez coded. literally the baddest on the island. she has a heart of gold but she’ll switch up if she needs to. she can fight.

toxic!rafe who… needs someone to keep him in check. he loves that stargirl fights back, he likes a challenge. it keeps him on his toes.

toxic!rafe who… is crazy possessive, almost codependent. gets reckless when he’s high and isn’t scared to beat someone’s face in to defend his girl. he never knows when to stop, especially when he’s coked out.

toxic!rafe who… is sooo down bad for stargirl. he begs, he eats pussy, he literally kneels in front of her. he lets her walk him like a dog bc he likes it.

toxic!rafe who… is nothing if not over the top. he drops 50k on a promise ring because he needs you to know he’s serious. sends 1000 roses to your door when you have him blocked. he doesn’t like giving you space, and doesn’t believe in boundaries.

toxic!rafe who… is so nate jacobs coded. he’s scary sometimes but he plays the game so well, you just can’t hate him.

this is being deleted later i fear i just felt like writing something

#rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron prompt #rafe obx #outer banks #first post kinda nervous 😛

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madwomansapologist · 3 months ago

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IF YOU'RE SICK LIGHT A CANDLE (JUST DON'T ASK ME TO LEAVE) | N. KENTO

synopsis ; kento never intended to hate you. it wasn’t his fault. he won't steal from you the credit of being the most irritating omega alive, not when you work so hard to deserve the title. his only fault, and for that kento takes all the blame, is his inability to stay away from you. not that he wants to.

tags ; no curses, omegaverse, office au, meet ugly, alpha nanami x beta-passing omega reader, one sided delusional hate to love, fell first/feel harder? more like fell flat on their faces with those untied shoes, nanami kento the yearning final boss, heavy on possessiveness, love confessions, reader's autistic, explicit sexual content ft. virginity loss (nanami), blowjob, facesitting, knotting, heat, lowkey sub!nanami.

warnings ; 13K words (give it a chance), gender expectations being surreal and bad past relationships.

also ; ao3 link | spotify playslist | pinterest board

[ignored lessons]

First day into elementary school, blonde hair combed to exhaustion and round glasses with thick lenses, Kento wrote down everything that sounded important. Languages are ancient, his meticulous handwriting occupied the very first line of the notebook. Black ink, underlined twice.

Annoyingly meticulous handwriting, since Kento remember being mocked by a taller boy for ripping out one of the pages after a misspell. He also remembers it being something about words as evidence of how long mankind survived—by the time he didn’t know what mankind meant. His teacher was too old and far too poetic but learning new words made Kento excited for Mondays.

Weeks later, Kento had a secret: he loved studying. He despised school around his friends, but Kento always knew what chapter the teacher finished off last class or what pages to read for the next exam. The first week of school meant discovering the semester’s mandatory reading—Kento would devour it all in a month.

His family praised him for being smart, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kento wouldn’t believe once they started saying words can lose meaning if not used right. That’s the opposite of what his literature teacher spent the entire year explaining. He has his notebook to prove it.

“If they did”, Kento reasoned with his dad as if he was the adult. “Not a single language would have survived. You yell my name all the time and I still answer. It has the same meaning as it ever did.”

“Some words, if used too often, will lose meaning inside of your heart”, his dad sighed. “Hate is one of those words. One you use way too much, puppy.”

That made Kento snarl. “I’m eight and a half!”

“On that we won’t argue”, he grinned. Messing up the hair Kento combed for ages, he went back to slicing vegetables. Without washing his hands first, Kento quietly judged him. “You’re just like your mom. I bet you’ll be an alpha.”

Kento pretended to agree since he planned on not eating green bell pepper at dinner. His father should be grateful that he isn’t an adult already, because Adult Kento wouldn’t fear disgusting food as punishment for saying the truth. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed of being right. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed of being himself.

As if presenting as an omega or beta would stop him from questioning what doesn’t make sense. And that whole story about losing meaning inside his heart? If I forget the meaning of a word, Kento cursed inside his bedroom, I can just read a dictionary.

His father was being unfair and Kento absolutely hates that.

He thought adults didn’t need to agree with illogical arguments, but years later Adult Kento was made aware of his past self’s mistake. The countless times he heard that hate is such a strong word without uttering a response. One that he shouldn’t be so casual about. Otherwise, they always warn, it’ll turn meaningless.

Needless to say, Kento hates illogical arguments. And he hates his neighbor’s predisposition to loud music. Not charging his phone at night, working overtime, stumbling on a stair in the dark. Green bell pepper, as one does. And you. Recently, Kento hates you the most.

Better wage, same workhours, different boss: it was a good offer. Good enough for Kento to submit his resignation letter and start as an accountant in this firm. Annoying tasks, tense meetings, coffee machine out of order: with this salary, nothing would be a problem for Kento. But you had to ruin it.

After a quick meeting with the manager and being introduced to the financial team, Kento placed his briefcase on the desk designated for him. That is, on what little space was left for him. He sighed for the first time that day.

Frames lacking pictures, empty perfume flask, crumpled posts its. There was a mug filled with pens and a hairbrush, yet most of them were all over the place. Who needs that many pens? Who uses pens nowadays? The pen-hairbrush mug had lipstick marks on.

Kento sighed for the second time when he looked at the desk beside his.

It’s clear his colleague doesn’t know the basics of a keyboard, considering the bag—among many colorful brooches he found one with the omega symbol—pressing P onto an open page. Neither do they understand that one shouldn’t pile used plastic cups and folded science magazines on top of a printer. A vase of magnolias was a surprise amidst all that mess. One Kento quickly forgot, his right eyelid twitching at the sight of acetone and nail polish near piles of documents.

“Morning”, an energetic voice scared Kento off his thoughts. He suppressed a snarl with ease. “You’re the new accountant, right?”

He expected you to be embarrassed but all Kento saw was an omega far more interest in her coffee than his face. As if you could even taste coffee with that much whipped cream. Staring at your eyelids, he didn’t notice the third sigh.

What he noticed was your fully exposed throat. No adhesive patch over your glands or collar around your neck. Golden bracelets covered part of your inner wrists, tinkling pendants bringing more attention to your bare glands.

Thankfully, there was no nauseating scent—a side effect of his suppressants. There was no scent at all coming from you. Good. It would feel like a bad omen to throw up on his first day at this job.

Kento could never go out like that. A dark blue collar covered the base of his neck, thick leather bracelets doing the same beneath his sleeves. He has spares on his briefcase and a flask of black pepper perfume―the only Kento ever found able of covering his natural scent. And it only works because of the hellish amount of suppressants he ingests daily.

That doesn’t mean he judges you for not using anything to cover your scent. The opposite of his, yours is delicate enough to go unnoticed without effort. Still, he would bet money that you forgot to buy an adhesive patch on. And for that Kento does judge you.

“Yes, I am”, he bent down, trying to remain polite. “Nanami Kento.”

“No need for formalities”, you gestured for him to stood up. Posture fixed, Kento watched you unlock the second drawer of your desk. In quick movements, you put all your mess inside the drawer and lock it once more.

Sitting down, you smiled. It reached your eyes, baring your fangs to him. “Welcome.” After telling him your name, you took a sip from the so-called coffee and grabbed your bag. “I’m here if you need any help.”

Kento made a silent promise to never ever come to you if he needed help.

Erasing everything your bag pressed, you searched for something inside it and quickly forgot about Kento’s existence. He threw away a few ignored crumbled papers and came back to his desk to find you holding a headset.

Not only you didn’t care about the organization of your workplace, but you were also unable to apologize or even collect all your things on your own. And as if it wasn’t enough, you offered help just to immediately make sure Kento wouldn’t be able to talk to you.

Adult Kento realized that, to a certain extent, his father was right. That same lesson he heard time and time again, even after his dad claimed to have given up on making him understand, was correct. Inside his heart, the word hate lost its meaning. You and loud music can’t be described with the same word. Maybe he really shouldn’t have used it so often…

No. Kento realized that wasn’t the problem. This isn’t about a word losing meaning, but simply about it not being the correct choice to describe what Kento feels about you.

Within knowing you for less than two minutes, he knew. Kento loathed you.

He’s so nice, you put the noise canceling headset to check on the presentation for today’s meeting. You made a mental note to search in your folders for the introductory material to send him. He didn’t care about all this mess. I’ll get him some coffee later.

[heavy silence]

College was a sour disillusion. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t, but Kento had to face the facts: he wouldn’t learn much there. Not to say his professors weren’t qualified—they all made sure to overexplain their resumes. They were simply incompetent at teaching.

Celebrating with wine that didn’t deserve the bottle it was on, Kento hung his diploma below old shelves and went on with his life. All by himself. Kento came to regret that later. He wondered how it would feel like. To have someone to celebrate with. Vinegar wine and all that.

At job interviews he would say his college years taught him to communicate, collect problem solver abilities and manage to work as a team. The truth? The most important lesson Kento taught himself was how to make lists.

Concepts not fully explained, names no professor bothered to spell out, books mentioned on the thirtieth’s slide footnote. The only thing Kento carried to his classes were an agenda and pens. After his lists of what seemed important were done, he would head home and try to learn something before his shift. Once he got it, Kento would risk the topic and move on.

It was addictive. Marking a task as complete. From what bills to pay to what groceries to buy; if it was something Kento could divide into smaller tasks, it became easier to accomplish. Suddenly he didn’t have to clean his entire house, only to do the dishes.

(Later, Kento noticed a weird pattern. Most of his lists had seven points.)

His phone replaced the crumpled agenda, but nothing replaced this ceaseless need to organize his life. An urge that simply evolved as the years passed. Boxes checked disguised as caution.

A month into this workplace and a couple of lists already occupied his phone. Kento annotated daily and weekly tasks before the pattern haunting the corner of his desk was noticed. Unable to unsee it, Annoying Moments was created.

And there wasn’t a working day all boxes weren’t checked.

She’ll say hello by handing me an awful coffee mug.

She’ll greet every single person.

She’ll comment on the weather.

She’ll invite me to lunch with other accountants.

She won’t throw away a plastic cup.

She’ll joke about something I don’t know.

She’ll smile at me before clocking off.

Until the morning you weren’t there.

Your absence meant no small talk or sugary coffee for Kento to endure. Nails tapping his part of the desk, smiles to not reciprocate and forgotten trash for him to ignore. It also meant no boxes checked but for once Kento couldn’t care.

It was a good day. A productive one as well considering Kento waited for the weekly meeting to start rather than rushing to the conference room. The problem was that he saw you there, too.

You weren’t late. There wouldn’t be a coffee with whipped cream beside your notebook if you were. Kento lost track of you in the crowded elevator, spellbound by the blend of too many scents, but back at his desk you were still not there. Absent, just like your flower vase.

She must have been promoted, Kento continued to work. Good for her, good for me.

As usual, Kento was the last one to go home. He stretched and unwrinkled his suit, checking if the collar around his neck was in the right place. Kento grabbed his air pods and turned off the lights.

“Hey! I’m here.”

Kento eyes widened. A beat later, he turned around and saw a blue glim at the back of the office. He really thought to be alone. There was no scent to proof him wrong. Good thing Kento overgrew talking to himself when concentrating.

Kento turned on the lights. “Have a good night.”

A head rose above the sea of computers. “You too”, you waved at him. No smile to be seen. Not even a small one.

The elevator door was about to close when Kento headed back into the office. Not knowing why or what he would do, Kento walked to your desk prepared to surprise himself with whatever words come out of his mouth. Staring at the empty flower vase, he hesitated.

His presence didn’t surprise you. Nothing new. Kento could never totally hide his scent. It doesn’t matter how many suppressants are forced down his throat or what collars he puts on. Kento is too much, it doesn’t matter if he tries not to.

“New desk”, Kento gave a try at small talk.

You glanced at him, then went back at typing. “Even someone stupid like me can understand when my presence isn’t welcome”, you hummed, attention shattered. “Good night.”

He should’ve gone home. Just as he should’ve stayed in the elevator. Instead, Kento found himself acting on a whim for the second time that day—second time that week, month, year. He sat down.

Watching you attach files to an email, Kento tried to understand what made you think that of him. Besides the fact he does not welcome your presence in any sense. Kento never noticed he expressed so clearly his inner thoughts. Although it makes him want to snarl sometimes, Kento remains polite no matter what.

“You saw it”, he stated. It was the only viable option.

“Annoying Moments.” Kento heard no grudge on your voice. It just made him feel worse. “I was right beside you when you opened it. Happens all the time.”

His entrails burned. “People make lists about you all the time?”, Kento managed to utter.

“No. That was a first.” Glancing over everything, you searched for any typos. After finding none, you faced Kento. You did enough for today. “People think I’m not around because I have no scent. Don’t apologize. Don’t bother pretending you’re sorry. You’re only embarrassed for being caught up acting so childish.”

Your honesty is sharp. It cuts deep. Unlike his omissions for the sake of a peaceful coexistence. There was no secret meaning he had to look for. You’re not ashamed of being yourself, hiding beneath layers of politeness. Your heart is at the tip of your tongue, beating at your every word.

Kento swallowed his pride. It hurt him to reciprocate your gaze—unaware of you biting your tongue to not laugh at his blushing cheeks. “Why are you here?”

You blinked twice. “I’m working.”

“It’s late”, he said. “You’re never here at night.”

You turned everything off. His left eye twitched at you using the flared end of your high heel to press the CPU’s energy button without closing any of the open pages.

“This request took more time than I’ve imagined. No. I’ve been telling this lie all day. I forgot about it completely. And you?”

“Working overtime.”

“Of course you are”, you stood up, stretching your arms as you walked towards the elevator. Kento followed you and pressed the last button. “You seem like the type.”

“The type to what?”

Feeling it all moving down, you closed your eyes and imagined your soft bed waiting for you. It didn’t help to make you feel less tired. “To live to work.”

“You seem like the type, too”, Kento stared at your closed eyelids. “To forget important things.”

You opened an eye. He looked away. “Because I am. Will you add that to your list?”

“No”, Kento crossed his arms. “It doesn’t particularly annoy me.”

That earned Kento a good laugh. Not a chuckle, roll of eyes or polite smile. A loud, tempestuous laugh. Kento could almost feel it vibrating on your chest, fangs glistening as you failed to breathe. The type of laugh that hurts a tiny bit. His exhaustion faded away.

As you shrank in yourself, hands covering your face as if laughing would be enough to make it fall out of place, Kento noticed something new. A scent faint yet evocative. So delicate it would’ve been ignored if you two weren’t alone in a closed space. Saline and distant, like a half-forgotten memory of the sea.

You smelled like vacations.

With an acute bell the door opened and revealed the underground parking. You headed out first. Motionless, Kento stared at your back. He couldn’t look away. You waved at him, laughter transmuted into a tender smile.

“Good night, Nanami-kun”, your words reached him in soft waves. Nothing like the effortless tone he heard minutes before. It made him want to tell another joke. “See you tomorrow.”

Kento breathed deep, not feeling nauseous at all.

[not apologizing]

It took you a few hours to realize. Staring at the empty spot on the desk, you doubted yourself. Did the vase really disappear, or did you just forget you took it home with you? You do that all the time. Assume having lost things you put somewhere else.

The realization hits when you smell flowers in the air. It made you turn your head, following the invisible path the gentle perfume made to reach your nose. A blonde head became the focus of your gaze. And beside it, that old vase filled with lilies and gardenias.

“What’s with the smile?”, Shoko murmured. As your gaze flicked, her black eyes had already landed on her wristwatch. Counting down the minutes, she sighed. “Thought of something funny?”

“Not really. Just feeling proud”, you said. “Found something I almost lost.”

It was supposed to overwhelm you. Different scents and artificial perfumes. For omegas and alphas, it would be normal for it to be too much sometimes. It would be fine to feel as if the air unsheathed a weapon design to bring you down.

It all is too little for you. You don’t notice scents unless someone ignores your personal space. Your fangs hurt if you use them to cut meat. Those uncontrollable primal desires you heard of have never been more than a concept. Unforgiven urges seem to be forgiven when it comes to you.

Presenting a secondary gender should make you feel different. Still the same, but now aware of something new. Like finding the last piece of a puzzle in your pocket. You already saw most of the landscape. It would make no real difference to see the bottom of a mountain. But now you see the picture wholly, it’s just as you’ve imagined, and it still does make a difference.

You presented as an omega two years ago. Not as a preteen, which is the most common, nor in your teenager years. It was as an adult, with an adult job and adult bills to pay. No inner revelation, all you got from it were exhaustive heats and scentless glands.

Too little where you should be too much, according to the last omega you dated. You got used to saying you’re a beta to avoid invasive questions—although betas notice scents and an omega on heat would be mistaken as someone applying too much perfume by you. She said lying was less embarrassing than the truth.

Presenting as an omega, you found the last piece. It didn’t fit into the landscape anymore, too crumpled to be useful. You think it depends on who you ask. If an incomplete puzzle is worth the time it demands.

“That’s a change of pace for you”, Shoko stood up, absentmindedly grabbing her jacket. “I’ll use the bathroom and then I’m ready to go.”

You moved as well. Leaning on the desk, your fingers rubbed the scratches from all the times you dropped something on it. The flowers tide up nicely with a blue-ribbon bow keeping them together. There was even a coffee mug.

“I’ve told you not to apologize.”

Before concentrating on his notebook, Kento stared at you with what you assume to be the closest he can get from looking surprised. His eyebrows moved slightly up. Or maybe you’re imagining things.

“I’m not.” Kento took off his glasses. He opened his drawer, then a box, and got a tissue to clean it. Huh. When you remember to wear glasses, you clean them on whatever blouse you’re on. “I’ve meant to tell you to enjoy your sugar bomb. It’s cold now.”

You took a sip of it anyway. Instant regret. Every muscle on your face squirmed in directions you never thought to be possible. It all came in waves. “You think”, it took everything on you to not throw up. “You think a human being can ingest this much sugar?”

Kento frowned. Now it has moved, you’re sure of it. You think. “I didn’t put that much.”

“You could kill a small horse with that”, you put the mug down. “Congrats, Nanami-kun. You created a weapon of mass destruction.”

Kento chuckled. “Of said horses?”

It couldn’t even be considered a laugh. All Kento did was exhale through his teeth, lips stretching just enough to make his cheeks move. It was his brown eyes that took you by surprise. The way they softened, showing that his malicious tone had no malice at all.

You hesitate, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying the wrong thing. You didn’t want his eyes to come back to what they usually are. Disinterest, almost apathetic if not by the stress they carry so visibly. Kento seemed happier now and you didn’t want to ruin this.

“Small horses”, you corrected. His lips tugged higher.

A coat landed on your lap, shaking you away from your howling thoughts. It saved you from drowning in his glassy eyes.

Shoko nodded to Kento, the adhesive scent block on her neck as a prove Satoru was also ready to go out. Who else would dare to put digimon stickers on it if not him? Who else would annoy her enough not to notice them?

“What about soba and beer?”, Shoko thought out loud more than asked you.

“I’m not feeling hungry”, you battled against the buttons on your coat. Kento felt his left eye twitching. Protected from the cold outside, you smiled at yourself. “Beer for me, I guess.”

“It’s a nice place, Nanami. Peaceful even at Friday nights”, Shoko didn’t bother to spell out her invitation. She gestured for you to follow her. “They’re waiting for us.”

“You should come, too.” Careful not to harm it, you removed a lily from the vase. Nose against the petals, you looked at him. “But you won’t.”

It was a nice place. Away from the crowded streets, warm and cozy. Soba came with tempura and grilled mochi. Shoko discovered the stickers on her own. Friday nights fit perfectly with cold beer, which in turn begs for laughter. Yours hit him in waves, dissipating months of stress.

Kento wondered why he ate by himself until now.

[broken promise]

You pressed every button on the printer until it decided to work with you instead of against. “For the first week or so you will basically watch us work”, you sighed at the inkless paper. At least it was warm. “Those documents have everything there is to know about your daily activities.”

“And now…?” Nobara started, staring at the tulips in front of your bag. Her earrings, fluffy balls of white fur, made you forget about the rebellious machine. “What do I do?”

Kento stood up, you took a step back as he walked towards the printer. He pressed on the lid, searching for a gap to open it. Checking on the ink cartridges, Kento gestures at the row of computers near the wall. “Log on your account, read those documents and then come back here.”

Once the alpha was sat beside Megumi, Kento turned to you. “Do you know where they stock up?”

You guided him to the office warehouse. Turning the lights on, you looked for the right shelf. “Can you believe it?”, you whispered once he closed the door. “Third intern in a week.”

“At this rate we won’t go a day without training someone”, said Kento. He saw no reason to whisper, not when there was no one else in the room but you two. “I was barely trained. How can I teach these kids?”

“Your work is flawless”, you explained. Cartridges found, you kneeled to get the right type. “If you had made a mistake or two, they wouldn’t give you more.”

“Why haven’t you made a mistake or two? Yaga said you will train another boy next week.”

You looked up at him, a grin spread across your face. “I make mistakes all the time, I’m just usually the first to notice them.”

“Weird thing to be proud of”, Kento leaned against the shelves. You hand him the cartridges, cleaning your knees. Mirroring him, you stared at the white wall. The world was quiet inside this small room. “Thank you. For training them with me. And sorry for asking that.”

“I’ve told you when we first meet. I’m here if you need any help”, you inhaled. “We need to come back, don’t we?”

Kento nodded. None of you moved.

“What do you need to print?”, he asked. Kento didn’t care about the answer, just as you didn’t about the question. Hours teaching the same thing for the third time made his head throb. Without exchanging words, you two agreed to avoid working for a bit longer.

“I’m trying to remember”, you shrugged. “Her earrings distracted me.”

Kento glanced at you. He searched for your eyes, then went back at imagining shapes on the strange pattern in which the wall was painted. “Are you always like this? Unconcerned?”

You pouted, unsure of what to answer. “I think so”, you tilted your head. “Are you always stern? Every time I look at you, I remember to fix my posture.”

He chuckled. Back stiff, arms contracted, feet pointing forward. “I think so.”

“I would need to be tortured to act as methodic as you do”, you breathed. It sounded like a melody. Lilac high heels in front of his brow dress shoes, you took the cartridges from him. Your fingers brushed on the leather bracelet tight around his wrists. “But again, as soon as it stops hurting, I would come back to my old sloth self.”

Kento waited for you to take a step back. You didn’t. How could he expect that from you, someone that doesn’t flush or look away? Did you notice how close you are? That your hands were still touching him? Silky words, gentle eyes, soft skin. Would falling for such temptation be his fault? Kento could do it. Take the blame and the last step between you both. If he did, face against your neck in search of that inebriating scent once more, would it even be wrong?

“Are you ready to deal with those interns again?”

Awakened by your voice, a heartbeat later Kento understood it was a question. “You can go first”, he mumbled, hand rubbing his lips.

Door closed, Kento clenched his fists. He was salivating. Aching fangs pressed against his tongue, heart wild inside his chest. Taking deep breaths to calm down, Kento stopped scenting the room.

Like an overexcited teenager, Kento almost laughed at the thought. He never did that as a teenager.

Kento never loses control of himself. Efficient in everything he sets out to do, which includes suppressing what doesn’t benefit him. Instincts, scent, urges, ruts: all useless nuisances. Ignored to the core, forgotten until a break on his suppressants is needed for medical exams.

One touch and he forgot all that. One step too close, one word too soft, and his restraint was gone.

You’re a mess. You walk around without scent blockers, skip meals if you don’t feel like getting up, don’t get mad when you should. You bare your fangs in every smile. An incorrigible slothful, too lazy to lie to others or to yourself.

If he reminds you to fix your posture, you remind Kento to breath in.

Only an idiot wouldn’t forget about restraint near you. Only an idiot wouldn’t care about how you make the world’s pace seem easier to keep up with it. Who wouldn’t kill to be around someone as soothing as you? Messy desks and all that.

Hair tied; neck exposed so casually. Who else made you laugh hard enough to reveal the sea hidden inside of you? Do you speak in melodies to someone else? He wonders how many considered taking that last step without you being aware. If another stupid, tempted alpha scented you accidentally and you didn’t notice.

Kento didn’t come back to work because he had to. It was lonely there. Away from the sea and its chaos. Kento missed you.

He wondered if you missed him too.

[disobedient]

It was announced as a good thing. A popular bar booked to celebrate that all teams were evaluated with the maximum score by the board representatives—which doesn’t change a damn penny on their wages. Booked on a Saturday night, with both supervisors and manager present, it was the sort of invitation no one could say no to.

Ironing a suit with his hair still damp, Kento almost missed his old job. At least he was never forced to attend useless office parties on his day off. Then he remembered he was ironing a tailored suit he bought on a whim and decided to ignore the last thought.

Kento wasn’t the first person to get there. He saw many known faces, almost heard their calculations of when it would be polite to announce the sudden need to go home. Hoping for a way to avoid drinking with their bosses, they waited.

He sat across Suguru, who arrived early to ensure a table big enough for them all. As discussed on the group chat, they were the only ones reliable enough not to be late. Ijichi found them a bit after, Haibara and Shoko joined right before the manager gave a bad speech. Satoru sat down by his second glass of wine; and you, by the third.

“It’s because I didn’t want to come”, you gestured for a waiter nearby. Kento chuckled. You waved at someone at another table, taking off your jacket and placing it on the chair beside him. “Changed my mind when I saw everyone was here.”

“I’ve told you. Everyone complains, everyone shows up. Even Nanamin’s here”, Satoru stared at the menu. Why do those bars have the urge to be poetic when naming their products? All he wanted was to drink something sweet. “Though now he doesn’t look half as bored as before you got here.”

Kento chocked on his wine. “Don’t call me that”, he coughed.

Finishing your order, you looked at Satoru again. When his blue eyes widen you usually decide to stop paying attention to what he’s saying. Now it’s been months since you’ve last been mad at him, all thanks to Shoko’s advice. From the look on everyone’s face, you missed something interesting.

Suguru leaned forward, one arm draped over Satoru's chair as he looked at the menu. Tapping twice on it, he whispered something into Satoru's ear. It earned him a chuckle as the omega made his order.

Fingers intertwined over the menu even though they have no reason to hold it anymore. Lavender eyes admiring the cocky grin so common to Satoru’s face, a hint of green tea in the air as Suguru subtly scented him. Kento did his best not to stare at how effortless it all was. Does it feel effortless for them?

A snap made him turn to you. “New suit”, you pointed out. Holding your beer, you bumped into his shoulder. “Grey is your color, but there is something charming about black.”

As the clinking echoed, you saw his lips tugging higher than usual. A smile. Soft and subtle but one, nonetheless. What a beautiful sight, you tried not to stare.

Parallel conversations had taken up this table, much different from the silence lingering around the rest of the mezzanine floor. A beer can conceal your own smile as you observed them, glad to watch from the sidelines for a moment.

Wondering about your smile, so was Kento.

In an act of mercy, it didn’t take longer for the supervisors to call it a night and drag the manager along with them. Most tables turned empty minutes after they left. Taking advantage of the mezzanine floor just for the seven of you, your table ordered another round.

And then one more.

Arms feeling longer than you remember them to be, you finished another can. Memories hazy, it could be your birthday for all you know. You had way past your fill of cheap beers—and hours away from the last drop of water to come near your mouth.

Laughing at something Haibara did, you saw a plate and a water bottle in front of you. Ignored by a waiter nearby, you sighed and stared at what you hadn’t asked for.

“It’s for you.” You faced Kento, blurry vision making it difficult to see past his brown eyes. He took the bottle from between your hands, opened it and poured water on a glass. “Your future hungover self needs this.”

Staring at the glass he offered, warmth spread from your chest to the rest of your body. You glanced at his eyes, then at his hands once more. A second later, the feeling faded away and left you cold beside him. His gentle tone and soft gaze were nothing but a result of your mind far away from sobriety

“Don’t worry”, you slid the plate towards him. You tasted something sour on your tongue. Something worse than the beer. “I’ll order something myself. If the waiter acknowledges me, that is.”

Kento pushed the plate back to you, hand still in the air.

You sighed. “Thank you”, you took the glass from him. A sip closer from a less awful hangover, you licked your lips and tasted the bittersweetness of beer and lipstick. “How much was it? I’ll transfer to you.”

Kento wasn’t in a much better situation than you. He was better at holding his liquor, but glass after glass took a bite from his filter between mind and action. Unable to hold back, Kento growled. Not loud enough to disturb others, only for it to reach you.

What a bad excuse, Kento held his half-empty wine glass. Alcohol never made him act like that. It never will. Kento thought his self-control to be strong because he never had a reason to doubt it. Never faced someone that challenged it without even trying.

(He wished you were trying. He imagined you discovering his walls and deciding you would be the one to bring them down. Kento wanted you to be toying with him. Looking for ways to break him. For every careless act to be you saying—look at me, do something, don’t I need you?)

The truth is Kento didn’t stand a chance once he didn’t go home because it felt wrong to not see you smiling. Kento is weak when it comes to you, no excuse needed. And if he doesn’t know how to be effortless about you, then so be it. Fuck subtlety. It’s not like Kento is used to not working hard for what he wants.

Taken aback, for a moment all you did was to look at him. You could feel his discomfort. His jaw never looked so sharp; fangs bared on an expression you didn’t know his immovable muscles could create. Stern, but in a way you never imagined Kento to be.

You almost apologized. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know”, Kento didn’t look away. His tone was gentle, his gaze was soft, and your mind was far away from sobriety. “I’ll join you. Eat it while it’s still warm.”

Your fingers closed around the fork before you decided to do it. Compelled to trust him, you obeyed. Swallowing the first bite, you realized how hungry you were.

It doesn’t surprise you anymore. When you’re late to acknowledge your needs. Late to acknowledge anything at all. Oh, the things that take too long for you to understand. They always hit when you least expect them to.

Half-drunk and half-starving, your mind wandered back to a vase of lilies and gardenias. Back to the fact they were replaced before withering by blooming tulips. Back to the knowledge you’ve never received flowers.

Not until Kento. And he wasn’t apologizing.

Nightly breeze soothed your muscles and lulled your mind. You held the car door open in an attempt of being helpful, although one could say the door was holding you in place. “Text me when you get home.”

You choked a laugh when Haibara hit his forehead on the car. Shoko was already dozing off. “Only if you send me a photo of your dog.”

Red blurs stained your vision as the car moved away. You leaned on the wall, and it vibrated against your back due to the now lively bar. Your gaze landed on Kento, a couple steps from you.

You frowned. “I don’t have a dog.”

The street wasn’t silent, but his laugh still echoed through it. Rosy cheeks, unruled blonde hair, unbuttoned suit. Kento was… looser now. Not tired, stressed or clearly wishing he wasn’t there. And to think it only took a few—not so few—bottles of wine to get him like that.

Hugging the jacket folded on your hands, you moved closer and tried to steal a look into his phone. The movement made you shiver, adrenaline starting to give space to the consequences of a night of indulgence. “Your driver is taking too long.”

“Now it’s three minutes away. And yours?”

“I live nearby. I’ll walk home in three minutes, if it’s your luck day and no one cancels your ride”, your back hit the cold wall as you breathed in and out. The look on his face distracted you from the upcoming headache. “It’s a good neighborhood. The worst thing that happened around here was a drummer moving in.”

He felt a worry wrinkle developing on his forehead. “You’re drunk”, Kento stated and ignored the need to roll his eyes at you saying only tipsy. “And you will walk home. Alone. At midnight.”

“Only tipsy”, you corrected him again. Tilting your head back, you closed your eyes. “It’s a four minutes’ walk. Six, if I see a dog.”

You opened them once a warm breath tickled your face.

His nose almost brushed against yours, hands flat on the wall. His rosy cheeks were at reach of your fingertips. A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes, you thought about fixing it for him.

“Nanami-kun?” Trapped between him and the wall, you hugged your jacket tighter. “Are you feeling alright?”

His right hand left the wall and closed around your wrist. It was a careful touch, one you reserve for porcelain. Kento brought your hand closer to his face, no strength on his hold. You could’ve pulled away. It would’ve been easy.

You shivered as Kento rubbed his nose against the scent glands on your inner wrist. He inhaled deeply, as if it was worth all his concentration. As if he didn’t notice the landscape lacked a piece. Or maybe he did and couldn’t care.

“You smell like a summer dream, omega.” His brown eyes stared at something beyond your eyes. You couldn’t look away. “It’s everywhere. It’s all I can feel.”

Eyes wide open, your lungs betrayed you. “W-what?” Your heartbeat pulsed on your ears. He is not talking like himself, acting like himself. “I think you drank too much. Your car is-”

“That we both did”, his husky tone made you swallow. Kento caressed your wrist, thumb moving slowly against your sensitive skin. “Good thing we are only tipsy.”

He let go of your arm, taking a step back. Kento grabbed the dark blue collar at the base of his neck, both hands dealing with the iron clasp. Another chance for you to move away. With a tug, Kento got rid of his moorings and wrapped the collar around his knuckles.

“How could I let you alone when you smell this good?” Kento was closer now. His hands rested on the wall, right beside your shoulders, the iron clasp of his collar brushing on your arm. You’ve realized how large he is. “You wouldn’t be safe.”

Kento leaned down. His nose right on top of your glands, at the very place your neck and shoulder meet. His breath reaches you colder now, making you pinch your arm and face the fact you’re awake.

“An omega this enchanting”, Kento breathed in. “Alone, smelling of sea and alcohol, in need of protection to get home safe.”

The glands on his neck were right in front of you. Even fangs weak as yours could’ve ripped it out. You’ve done it before. It hurt you, but it bruised those stupid enough to ignore your warnings.

You tilted your head higher, giving Kento all the space he needed to nose at your throat. To have his fill of the scent you assumed not to be there. One that for him wasn’t too little.

“Who would waste that opportunity to have you closer? To stain you with their scents so you don’t go around bringing attention upon yourself?”, Kento growled, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. “I would hate for that to happen to you.”

In his arms, you finally noticed. His scent was all you could feel. It was thick, all around you. It tangled on your hair, deepened on your skin. Your clothes smelled like him. You smelled like Kento. Like Kento’s.

Breathing in, you tried to discover what it was. Pictures invaded your mind. Of a warm bath in the morning. Clean sheets on your bed after a long day. A meal made just in time. You searched for a flower, maybe a fruit that resembled him. Something you could recreate into a perfume to wear when he’s not around. Instead, all you got was a feeling.

Kento smelled like a loved home.

“It’s so delicate”, you whispered on his ear. Drunk on him, the last thing you did was think about your words. Not when his claimed all the space in your mind. Your lips brushed against the marks left by his collar, his hold on you tightened. “I need more of you.”

Kento glared at the moon, the witness to his ruination. You want more, he bit his lips so hard it turned scarlet. Kento almost gave in. Almost discovered how you tasted right then and there. You don’t think it’s too much. You don’t think I’m too much.

Kento took the jacket from your hands and placed it over your shoulders. “I’ll walk you home”, he reached out for you, palm open, hoped you couldn’t see that he was shaking. “If you let me.”

[morning proposition]

Blinding sunlight landed on your eyelids. It took long enough to understand you were awake and a bit longer to decide on leaving behind the warm haven of your bed. The room spins around and forced your body down on the mattress once more.

Salivating, you did your best to run towards the bathroom with your eyes closed. You tried to throw up, nothing came out of you although the nausea persisted in tormenting your body. Sat on the gelid floor, back shivering against the cabinet, you wondered if Nanami was feeling any better.

His eyes, his touch, his words. Nanami was all you could think of. He stole your peace of mind and left a hungry hollow in its place. One that could only be filled by him. You hoped he was doing better than you, at least less pathetic than throwing up with you on his mind.

Nanami is… You never meet someone so determined to do what needs to be done. His sharp-edged honesty never fails. Reliable in how you can always count on him to be a little bit tired, stressed and annoyed all the time. It makes it more meaningful when he smiles. Feels like you accomplished something special.

Last night, you allowed him to take you home. He held you closer than ever. His touch wasn’t odd, it wasn’t a silent walk—one filled with sudden regrets and anxiety for the premature death of whatever begun to flourish. Your jaw hurts from how much you laughed. He laughed, too, unashamed and unapologetic. It still echoes in your eardrums.

At your doorstep, playing with your hair, he refused to enter. You waited for him to kiss you, moved for Nanami to kiss you, but he didn’t. He stepped back, so you closed the front door.

Eyes burning, you couldn’t help but think you misunderstood last night. If you remember it wrong. Could a long night blend memories and imagination together? It never did before. Not after your worst nights were you unsure of what happened between the last drink and your bed.

Maybe then your interpretation of those memories isn’t correct. You don’t have much experience with this. Flirting. You dated the same person for so long. And you admit, understanding others is not what you’re best at. Maybe he meant what he said. Maybe Nanami was worried about safety and nothing more.

Which even you can’t believe to be the truth. That wasn’t worrying. Kento was about to devour you. His eyes made you feel like there was nothing else in the world beside you. He held your hand all the way home, thumb caressing your knuckles.

Which leaves you with one option: Nanami was playing with you.

He wouldn’t be the first to make you the butt of the joke. It wouldn’t be the first time he did that to you. Annoying Moments is what happened when you tried to be welcoming. You didn’t care about Nanami at the time for it to affect you, but aren’t you two friends now?

You should’ve know better. Eight years together and she laughed when you suggested bonding. The worst part was that she loved you. You could feel it. Her love was anything but subtle, a slashing feeling cutting meat and bone in search of your heart. Why would you expect him to behave as if you mattered?

Showering, you didn’t notice when tears began to roll down. Was it all a joke? Even what he said about your scent? It could be. You know awful people tend to be suddenly cruel. Maybe he went home bragging to his friends. Maybe he’ll only remember that you exist tomorrow at work when Nanami sees the omega that he could’ve fucked.

All others see when you smile is an idiot with good teeth. It wasn’t her intention but saying that only made it easier for you to break up and move on.

The empty fridge was your last straw. You undid the knot on the towel and used it to dry your dripping wet hair, decided to avoid this awful day completely. Wearing an old T-shirt and nothing more, you fall flat on your mattress. It’s still early but if you try hard enough maybe you can sleep until tomorrow morning.

Your doorbell rang the moment you started to relax.

Ignoring it was an easy call. If it’s any sort of emergency you can bend the truth a little and say you were sleeping. There was little that could happen to make this day worse, you won’t give the world a chance to show how creative it can be.

Then it rang again. And again, a couple seconds after. You waited in front of the door, fingers brushing against the handle. Groaning once the annoying high-pitched sound reached your ears, you unlocked it. And froze in place.

“Were you sleeping?” Nanami’s words didn’t make to your ears. You saw his lips moving, the sharp jaw tremble, but not a damn sound made to you. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He was here. In front of you. At your doorstep. With a bouquet in hands and a couple paper bags on the other, Nanami smelled like home. That convinced you it wasn’t a dream made to bring torment upon you. Not even the best of them would recreate it so well.

“I thought you were allergic to clothes that aren’t suits”, you said, like an idiot.

In your defense, it was the first time you ever saw Nanami without one. A brown buttoned pant hugged his waist without his usual belt and suspenders. His linen blouse was ironed and well cared for but unbuttoned and revealing part of his broad chest, unlike his perfectly aligned blue shirt. The open coat made more evident his neck lacked scent blockers, the second time you ever saw him revealing his throat.

Compared to his own standards, Nanami was basically naked.

“I have an adrenaline pen on me”, his jaw relaxed. After stressing all night, Kento could only hope for you to say something he wasn’t expecting. “Hope I won’t need to use it.”

You took a step back, allowing him to enter your home. A new wave of scent hits as he passes by you, so strong it felt as if your nose wasn’t broken anymore. It makes sense now why he’s so careful about his blockers. Nanami mentioned taking suppressants, and if that’s him on them… you can’t even imagine what it would feel like for any other omega to be around him.

The inside of your house was more of less how Kento expected it to be. Chaotic and welcoming, nothing like his sterile and practical apartment. Trinkets and decorations of all kinds filled what used to be white walls. Jewelry forgotten on the couch, letters attached to the fridge, blooming flowers and others not quite so. Everything’s warm and colorful, everything smells like you.

He took the liberty of placing the paper bags on top of your table. Kento fixed his hair as you locked the door, only then noticing what you wore—or what you weren’t. Kento holds his breath.

“You’re here.” Across from him, you leaned on a chair and ignored most hospitality rules. “Will you tell me why?”

“I missed you”, Kento said. One step closer, he gave you the white bouquet. You didn’t miss his rosy ears. “Dearly.”

(You made a mental note and swore to never forget it, one that was quickly erased from your memory when you stopped paying attention: hungover turns you into a depressive mess—do not make assumptions or choices before a nap.)

Deep in forgettable thoughts, you didn’t realize to be still staring at him. Kento couldn’t read your expression. Crushed by the sheer pressure of your gaze, he grabbed the paper bags and took their contents. Kento hoped doing something with his hands would calm his failing heart.

Watching him, you nosed at the flowers. “And missing me dearly makes you decide to fill my cabinets?”

A few different types of bread. Three flavors of juice. Skim, low-fat and whole milk. He didn’t knew what you’d rather have for breakfast. The headache medicine was the only thing Kento got without overthinking about it first.

He chuckled, a moment closer to a heart attack. “It looks like it.”

Nanami Kento, an alpha too young to already be this tired, is sweet. He doesn’t whisper or soften the truth, doesn’t wear insincere smiles or walks away when there is work to be done. Nanami Kento groans, curses the world and often acts as a spiteful retiree. He’s as sweet as his awful coffee is a waste of water.

“Nanami-kun”, you purred. Kento stopped in place, eyes instinctively staring right back at you. Such a soft sound, one that filled him with the urge to calm down. “Thank you. Take off your coat, sit down. I’ll get a vase and some plates.”

Kento did as you said, chest growing calmer as he watched you danced around the kitchen. Vase filled with water, you came back to the table and focused on undoing the bouquet. Petals brushing against paper filled his tired mind.

Satisfied with how it looked, you smiled at yourself. “To think I assumed you were playing with me.”

It took Kento a second to understand your words. He blinked and you were away, opening the cabinets in search of clean plates and glasses—too worried about not having anything beautiful for guests to hear him moving closer.

“You thought I was what?”

“You know”, you shrugged. The tinkling of mugs made you groan when they almost escaped between your fingers. “Seeing how far I would’ve let you go just for the sake of it. I was feeling like shit two minutes ago.”

You keep on catching Kento off guard with it. There’s not a moment when your heart isn’t at the tip of your tongue. You say things easily, truth spilling out of you even when it shouldn’t. If he ever reached for it, fingers exploring your mouth with the kindness it deserves, could Kento trace the veins and arteries of your heart?

Turning around, the mugs almost fell again. This time not because you tried to get more than you could hold, but due to Nanami kneeling on your kitchen floor being an astonishing sight.

“I never did anything like that before”, he stared into your eyes. “I’m ashamed for not regretting a single word I’ve said.”

“Ashamed of being shameless”, your lips tugged higher. A subtle smile, almost invisible if not by the way your eyes softened. It reminded Kento of his own smiles. “Those flowers are the accompaniment of an empty apology?”

Kento raised his hands towards you, only now the fabric he held catching your attention. You would’ve noticed he took it from a paper bag if you weren’t so interested in his rosy ears.

“They come with my confession”, Kento started. “It’s been some time since you turned into the best part of my days. My mind is tangled between your every flaw, and even those are endearing to me. I want us to bond. Give me a chance to prove I’m more than a shameless alpha. Let me court you.”

Your smile faded away. Brows furrowed, you took the fabric from him and unfolded it. A white shirt ironed carefully and smelling like Nanami Kento. You squeezed it between your fingers. Warm and soft. Real.

For the first time in his life, Kento had you speechless.

“I want to bond for life”, Kento stated. Staring at the way you held his shirt away from your body, he rushed to silence any hesitation filling your mind. You deserve the same honesty you give him. “You don’t need to answer me now. You don’t need to say what I want to hear. Just think about it.”

You brought his courting gift closer, brushing your nose against the fabric. His scent took over your lungs. “Give me a week, Nanami-kun.”

“Kento”, he smiled. “Call me Kento.”

[breath it in]

Sometimes Kento knows he’s about to hear your voice. He knows you present weekly meetings, train new interns right beside him, eat lunch together with the rest of the team. Kento can prepare himself for those moments, shield his soul to endure the longest week of his life.

Sometimes Kento doesn’t. That’s when it hits hard, a cut straight to his aching heart. Haunted by your sweet melody, surprise makes his defenses lower in hope of hearing your answer. You never say what he wants to hear.

Kento keeps on listening, nonetheless. He feared you would’ve distanced from him to think clearly. To have you whispering for him to pay attention to what the other table is gossiping about is better than your silence. Kento rather live a week of torment than not hearing your laughter.

Friday came without an answer. You asked for a week, Kento can go two more days without one. It would’ve been easier to ask you to date him. Instead of days, it would’ve been a matter of seconds to know your answer. Kento doesn’t want to date you. He wants something way deeper than that. It’s only fair for you to take your time.

“He thinks it’ll take me three days to finish this project but, and you can time it, in three hours I’ll be done with it”, you smiled, baring your fangs. This sight gave him the strength to survive the weekend. “I should feel bad about it, don’t I?”

“It’s his fault for not knowing better about his own department”, Kento hissed.

“I thought you’d say that.” You shrugged, eyes landing at the files on your desk, index playing with the yellow scarf around your neck. “It’s best for me to get started.”

You’ve been using it lately. It can be chilly inside the office, yet you never wore a scarf there before. Kento worries that knowing your scent affects him as it does makes you uncomfortable. If you wish he hadn’t mentioned it. Kento didn’t ask about it, fearing you would see it as him trying to get an early answer from you.

Work done, shift over. Kento would’ve stayed for longer if you weren’t focused on getting done with this project for a new client. Overtime here pays well, they still can’t make up for the torment of being close but not close enough.

His steps were slow, mind too heavy for his body to work faster. Kento usually walk in a hurry—even when not in one. Always late for something, time seems to be what he lacks the most. Making his way to the subway, Kento stares at the darkening sky and wonders. Time lasts longer now.

Glass half-full, if his car wasn’t at the mechanic’s Kento would’ve been an irresponsible driver by constantly getting distracted with thoughts of you. A notification interrupted his music. Waiting for the train doors to open, his left-eye twitched.

From: Walking Mess

are you still in the building?

meant to talk to you but can’t find you anywhere.

…

well, i’ll head home then. see you next week, kento :)

As the doors opened, a crowd climbed up the stairs of the subway. No one, not even the first to walk off the train, was faster than Nanami Kento. Three steps at the time and soon Kento was running through the same streets he walked spiritlessly.

Briefcase crumpling his perfectly ironed suit, Kento grabbed the access card from it and slammed it against the sensor at the reception. An alpha approached asking if he needed help. Kento heard nothing. Passing through the turnstile, Kento pressed the button for all elevators on the ground floor.

Trying to catch his breath, he calculated how long it would take for him to climb up stairs to the right floor. Cursing the tall building, the annoying whistle of the elevator made him open his eyes. Running his fingers through his hair, Kento waited.

You crashed into his chest, your phone almost slipping through your fingers. “Sorry, I was distracted.” You took a step back, entering the elevator again, and blinked once you saw Kento. “I… was looking for you.”

“You wanted to talk”, Kento licked his lips, breath still too short. It has nothing to do with his little race. He entered the elevator, each of his steps forward making you take one back. “I’m here now.”

The doors closed. He pressed the emergency button. Looking into his eyes, you hoped to see the truth through them. “You want to court me”, you started. All you saw was Kento’s utter attention to whatever you have to say. Nothing new. “Because you want for us to bond.”

“Nothing would make me happier”, Kento bit the inside of his cheeks.

“Which means you want us to bond and will court me until I agree”, your voice grew bolder. “Did I understood it correctly?”

Kento could feel the blush reaching his chest. “Yes. You did”, Kento held his briefcase tighter. The way you worded it made his inwards melt. It felt so much more intimate to know you understand his intentions. “I’m patient. I can wait.”

You looked down, brushing your fingertips against the scarf around your neck, and handed Kento your phone. He held it for you, a question dying within his throat as you started to take the scarf off.

“I’m not good at being an omega. Truly, I’m so bad at it”, with a step forward, you placed it around his neck, covering the leather collar. “Patient, you said. Good. Then I can try again if it doesn’t smell like me.”

Staring at your hands carefully smoothing the fabric, you left Kento speechless. Sunday he confessed. Monday you appeared with this scarf. You weren’t deciding. All this time, you already knew your answer.

The wait was bitter, the fruit was sweet. So sweet.

“I appreciated your gift, I hope you can appreciate mine.” Kento saw your fangs when you smiled. “It matches your tie.”

Looking at you, still not moving, Kento smiled. Truly. It was wide, impossible to ignore or mistake it for anything else. It bared his fangs, lips tugging towards his rosy ears. You imagined that’s how you look when smiling.

“It’s perfect”, Kento said. With the scarf around his neck, all he could feel was you. “You’re perfect.”

Laughing, you grabbed his horrendous tie and pulled him closer. This time, waiting for him to kiss you was never an option. Pushing him against the mirror, you demanded for it. Kento attended to your wish instantly. He didn’t knew how not to.

It was slow, so slow, a mess of tongues and giggles as you explored him thoroughly. Not letting go of his tie, you took off his glasses. Kento sighed into your mouth.

Forced to face the truth, Kento admits that there is something way better than your scent. It is the taste of your laughter on his mouth.

[dive headfirst, treasured lover]

Lately, you’ve been learning a lot about Kento. There’s always a new detail to see as long as you pay attention. It’s what you do most as it turns out you can concentrate easily when Kento is the subject. It isn’t a task you need to get done with or movie that can’t hold your focus. It feels natural to learn about him. Right.

Kento doesn’t spend time with you—he doesn’t see it as investment. Kento doesn’t put in effort to meet you where you are—he doesn’t see you as work. For someone so constantly tired, Kento’s willingness to sacrifice his time and energy for you even when you don’t think he should is still a surprise. A good one.

You didn’t ate anything burned since he offered to cook for you. Kento insisted. Although you liked his food it still left a bitter taste to think he could’ve been doing anything else on the time he put on that. It took three days of chewing on lettuce to realize Kento knew cooking for you was easier than making you agree to eat salad.

Knowing Kento’s also learning about you tastes sweet as honey.

You never thought of him as someone patient because you used to think of it as sitting quietly in place. His patience reveals itself in ways you didn’t expect. Kento’s good at waiting. Kento’s better at waiting when crafting better routines for the two of you. Routines that reduce the amount of trash on your desk, lost jewelry inside furniture and working overtime.

All so you have more time to kiss him.

He’s patient with that, too. Breathy whispers itching your throat, firm hands locked around your hips. Kissing Kento is what you do best, keeping you close is his specialty. It doesn’t feel like kissing him, more like making up for lost time.

“You make it so difficult”, you whisper, lips moving against his. Sat on his lap, you kept on doing what you do best. “Not to tease you.”

Your nest already smells like him, his book lost and forgotten between soft pillows and comfy chiffon. His scented shirt is there, too, a treasured gift. Two weeks ago, he replaced a few burned bulbs hanging on top of your nest with blinker ones. Kento is part of your nest, your safe place smells like him. That’s a soft intimacy that hits harder than any gentle words.

Kento breathed in. “I’m not doing anything.”

And he wasn’t. His mouth doesn’t go lower, his fingers never travel higher. Close yet never close enough. You don’t know how you made that far without Kento pushing you away. He usually stops you the moment you start to get ideas.

Tilting your head, you cradle his jaw and strokes the soft skin. You move his chin up, index scratching a straight line to his throat. You feel Kento swallowing a lump. “You’re red”, you lay a kiss on each of his eyelids. “Burning red. Alarmingly red.”

Angling your hips forward, your chest moving up and down against Kento as you spread kisses all through his skin, his erection grows. You can feel it beneath your panties and his clothes, hardening more with every whisper and hungry touch—blessed be the bodycon dress you bought last week.

Lips bruised by his fangs ache as Kento doesn’t stop sucking on them. He bites and licks and sighs into your mouth, the only place he’s fully dedicated to touch. He’s trying so hard no to reach for the rest of your body his hands might leave marks on your waist. You can already feel them.

“That sounded like teasing”, Kento rest his forehead on your shoulder. It was meant to be a moment to breathe in, calm down his feverish body. Being closer to your scent glands didn’t help him at all. “Don’t be mean, love. Not when I’m nice to you.”

“You’re more than nice”, you purr. He can felt it vibrating through your body. It makes Kento want to discover where it comes from. What inside you were made to soothe him so well. “Always so good to me. Treating me so well, kissing like it’ll kill you not to. You’re cute, that’s why I don’t tease.”

Kento laughs against your shoulder and for a second he sounded like a mad man. You never saw Kento so eager to let you torment him. Then it hits you why he’s acting like that, eager to satisfy your every wish.

“Fuck”, you mumble. Using his tie as leash, you lower his head towards your throat. “Does it smell good, Ken? Better than usual?”

Kento licks your glands before nodding. He kisses it like it was your mouth, tongue and teeth all over your skin. His cock throbs beneath your damp panties. You can’t help but rubbing your cunt against it, a hand stroking his hair and the other attached to his forearm.

“I wasn’t paying attention but now, uhm, Ken, I think”, you whisper, not to tease but because it’s the best you can do without stuttering. “My heat is in a few days.”

His hands move. They rest on your tights, fingers making circles on your skin. Kento barely stops licking to answer you, and he does it with a few unintelligible murmurs.

“Take a week off”, you suggest. “Alpha, stay with me.”

Kento stops altogether. His mouth moves away from your sweaty skin, fingers releasing your tights. Fixing his posture, he looks into your eyes again. You can almost hear the thunderstorm inside his mind.

“It’s okay to say no”, you clean the sweat gathering on his forehead with your knuckles. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything. I mean, you already take care of me so well.”

Kento goes back to holding your hips. He hesitates for a moment. “I’m virgin.”

It takes you a second to process. “Oh”, you blink. Trying to get off his lap, Kento holds you in place. “Ken, I didn’t…”

“I want this”, he stops. There are no remains of hesitation inside his sweet, brown eyes. Kento breathes in. “I want you.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you smile. “I want you, too. And I’m patient, you know? There’s no need to rush.”

Kento takes your hand between his, eyelids closed as he treated your skin with small kisses. He leans on your palm. “Will you take care of me, omega?”

“Better than anyone ever could”, your whisper as if telling him a secret.

“Then take care of me”, Kento whisper, bringing you closer. “And I’ll do the same.”

You’re soft on him now, softer than you’ve ever been. There is no need to rush, no need to explore like a hungry animal searching for something to consume. All you want is to feel him closer. To have Kento relaxed again, easing those stiff limbs.

Unbottoning his shirt, you look at his exposed throat. What a beautiful alpha you have. One that deserves the very best. And you will give him all you have.

“Let me spoil you.” Sliding your fingers throught his torso, you rest your weight on his lap. It makes Kento sigh. “Tell me and I’ll stop, alright?”

Kento nods. You kiss his nose and reach for your bag, forgotten somewhere behind him. To think this started with you two reading together. You hand Kento your lipstick, throwing the bag away.

“Go on”, you smile. “You know what to do.”

Slowly, as if you’d get mad if he made a mistake, Kento reapplies the lipstick on you. Holding your chin to keep your face steady, his focus is one suited best for demanding tasks. Careful as always. “Done.”

You take your time to color Kento. His cheeks, shoulders, broad chest always hidden beneath suits. His white skin is covered by you, marks that will take long to get out. Kento strokes your hair, face almost the same tone as your lipstick.

Imagining yourself washing it away for him, you smile. “Beautiful.”

Kento pokes at your middle. “You’re teasing”, he says. He does that sometimes. Sounds like he’s in love with you.

You get up from his lap, kneeling between his legs to unbotton his pants. You press your thumb against the tip of his still covered cock. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

He’s bigger than you expected, bumping lightly on your face when you free him from the underpants. You don’t look at Kento. He isn’t the one needy for your attention, his leaking cock deserves it way more. Ignoring his piercing faze, you kiss the pink tip.

Your fingers trace a vein from the base with trimmed blond pubic hair until the lipstick mark. Heavy balls discover the warmth of your mouth first. You do it like that hear Kento sigh in surprise. Catlike licks get you back to the tip, you kiss it as if it was his mouth.

“F-fuck… Love, don’t be so”, Kento cries. It doesn’t change your pace. His voice dies when you take him into your mouth, inch by inch without rushing. Kento moan softly, your pride grows bigger.

Nose almost touching his trimmed hair, your hands go back to his balls. His cock throbs inside your mouth. You move your head up and down until your neck burns and then keep going despise it when his sweet sounds reach your ears once more. You drool all over Kento.

You stare into his eyes, too curious to see Kento to keep on ignoring him.

His cum hits your throat. It flows through your lips when you take him off your mouth, running down your chin and dropping on his skin.

“Shit, oh fuck”, he breathes. Kento tilts his head back, hands trembling as he brushes them on his face. “Love, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I couldn’t-”

“You’re sorry?”, you mock. Licking your lips, you sit on his lap. Grabbing and tossing away the pillows behind him, you push Kento to lay down. “For feeling good?”

His hands go back to your waist. “Sit on my face.”

“Shameless”, you lean on his chest and place your knees between his legs. Taking your panties off, you don’t look away. “You don’t need to.”

You hold the black fabric in front of his face. Kento does nothing, brain overwhelmed to understand quickly what you’re doing, then he gets it. With him sniffing it, you see his cock hardening once more.

“Do it”, is his answer. “Teach me how to pleasure you.”

“Kiss her. Make it wet and messy”, you say. Crawling towards him, you decided not to get off your dress. That’s for him. Knees around his head, you took his shaky hands and put them on your lap. “Hold me, tap it if you want to stop.”

Kento starts slowly. He kisses your thigh, looking into your eyes. He doesn’t look away. Not at the first small lick, not as his kisses made those embarrassingly loud wet sounds. He hummed against your core, slick going down his chin, and grabbed your thighs. He did it tighter after seeing your reaction.

It wasn’t perfect. Not on rhythm that would get you crying on top of him, not the right pressure in the right place. Kento doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t stop. He changes a bit every minute, searching for a reaction that shows him he’s doing you right.

Your hips move on their own, slowly riding his face as the pleasure doesn’t stop coming. Slick floods through your cunt. His hands moved, one grabbing your waist and the other making circles a bit higher from where his mouth explore.

“Right there, Ken”, you murmur against your fingers. “Don’t change a thing. Keep it like that and, uhmm, Ken, just keep it like this.”

He does exactly what you say, his humming vibrating on you. All you can do is curse. You look back, his hard cock looking so lonely behind you, and whisper his name. It makes it twitch.

You see the lipstick marks once more. Your heart feels heavier. It’s so strange. It makes you want to sob just to have Kento consoling you. Everything feels too much, except him. You’ll always want more of him. You’ll always need more of Kento.

You never thought of Kento as a patient alpha, you wonder if he ever saw you as a greedy omega. Because it’s still not enough. You don’t think it will ever be.

To get away from his tongue you had to fight his tight grip.

“Did I do something wrong?” Kento watches you. That’s the correct way to put it. He never looks at you, he always watches. “We can stop.”

Shaking your head, you don’t waste a second to get back to his lap. You touch his ignored cock, so sensitive Kento’s worry fades away. Yours. He’s yours. You want him. As close as he can get.

The sound coming from his mouth goes straight to your clit. Kento grabs your hips, making it more difficult for you to go slow. All you want is him deeper into you. Taking care of him, being nice, was never so hard. Still, you did it. Inch by inch, no hurry.

“How can you be so warm?” Kento almost cries. Pride grows bigger once more, little would be needed to make it explode inside of you. “Love, omega, you’re… Perfect. I need you. Fuck, I need you.”

A cold tear falls on his chest. Kento tries to focus, eyes doing their best to avoid his every wish. Once he can see your face, a heartache makes him hold his breath.

“Hey. Love, look at me.” Kento sits, bringing you closer to him. His thumb cleans every tear, mouth kissing where they reached. He puts your head on his shoulder, nose on top of his glands, and hugs you tightly. It stops you from moving. “Tell me what to do. Omega, tell your alpha what you need.”

“You smell like home”, you sniff. His scent fills your lungs. More. “Ken… Ken, I can’t think. It’s too much. Too much and I need more and I can’t think.”

He can smell it in the air. Now that he has something more important than your body on his mind, it’s obvious. Your heat was close enough for him to feel it, and now it was triggered. Kento kisses your shoulders, hands stroking your head.

His incorrigible slothful omega needs to be taken care of.

Carefully, still inside you, Kento puts you on your nest and places a soft pillow beneath your head. He kisses you again and again, scenting you more until your tears stop. He moves, and when it does you moan for more.

Kento gives you all he has. He slides inside of you, once slow but only fastening the more you ask for it. Kento doesn’t thrust hard. He doesn’t know if you want this, if it would hurt, if he would last. He can barely contain himself as you purr, pussy throbbing so much it makes him shake.

“Stop squirming”, Kento groans. You obey. “Stay still. Don’t move. I’ll take care… I’ll take care of you.”

You tilt your head back, crying his name so loud Kento will never forget the way it sounds perfect coming from your mouth. He licks your scent glands, fangs closing around it as he prepares to you make you his. Bond with you, have you in a way no one could ever compare. He’ll make you his. Kento will have you for himself only.

When you look at Kento again, you see a red blur. Eyes focusing, they widen. His lips are raw, fangs cutting meat as he keeps his face right on top of yours. He doesn’t stop fucking you. He doesn’t stop giving you more even as blood drips warm on your cheeks.

I want more, you thought. I think I love him.

“You can do it”, you show him your throat. “Bond with me, Ken.”

“No”, he whispers. You don’t think he can do much more than that. “Not now. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Alpha”, you moan. “Make me yours. Please.”

It’s sharp and cold.

You shake violently—the strongest orgasm you ever had. So good it’s painful, so good it makes you cry and thinking nothing but his name, his touch, his scent. Muscles tight, no air comes to your lungs. You won’t made it out alive.

Pain and pleasure fill your mind. Everything makes sense. Everything feels right in place. Every heartbreak led you to him. Every step on the way brought you closer to Kento. Your body accepts the bond, his love for you consuming you wholly.

You cry. It hurts and burns, blood on your cheeks and neck. Coming again, his name is all you can say. He laps at the blood and the pleasure doesn’t stop. It grows bigger, now not taking but giving. You stop moving.

His vision goes white, and so does your womb. Knot keeping you nice and still, a mess of cries and moans enchanting him. Kento looks at the bond mark, at your eyes full of satisfaction, and a feeling so good he can’t even name takes over him.

Kento laughs. You do it, too, he tastes it in his mouth.

Now, he knows he was right. All those years ago, arguing with his dad and pretending to agree because he had no other choice. Kento was right. “I love you”, Kento whispers against your lips. Words can’t lose meaning, so he says it again.

There is no better taste than his love on your mouth.

I REALLY REALLY REALLY SHOULD'VE BEEN DOING MY ARCHON QUEST. SORRY RAIDEN I'M BACK TO YOU NOW.

+ i'll grant a wish for anyone who recognizes who was the inspiration for nanami's "basically naked" outfit.

tagging ; @aviesnapkindoodles @starry-eyed--dreamer @brooke-gvf @missthatgirl @romantisized @catcactusoww @toadtoru @stxxrzz @motthe

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pearlymel · 9 months ago

Note

Ooo I know! It's just a little thought

What if capitano and y/n had their first fight in front of their kid?

"I told you I'm fine." You try convincing your ever so worried husband for the nth time.

The thing was, ever since you gave birth to your daughter, it's like he had a leash on you, not in a bad way. Capitano only wants to protect you and his daughter, and knowing his position as the fatui Harbinger, it had become difficult to keep an eye on both of you 24/7. So he trusts that you would tell him everything by the end of the day.

Capitano's protective nature was both endearing and infuriating at times, but you often appreciated his care. Today, however, his overprotective streak was starting to get under your skin.

The argument started as a simple disagreement about a minor decision, but had quickly escalated into a fiercer discussion.

"i want to keep you and our family safe." He said firmly, and he wishes you'd stop there to understand him.

"I only brought her with me to the market so she can learn how to socialize with people, and for her to experience picking treats with me."

"You were fine this time." he retorted, his voice taking on a slightly higher tone. "But what about the next time?"

You grit your teeth together in frustration, because really, this is getting ridiculous. "Maybe if you didn't think so much about it—"

He doesn't even let you finish before he speaks back, "How can I not think about it? Every time you leave this house, every time you're out of my sight, I can't help but worry." He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, it's rare that he's ever arguing with you, usually when you're upset with eachother, he usually stays quiet.

"You don't understand. My job has shown me the worst of Humanity, the things they're capable of. I just want to keep you safe." Capitano holds on both sides of your arms, "i trust my men enough to accompany you. But i can never be truly sure that you're safe without me." He's upset, you know it by the way his eyebrows wrinkle together.

But you're not convinced just yet, "our daughter wants to go to the park sometimes. Do you know how many times i had to stop myself from refusing her everytime she frowns at me?"

Capitano's expression hardened again at your words, his jaw clenching tightly. "The park is dangerous," he argued back while applying a bit more pressure on your arms, "It's too open, too vulnerable. There are too many unknowns, too much that could potentially harm you and our daughter."

"It's not like we are going to die." You bluntly respond and it makes his eyes widen, even the sentence makes him shiver. He's one and only fear, not seeing you both because of one mistake.

Just as he parted his lips to answer back, a faint sound—a sneeze coming from the corner of the closet. One you recognise so well that it makes you stiffen in your place, and you notice Capitano pressing his lips into a thin line.

You both turn your heads until met by the little girl attempting and failing to hide on the side of the giant closet.

"she's watching," you whisper, glancing back at him and he nods before sliding his hands off you.

"You can come out," he called gently, his voice softer than the previous argument.

He knelt down on one knee as she stepped out from her hiding spot, his eyes wide with innocence and remorse for the argument she had witnessed. "Come here." He encouraged her, his arms opened slightly for her. And she hesitantly walks at first before taking confident steps towards the comfort of her father's embrace.

You join them after, kneeling down at their level and your husband opens his other arm to squeeze you in with them. Capitano's arm wrapped around her small form, holding her close against his chest.

"I'm sorry you saw us arguing," he murmured, "We didn't mean for you to hear all that." You continue softly.

Your daughter's head turned towards you, her eyes filling with tears as she heard your apologies. She looked between you and Capitano, her lower lip trembling slightly. It's like children can mimick their parents current emotions.

"Your mother and I just had a disagreement. We didn't mean to scare you."

"is everything okay?" She whispers quietly while fidgeting with her fingers together, "Yes." You both instantly respond.

her expression is still uncertain. "We promise," you reassured her again before he gives further more reassurance "Everything's okay, angel. Mama and papa are fine. We're not mad at each other. We're just... going to talk things through, okay?"

She then starts slowly nodding, "that's my brave girl." His lips curl upwards as he strokes the strands of her hair.

"and we will take you to the park."

Your daughter's eyes widened, a small gasp of happiness escaping her lips. She looked up at you, her eyes seem to sparkle even.

Meanwhile, Capitano's eyes narrowed at your declaration. He shot you a warning look, silently reminding you of his previous disagreement.

"... With your father of course." You laugh quietly and his shoulders seem to relax, "fine. We will all go."

"yay! Swings!" The little girl grins while excitedly holding her hands together.

"well, aren't you weak for the little angel?" You whisper to your husband, giving him a small smile, already having forgotten about your argument.

Capitano holds you both closer to him, as if relieved to have this little family in his life, the only thing that makes everything more bearable, "she has me wrapped around her little finger, just like her mother."

The link to my short capitano series :p

#you can read the series in my masterlist !!<3 #GUYS NO HE'S NOT ACTUALLY ROTTING 😂🙏 (😭)#il capitano x reader #capitano #capitano x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #il capitano #capitano x you #il capitano x you #genshin impact #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui harbingers

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godricgryffinsnore · 24 days ago

Note

So......tadaaaa, just when you thought you have striked off another request from the list, you have another.

(because I need some good Harry Potte/reader stuff, even if it takes weeks)

He was in a pretty bad mood, he had been stood up on a first date. He slumped on his way back when a girl came and sat beside him on the train, crying.

[slow burn please. Like the slowest slow burn. I am looking for a long slow burn...And Sirius is alive.]

All the Quiet Things ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : When a chance meeting on a train changes the course of two very different lives, what begins as quiet companionship turns into something deeper—something far more difficult to ignore. Amid shared silences, buried feelings, and a few missteps along the way, two souls learn what it means to heal, to choose, and to love without fear.

warnings : Emotional distress, crying, and healing, Jealousy, arguments, and dramatic love confession, Strong language and romantic angst, Explicit sexual content (18+): oral (both), unprotected sex, praise/dirty talk, slow to rough progression, Embarrassing moment (others overhear them), Canon divergence (Sirius, Remus & Cedric alive), Comfort, fluff, and aftercare. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3. THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. PLEASE DO NOT ENTER IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE OR IF YOU ARE A MINOR!!!

della's note : Ya, so it happened... I don't know how, where or when I got the urge to write a smut scene, but I did. But don't worry, if you want this fic in a free-smut type of way, you can read it without the smut too. Smut is at the very end of the fan fic... and I will let you know when it starts. I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT <333

word count : 4.8k

main master list <3

banners : @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune

He had never liked dates.

He didn't know why he’d even said yes. Lavender had cornered him with her glittering eyes and her sugar-slick voice, and something about the way Ron had elbowed him had made Harry nod before his brain could catch up.

Now, it was raining. Of course it was raining.

The coffee shop had smelled too sweet, and the date never showed. Harry had sat at the window, watching the clouds gather like an omen. He didn’t even like coffee. He’d stared at his reflection in the glass—scar, glasses, eyes too tired for eighteen—and had wondered what he looked like to the rest of the world.

The train back to Grimmauld Place was nearly empty. The wet streets had scared the tourists off, and he was grateful for the silence.

He slumped into the seat by the window, coat damp, hair clinging to his forehead. His jaw was tight. The overhead lights buzzed.

Then—

A soft sound. A sniffle.

He turned, and there she was.

A girl. His age. Book pressed tight to her chest, sleeves too long, eyes swollen and red.

She sat across from him, not noticing him at all, crumpling into the corner like she was trying to disappear.

Harry should have looked away.

But she was crying. Not loud, not the kind of crying that begged attention—no. This was the silent kind. The lonely kind.

The kind he knew well.

“Are you alright?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She startled, blinking up at him like she'd only just realized he was there. Her lashes were soaked, and there was a smudge of ink on her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. It was the automatic kind of lie.

He didn’t believe her.

But he didn’t press.

The train groaned into motion, and the city lights outside blurred into gold.

She turned her face to the window, but not before he saw it—that broken sort of look, the kind people wore when they’d held on too tightly to something that slipped right through their fingers.

He wanted to ask. Who hurt you? Why are you crying? What book is that?

But instead, he sat in silence. Watching the rain. Listening to her breathe.

They didn’t speak again that night.

When the train stopped, she stood and disappeared into the dark, and he didn’t even know her name.

── .✦

They saw each other again.

Weeks later, in the library at Grimmauld Place.

It was Sirius who called her in. “Harry! This is the one I told you about—she’s working with the new historical records team from the Ministry. She’s got the brains of a Ravenclaw and the patience of a saint.”

Harry turned, and there she was.

She didn’t look surprised to see him. But she did smile—a small, knowing thing that twisted something deep in his chest.

“You’re the girl from the train,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flickered. “And you’re the boy who stared at me like I was made of glass.”

Sirius looked between them, brows raised.

Neither of them explained.

── .✦

Weeks became months.

She started showing up more.

She was clever. Quiet. Laughed softly at Sirius’s ridiculous stories, asked sharp questions during Order meetings, and always smelled faintly like old parchment and stormy nights.

Harry liked talking to her. He liked the way her mind worked—how she made him feel like he wasn’t just the Boy Who Lived but a person with questions and dreams and wounds that didn’t need to be hidden.

But it wasn’t easy. Nothing ever was.

There were arguments. Disagreements. He didn’t like how she looked at Malfoy when he visited to give intel, didn’t like how she smiled when she spoke to Cedric Diggory at the Ministry.

She didn’t like how he shut down when he was hurting. How he’d go quiet and cold and pretend like nothing ever touched him.

“Harry,” she said one night, voice sharp with something unnameable, “You don't get to decide who I talk to.”

“I’m not deciding,” he snapped. “I’m just saying—Diggory? Really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

And that’s when it began.

The bitterness. The bite. The awkward silences at meetings. The thunder in his chest when she smiled at someone else. The way she flinched when he ignored her in front of Ron and Hermione.

They became enemies in the way only people who used to care could be.

But oh—he still watched her.

He knew how she took her tea. Knew she cried when she read tragic poetry. Knew she kept a picture of her little sister in her notebook and touched it when she thought no one was looking.

She knew him too.

She knew how he clenched his fist when he lied. Knew when his nightmares came back, even when he didn’t say a word.

But they were silent. Too prideful. Too afraid.

Until the night everything broke.

── .✦

It was a storm.

It always had to be a storm.

Grimmauld Place, the attic, papers flying, windows rattling. The Order had had a terrible night, and Sirius had been nearly killed, and Harry found her pacing, wild-eyed, her hands shaking.

“You could’ve died!” she shouted at him. “You just ran in! No plan—no—nothing! What if—what if I never saw you again, you bloody stupid boy?!”

“I didn’t need a plan!” he yelled back. “I needed to save him!”

“You’re reckless! Arrogant! Self-sacrificing and completely idiotic—!”

“And you’re impossible!” he roared. “You smile at Cedric like I don’t exist, then act like you care—!”

“Because I do care, you great big idiot! I always did!”

Silence.

Breathing.

The storm howled outside, but inside—utter stillness.

“I always did,” she whispered again. “From the moment you asked if I was okay on that train.”

Harry stared.

She looked like everything he’d ever wanted and been too scared to ask for.

“I love you,” he said, voice hoarse, cracking. “I love you and it’s miserable. You make me feel like I’m worth something and I hate it because I’m terrified of losing you.”

And then—

They kissed.

Like a war ending. Like peace being signed on trembling lips. Like two storms learning how to hold hands without turning to thunder.

── .✦

They didn’t speak about the kiss.

Not the next day. Not the day after that.

She went back to the library. Harry helped Molly with dinner. They exchanged glances like secret letters—quiet, cautious, trembling with things unsaid.

Sirius noticed, of course.

“Why are you walking like you’re being haunted by your own hormones?” he muttered to Harry in the hallway, raising a brow. “Did something happen or not?”

Harry flushed so deeply he might’ve been hexed.

But no answer came.

Because the truth was this: kissing her had felt like magic, real magic—the kind Hogwarts never taught. And now, he was afraid that if he said it aloud, it would vanish into smoke.

── .✦

A week later, she packed her bag.

The Ministry needed her in Bulgaria for a temporary assignment. Three months. Maybe four. She didn’t tell Harry until the morning she was leaving.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” she said quietly, her fingers knotting in the strap of her satchel.

Harry stared at her.

“I care too much,” he replied. “That’s the whole problem.”

She smiled sadly. “You’re not the problem, Harry. You never were.”

And before he could say something—anything—she was gone.

── .✦

He wrote to her.

Every week.

He never sent them.

They were scrawled on napkins, the corners of maps, the back of old Order memos. He’d fold them, unfold them. Sometimes burn them in the fireplace, watching the words curl into ash.

I miss the way you whisper when you read aloud. I miss your damn tea order. I miss your stupid bookmark collection and the way you smell like lavender and rain. I miss you like a wound. Like air.

She wrote too.

But never to him.

She wrote poetry. Scribbled it between research notes. Tiny verses that felt like bleeding.

He looks at me like I’m holy and runs from me like I’m fire.

── .✦

When she came back, it was snowing.

December wrapped London in white lace, and the streets were muffled with softness. She arrived at Grimmauld Place with wind-blushed cheeks and frozen fingers.

Harry didn’t know she was coming.

He opened the door and nearly dropped his wand.

She looked... different. Softer, maybe. A little older. But the second their eyes met, something in his chest cracked wide open.

“You’re back,” he said dumbly.

“Apparently,” she whispered.

And then—

He stepped aside, and she walked back into the house. Into his world. Into the place that always felt like it had been waiting for her.

── .✦

It wasn’t easy.

They were awkward. Stilted. She would laugh too loud around others, and he would grow quiet again, like a tide retreating. He was still jealous. She still didn’t explain the way she’d touched Cedric’s arm at the last Order meeting. The tension curled between them like smoke—every conversation a slow unravelling.

Then one night—it broke.

A Christmas party. Too much firewhisky. A hallway. A sideways glance.

He snapped.

“You still love him, don’t you?” he said, sharp as glass. “You talk to me like I matter, and then you run to him every time he walks into a room.”

She turned slowly. Her eyes were on fire.

“How dare you,” she hissed. “You don’t get to dictate who I speak to, Potter. You don’t even speak to me unless it’s convenient for your bruised ego!”

His breath hitched.

“You kissed me,” he said.

“You kissed me,” she snapped. “And then you disappeared.”

“I was scared!”

“So was I!”

A pause.

A breath.

Her eyes glistened. “You think you’re the only one who’s been broken? You think you’re the only one who’s terrified of being loved just to be left?”

Harry’s hands shook. “I’m not good at this.”

“Neither am I,” she whispered. “But I’m still here. I’m trying.”

And then—softly.

“I love you,” she breathed, voice raw. “I’ve loved you since the train. Since the moment you looked at me like I wasn’t invisible.”

His chest cracked. Splintered.

“I love you,” he said back. “I love you so much it hurts.”

And this time, when they kissed—it wasn’t fireworks.

It was home.

── .✦

“You’re an idiot.”

Harry turned, startled. Sirius was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, an infuriating grin on his face.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got that guilty ‘I kissed her again and now I don’t know if it meant everything or nothing’ look.”

Harry groaned and dropped his head to the table.

Sirius chuckled. “Relax, Prongslet. I’m proud of you. Took you what—two years and a raging argument to finally confess?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you hate how much you care. You hate that she makes you nervous. You hate that you want forever and don’t know if she does.”

Harry looked up. “Do you think she does?”

Sirius tilted his head, suddenly serious. “She looks at you like you hung the stars, Harry. That kind of love doesn’t fade.”

── .✦

Meanwhile, upstairs, she stood in front of the mirror, still trembling from that kiss.

She touched her lips, blinking at herself like she wasn’t sure she was real. There was something quiet blooming in her chest—hope, maybe. Or peace. Or the terrifying beginnings of both.

And then—

“Mistletoe,” Sirius announced, bursting into the room.

She screamed and spun, nearly throwing her hairbrush.

“What the hell—?!”

He grinned. “I need your help with some holiday decorations.”

“Sirius Black, if you ever want to live to see another Christmas—”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted with a wink. “The mistletoe’s not for me.”

He disappeared before she could hex him.

── .✦

The next few weeks were... soft.

Not perfect. But gentle.

She and Harry spoke more. Laughed more. There were long walks in the snow. Quiet tea in the library. Glances that lingered like poetry.

And the touches—

A hand brushing hers when passing her a quill. A shoulder leaning too close while reading by the fireplace. A pinky that hooked hers under the dinner table.

They didn’t talk about labels. Or plans. Or the future.

They just were.

And it was enough—for now.

── .✦

New Year’s Eve.

The entire house was glowing—candles floating in the air, laughter echoing through the halls, the scent of cinnamon and firewhisky thick in the air.

At 11:59, Sirius shouted, “Make a wish!”

Harry didn’t need to.

He was already standing beside her.

And when the clock struck twelve—

He kissed her. Quietly. Reverently. Like a prayer.

Not because he had to.

But because he could.

Because she was real. And here. And his.

And when she smiled against his lips, he felt like maybe, just maybe, all the quiet things were the most beautiful.

── .✦

It was late January when they went back to Hogwarts.

Not as students, no—not anymore.

McGonagall had invited them to speak to the sixth-years about magical ethics and wartime resilience. (Sirius joked that his own speech would be titled “Don’t Trust the Government, or Your Mother.”)

But really, it was just an excuse. An excuse to go back. To remember. To stand in those halls again and feel, for a moment, seventeen.

They walked through the front doors together, their fingers brushing but not quite intertwining, boots crunching on the snow-slicked stone.

The castle was quiet, blanketed in soft winter. Icicles like crystal daggers hung from the towers. Somewhere, faintly, a choir of enchanted birds sang from the rafters.

She looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall and whispered, “It still feels like home.”

Harry looked at her.

So do you.

But he didn’t say it.

── .✦

Later that night, she found a small box on her pillow in the guest quarters.

Wrapped in dark green ribbon.

No note.

She opened it carefully—and gasped.

A charm bracelet.

Delicate. Golden. With three tiny charms already affixed.

A lightning bolt.

A teacup.

A moon.

When she touched them, they shimmered with warmth—enchanted.

The lightning bolt whispered, I’ll protect you.

The teacup murmured, I remember.

And the moon breathed, Even when we’re apart, you’re never alone.

She covered her mouth with her hand, eyes burning.

He hadn’t said a word.

But it was the most beautiful confession she’d ever heard.

── .✦

They went into Hogsmeade the next day.

It was bright with winter sunlight, the sky a sheet of silver-blue. They laughed together in the snow, tried butterbeer with cinnamon, got caught in a tangle of enchanted scarves at Gladrags.

And then—

He saw it.

A man. Laughing with her near Honeydukes. Brushing snowflakes from her cheek.

Cedric.

Harry froze.

He knew they were friends. He knew.

But still.

His blood went hot.

Jealousy curled through him like smoke. He stood, fists clenched, eyes locked on the soft, lingering way she looked at Cedric as he handed her a sugar quill.

Later, she found Harry sitting alone by the Shrieking Shack.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at her.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

A pause.

He exhaled sharply. “You smiled at him like I wasn’t even there.”

She blinked. “Harry—”

“You still like him, don’t you?”

Now she was angry.

“Are you serious? Cedric is my friend. He’s been there since before you even looked my way!”

“I’ve always looked at you,” he snapped. “You just never saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. I saw you when you ignored me. When you let me walk away. When you kissed me and vanished.”

“I was scared!”

“I wasn’t,” she hissed, eyes glistening. “And I still showed up. I still loved you. Even when you gave me nothing.”

His breath caught.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She turned away. “Maybe sorry isn’t enough anymore.”

── .✦

She didn’t speak to him for three days.

Not in the corridors, not in the common areas, not even during the goodbye dinner in the Great Hall.

Harry felt like the walls were closing in.

Everywhere he went, he looked for her. Every empty chair she used to occupy, every ghost of her laugh echoing down the halls—it all clawed at him.

And yet, he said nothing.

Until Sirius—who’d had quite enough—shoved him up the Astronomy Tower steps one evening, locked the door behind him with a muttered, “For Merlin’s sake, fix it,” and vanished.

She was there.

Of course she was.

The stars tangled in her hair, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the frost-glittered grounds below. She didn’t look up when he entered.

“I thought you’d given up,” she said softly.

He stepped closer. “Never. Not on you.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “Then why did you keep leaving?”

Harry’s voice cracked. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Her breath caught.

“Because I was terrified that the second I touched something good, it would disappear. Like everything else.”

She turned then. Slowly. Her eyes—shining, tired, beautiful.

“And what changed?”

He stepped forward, close enough to brush her cheek with his breath.

“You didn’t disappear,” he whispered. “You stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was a coward.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—quietly, trembling—he dropped to his knees before her.

“I love you.”

She stared.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out another charm for the bracelet.

A star.

“Every time I lost my way, I followed you,” he murmured. “You were the light.”

Her lips parted. Her heart pounded.

He took her hand. “Let me try. Let me show you that I can be soft. That I can be better. That I can love you the way you deserve—without fear, without running.”

The silence cracked wide open.

And she kissed him.

Not in a storm of fire—but in a hush of stars. Slow. Gentle. Forgiving.

Her fingers trembled against his jaw.

“I love you,” she breathed back. “I think I always did.”

── .✦

Years later, Harry would still remember that night.

The soft rustle of her laughter, the way her fingers laced through his. The first time he felt like the world had stopped spinning just so they could finally begin.

They’d return to Grimmauld Place, hand in hand.

She’d read to him by the fireplace.

He’d cook (badly) and she’d pretend to love it.

Sirius would roll his eyes and tell Remus that finally, the idiots had figured it out.

And Harry—

Harry would never forget what she said to him one night, curled against his chest beneath a sea of blankets.

“You don’t have to fight for me anymore,” she whispered.

And he’d kiss the top of her head and murmur,

“No. But I’ll love you like I still have to.”

Grimmauld Place, the night they moved in.

The house was quiet. For once. Sirius and Remus had left for an Order errand, something vague and dangerous-sounding that neither Harry nor she had pressed too hard about. The silence that followed their departure was warm—not heavy. Not haunted. Just theirs.

And then Harry walked out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea—shirtless.

Shirtless.

With the waistband of his grey sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, hair still damp from a rushed shower.

She was curled up on the sofa, blanket around her legs and a book balanced lazily in her lap, but when she looked up and saw him standing there, her Harry, in their house—something shifted.

She grinned. “You’re not even trying to be subtle, are you?”

Harry raised a brow and handed her the mug. “Subtle?”

She gestured lazily to his very bare chest. “You’re practically begging to be devoured.”

His smirk curled up devilishly. “You offering?”

She blinked. “Oh, I’m more than offering.”

And just like that—air crackled.

Harry set his mug down slowly. Purposefully. Then crawled onto the couch, straddling her legs with a wicked look in his eye. “You think I planned this? That I came out here thinking, ‘Let’s seduce her tonight’?”

She leaned back, smirking. “Did you?”

“No,” he murmured, mouth brushing her jaw, “but now that we’re here... I’m thinking about a lot of things.”

His lips were hot as they kissed down her neck, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. He chuckled against her skin.

“Sensitive, aren’t we?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

So he did.

── .✦

They kissed like the air between them had finally caught fire. Slow at first, teasing, his tongue coaxing hers into a rhythm that made her toes curl under the blanket. His hands found her thighs, pushing the fabric aside, letting his fingers trail up and up until they ghosted over the soft cotton between her legs.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered against her lips, voice low and wrecked. “Is this all for me?”

“All of it,” she breathed. “Always for you.”

He groaned, deep and desperate, and kissed her again before sliding down the couch and settling between her legs.

“Let me taste you.”

She nodded, eyes wide, heart racing.

He tugged her panties off slowly, dragging the damp fabric down her legs like it was a gift he’d been aching to unwrap. And then he licked a stripe up her slit—slow, reverent—before moaning like he’d been starving for her.

“Fuck, sweetheart… you taste so good.”

His tongue was sinful. Deliberate. He licked, sucked, and circled her clit with slow precision, using his fingers to tease her open. She arched, hips rocking toward his mouth, gasping his name.

“Harry—oh, God—”

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice thick, lips wet. “Let me hear you. Let me make you come.”

He slipped a finger inside her. Then another. Curling them just right while his tongue stayed locked on her clit, flicking harder, faster.

She cried out—sharp, broken—and came with a full-body tremble, hand tangled in his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

He kissed his way up her body, letting her feel every inch of his weight as he pressed her into the couch. Her fingers found the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, gasping when his cock sprang free, hot and heavy against her thigh.

She flipped them suddenly, pushing him back onto the cushions.

“My turn.”

He stared up at her, dazed. “Are you—”

But she was already sinking down between his legs, tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned, head tipping back, one hand gripping the couch while the other threaded into her hair.

“Shit—fuck, baby…”

She took him deep, slow at first, letting her tongue swirl as she hollowed her cheeks, moaning around him. He bucked instinctively, hips twitching, then stilled.

“Merlin, you’re gonna ruin me.”

She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, mouth full of him, and smiled.

That did it.

He pulled her up, breathless. “I need to be inside you.”

“Then take me.”

And he did.

── .✦

He lined himself up and pushed in slowly—so slowly—watching her eyes flutter shut, her mouth fall open in a silent moan.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel perfect. So fucking tight, sweetheart…”

She gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “Move, Harry, please—”

He pulled out almost completely, then thrust back in hard. She cried out.

And he talked her through every second.

“Just like that.” “Taking me so well.” “You were made for me, weren’t you?” “Look at me. I want to see your face when you fall apart.”

Their rhythm built—slow and deep, then faster, harder. Their bodies tangled, sweat-slicked and desperate, Harry’s name falling from her lips like a prayer.

He kissed her through her next orgasm—held her as she shook around him, tightening impossibly—and then buried his face in her neck as he followed, moaning into her skin.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and breath and love.

── .✦

Later, when the sweat cooled and the stars were peeking through the curtains, he pulled the blanket over them and kissed her temple.

“You okay?”

She smiled sleepily. “I’m perfect.”

He looked down at her, wonder in his eyes.

“We live here now,” he whispered.

“We love here now,” she corrected.

And Harry Potter—her best friend, her storm, her home—held her tighter and said,

“Only you. Always you.”

── .✦

The first morning in their home.

The sunlight spilled in warm and golden. It bathed their skin in honey, lit her collarbones, kissed the curve of her thigh where Harry’s hand had curled all night long.

He was awake before her.

Still naked, hair a disaster, the sheet barely covering his lower half, and his eyes were locked on her. Soft. Mesmerized.

She stirred, blinking against the morning light.

“Harry?” her voice was hoarse, sleep-heavy.

He smiled. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Mmm… I’m sore.” She winced as she stretched, then gasped when she felt it—the dull ache of being loved properly.

Harry leaned over, kissing her bare shoulder. “Good sore?”

She glanced at him and raised a brow. “Smug much?”

He kissed her again. “You were perfect. You always are.”

Her fingers found his curls and tugged him in. “Then do something perfect again, Potter.”

He smirked—slow, sinful—and slid the sheet down, exposing her breasts to the cool morning air.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

── .✦

It wasn’t fast this time.

It was slow.

He worshipped her.

Kissed his way down her body like every inch of her was sacred. Bit at her hips. Licked at her inner thighs. Suckled her clit with aching tenderness that turned quickly filthy, his tongue moving in perfect circles while his fingers dipped into her soaked heat.

She gasped, cried out, her hand over her mouth to keep quiet—but he pulled it away.

“Don’t,” he whispered, voice dark. “Let them hear. Let the whole bloody house know who you belong to.”

She came with a strangled moan.

But he didn’t stop.

He flipped her over and took her from behind, her chest pressed to their pillows while his hands gripped her hips, fucking her slow and deep.

“You feel that?” he panted, voice rough. “That’s mine. All of this—yours and mine.”

She clawed at the sheets. “Yes, Harry, oh fuck—”

He reached around to rub her clit in fast circles, hips slamming into her harder now, all rhythm lost in raw need.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Come for me again. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And she did. Shaking. Crying his name.

He followed a second later with a broken, “Fuck—yes—”, spilling inside her as he buried himself one last time.

── .✦

Later, when they finally dragged themselves to the bathroom, still shaky-legged and flushed, she tried to brush her teeth.

Tried.

Harry stood behind her in nothing but boxers, arms wrapped around her waist, his face in her neck.

“Stop,” she giggled through a mouth full of toothpaste. “Let me brush.”

“I like watching you,” he said, voice gravelly. “You’re too pretty to ignore.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

She spat, wiped her mouth, and turned around to face him—only to find herself lifted onto the sink, Harry between her legs again.

“Again?” she laughed, arms around his neck.

He kissed her, slow and deep. “Always.”

── .✦

Bonus :

Grimmauld Place, still warm from last night’s sins.

The kitchen smelled like toast. And sin. Mostly sin.

She was perched on the counter in one of Harry’s oversized T-shirts, her legs swinging lazily while Harry hovered at the stove, flipping eggs with the focus of a man who was absolutely trying to avoid a conversation.

Not with her.

No, she was grinning like the cat who’d eaten the canary. It was the other two occupants of the house they were both actively ignoring.

Because Sirius and Remus were seated at the kitchen table. And they were smirking.

“Well,” Sirius said, dramatically stirring his tea, “someone had a very active morning.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed. “Do we need to do this?”

Remus tried to keep a straight face. Failed. “You moaned her name like it was your Patronus.”

“Loudly,” Sirius added. “Repeatedly.”

“Honestly, I thought it was a murder.”

“A very sexy murder.”

Harry turned around slowly, face beet red, spatula still in hand. “You two have no boundaries.”

Remus lifted his mug. “We raised you. There’s nothing left to protect.”

Sirius leaned forward, chin in hand. “Though I have to say, I’m deeply offended you didn’t use a Silencing Charm. I live here, Harry. I live here.”

Harry turned to her, horrified. “Why didn’t we use a—”

She just beamed. “Because I like making you moan.”

Sirius choked on his tea. Remus actually blushed.

Harry groaned and buried his face in the kitchen towel. “I’m moving out.”

“You just moved in,” Sirius grinned. “And now you’ve christened the whole damn house.”

Remus chuckled. “Honestly, we’re just happy for you both.”

Sirius grinned, eyes sparkling. “Disgusted. Traumatized. But happy.”

Harry handed her a plate, still scarlet. “You’re evil.”

She kissed his cheek sweetly. “You moaned my name first, Potter.”

Sirius and Remus both groaned.

Harry hid his face in her neck.

The kitchen was filled with laughter, toast, and a love that was far too loud to be ashamed of.

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